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teletraan-meets-jarvis · 2 years

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Pieces - Chapter 1

Hi everyone!

Happy 45th Anniversary to Star Wars and Kenobi eve!!!! As a contribution to the celebrations, I've decided to kick off posting of my Commander Wolffe/OFC fic 'Pieces'!

For the posting schedule, I'll aim to release fortnightly on Sundays.

Synopsis:

Having trained her whole life to keep the peace, Jedi Padawan Issa Straun is thrust into the start of the Clone Wars, expected to take command of the 104th alongside the gruff Commander Wolffe. They wade through battle after battle, trying to find their feet sharing the responsibility of leadership under Plo Koon, but what neither of their training could prepare them for was how the war would leave scars to last a lifetime.

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Pairing: Commander Wolffe/OC Issa Straun

Warnings: M - Canon typical violence, cursing

Word Count - 6.5k

A/N: I would just like to take the chance to thank the INCREDIBLE @wild-karrde who has listened to my ramblings about this fic month after month, who has dutifully beta read all my work and dealt with my abysmal grammar and punctuation. This story probably wouldn't exist without her backing and support and I am just eternally grateful, so thank you my friend!! 💚

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Blaster fire rained down, smashing into the crates surrounding them and making the commander wince as he ducked down further to protect his head. We need a new plan to get around these sniper droids. Across the battlefield, he watched as the rest of his troops got pushed back by the enemy’s ambush, retreating for whatever cover they could find. One of the shinies was knocked to the ground as he turned his back towards the enemy for cover, his shout of pain hardly registering over the battering of blaster bolts around them.

A trickle of sweat slid down the commander’s temple beneath his helmet as he flexed his jaw at the sight of his downed trooper. Osik. “Sir, we’re pinned. Besh team can’t advance until we take out those snipers,” his sergeant’s voice crackled over their helmet comms, sounding more frustrated by the second. You and me both, the commander thought as he ground his teeth together even further while more debris showered over them from the enemy’s onslaught. The entire mission had gone aft up the second their boots hit the ground and they were faced with a much larger enemy force than intelligence had suggested.

The commander’s head cycled through images of previous battle simulations, trying to find any similar situations which could spark inspiration from the catalogue in his mind. After a few seconds, the memories behind his eyes halted on simulation 309216, one from his ARC training. We’ve got you now clankers. He felt it as his body thrummed with the pace of battle, his heart battering against his rib cage as he sucked in a few breaths before clicking on his comm.

”Alright troopers! Listen up. Aurek and Cresh teams, send out four troopers to distract the snipers, Besh will provide cover fire while the remaining groups make a break for the towers and load them with droid poppers. Any questions?”

“No sir!”

“Good. On my mark… three… two… one, NOW!”

Just as Aurek and Cresh teams made their advance, a monotonous voice cut through the blaster fight and stopped the clones in their tracks.

“SIMULATION TERMINATED.”

Immediately, the battlefield around them fritzed out of existence, leaving the troopers in a daze as the bright lights of Kamino’s training facility came back into focus once more. The soldiers present moaned at the loss of the battle, their adrenaline running high and blood boiling for the continued fight.

Their helmets snapped upwards as the speakers in the room crackled to life once more. “CC-3636, please report to Taun We’s office,” a Kaminoan’s voice boomed through the tannoy, echoing off the simulation room walls.

Wolffe looked around. He could practically feel his troopers’ excitement in the air as the realisation of what was about to happen hit everyone in the room. It’s time. Since his helmet was on, he allowed himself a smirk before addressing his men. “Looks like we’re shipping out boys.” The room erupted in cheers and whoops, brothers in arms clapping each other enthusiastically on the back as they got ready to fulfil their true purpose. With an added spring in his step, Wolffe exited the training room to find out exactly who their battalion would be assigned to.

About damn time.

—---

Issa stared intently down at the sleeve of her auburn robe. The stitching had started to come apart, leaving some loose threads dangling from the seam. She pulled at one of them but it refused to budge, causing her face to scrunch at the offending string, as if it was personally mocking her. Beside her, a modulated chuckle sounded from her Master as he placed a clawed hand over her blue one, making her pause. “Relax, little one.”

“Sorry, Master,” the Pantoran sighed, not quite understanding why she was so nervous. Well that was a bit of a lie, it was very clear why she was nervous. Preparing to meet a battalion of cloned soldiers so that she could fight in a full-scale galactic war wasn’t really an everyday occurrence for the Jedi. She looked up at the Kel Dor next to her who was peering out the side of the transport they were on. Master Plo radiated tranquillity from his every pore and Issa had never been more jealous. There was so much unknown in their future that she was unable to let her feelings flow out into the Force. What was war like? How long will we be fighting? What will the clones be like? Can I actually fight and be the leader the army needs? The list goes on. Her mind refused to be silent as each question bounced back and forth.

Trying to refocus, the young woman paid attention to her teacher once more. “Master, how are you so calm?” Issa questioned, hoping to find comfort in Master Plo’s inevitably wise words.

He turned to face her, a friendly softness around his eyes that always seemed to pull some of the weight off of her shoulders. “Because I trust in the Force, Issa. As do you. This new chapter may seem daunting and uncharted, but it is for the greater good of the galaxy, for the good of the Republic. I believe you are ready for this challenge. It will be difficult and there will be loss, but in the end, the light shall always prevail. Ensure you don’t forget that, even in the darkest of moments.” As expected, she hung off his every word. His conviction bathed her mind in a wave of calm and helped quell her spiralling nerves until they became nothing more than whispers.

“I’ll try my best to remember that,” Issa replied with a smile which finally reached her dark eyes. Plo Koon nodded, a fond look overcoming his face as she put on a determined front. Compared to other humanoid species, Kel Dors lacked the usual facial tics hinting towards what emotions they were feeling. It’d taken years of spending time with her Master, but Issa now prided herself on being able to read the minute changes in his expression behind his mask.

With a slight jolt, the transport finally came to a halt. They could already hear the hustle and bustle of the ship yard: identical voices barking orders, people dashing about, drills and hydraulics hard at work. It was time. Issa pushed the goggles on her face higher up her nose out of habit and a need to do something with her hands. Her nerves settled into the pit of her stomach once more.

“Ready, Commander?” Plo asked, his equivalent of a slight smirk evident behind his mask.

The Pantoran smiled back at him, a twinkle in her eyes. “About as ready as I’ll ever be, General”.

As they exited the shuttle, they were immediately hit with the notorious Coruscant smog. The humid and stifling air was made worse by the fumes being pumped out from the lower levels, so thick you could practically chew it. Coruscant had been Issa’s home for practically her whole life and she adored it, but the tangible atmosphere was one thing she always wished could be changed.

“Master Plo, Padawan Straun it’s good to see you both,” a voice sounded from behind them. They turned, coming face to face with Master Shaak Ti, looking as poised and elegant as ever as she made her way towards them. Her hands were clasped under the long sleeves of her cloak as she strode forwards. “Are you ready to meet your men? I must say, from my brief interactions with them so far, I believe the 104th are some of the finest soldiers the GAR have to offer. You’ve been dealt a good hand.”

“We’re pleased to hear that,” Plo replied as the pair fell in step with the Togruta. The two Masters chatted while Issa took in her surroundings with unreserved awe. The shipyard was an explosion of noise; there was always something being hammered or drilled. Amongst the racket, the smell of oil and fuel hung thick in the air, making her smile. The scent reminded her of fond times with her Master in the Temple’s shuttle bay as he taught her the ins and outs of spacecraft maintenance on his ship ‘The Blade of Dorin’. The name always did make her chuckle.

Her warm thoughts were interrupted when Master Ti asked her a question, shocking her back to the present. “Issa, how are you keeping? Are you looking forward to your new assignment?”

“I’m well Master, thank you. As for the war, I’m… ” Issa pondered what phrase would effectively communicate her current emotions, “athirst… for what may come. Wars like what we are gearing up for are things I've only read about in legend. But I am content in our decision to protect and fight for the Republic.”

“I understand your apprehension. The weight of war is a heavy one.” Issa nodded at the wise woman’s words and the trio fell into a comfortable silence for a moment. That was until Issa felt the mood shift around them in the Force, a wave of mischief passing over her from the Togruta to her left. “To prepare you for what’s to come, if you would ever like to hear a first person account from the wars of the Old Republic, I'm sure your Master would be happy to oblige.” Issa couldn’t stop herself before a bark of laughter escaped her at Shaak Ti’s deadpan jab at her Master’s age, the woman’s face remained serious until her eyes met Plo’s mask and a small smirk graced her lips.

“I see your sense of humour is as sharp as ever, Master Ti.” Plo replied with a chuckle, before grumbling under his breath. “You’ve been spending far too much time with Kit.” As their humour subsided, the Togruta continued to lead them to their meeting point.

—----------

A small transport ship lowered to reach the three of them, a gust of wind from the descent making their Jedi robes dance behind them. The bland shuttle landed with a muted clang before the doors whooshed open to reveal a Kaminoan and clone trooper.

The Kaminoan moved in almost slow motion, a strange sort of grace in the way her long limbs glided, carrying her off the transport with the clone in tow. “Welcome Jedi Master Plo Koon and Padawan Issa Straun. I am Taun We, aide to our prime minister Lama Su, and overseer of the Jedi’s cloning contract. We will be leaving the 104th battalion in your capable hands.” Taun We then moved to guide the clone forward to greet the Jedi personally. “This is CC-3636. As a Clone Commander, along with having some enhanced features in his DNA, he has undertaken extra training beyond a standard Clone Trooper, including our specialist ARC programme. His record is exemplary, and he will be a fine asset in leading your battalion.”

The soldier who stood before them wasn’t in the standard white plastoid Issa had witnessed on Geonosis. Instead he had maroon paint adorning his armour and the pattern of a wolf covered the sharp edges of his helmet. Someone's an animal fan. The patterns and colour continued down the rest of his armour, and it was all finished off with a black kama, the edges piped in a matching red-brown shade.

The commander removed his helmet before speaking, allowing the Jedi the chance to see him for the first time. Issa took the opportunity to study the man before her. Visually, he seemed to look like almost all the clone troopers she’d come across before, with his identical features and what seemed to be a regulation haircut. His presence however held something unique. His face was very no nonsense. Despite barely being a decade old, it seemed he’d furrowed his brows to the point where even if he relaxed them, two lines would forever be present between his eyes. The man’s frame was also slightly broader than the average clone, making his military stance all the more imposing.

“General Plo, Commander Straun.” The clone nodded at them each in turn as a greeting. Issa was impressed by his greeting. He’d noted how Kel Dors were to be addressed by their first name. He brushed up on his homework.

It would seem given his rank, Issa and the clone commander would be working quite closely together. The thought made Issa’s stomach do another nervous flip. CC-3636 radiated this serious and gruff attitude which contradicted everything about Issa’s own positive and excitable nature; she prayed to the Maker that they didn’t clash too badly.

“General Ti, it’s good to see you again,” the clone offered politely, pulling Issa out of her thoughts.

“Likewise Commander. I like the new look. I take it the ARC’s rubbed off on you and your brothers after all.” The Togruta smiled warmly at him, and CC-3636 changed slightly before Issa’s eyes. The coarseness surrounding him softened ever so slightly at his familiarity with Shaak Ti. With a tiny smirk of knowing, he nodded an affirmative at the woman before she continued. “I was just filling Master Plo and Issa in on how fortunate they are in being assigned your battalion.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir.”

The pleasantries were interrupted by Taun We. “Master Ti, as much as I regret bringing this introduction to an end, we must continue on if we are to introduce the next battalion to the arriving Jedi.” She announced before turning to stride back towards the transport she’d only just exited from.

“Yes of course.” The Togruta turned to face the remaining people on the platform to bid them a farewell. “Master Plo, Issa, Commander, I wish you all the best. May the Force be with you.”

—

The Venator Class Star Destroyers were incredible, their size dwarfed the countless gunships housed in it’s bays, as well as casting a large portion of the humongous landing deck they were on into shadow.

The group strode up the large ramp, the commander in front as he led them onto their vessel. The sight which awaited them was something Issa probably couldn’t have prepared for. A sea of white armour which seemed to go on for miles stretched out before them as they approached. The troopers’ shiny plastoid was a stark contrast to the metallic walls that surrounded them.

The commander moved from their side and towards the ocean of soldiers. “ATTENTION!” At his order, every single one of the troopers stomped their feet together and raised a hand to their helmet in salute. The noise was thunderous, practically shaking the durasteel they stood on. CC-3636 turned back to face them, his chest puffed out with pride. “General, Commander, the 104th welcomes you to the Triumphant.” Issa tried to keep her cool, but she couldn’t help it as she gawked at the sheer number of soldiers before her. There were easily hundreds of them, all neatly stood in rows upon rows, making perfect rectangles. These were the men that would blindly follow her into battle, who would follow her orders and trust her without question. She couldn’t help it as a shiver ran up her spine at the thought of such responsibility.

With a raised hand, Master Plo stepped forward to address their men. “At ease.” His baritone resonated across the platform, the acoustics of the space replacing the need for a microphone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I am General Plo Koon and this is my Padawan and Commander, Issa Straun.” He paused for a moment, allowing Issa to provide a small nod in way of greeting to the troops. In unison, the clones shouted a chorus of “SIRS!” and moved their hands back to their sides.

And so the fun begins, Issa thought.

—

With all the soldiers and gear loaded, Issa and Plo were led on a tour of the ship by CC-3636. He walked with perfect posture in front of them both, pointing out key areas of their new home as they passed them.

The trio finally reached the bridge. As soon as they set foot into the room, all the personnel milling about immediately shot out of their seats and into salute. “General and commanders on deck!”

“At ease,” the Clone Commander announced. Around them, the clones quietly continued on with their previous tasks as if nothing happened. This is going to take some getting used to.

One of the men on deck walked up to the trio, clad in his grey Republic naval uniform. “General Plo, Commander Straun,” the new clone greeted them politely, a slight starstruck look in his eyes. He spent a second too long looking at the two Jedi before CC-3636 cleared his throat with an unimpressed look, shocking the poor trooper back into a military stance. “Uh, sorry Commander Wolffe, I’m just here to report that all the cargo has been loaded and stored as requested.” At the mention of his apparent name, the commander’s eyes widened a tiny bit. Issa dared say he looked uncomfortable, which caused her brow to furrow. Why wouldn’t he want us to hear his name?

“Very good, trooper. Report back to your station.”

After the shiny clone disappeared, Master Plo spoke up, a slight tint of concern around his eyes at what was a clear oversight on both the Jedi’s parts. “Our sincerest apologies Commander, we weren’t aware some of you had chosen names for yourselves. How would you prefer that we address you? We’d be happy to use names over your designations should you request so.” Plo offered with a kind look.

CC-36- no Wolffe, on the other hand, looked unsure as his gaze flitted between the two Jedi. “Ah, that’s really up to you, General.”

Issa stepped forward and smiled at the gruff soldier. “Well Commander, we’d like to know what you’d prefer, honestly.”

The man studied the two for a moment longer before sighing. “My name would be good, sir. It’s more efficient to use in battle than our designations I suppose.”

“Then it’s settled,” Plo declared with a slight clap of his hands. “If possible, could you please find someone to gather a list of each clone’s name and designation so that we are better able to address the men?”

Wolffe looked slightly taken aback at his request. He quickly tried to school his features back into neutrality but Issa noticed the tiny upturn on one side of his mouth. “Of course, sir.” The clone turned on his heel to pass on the request to the relevant person, leaving the Kel Dor and Pantoran standing at the heart of their new bridge. Master Plo gave her a proud look and she smiled back at him, chuffed that they’d started off on the right foot with their commander.

----

It had been a rather long and surreal morning getting settled on the Triumphant. After Wolffe concluded the tour of the ship, the three of them had begun on their more senior responsibilities, which involved being holed up in a meeting room with Plo and Wolffe for hours on end, and while she loved her Master, this entire military thing had gone from zero to a hundred very quickly, and the young Jedi could really do with catching her breath for a few moments. Thankfully, her stomach rumbled at an opportune time, causing Plo to dismiss them both to get themselves fed before they continued their planning session.

Wolffe offered to show her to the mess hall but she politely excused herself so that she could pass by the refresher first, needing a moment to herself.

Once the durasteel door hissed shut behind her, she leaned over the sink and met her own gaze in the mirror. Issa’s navy and burgundy robes were askew on her shoulders, making her frown. The traditional clothing for Jedi had its place for many reasons, but oh how she missed her own clothes. The robes were heavy and loose, sitting draped over her thin frame, nearly drowning her figure. Guess we’re not known for being style icons, but still. She always felt like a youngling in her robes, almost as if she’d never grow into them despite being fully grown for a Pantoran, and above average height at that. Her delicate hands pulled at the neckline and readjusted her belt until she was happy that everything was back in place where it should be. The long, double-ended hilt of her lightsaber caught the light as she fidgeted, making her pause. She smoothed a hand over the engraved metal, attempting to draw some emotional strength from her weapon as the kyber crystal buzzed slightly beneath her fingertips.

Now somewhat pleased with her outfit, Issa began to give the rest of herself a quick once over. Her silver hair was scruffy from where she’d been running her hand through it. That, on top of the baggy robes, was not quite the look of professional Commander she was going for. Sighing, she lifted her goggles off her head and placed them on the side so that she could undo the bun atop her head. A groan of relief escaped her as the icy strands fell from their tight style. After messing about with it, she threw half her hair back up and left half down, her Padawan braid extending beyond her shoulder length cut. Finally content with her hair, she moved to rub at the indigo indents around her eyes. Despite not being able to see her own reflection without her eyewear, she knew from years of wearing goggles that the marks were present. As she relaxed her face, her mind began to wander back to the new weight that sat on her shoulders. Commander of a battalion. Issa was curious to know if she’d ever get used to the thought of such responsibility.

Before she could get herself worked up again, she turned on the tap and splashed some cold water on her face, jarring her back into the present moment. She dried her features and pulled her goggles back on, feeling like her whole self once again as the world around her came back into focus. Issa met her own gaze in the mirror once more. “Stop stressing, Straun. You’ve got this,” she instructed her reflection with a new determination. She could do this. She just needed to go out there and be the Commander that she wanted to be. The rest would fall into place she was sure. With a quick nod to herself, Issa mustered up all the confidence she could and exited the refresher, ready to continue on her personal mission.

——

Loud chatter bounced back and forth within the mess hall walls, all the identical voices combining into an almost white noise as Issa selected her lunch from the datapad in front of her.

The Jedi grabbed her tray and studied the room around her. She was greeted with a sea of white armour and grey naval uniforms. Her heart rate picked up as nerves began to roll through her mind. She was very much the odd one out here.

Closing her dark eyes, she took a deep and steadying breath. I came in here to get to know the battalion better, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. Issa rolled her shoulders back and began to hunt for a free seat with determination.

After a bit of wandering and feeling a few stares on her back, she finally clocked an empty space.

She plonked herself down with a shy smile and a hello to the troopers around her. All the men at the table had stopped eating and instead taken to staring at her like she’d grown two heads. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Despite her confidence in herself as a Jedi, Issa couldn’t help but feel incredibly awkward under the gaze of all these soldiers. She went to push her goggles up the bridge of her nose before scratching the back of her neck. “Sorry, I can go,” she muttered as she went to grab her tray and stand up again, embarrassment tinting her cheeks a pale lilac.

A quick chorus of “no no no,” rang out, and she paused half raised off her seat. A trooper with silver hair cleared his throat. “Sorry, Commander. Please sit down.” He looked at his brothers who’d taken to playing with the food on their trays. “We just weren’t expecting you to sit with us is all. But we definitely don’t mind.” His tone was sincere and he flashed a toothy smile which eased Issa’s worries. As her embarrassment faded, she sat herself back down next to the men. “So what brings you to the mess hall, sir? Other than the obvious.”

“I wanted to meet the people I’d be fighting alongside,” she said simply, tucking into her serving of pale soup. The steam from her meal caught on her goggles and fogged them up ever so slightly.

One of the others spoke up, a trooper that looked the most unique out of them all. His hair was shaved except for two stripes which ran down the centre of his head. The left side of his face from his jaw upwards was decorated in silvery scar lines, creating a delicate and intricate pattern across his skin. “But you’re a Jedi, sir. You know you don’t have to sit with a bunch of clones right?”

“Does Commander Wolffe sit with you?” At her question, the men turned to look at the clone sat at the end who she now recognised. “Ah, sorry Wolffe. Didn’t see you there.” He waved her off as he continued shovelling food into his mouth and reading his datapad. “Anyway, my point is while we may look different, we’re one battalion. I’m nothing special. I eat, sleep and breathe the same as you. I thought this might be as good a place as any to get started in getting to know one another.”

“That’s uh, nice of you sir,” the silver haired clone replied.

“You can all call me Issa while we’re having downtime if you like. I'm not quite used to the formalities just yet.” They all turned again to look at Wolffe, almost asking his permission. He shrugged as if to say they can do what they want and a few troopers at the table smiled. “Well since we’ll be using names, would you gentlemen mind telling me yours?” Issa asked.

“I’m Sinker,” the man with the silver hair stated. “That one with the dodgy hair is Boost, self proclaimed comedic genius and all round di’kut.”

“You love me really,” Boost tutted back.

“Huh, maybe you are funny actually.” Boost pouted at Sinker’s sarcasm, making Issa chuckle. Sinker next pointed to the clone whose head was buried in a datapad. The distracted man seemed to be of a slighter frame compared to the men around him. He also sported copper hair shaved short on the sides, the curls from his fringe falling into his eyes as he looked up at her. “The nerd there is Book. Kid is obsessed with learning new stuff, but he’s killer at strategising.”

The next clone had longer and messier hair which fell into soft waves framing his face and he gave her a friendly smile as Sinker continued. “This is Cloud. Not got much awareness of what’s going on around him most of the time, but he’s one of the best snipers and slicers in the GAR.” Finally he turned his gaze towards the last clone at the table. His hair was shaved off and an intricate tattoo of a Vexis sat atop his head, giving the clone a rather imposing aura. “Oh and the short one down the end opposite Wolffe is Two-Pint. In love with heavy class weapons and despite the name, can drink the entire battalion under the table.”

“It’s nice to meet you all. You clones really do have some wonderfully unique names,” Issa acknowledged.

Boost piped up with a smirk. “Well when you’ve got a million other people to compete with, you end up scrambling for options.” They continued to tuck into their food as they chatted, any awkward tension that remained from when Issa first sat down quickly dispersing, which warmed her insides far more than the soup ever could.

“Sir- I mean Issa-” Book paused, and the Jedi nodded approvingly, urging him to continue. “You’re Pantoran, correct?”

“I am.”

“I understand that Pantorans tattoo their faces with gold markings to communicate things such as family relations, wealth, social status etcetera. Might I ask what yours mean?”

“Isn’t that a little personal to ask someone, Book?” Two-Pint scolded around a mouthful of bread, sendings small crumbs flying towards Wolffe who somehow managed to frown harder at the heavy gunner.

“No it’s fine, I can understand his curiosity.” Issa smiled at the excitable clone who beamed back at her. “You’re right, Pantorans do mark their faces for those reasons, but given that I don’t really know my biological family and I don’t have many personal belongings, my markings are ones which show me being part of the Jedi Order. I’m not the first Pantoran, so my predecessors came up with a variety of meanings and designs for Pantoran Jedi to choose from. We go through a few milestones in our lives as Pantorans which grant us the honour of getting markings. Culturally, Pantoran Jedi are supposed to undertake their trials before the age of 25, within the next two years I should have most of my markings. As for the ones I have now,” she traced the two straight golden lines running vertically from her hairline to the start of her silver eyebrows, “these two represent life and the Force.” Her fingers then moved to the single line running from her bottom lip straight down her chin. “And this one symbolises the two coming together. For even in death, there is always the Force.”

Book looked enthralled as he typed away at his datapad, abandoning his lunch in favour of documenting Issa’s every word. “That’s fascinating, thank you.”

“No problem.” Issa nodded at him and a warmth spread through her chest as she watched Book’s fingers fly across his device. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected when going to meet the clones, but something about Book’s excitement for life and information surprised her. “While we’re on the topic of physical features, can I ask you a question, Boost?” Issa looked over at the man, who nodded as he shovelled more food into his mouth. “Your hair is pretty different compared to everyone else’s. I was wondering if there was a particular reason behind it.” She saw his cheeky demeanour immediately change at her question, shifting to one of longing and remembrance.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat and Issa cursed herself for asking him to relive a clearly painful memory. “The style’s called ‘the double stripe’. It’s to honour my batchmates, the squad I went through cadet training with. They all died on Geonosis.” His face was sombre as he remembered each of his closest brothers. Beside him, Sinker placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, which the other man leaned into gratefully.

“I’m so sorry, Boost.”

“Ah, don’t be. They went out like heroes, which is all any of us can really ask.” He gave her a sad smile before clapping his hands together and rebuilding his mischievous persona. “Anyways, enough doom and gloom. Let’s find out more about you, Commander. What’s with the goggles?”

Issa chuckled as Boost formed two circles with his fingers and put them around his eyes to mimic her eyewear. “Nothing fancy, I just can’t see very well.” She shrugged and the men all looked at each other.

“So you’re telling us that the almighty powerful Jedi we’ve been hearing about for ten years, can have crap eyesight?”

“I’m only Pantoran, I’m not a god.”

“You’re really ruining this for us sir. I hope you know that,” Sinker explained with a sigh.

“Well I can still fight blind don’t worry. Though if Master Plo loses that mask, he can’t breathe. I’ve always carried a spare around with me just in case.” Issa rolled her eyes with fondness, while the clones just stared blankly at her as she joked.

Wolffe looked dumbfounded as he spoke up for the first time. “So between the two of you, we haven’t got one fully functioning Jedi?” Issa quickly felt the weight of the table’s gaze which made her squirm with awkwardness. Just had to stick my foot in it, didn’t I?

“I suppose not. But I’ve never seen Plo lose his mask, and I always carry spare goggles on missions, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“No offence, sir, but that doesn’t fill me with much confidence.” Without another word, Commander Wolffe grabbed his tray with an unimpressed look and left the group, his sass having cut Issa, leaving her mouth hanging slightly agape as he exited the mess.

———

Wolffe entered his new quarters as the day drew to a close. His boots clanged against the durasteel flooring as he dropped down onto his firm bunk. His room was small, more akin to a closet, but it was neat and it was private, and privacy was something he never expected to have in his life. It was a blessing and a curse to have some space to himself. On the one hand he much preferred his own time and quiet, never one for much socialising, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wouldn’t miss the small sounds of his brothers just living around him: the snores, the laughter and the chatter. It was all he’d known for his entire life. It’ll take some getting used to.

The soldier took a moment to reflect on what would be the first day of the rest of his life. He’d finally been assigned his Jedi, and should he do his job right, they’d be the people he’d spend the war fighting alongside. General Plo Koon was one of the few Jedi he remembered from Geonosis, he didn’t fight alongside him directly, but a six foot Kel Dor on a battlefield stood out amongst the more common species within the Jedi Order. The general was mostly what he expected of a Jedi; reserved, wise and welcoming. He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was just something about the Kel Dor that put him at ease, as if a sense of knowing told him that his general would be someone he’d proudly fight alongside. Then there was the padawan, Straun. He found it interesting that while the young woman had been under the mentorship of the general for what must be years now, they were remarkably different people. She was clearly inexperienced, and cared far too much about what the men thought of her as a leader. She was quick to talk, which was a trait he didn’t favour in others usually, but she seemed to be trying at least. Wolffe supposed that her efforts were better than a removed leader who didn’t value the lives of his brothers. As commanders though, the two of them were very different, and it unnerved him that he wouldn’t really know her abilities as a leader until they were thrown into battle.

As he let out a long exhale, Wolffe’s gloved fingers unclipped his helmet from his belt and held it in his lap, the black visor staring back at him as he took in every sharp edge and line of paint across his bucket. The commander took a moment to think back on the battle of Geonosis. Those few months ago, he’d worn white plastoid armour, with only pips and yellow paint to signify his rank. Following the start of the war, the Alphas back on Kamino had taken Wolffe’s batch in and commended them on their efforts on the desert planet, for leading their brothers to their purpose to fight alongside the Jedi and defending the Republic. They’d taken them on for the new ARC training programme as an experiment and pushed them to their limits with a gruelling training regiment. There were points where Wolffe wondered if they’d make it, but in the end, all five of them survived and became the first ARC Commanders. A small smile made its way onto Wolffe’s face at the memory.

The five commanders stood in parade rest, Alpha-17 strolling in front of them, appraising his graduating students. Wolffe supposed they did look different from where they started. While the new training routine had brought out different strengths in all of them, they’d all gained more muscle mass and no longer looked as lean as the standard troopers.

“I’m pleased to announce you’ve all passed ARC training. You five are our first of many ARC Commanders. Congratulations.” 17’s face remained neutral, but underneath all the bravado, they all noticed the pride, burning like a roaring flame within him.

Wolffe held his own passive military expression, but chanced a glance at Fox next to him just as his ori’vod did the same to him. Their eyes met and the corners of their lips twitched ever so slightly. “We’ve actually done it.” the words were barely above a whisper as they fell from his lips.

The commander was brought out of his memories when his datapad began chiming next to him, the screen lighting up and pulling his attention to it.

-Command Chat Active-

Cody: so… everyone met their Jedi then?

Bly: yep

Wolffe: mhmm

Ponds: yeah!

Fox: funnily enough no I haven’t.

Cody: sarcasm just because you’re jealous Fox? It’s not a good look on you

Fox: mir’sheb

Cody: Love you too, foxy. Anyway, thoughts?

Ponds: Master Windu is awesome.

Cody: Bly, Wolffe?

Bly: … The General seems nice enough

Fox: But?

Bly: But what?

Ponds: you’re being suspenseful again Bly, just spit it out vod

Bly: Okay. But this goes nowhere as I’m trying to be a good Commander and all

Bly: but… WHY DOES MY GENERAL REFUSE TO WEAR ARMOUR. I’M GONNA GET RECONDITIONED WHEN SHE INEVITABLY GETS SHOT :’(

Fox: Well, seems this Jedi business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

Wolffe: You want to talk about armour?! How about both my Jedi having major physical impairments?! One can’t breathe in most atmospheres and the other can’t kriffing see! They’re walking target practice for the clankers.

Cody: at least you haven’t got to deal with the Padawan from hell

Bly: don’t act like you’ll actually deal with him. We all know you’re gonna put that on Rex.

Cody: it’s called delegating, it’s what good commanders do ori’vod

Cody: at least General Kenobi seems sane enough.

Wolffe: I dunno, didn’t he teach the special one? His recklessness has to stem from someone

Ponds: *the chosen one

Wolffe: dork

Cody: … you make an excellent point

Fox: about the general or Ponds?

Cody: both

Ponds: :(

Cody: General Kenobi is going to turn out crazy isn’t he?

Ponds: they’re not called the disaster lineage for nothing

Cody: THEY’RE CALLED THE WHAT?!

Ponds: hmm maybe I shouldn’t have shared that

Bly: *gasp* Is General Windu a gossip?!

Ponds: I can neither confirm nor deny

Fox: Ponds got the best General. The rest of you are probably going to die. It was nice knowing you.

Cody: I’d tell him to Kriff off but he’s probably right

Wolffe: eh I’ll do it anyway. Kriff off shabuir

Fox: bite me ad’ika <3

—-Fox renamed the chat to CC’s Anonymous—-

Ponds: Seems appropriate

Back to TJ's Masterlist

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wild-karrde · 2 years

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Karrde's Fandom Friday Rec #3 (08/05/22)

Ok, so I came across this Plo Koon and Ahsoka art by @thenegoteator and it just put the biggest smile on my face. I love Plo and Ahsoka's relationship and hope we get to see more of it in the future because honestly Dad Plo is the best. I love the colors and the scenery and the sheer joy in this art. With so much of Ahsoka's history marred by war and fighting, I really enjoy seeing pieces like this where for a moment, she got to be a youngling.

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fan art #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #ahsoka tano #plo koon #I LOVE THIS SO MUCH AND IT MAKES ME SMILE SO HARD

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 1 year

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(Clone Wars) Commander Wolffe x Jedi!Reader: Don’t Let Me Go

Author’s Note: Hello!! This is a fic written especially for @ladysongmaster for the fic exchange that I am participating in- @cloneficgiftexchange - run by @ghostofskywalker

I really hope you enjoy!!!!

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Fluff

The gardens presented an array of vibrant blossoms, greeting its visitors with a pleasant, sweet scent. It was hard to feel gloomy when walking the stone path that wound its way through the maze of hedges and arches.

Winged insects buzzed around, harvesting nectars from the plants peaceably. The sound faded in and out as you passed by.

Yet the steps you took were slow, unmotivated. A contrast to the lighter, glad ones that you took whenever he was your destination. Since being assigned to the protection detail of this young senator, you’d wandered these paths many times. Memorized them. Each turn, each slope, and each bench were ingrained into your mind. It was where you’d spent much time sorting through forbidden thoughts and desires, after all.

That was what brought you there once more.

Though the atmosphere was bright and airy at the senator’s palace, you could not completely enjoy it. The dreaded silence that had weighed heavily over everyone when you’d first arrived gave way to whispers of gossip amongst the staff and lively conversation as they flitted about the halls.

All you could think about were his eyes. His voice. How capable he was on the battlefield. How strong his arms were. How he started out as a complete and utter mystery to you, and now you could tell his mood simply by the tone of his grunt.

A chuckle escaped your lips. You’d been walking in silence for so long that your own voice sounded foreign to you.

Footsteps approached from behind, carrying the familiar thud of trooper armor. You knew who it was without him having to make himself known, having sensed his presence as he grew nearer.

“Commander Wolffe.”

He stopped a few feet away, letting out a huff at your greeting. That was the sound he made whenever he witnessed you or Plo Koon’s jedi abilities. It was the closest to bewilderment that you’d ever get out of him.

“General,” he addressed you. “Thought I’d find you here.”

That piqued your interest. You turned around to face him. “What can I do for you?”

Wolffe stood there with bucket tucked under one arm in a semi-formal stance.

He cleared his throat. “Just checking in. There’s been talk about transfers.”

You nodded. “It looks like our time here is coming to an end,” you said wistfully. “The senator is safe. The danger has passed. I appreciate the measures you’ve taken when it comes to this mission, Commander.”

“Just doing my duty,” he replied gruffly. Typical. The man would not take credit the entire time you’d known him. Not even after a job well done. “Any word on where we’ll be going?”

Your eyes fell from his. “Nothing is certain. All I know is I am to return to Coruscant. You and your men will be transferred elsewhere.”

Were you imagining it? The shift in his expression? His lips pressed together in a firm line as he took the news, but the look vanished as quickly as it appeared. Perhaps it was hopeful thinking on your part… to think the time spent working together meant something to him. It meant a great deal to you. The realization that you would part ways until who-knows-when weighed heavily on your heart.

Wolffe gave a curt nod. He sighed, hesitating. “For what it’s worth, General-”

“There she is!” an all-too-familiar voice interrupted. “My favorite jedi! My, I was beginning to wonder where you’d run off to.”

You bit your tongue and turned to see the approaching senator. He was wearing a particularly elaborate tunic and cloak set that shone with shimmering stones sewn into it.

“Senator Gil Illel,” you greeted in the most courteous tone you could muster. “How may I be of service?”

“You may do so by accompanying me to a dinner I am hosting in your honor.” He reached forward, taking your hand in both of his in one of his eccentric gestures of regard. “You have been a great help to me and my people.”

Wolffe let out a quiet huff, restraining himself from an eyeroll. You had to hold back your amusement as you politely retracted your hand and gave a nod. “The Council was alarmed to hear of any possible danger to you. I am glad that I could be of help, but with all due respect, Senator, we jedi are not ones for formal gatherings.”

“Nonsense! This is your last evening here. I would have it no other way.” Senator Illel’s tone grew more insistent, as did the glimmer in his eye. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I want to fully express my gratitude.”

It wasn’t a secret that the senator you were assigned to developed a little crush. He’d dropped plenty of unsubtle hints here and there in hopes of you reciprocating. However, you did not feel the same. Not only that, but your affections already belonged to another.

Meanwhile, Wolffe looked as if he was barely holding in a comment. His glare was fixated on some distant fountain or hedge, refusing to meet yours. You weren’t sure what you were expecting… some sort of help? The best thing to do would be to accept Illel’s invitation, get through the evening, and be glad that you wouldn’t have to see the senator again.

You would still miss Wolffe. Your heart already ached at the thought.

“Alright,” you said finally. “I suppose I can drop in for a little while.”

Senator Illel grinned. “Splendid. I will have the maids deliver an extra special gown.”

“Actually, I’m afraid I have to refuse. I do have more formal robes that will do nicely.”

He conceded with a reluctant nod. “Very well. I shall see you tonight.” With an exaggerated bow, he bid you farewell.

No sooner when you looked at Wolffe did he finally scoff and roll his eyes. You couldn’t resist a chuckle. But before you could make a joke on the matter, he excused himself rather abruptly.

“I have some business to attend to with the men,” he said, turning and following the path until he was out of sight. Your parted lips closed with the loss of words, and instead, a sigh escaped you.

. . . .

The party was over-the-top. Not one for such gatherings, you made a point to only stay long enough to satisfy Senator Illel. The event was in your honor, but he seemed rather preoccupied with his other guests for a time. You took the opportunity to step out for a few minutes, embracing the cool night air with gladness.

You found yourself in the place you always went to.

It was the same garden, and yet it felt entirely different in the evening. Everything was quiet. The buzzing of insects was replaced with the chirping of their nocturnal counterparts. Eye-catching hues were washed away by the light of a silver moon.

Only a few minutes had passed before you sensed a familiar presence. The unsettled feelings that the evening’s events brought on were gone almost instantaneously as footsteps approached on the path behind you.

“General.” This time he greeted you first.

“Hello, Commander.” You turned around and offered a smile, letting him know that his presence was most welcome.

“Enjoying the festivities?” he asked, though there was no mistaking the sarcasm in his tone. He knew you well enough to understand how you truly felt about the whole thing.

“Oh yes. Most certainly,” you replied with a similar sharpness in your tone. “If I’m honest, I prefer your company significantly more.”

He didn’t respond right away, and you wondered if it had been the right thing to say. Before you had the chance to comment further, Wolffe huffed a sigh.

“I think you know by now I prefer yours.”

You stole a glance at him in surprise. You hadn’t expected such an admission from him. He continued to gaze up at the moon that shone down over the estate. You felt your resolve breaking. If you were honest, it was being chipped away slowly as the days went by that you worked with Wolffe. But standing there, with Wolffe, under the light of the moon… It was finally gone.

“Wolffe,” you addressed him informally, and he turned to meet your gaze. “You should know, I-”

“Well, here you are!” Illel exclaimed. You jumped, realizing you were so focused on the handsome commander that you hadn’t sensed the senator’s approach. “Why, oh why, is the guest of honor all the way out here?”

You chuckled nervously. “Apologies, senator. I was getting some fresh air. It is quite the shindig you have going on in there-”

Senator Illel held up a hand to silence you before turning to Wolffe. “Commander- Wolffe, was it? You are dismissed. I have no need for your service.”

You didn’t miss the way Wolffe tightened his jaw. The irritation that flashed in his expression. The way his shoulder flexed as he excused himself and walked away. Once he was out of earshot, Illel turned to you.

“Every time I find you, you’re with that one...”

Aaaand that was it. That was the last straw.

“With all due respect,” you said sharply. “He is my Commander, and a very important part in your protection detail. He is deserving of your respect. If you will excuse me…” You turned, your robes flowing out behind you, and followed after Wolffe.

You saw him farther up the path, picking up your pace to catch up. “Wolffe! Wait, please!”

He froze, though he didn’t turn around to face you. You were more than fine with that. Considering the things you had to say, you weren’t sure you could look him in the eye while you bared your heart to him. Throwing your arms around his form from behind, you pressed your cheek to the back of his armor. Uncomfortable as it was, it was rather freeing to finally do so.

“Wolffe.”

“General…” The surprise was evident in his tone. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard that before.

“I’m sorry, I…I just need to tell you that I care for you. I have since the day we started working together to protect that pompous senator.”

“_______,” he rumbled lowly.

“And I know that it won’t be long before we’re separated…I don’t expect you to feel the same, but I had to at least let you know.”

He tried to twist around toward you, though restricted due to your hold on his torso. “Can you-?”

“Oh, right.”

Wolffe turned around fully to face you, his expression more tender than you ever expected it to be. “I…” he paused, struggling to find the right words. He seemed to give up with a huff and simply pull you into an embrace against his chest with both arms.

Your eyes widened, though you found yourself relaxing into it. For a few moments, neither of you said a thing.

“Please, don’t let me go,” you murmured. You knew right away that he felt the same for you. He didn’t need to say it, but even so, the next word he spoke meant the world to you.

“Never,” he grunted.

To prove it, he held you even tighter.

#clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars x reader #commander wolffe x reader #Commander Wolffe #wolffe x reader #clone wars reader insert #commander wolffe reader insert #star wars the clone wars commander wolffe

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 1 day

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Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 10

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Plo Koon

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Author's Note: Things are still crazy right now, but I am managing. Thank you to everyone who has reached out. I appreciate it! This is another transitional chapter. Not much happens, other than the plot moving forward. You know, the meaning of "filler episode" really changes when you write 😅 The chapter isn't exciting or emotional, but it's still important to the overall plot and contains context for future chapters. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

The ride over to the Jedi Temple is quiet once Cara settles on Wolffe's lap. Most children fall asleep to the lull of a moving ship or speeder, and Cara is no exception. Wolffe doesn't mind, though. He prefers her to be asleep and peaceful than awake and chaotic. She's been through enough already, and yet, the tragedy is nowhere near over. Not by a long shot. Deep down he knows the funeral is going to rip off every band-aid he and the others have meticulously placed.

They can lie, dance around the truth, replace facts with illusion, and carefully craft misdirection, but at the end of the day, they can't hide it forever. The pain is painted across all of their faces. A grim truth they all know but refuse to acknowledge, even for Wolffe. No one wants to speak it aloud out of fear that maybe, just maybe, if they don't say it, it won't happen. But while trying to conceal it from Cara, they have disillusioned themselves with their own blank stares and frowns.

Wolffe stares out the window and watches as other speeders fly by, lost in his thoughts about the future. Not many clones think about the future, because it's not in their brain chemistry to look beyond anything other than their immediate present, but that changed for Wolffe after he met his wife. There was a moment where it felt like he unlocked a part of his brain. The part that wants to survive and thrive, instead of fight and die. It's a fleeting feeling, but there nonetheless.

He's wondering, not only about the funeral, but what comes after. What will he do when he gets a new assignment? He can't stay on Coruscant forever. No clone can. Wolffe scoffs at his own thoughts and corrects himself. In reality, the only clones who can stay on Coruscant forever are the Coruscant Guard. At this moment, Wolffe thinks they're lucky, even if they don't. Fox would kill to be back on the battlefield, and Wolffe would trade his command with Fox’s in a heartbeat.

However, Fox has his own life to lead and his own things to worry about on Coruscant. This is just how life is for the clones. It's a luck of the draw in who gets to be a commander and who gets stationed where. To the Republic, all clones are the same, so it shouldn't matter what clones go where, but to the clones, sometimes, it does matter. Clones who haven't been around long enough don't understand, and those who have, don't live long enough after they find out.

Wolffe is pulled from his thoughts when they arrive at the Jedi Temple. He peers out the window at the towering structure and breathes deep as he feels his heart rate increase. He's never been enthralled with the Jedi like other clones; finding their religion strange and their battle tactics even stranger. Perhaps it's the deep-seeded Mandalorian genes coursing through his veins that makes him wary of the so-called peacekeepers, even if Rex tries to convince him otherwise.

The only Jedi Wolffe remotely likes or cares about is his own. General Plo Koon saved him, Boost's, and Sinker's lives, and for that he owes him his undying loyalty. The rest he disregards. He serves them as he should, like any good soldier who follows orders, but that doesn't mean he has to like them or worship them. It's the Jedi that caused him to lose his first battalion, even though he alone received the demerits for it, much to his general's disgruntled displeasure.

To stand at the precipice of the Jedi Temple with the intent to leave his beloved daughter in the care of these Force-wielding wizards that aren't his general makes his skin crawl. Even with his disdain for the Jedi, it's still better than the alternative of Cara entering the foster care system, or even worse, being left in the care of her grandparents. That thought alone makes Wolffe bristle. At least with this arrangement, he can come and go within the Jedi Temple without explanation.

"Do you want to put your armor on?" Comet asks from across Wolffe.

Wolffe moves his gaze from the window to look down at Cara, who's still asleep in his lap, and then up at Comet. "Whenever I put my armor on, she thinks I'm leaving."

"Understood," Comet nods. "I'll have Aug– Warthog lug it to your new quarters."

Wolffe chuckles.

"I'll grab a box," Sinker says as he exits the speeder.

"I'll grab the other box," Boost says as he also exits the speeder.

Comet, Cara, and Wolffe are left alone in the speeder and Wolffe isn't keen on moving.

"You really don't want to do this, do you?" Comet asks.

"Would you?" Wolffe retorts, his disdain bleeding through. "Would you leave your kid with strangers? With Jedi?"

"It's not that bad," Comet says.

Wolffe huffs and looks back out the window. "You'll never understand."

"Guess not," Comet sighs. "I'll probably die before I fall in love and have a kid like you did."

Wolffe snaps his gaze back to Comet and glares at him. "Don't get insubordinate with me, Trooper."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Commander," Comet says before leaving the speeder.

Wolffe tilts his head back against the top of the seat and groans. He is such an idiot. Even after everything Comet did for him following his wife's death, everything he did for Cara, Wolffe still has the audacity to bite at him like he's some random shiny that stepped out of line. Pathetic. At least he continues to live up to his namesake, whether he's proud of it or not, because when you corner a wolf, it will lash out. He needs to get his fears, anxieties, and his temper under control.

"Daddy?" Cara says sleepily as she stirs on his lap.

Wolffe tilts his head back down and smiles. "Hi, baby."

Cara whines. "I wanna sleep."

Wolffe picks her up so she's sitting on his legs instead of laying on them, much to her protest. "Not yet. We need to get settled in our new room first, then you can have a nap."

Cara whines and wriggles against Wolffe.

"I know," Wolffe soothes as he exits the speeder and sits her on his hip. "Daddy wants a nap too, but can you stay awake for me for a little longer?"

Cara groans and moves restlessly in Wolffe's grasp.

"Close enough," Wolffe sighs.

Wolffe carries Cara towards the edge of the stairway leading up to the Jedi Temple, where his general and men are waiting for him. He grips her tightly in his arms, afraid that at any moment someone is going to rip her out of his arms and he'll never see her again. It's not an entirely irrational fear. The Jedi take children away from their parents all of the time. What makes his daughter so different from those children? What if he leaves her here and never gets her back?

"Calm yourself, Commander," Plo says when he senses Wolffe's trepidation through the Force. "There are no enemies within these walls, only the enemies we bring in from within ourselves."

Wolffe heeds his general's words of wisdom and steadies himself. He stares up at the daunting, stone stairway, takes a deep breath, and releases it slowly. He's as ready as he will ever be, and he hasn't even gotten to the hard part yet. Nevertheless, he steps forward, and his men step forward with him in solidarity. A silent march up the Jedi Temple steps towards a new normal. A terrifying new normal, for both him and Cara, and this is only the beginning of it.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

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antianakin · 2 months

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@theneutralmime

You might have to be more specific than that. Most of what we see done with the Force is perfectly normal, like being able to block blaster bolts with a lightsaber and stuff, so I guess I'll try to hit on some of the bigger more controversial uses of the Force and see if these answer your questions. Keep in mind that the Force is generally a pretty SOFT magic system and while there are definitely some guidelines to it, there's a lot you can get away with via "rule of cool" here.

Somehow Palpatine returned: Arguably Palpatine living is actually perfectly within canon given that we have examples of Sith characters living through shit that should've killed them, most obviously Maul (something done by Lucas himself so we can't just blame it all on Disney bringing characters back). But within Disney canon there's also the Grand Inquisitor and Reva who both live through injuries that seem like they should've killed them by utilizing the dark side to sustain them. So Palpatine living is actually perfectly do-able within canon in terms of "how the Force works", regardless of how stupid it was NARRATIVELY and how annoying I find the trend in general.

Luke's Force projection: This doesn't seem like that weird to me, it's definitely NEW and not something we saw anybody else doing in prior films, but it's also not something anyone else would've truly benefited much from and given that it kills Luke almost immediately afterward, it's clearly a VERY last resort option and only really useful as a distraction anyway. It's not that far off of the whole Force Ghost idea to me and sort-of draws on the idea that the Jedi are empaths to some degree, so I'm not too fussed about this. It's fun and I appreciate all the clues about what's happening that are THERE if you look for them but not necessarily super obvious before the reveal.

Leia saving herself from the vacuum of space: I don't dislike this one either, actually. Leia's got a couple of seconds or so in which she can react to a warning from the Force somehow and while we don't see any other Jedi actively fighting in space without a suit or anything, we DO see Plo Koon fighting in space with nothing but his air mask which should still kill him and somehow doesn't, so it's not like Leia surviving this is completely out of the realm of possibility to me. Besides, it's the first super explicit use of the Force Leia got in the films and pissed off a lot of crybaby fanboys who were convinced Leia wasn't Force sensitive, so I'm willing to give it a lot of grace for that alone.

The Force dyad: I actually don't have an issue with the mechanics of the dyad and more have an issue with the way it's utilized in the narrative. Personally, I find it a little silly that some sort of extra special Force connection would exist between two people at THIS point in time and not like... when a literal child of prophecy was alive. If I was going to believe there was a special Force connection between ANYBODY, it would've been Anakin/Obi-Wan (narratively foiled anyway and involves a child of prophecy) or Luke/Leia (twin children of the child of prophecy separated at birth for their own safety). And of course, if it HAD to be in the Sequel trilogy for whatever reason, we all know it should've been Finnrey, for a MULTITUDE of reasons. The other issue I have with the dyad is that they change it from Snoke creating it specifically to mess with Kylo in TLJ to their connection being some sort of special prophecized thing by TROS, so it's not even clear in the narrative what precisely the damn thing even IS or why Rey and Kylo even HAVE IT because the stupid directors and studio execs couldn't agree on it I guess.

Force healing: I know some people have major issues with this one and I get why, but it honestly doesn't bother me that much. TROS explains it as being a byproduct of the dyad anyway, something ONLY these people can do because being connected the way they are allows them to access powers no one else could. It's one of the ways I think the dyad DOES work in the sense that if they're going to give these two characters this special connection then hey fuck it why not use it to let them have a special Force power a lot of fans want to see but that wouldn't really make sense in any other context? I'm obviously NOT a huge fan of "Force healing resurrection via True Love's Kiss" or whatever, but the general concept of Force healing coming from the dyad works fine for me. It's a little heavy handed and on the nose, but... it's fine.

Leia saving Kylo through... "Force whammy"?: This is the big one I hate, this is the one I cannot STAND. If Sith/Dark siders could just be Force whammied into not being evil anymore, WHY DID NOBODY DO THIS TO ANAKIN. Why isn't Obi-Wan trying this from Tatooine, why doesn't Ahsoka try this, why doesn't Yoda or Luke try this? Yes, it kills Leia to do it, but if it whammies Anakin away from being dark and turns him against the Emperor earlier, WHY NOT DO IT. And where would Leia have even LEARNED HOW TO DO THIS, why did she WAIT so long to do it if she knew how this whole time? But the biggest reason I hate this is because it fucks up the entire theme of Star Wars which is CHOICE. If the Sith and Darksiders can just be Force whammied into goodness again, it takes away the CHOICE they need to make to be good. It's SO SO VITALLY IMPORTANT that these characters CHOOSE TO BE GOOD AGAIN if that's the path they're going to go down. It's important that they chose to evil and it's important that they choose to be good again. A Force whammy isn't a fucking choice, it's Leia just... jumpstarting Kylo's brain or whatever. It's just wiping out the things causing him to be evil I guess so that it's just no longer a problem. It's cheating, it's STUPID. And if they'd gone with the idea that Kylo was genuinely being like mind-controlled by Snoke into doing the things he's doing and that none of this WAS his choice and so the Force whammy allows him to finally make his own choices again, that would be one thing, but both TFA and TLJ emphasize that this isn't the case, Kylo is MAKING THESE CHOICES ON HIS OWN and continues to make them no matter how many people offer him another chance to do better. It doesn't matter if it's his father or Rey or Luke, Kylo just KEEPS MAKING THE SAME CHOICES, even after Snoke is dead. A Force whammy should do NOTHING to Kylo because he's not being controlled and it takes away the entire point of Kylo's story being that he CHOSE TO BE EVIL and that he, unlike Anakin, cannot just be saved by love alone. This one stinks, this isn't how the Force works, and it's not how this narrative works.

The only other controversial thing I could think of was how quickly Rey learns to do things, but that's not so much a matter of "how the Force works" because everything she does is pretty basic Force skills like telepathy, telekinesis, and mind tricks.

#star wars #sequel trilogy #the force #sheev palpatine #luke skywalker #leia organa #rey skywalker #anti kylo ren #kylo ren critical #anti kylo #kylo critical #anti reylo #reylo critical #anti ben solo #ben solo critical

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swbumblebee · 1 year

Text

“Thank you for joining me Masters Jedi” The reporter, a petite Mon Calamari, greeted them with a well-practiced smile, desperately hoping it hid her nerves as the selection of available (or, she had a sneaking suspicion, those who were not quite quick enough with a plausible excuse) council members filed in. They took seats in the comfortable chairs arranged in a semicircle in front of her.

“Thank you for inviting us” Obi-Wan Kenobi responded with a charming smile, characteristically polite and the voice of the group as they sat down. Mace Windu and Plo Koon both nodded in acknowledgement, Shaak Ti smiled serenely and Kit Fisto flashed her his usual wide grin. It was like looking at holo-posters.

“Please make yourselves comfortable” She cleared her throat and switched on her holo-mic “and before we start, my listeners have asked me to pass on their heartfelt thanks for all your efforts during the war, and for making the Galaxy safe once again.”

At this there was some shuffling, her Jedi guests looking between each other, a surprising air of awkwardness settled over the group and she instantly kicked herself.

“We simply followed the will of the Force, and we were fortunate enough to have our Trooper brothers with us. We could not have prevailed without them” Master Plo Koon replied with a slight dip of his head in thanks, even as he shrugged off the compliment.

The reporter smiled back at him.

“Of course, I’m very excited to meet them later.” She said, noting the rather pleased looks on the Jedi’s faces as she did so and hoping she had clawed back some goodwill. “For now, though, I’m very interested in learning more about our Jedi heroes and I have some fantastic questions from our listeners.” She settled back in her chair and looked at her notes, willing her hands to stop shaking. This was a career making opportunity.

“Could I first ask, to set us up nicely, for you all to state your name, species and age for the holo-mic please. It helps listeners distinguish voices and really build a picture of you” she explained, getting down to business.

“Sure! I’m Kit Fisto, Nautolian, and I’m fifty-five in standard years.” The first Jedi, a shockingly youthful (and very handsome) male smiled at her reaction as the reporter’s face widened in surprise.

“My species age well” he said with a wink, and the reporter was amused to note his confidence got him a whack on the leg from the next Jedi, Shaak Ti.

“Greetings, I am Shaak Ti, Togrutan and I am fifty-eight in Galactic Standard Years” she said with a lovely, measured voice that would make an excellent narrator, the reporter thought.

“Thank you” She said, before moving down the line.

“I am Plo Koon, Kel Dor, and I am three hundred and eighty-five GSY old” he said rather proudly, the reporter thought. She nodded in appreciation and slight awe. She understood some of the older races had different life spans and ages, but she’d never met one before.

“I am Mace Windu, Korun from Haruun Kal, and I am sixty-one GSY.” The reporter struggled to meet the serious brown eyes of the head of the order, trying very hard not to be intimidated she nodded in thanks and moved on to her last guest. Her personal favourite.

“Hello there, I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, a near-human from Stewjon and I’m thirty-eight.” He said with another polite smile.

“Excellent, now then-“

“Pardon?”

The reporter was incredibly surprised to be interrupted by the serene master herself, Shaak Ti, who had something akin to shock on her face.

“ah, sorry? What?” Master Kenobi asked, a little unsure, looking between his colleague and the reporter, who shrugged a little.

Master Ti looked at him down the line.

“You’re how old?!” she asked again.

Master Kenobi was starting to look downright uneasy.

“I’m…thirty-eight.”

Master Ti continued to stare at him.

“In Galactic Standard Years?” she clarified incredulously

“Yes-“

A snort came from Master Fisto at the other end of the line.

“Ahh Shaak. All this time, didn’t realise he was a baby did you?” he said knowingly.

“I am not a baby!” Master Kenobi spluttered.

“I mean I knew he was young but…”

“Now hang on, I’m not that young-“

“I had a similar moment of realisation about halfway through the war” Plo pacified her with an understanding pat. “We basically followed a teenager into battle” he said sagely.

“Oh now you’re just being –“

“Did you know about this?!” Shaak asked the head of the order accusingly, ignoring her young colleague’s protests.

Master Windu’s frown held a hint of amusement.

“Yes…I can do mathematics, and read personnel files…” he answered slowly, dry as the dessert. Master Ti glared at him.

“Sorry Obi-Wan” The surprised Togruten turned at last to mollify her colleague. “I’m just…surprised. That makes you the youngest member in…a while. I can’t believe I never knew!” She said in amazement.

“He’s the youngest ever member if I am correct” Master Windu stated, with a rather smug smile, and the reporter was amused to note Master Plo Koon nodding along with a distinct air of pride.

For his part, the reporter could swear Young Master Kenobi’s ears were starting to turn an amusing shade of pink, and for some reason he scowled slightly.

“Depa is only five years older than me!” he grumbled into his folded arms.

“Yeah but she’s Depa” Master Fisto chimed in, in a knowing tone.

“mmm”

“True”

“Yes”

“Right”

“Just what is that supposed to mean-“

The reporter blinked at the scene in before her, rapidly descending into a friendly argument and the bickering of age-old friends. Or, young friends, as the case may be.

She looked at her stack of questions again, and grinned, her previous nerves about interviewing the most powerful beings in the galaxy all but disappearing as Master Fisto winked at her again and Master Plo leaned over to ruffle Master Kenobi’s hair, dodging around a protective Master Windu.

She put the questions on the floor under her chair and grinned.

#I have absolutely no regard for cannon ages and have made most of these up #because I wanted Baby Council Member Obi-Wan #And I'll do what I have to do to get it #Snippet of nothing #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Master Kenobi #jedi council #One big happy jedi family #fluff #utterly pointless #obi wan fanfic

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jinngonjin · 13 days

Text

IM BACK ‼️‼️ i was lowkey struggling with midterms but now i’m back to life, here’s a cute chapter I just finished writing

HUNTER X JYN(OC)

also some suggestive wolffe and crosshair

warnings: smoking, drinking, suggestive language, friends with benefits.

Part 4:

Jyn busied herself by fixing her makeup, she had always taken her time on such things, particularly her eyes. She fashioned an obnoxious amount of glitter on her eyelids, but somehow she made them look captivating and elegant. Next, she turned her attention to her hair, her nimble fingers working through the strands with practiced ease. She carefully trimmed her bangs, ensuring they framed her face just so, before releasing the longer locks into gentle curls. She then wove a few delicate braids, adorning each one with sparkling charms that caught the light with every movement. Jyn had always been known as the overdressed general; unlike her counterparts, she always found the time to look presentable. But Jyn’s look was always sophisticated, as were most of the gestures she picked up during her sneaky trips to the Coruscant underworld. It had been a while since she had to get ready for dinner, especially since the war was constantly evolving and worsening. Jyn cherished Plo Koon’s decision to take the night to let loose and get to know one another, a rare moment of respite from the relentless grind of their duties.

Plo had clearly put effort into setting up a stunning dinner table, and Jyn couldn't help but be impressed. The table was adorned with delicate tableware, and the soft glow of candles cast an inviting warmth over the room.

Jyn was the last to enter the room, though she wasn't exactly late. Plo greeted her with a warm greeting and gestured for her to join the others at the table. As she walked past, she felt Hunter's gaze linger on her, and though she didn't look directly at him, she could sense his disapproval of her choice of dress. Plo took his seat next to Wolffe, who was positioned to Jyn's left. Hunter then settled into the seat beside her, and across from her, Crosshair chose his spot. The arrangement brought an uncomfortable proximity between Jyn and Hunter, adding to the tension that already hung between them.

As everyone settled in, Plo explained the menu he had prepared. "I've opted for human cuisine tonight," he said with a chuckle, "as I've noticed Kel Dor food doesn't quite agree with human stomachs." Wolffe let out a grunt in agreement, prompting a laugh from Plo. "Unfortunately, the Wolf Pack were the first to learn this lesson," he added.

Curious, Jyn turned to Plo. "Do you always cook for your squad?" she asked, intrigued by the idea of a Jedi Master taking on such a domestic role.

Plo Koon nodded in response to Jyn's question. "I try to," he admitted. "It's one of the ways I like to show my appreciation for their hard work and dedication."

Wolffe leaned back in his chair, a contemplative expression crossing his scarred face. "Master Plo Koon's one of the best Jedi I've served under. He's not just about orders and regulations; he's got heart. He genuinely cares about his troops, not just as soldiers, but as people."

Jyn nods in agreement.

The rest of their squad chimes in, each leaving their highest compliments towards their general.

Plo Koon nodded modestly at their praise, a hint of gratitude in his demeanor. "Thank you,all of you, Your words mean a lot to me."

Then, as if prompted by Plo's response, Wolffe turned to the members of the Bad Batch. "So, you're going to let us boast about our general alone?" he said, his tone playful. "Why don't you tell us how... Lady Jyn is like?" He caught himself, remembering the rank-free atmosphere they were meant to maintain for the evening. As Wolffe finished speaking, he shot a glance at Hunter, whose reaction was unmistakable—he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his usual composed demeanor faltering. Plo Koon seemed to take notice of this subtle exchange, his gaze briefly flickering to Jyn before returning to the table.

Before Hunter could gather his thoughts to respond, Crosshair interjected, his tone casual yet assertive. "Well, Lady Jyn's got a unique way of keeping us all in line, that's for sure. She's got a knack for getting into trouble and getting us out of it just as easily."

"Indeed, her tactical prowess is commendable.” added Tech.

Jyn couldn’t help but smile at their esteemed compliments.

Before they could begin dining Plo Koon rises from his seat,

“If you will excuse me, I have to get my newly fashioned mask… this one is not exactly practical for eating, I will be back soon”

With that, he left the room.

Wolffe immediately took the chance to lean slightly closer to Jyn, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, General, I've always admired a woman who can hold her own in a room full of men."

Jyn's eyebrow quirked in amusement at Wolffe's subtle flirtation, but before she could respond, Hunter cleared his throat loudly, interjecting with a remark about the food.

Meanwhile, across the table, Tech took the opportunity to engage Crosshair in conversation about his smoking habit. "Crosshair, have you ever considered the long term effects that smoking has on your health?"

Crosshair smirked, taking a drag from his cigarette before responding in his usual manner. "Well, Tech, I figure if the war doesn't kill me, a few cigarettes won't either."

Jyn couldn't help but chuckle at Crosshair's response, but before she could add her own comment, Crosshair turned the conversation in an unexpected direction. "Besides, it's not like I'm the only one with a bad habit. Isn't that right, General?" Crosshair took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes flickering mischievously as he leaned in closer to Jyn. "You know, General," he said, voice laced with subtle amusement, "I've always wondered what our esteemed Sergeant gets up to when he's not keeping us in line."

Jyn arched an eyebrow, a playful smile dancing on her lips as she met Crosshair's gaze. "Oh, I'm sure Hunter's off doing something terribly exciting," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Hunter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, shooting Crosshair a warning look. "I assure you, my activities are strictly professional," he interjected, his voice edged with a hint of defensiveness.

Crosshair's smirk widened as he caught Hunter's discomfort, his eyes glinting with even more mischief. "Of course, Sergeant," he said, his tone deceptively innocent. "We all know how dedicated you are to your… duties."

Jyn couldn't resist teasing Hunter further, leaning in. "But then again, Crosshair does have a point," she added, her voice low and teasing. "I've always wondered what you get up to in your free time, Sergeant."

Hunter's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, he decided to turn the tables. With a slight smirk, he glanced at Crosshair. "Speaking of indulgences, Crosshair, have you ever considered what it would be like to give up those … cigarettes of yours?" His tone was casual, but there was a subtle edge to his words, the way he said cigarettes, while constantly holding eye contact with Jyn, it was obvious cigarettes were not exactly what he was referring to.

Crosshair's smirk faltered for a moment before he recovered, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Why would I do that, Sergeant?" he replied, his tone guarded.

"Because," Hunter continued, his gaze locking with Jyn's for a brief moment, "some indulgences can have consequences."

As the tension in the air thickened, Crosshair took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes flickering with amusement. "Ah, I see what you're getting at, Sergeant," he said, his tone low and conspiratorial. "But some indulgences are worth the risk, wouldn't you — especially you, agree? "

Jyn's eyes widened in surprise at Crosshair's blatant response, and she shot him a sharp kick under the table. It caught Crosshair off guard, causing him to wince slightly before shooting Jyn a bemused glance.

Across the table, Tech and Wrecker exchanged amused looks, while Wolffe chuckled quietly to himself. Even Plo Koon, upon his return, seemed to sense the tension but chose not to comment, instead taking his seat once more and gesturing for everyone to begin the meal.

Time had passed and they all had indulged in Plo Koon’s dishes. He had prepared some Nubian dishes, Naboolian delicacies, and for dessert, he had prepared something very similar to Corscant street food. Jyn took notice of this, as they only ever served it in the underworld. It reminded her of a time where she was pretending to be an artist, under an alias, away from the Jedi. It was a peaceful time for Jyn, she could not help but imagine how things could have been without the war. She looked at each of the men in their civilian attire. Hunter sported a black button-up shirt, Crosshair had chosen a tight-fitting grey shirt, and Wolffe opted for a simple tunic, his cybernetic eye gleaming in the soft glow of the dining area. Tech, sitting beside Crosshair, had opted for a neat collared shirt, while Echo, seated next to him, wore a simple yet elegant jacket. Wrecker, towering over the table, sported his loose-fitting shirt that seemed almost comically oversized on his massive frame. Jyn couldn't help but smile at the sight of them all, a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos of war. She considered them her family, and cherished every moment they had, but it was hard for Jyn to express things and it only made her feel worse.

Before she continued floating with her trail of thoughts, she was snapped out of it when Plo koon chooses to blast obnoxious music. Taken by surprise, Jyn begins to laugh “Master Plo? You listen to this?!!”

"Even Jedi Masters need to let loose sometimes, General, I thought you should know" he replied with what Jyn sensed to be a smile. "Now, now, who's ready to dance?"

Before Jyn could protest, Wolffe had already reached for her hand, and with a playful grin, he pulled her onto the dance floor, their laughter blending with the rhythm of the music as they spun and twirled.

Meanwhile, Hunter watched from a distance, a protective instinct stirring within him as he observed Jyn happily dancing with Wolffe. Unable to suppress the urge any longer, he approached them, his expression masked by a confident smile. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked, extending his hand to Jyn. “Lady Jyn, care for a dance?” Jyn raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she accepted his offer. "Well, Sergeant, I didn't know you had it in you," she remarked, her tone tinged with playful amusement as they began to dance. As they moved to the music, Jyn couldn't resist questioning Hunter's sudden flirtatious actions. "I must say, Sergeant, you seem unusually charming tonight," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

As they danced, Hunter couldn't help but feel the electricity crackling between them, amplified by the pulsing rhythm of the music and the intoxicating scent of Jyn's perfume. He drew her closer, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they swayed to the beat.

His gaze then locked with hers, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "Perhaps it's just the effect you have on me… General," he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against her ear. Jyn's heart skipped a beat at his words, a flush creeping up her neck as she met his intense, piercing gaze. She could feel the tension building between them, a magnetic pull that seemed to draw them closer with each passing moment. "Well, Sergeant," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, "I must say, I rather enjoy this side of you." Her fingers trailed lightly along the edge of his jaw, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins.

Their dance grew more heated, as though they forgot every one was in the room, each movement fueling the fire burning between them. Hunter's hands roamed boldly over Jyn's curves, igniting a fierce desire that threatened to consume them both.

Across the room, Tech and Crosshair observed the scene with amused expressions, exchanging knowing glances as they sipped their drinks.

"Looks like Sergeant's finally making his move," Tech remarked, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.

Crosshair chuckled, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Took him long enough," he replied, his eyes lingering on Jyn and Hunter as they danced. "But I suppose better late than never."

Tech raised an eyebrow, studying Crosshair with interest. "You seem awfully calm about all this," he commented, noting the lack of tension in Crosshair's posture.

“Oh, me and Jyn?” He shook his head “Oh it isn’t like that” He chuckled “if anything ive been pushing her to pursue him, well at least in my way of doing so”

Tech looks at him puzzled “But… but I could swear the to of you— no it must be! I heard it!”

Crosshair chuckled at Tech's confusion, shaking his head in amusement. "You and your wild theories, Tech. It's not all black and white, you know," he remarked, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"But... how can you have a physical relationship without any emotional attachment?" Tech persisted, clearly perplexed by the concept.

Crosshair shrugged nonchalantly. "Different strokes for different folks, Tech," he replied cryptically. "Some people can separate the two, keep things casual. Not everything has to be all lovey-dovey."

Tech frowned, still struggling to grasp the concept. "I suppose I just don't understand," he admitted, feeling somewhat defeated.

Crosshair flashed him a teasing grin. "And that's why you're the brains of the operation, Tech," he quipped, nudging him playfully. "Leave the love stuff to the rest of us."

Their conversation dissolved into their casual bickering, the two of them ribbing each other as they enjoyed the lively atmosphere of the evening, still observing Jyn and Hunter, as did Plo and Wolffe.

Plo pats Wolffe on the shoulder, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Well, well, Commander, it seems you didn't manage to catch your prey tonight," he teased, his tone light-hearted as he continued the jest.

Wolffe chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. "Guess I'll have to try my luck next time, General," he replied, joining in on the banter.

The two of them shared a knowing look before Plo leaned back in his chair, still amused. "Ah, the thrill of the chase," he mused, his gaze drifting across the room where Jyn and Hunter were engaged in their dance. "Perhaps you'll have better luck with our next adventure."

@knightprincess @skellymom

#crosshair x oc #hunter the bad batch #hunter x oc #star wars #star wars prequels #tbb oc #the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch x reader headcanons

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dukeoftheblackstar · 6 months

Note

Plo Koon acting like a cat and breaking mugs while Wolffe's patience tried is hilarious! How did the whole thing end?

S AU C E ♥

I think it's the safest he can afford of causing mischief. It's not very 384-year old Jedi Master thing to do. But if it meant helping getting the his boys distracted for the Clone Appreciation party the Jedis are planning then he will do more.

So ended up with Wolffe's patience still intact and errantly procuring the mugs from the Corries for Plo to break, Plo would need to find more ways to entertain Wolffe.

Let us not forget Plo is also a ho for knowledge and his curiosity knows no bounds. Absolute no - fucking - bounds.

So how does it end?

If Plo casually pushed the 104th mugs off the counter to break, Plo would do the same but excruciatingly slow to the point of doing in-between things to really rile up Wolffe.

Imagine a mug with Fox's face in it, barely a breath away from the edge. Plo would precisely leave at so and check his datapad or comm someone with the most unimportant bullshit ever. Probably comm Kit about something he made up and Kit, bless my PloKit Heart, would get the hint and they'd chatter.

This will drive Wolffe up the wall because (1) it's Fox's face on the mug, (2) tease, and (3) it's Fox's fucking face on the mug about to plummet and break.

Let it be known that Wolffe is not above going over General Plo Koon's head but would never do so even tho the mug mysteriously fell to the ground and broke.

Plo then moves on to using his claws to scratch at the the walls and any surfaces making Wolffe twitch a little.

BONUS:

Itty, bitty force ghost Qui-Gon Jin is in tears, proud of his shot boii bff ♥

#♝#dukeoftheblackstar answers #♝-answers #104th foolishness #ploffe #plo koon #fg: qui-gon #commander wolffe #wolffee #fg: jinn #kekeke #evil!Plo #muhahaahaha

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anxiouspineapple99 · 11 months

Text

Jango’s Sons

Summary: This is what I think of when I hear the song ‘I See Fire’ and I decided to write about it.

Pairing: None

Word Count: 875

Warnings: angst, whump, death, war, alcohol use

Song: I See Fire - Ed Sheeran

A/N: Kind of hurt my own feelings with this one. I apologize. Kind of. Once again not proofread. And yes I am still procrastinating on my other works. My creativity has ADHD too, apparently. Reblogs are super appreciated!

—————

Oh, misty eye of the mountain below; Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls

And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke; Keep watching over Durin's [Jango’s]sons

The night before deployment the barracks are buzzing with activity. Shinies group together jittery with anticipation, nerves, some even excitement. The seasoned vets are more stoic. They’re thoughtful, remembering the brothers that didn’t get to come home last time. Hoping more make it back this time. The officers are running diagnostics, completing inspections, revisiting and revising battle plans. It isn’t long before the legions, battalions, squads, and regiments have grouped together and rank, experience, and title don’t matter. Tonight, they are only brothers, Jango’s sons.

And if we should die tonight; Then we should all die together

Raise a glass of wine for the last time

Someone always sneaks in a few bottles of alcohol. It’s part of the unspoken tradition in which brothers of all ranks commune together before forging forth into battle. Sometimes it’s a few shinies who sneak in some cheap hooch, sometimes the vets, and sometimes the officers supply the nicer booze. Some Jedi Generals participate as well. Plo Koon never partakes but always provides. He meditates with the Wolf Pack as his men bond over Corellian wine or Port in the Storm. He makes sure his boys have the best because he loves them each as sons and has immense respect for their pre-battle traditions. Anakin joins the 501st every time. He brings a bottle of the finest liquor Padme has on hand. The 501st is always raucous filled with playful banter, teasing, and pranks. When Aayala Secura brings the libations, it’s always Bly’s favorite. And Bly always brings Aayala’s favorite when it’s his turn. No one complains though. They understand. Master Yoda and Master Windu send bottles to the barracks, but do not leave their personal quarters. There is always an encouraging or uplifting sentiment for their men written on some flimsi attached to the gift. Obi-Wan and Cody share a brandy toast while the 212th play a few rounds of sabbac.

Oh, should my people fall; Then surely I'll do the same

Confined in mountain halls; We got too close to the flame

Eventually the levity dies down. Captains, commanders, vets, and even generals address their men. They acknowledge the danger they are walking into. They remind them that they are brothers always. Remember and honor those who fall. Save those you can. Cover each other’s backs. Generals promise to protect as best they can, commanders and captains promise to lead with integrity. Vets give reassurance to shinies. They raise a final glass to their brothers past, their brothers present, and to the Republic of the future. Live to fight another day, boys.

And if the night is burning I will cover my eyes For if the dark returns

Then my brothers will die

The transport ships approach and the men are silent. Resolute jaws clenched, remembering the night before. Follow orders. Orders keep you alive. Making a silent pledge to have their brothers’ backs. To cover each other no matter what. They stand together or they fall together. That is clone brotherhood. The same hearts, the same blood.

And as the sky is falling down; It crashed into this lonely town

Boots hit the ground and they’re already engulfed in the cacophonous roar of blaster fire, the clanking of droids marching, the grinding of the joints of the AT-RT, the rotary cannons, rocket launchers, and orders being yelled by generals and commanders. Comm chatter drifts among helmets. HUD sensors alert in a frenzy. Destruction is everywhere already.

And with that shadow upon the ground I hear my people screaming out

One by one, shiny, vet, captains, commanders, they see their brothers falling around them. They hear the screams of the injured. Push forward. Cover your brothers’ backs. They’ll cover yours. Come back for the injured when you can.

Now I see fire Inside the mountains; I see fire Burning the trees

They close in on the those karkin clankers. Fire. Explosions. It would be deafening if their helmets couldn’t be soundproofed. Push on. Cover your brothers, they’ll cover you. Follow orders, stay alive.

I see fire Hollowing souls; I see fire— Blood in the breeze

It’s still now. The Seps pushed out. Another victory, another tally for the armor. Survivors now must collect themselves. Collect their brothers. Shinies, no longer shiny, stare vacantly as brothers offer a comforting hand on the shoulder or back. Medics search for survivors by the lifesigns transmissions coming from their brothers’ armor. Many are found and are placed on gurneys. Some lifesign transmissions stop short of being found, sometimes mere meters away from their rescuers. The dead are quietly mourned by brothers left standing. No one wins in war, least of all clones. Clankers may not be able to think or improvise, but they also don’t bleed.

Oh you know I saw a city burning out (fire)

And I see fire

Feel the heat upon my skin, yeah (fire)

And I see fire (fire)

Transports bring the survivors back to the attack cruisers awaiting in the planet’s orbit. Live to fight another day, that’s what they keep saying. But tonight, Jango’s sons see fire in their dreams.

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genericficerblog · 8 months

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A surgical redemption: An everyone lives AU.

This is my 2nd contribution to @tbb-appreciation-week for 2023. This one is Tech, Everyone Lives, a Reunion, and "Please, Talk to Me". @intrepidmare here you go.

Tech knew what he had done on Eriadu would result in his death. He had come to accept that. That was Plan 99, after all, sacrifice. A cable knocked off his goggles which also knocked him out. At least when he hits the ground, he won't feel it. So when Tech awoke on a soft bed with every part of his body aching and a bacta patch on the side of his nose, he was astonished. What was going on? Is this where everyone goes after they die? Tech couldn't tell what time it was or even what planet he was on, so he didn't know what season it was. It was comfortable, though. And he could roughly tell he was in a bed. He looked over to a bedside table and saw some goggles, which he put on. The room blurred but was now visible, and he recognised a medical bay. Lights from the ceiling lit the room up, and Tech could hear the distant hum of an engine. He must be on a ship. He can smell and taste the sterile room, ship metal and the materials making up the bed he was lying in. The bed is reasonably soft and supportive. "Where am I?" Tech asked. He looked around and saw Plo Koon sitting next to him. "Is this where everyone goes when they die?" Tech asked. To his shock, Plo Koon shook his head. "No. You're alive. So am I. You've been unconscious for the past week," Plo Koon replied, looking at Tech concerned, "However, you would be dead if I wasn't there to separate you from the gondola you were attached to and then you didn't slam into the ground thanks to me," Plo Koon replied. "Thanks," Tech eventually replied after his brain stopped jamming. "No problem. But I have a question," Plo Koon replied. "What is it?" Tech asked. "Do you have any regrets?" Plo Koon asked. Thinking momentarily, Tech sighed and nodded, though he didn't tell Plo Koon why. His last conversation with Phee went badly. He had been distracted by ensuring everything was ready for their mission to Eriadu. In the process, he upset Phee. "Get some rest, Tech. Irala will remove the bacta patch in a couple of days," Plo Koon got up and started heading out, leaving Tech to his thoughts.

Over the next couple of days, his room would remain comfortable. Twice a day, Irala would come in to change the bed sheets. Tech would busy himself by surfing his holopad. However, he got bored sometimes. And when he got bored, he looked out of his door to see who else was there. He saw several familiar faces, including Fives, Kix, and Shaak Ti. The most intriguing to him, though, was that Irala turned out to be an age-accelerated version of Omega, which surprised him. He wanted to know more about her, but this age accelerated Omega was too busy to stay to chat. Other times, Tech's thoughts would wander to Phee. He needed to talk to her. But he would have to wait until the other squad members came to rescue him. Tech didn't mind waiting. He could scan the galactic internet forever and be OK. However, his thoughts kept drifting to Phee. What could he do to make things up to her?

Two days after he woke up, the age-accelerated Omega entered and removed the bacta patch on his nose. When he looked in a mirror, he saw no mark from the wound on his face. "Thanks for your help, Irala," Tech replied. Irala nodded, but at that moment, the alarms went off. "What's going on?" Tech asked, surprised at the sudden alarm. "All hands on deck, we need help moving a bacta tank," came a voice through the PA system. "We need half a dozen people to move a bacta pod. Unfortunately, with your goggles not working too well, I'm afraid you can't help," Irana replied as she left Tech's room. Soon, a dozen people moved a bacta pod past Tech's room. And if Tech was astonished he was alive, it was nothing compared to his astonishment at who was in the bacta pod. Phee Genoa being in a bacta pod was not how Tech wanted to reunite with her. Tech then did something out of character for him. He ignored the fact he couldn't see well and tried to leave his room to follow. "What is Phee Genoa doing here?" Tech asked once he exited his room. "Tech, please go back to your room. I know you want to help, but with your goggles not working properly, we can't take the risk," Kix called. "But I need to talk to her. I need to make things up with her," Tech replied. "Phee is currently not in a condition to interact with anyone," Kix retorted. "As a medic of Clone Force 99, alongside Echo, I can help," Tech said. "Not unless you've fixed your goggles. Now, back down, Tech. I've given you your path to help. But if you can barely see, you are more of a danger than a help," Kix glared. After a few moments, Tech sighed and then returned to his quarters. Irala saw this and asked, "Kix, can I go talk to Tech?" "Go ahead. Find out what about Phee has made him act like that," Kix replied. "Alright," Irala replied as she entered Tech's room, and Kix departed for the treatment room.

Tech was brooding on his bed when Irala entered. "What's up?" Irala asked. "I need to talk to Phee. I think I offended her or something with our last interaction. I want to make things right with her," Tech replied. Irala understood this feeling. There was a lot Irala wanted to say to her supervisor Kaminoan before the Empire rose that she never got the chance to tell. "Well, Kix did say that if you sorted out the goggles, you might be able to help him out. And I know where you can work on them," Irala replied. "Get me there. I need to ensure Phee is OK, and I can talk to her," Tech said. "Follow me then," Irala nodded and left the room. Momentarily pausing, Tech followed. When Tech and Irala enter the room, Tech sees the room is a mix of an optometrist and a glass forge. It was hotter in this room than the rest of the ship. Seasons aren't a thing in space. A lamp and the forge provide light to the room. Tech can hear the forge humming and can smell and taste the glass and plastic from the glasses frame. The ground is solid on his boots. "Now, Tech, can you please take a seat? We'll sort out upgrading your goggles," Irala said, pointing to a seat that Tech then sat on. "My goggles got knocked off my head on Eriadu. These are improvised goggles," Tech reminded Irala. "Right, that's why you had the patch," Irala replied as she placed the optometry device on Tech's head. Tech only realised the purpose of the optometry device when Irala inserted a set of lenses, and Tech saw his vision clear significantly. Tech was able to read the fourth line. "Good start. Now, one or two?" Irala asked. 'Two," Tech replied. The process continued a dozen times until they found ideal optical lenses. "Your eyesight is terrible," Irala admitted as she noted the specs. "You don't need to remind me of that," Tech replied as Irala removed the optometry device from his head. "Sorry. It's just I heard your eyesight was poor. I didn't think it was that poor," Irala turned back to Tech, "Now I'll get the forge going, and you should have your upgraded goggles ready in about an hour," "Thank you," Tech replied before he grabbed his Data Pad from the nearby table and started looking through it, holding it against his face. "Now that is near-sighted," Irala thought as she watched this.

An hour later, the lenses for Tech's goggles were ready, by which time the room had noticeably cooled. Irala struggled momentarily with the lenses for Tech's goggles before finally getting them in. Or so she thought, as when Tech put them on, Irala realised she'd put them in backwards. No problem. Irala switched them quickly, and Tech put the goggles on just as Kix entered. "We've been able to stabilise Phee for now. She'll probably briefly awaken soon, so if you need to talk to her, Tech, do it soon," Kix said to Tech before turning to Irala. "Have you got his goggles sorted?" Kix asked. "Yes," Irala replied. "Good. Tech, follow me," Kix said, and he exited. After a moment, Tech followed. When Tech entered the treatment room, the room assaulted his senses. Tech saw the lights, the bacta, and the chemicals. Everything in the room necessitated a moment for Tech to adjust. The roof and walls were off-white, while the room's floor was dull silver. There was medical equipment everywhere, including several bacta tanks and pods. Half a dozen beds occupy one side of the room, with five used by Clones or Phee Genoa. Tech immediately went to Phee's bed and sat with her. From what Tech could see, Phee was a mess. Phee only wore a medical robe and had bandages over most of her head. IVs stick out of several places in her left arm, her right arm fully bandaged, with more dressings likely covering a considerable portion of her body. Tech deduces Phee suffered severe burns. Phee's eyes flutter open, and she croaked, "Brown Eyes, you're alive," "Surprised?" Tech asked. "Kinda," Phee admitted, "From what the Wrecker said, you fell several hundred meters at least," "You can thank Plo Koon for saving me," Tech replied. "I'll thank him when I get a chance. I'm just glad you're alive," Phee smiled, which Tech slightly returned before he thought of something. "How did you wind up here? What happened?" Tech asked. Phee was hesitant. The events were still raw in her mind, and it hurt to recall everything. Tech gently took her good hand in his, then said, "Please, talk to me," Phee explained how Cid had, unknown to the squad, defected to the Empire and sold them out after they returned to Ord Mantell to save Omega's life. Phee continued with how Dr Hemlock had captured Omega, and then the Empire had returned to occupy Ord Mantell. Phee concluded with how she had learned about his death, how she had gone to Ord Mantell to confront Cid, and finally, how she wound up here when someone firebombed the Parlour. Tech felt a surge of anger as Phee explained everything. "And that is how I wound up here, staring at your handsome face," Phee teased, causing Tech to blush slightly. "T-thank you," Tech stammered, pushing down his newfound anger. Kix then appeared with them, "We've got to continue treatment, Tech. You're keeping us too long," "Oh, sorry," Tech stated as he stepped aside to allow Irala and Kix to wheel Phee into the operating theatre. Tech went to follow and got a look into the operating theatre. The floor, walls and ceiling were the same shades as the recovery ward. Medical equipment and Bacta Tanks dominated the back wall. A bed was in the middle of the theatre, lit by lights overhead. Medical equipment and life sign monitors dominated two entire walls. "What can I do to help?" Tech asked as Kix put Phee under anaesthesia. "What you can do is go and get the medication I'll need to treat Septic Shock," Kix growled. Tech recoiled in horror. Septic Shock. How had he not seen that Phee was slipping into it? "Alright," Tech said after his brain stopped jamming, and he finally registered what Kix told him. "I'll get the medication you need," Tech stated, adjusting his goggles as he spoke before heading back towards the recovery room, his stomach and intestines knotting painfully with guilt and confusion as he did so.

Once Tech reaches the cupboard, he tries to grab the medication but quickly realises he's having a panic attack. His breathing is short and sharp, and his chest is constricting. Realising this, he puts a hand on the cupboard and takes several deep breaths to calm down. As he does, he remembers Pabu and why he's here. He reassures himself that Phee will be OK if he gets the medication. After a few moments, Tech's heart rate calms down, and his chest, stomach and intestines loosen. Finally, he can focus again. He briefly searches through the cupboard and finds the medicine required. Tech returned to the operating theatre and found Irala and Kix arguing. "We need to treat the sepsis before we can put her in the bacta tank," Kix stated. "We do that, and Phee loses her arm at best. Her burns are bad enough that she needs to be in a bacta tank to treat it, or the Sepsis won't go away," Irala replied. Tech was confused by this argument. He gave Kix the medication, then remembered something Omega had mentioned during one of the times he'd treated her injuries.

Flashback: Omega and Tech were in the Havoc Marauder. The back room was warm and lit by a light in the ceiling. The scents of bacta and blood mixed as Tech strapped Omega's slashed forearm. The bacta bandage was smooth but slippery on his glove. Tech can hear his teammates discussing things in the other room and shallow breathing from Omega. Tech could sense Omega was in the early stages of shock. Sighing, he turned to her. "This bandage is the best we can do at the moment. You need a Bacta Tank to heal properly," Tech said. "You've done your best, Tech. And if you guys are OK with it, please stay with me while I'm in the tank, alright?" Omega asked. "Alright. But how are we going to check the progression of your healing?" Tech replied. "Well, Nala Se would put monitors on me while she tested on me or while I was in a Bacta Tank recovering," Omega replied. Once again, Tech felt that stab of anger course through him again at the Demagolka's name. "Eyeing your vital signs?" Tech asked. "Yes," Omega replied. "Alright. The nurses will want to keep an eye on your vital signs. Also, we won't help you change for obvious reasons," Tech said. "Privacy, I know. Don't worry, I'll handle that myself with the doctors," Omega replied.

End Flashback: "Can I interrupt for a moment?" Tech asked. It was enough for Irala and Kix to stop arguing and look at him. "Why not both? You can monitor Phee's vital signs while she's in the Bacta Tank," Tech suggested. They looked to Tech in astonishment. "How do you know that?" Irala asked. "Nala Se did that to Omega, your non-age accelerated counterpart," Tech replied, looking at Irala, who nodded. "Irala, get other workers. Tech, help me transfer Phee to this board, and then we'll bind her so she doesn't slide off. Alright?" Kix demanded. "Alright," Tech replied, and as Irala departed to find others, Tech assisted Kix in moving Phee to a special yellow board and binding her to it. Soon, Irala returns with three other doctors, and the sextet carefully transfers Phee to a Bacta Tank. Carefully, Tech, Kix and Irala lower Phee into the tank. The other three doctors carefully bind the board to the back of the tank to secure Phee's position. Afterwards, Tech and Kix attach IVs and monitors to Phee to ensure proper treatment. "Well done, Tech. Good work," Kix said, clapping Tech on the shoulder. "I'm just glad she's going to be OK," Tech replied. "You can stay around here or return to your room. I'll tell you when the treatment is complete," Irala said. "I think I'll stay in the recovery room," Tech replied, "You probably need this room anyway," "Well, we never know when we'll need it, so that's for the best," Kix replied. Tech returns to the recovery room while Irala and Kix watch Phee.

Twelve hours later, Kix and Irala remove Phee from the Bacta Tank and move her into a bed, the bacta having treated the Sepsis and burns. It was another eight hours, however, before Phee awoke. Tech, who had been scrolling on his datapad while sitting next to Phee. Immediately, he put his datapad away and turned to face her. "How are you feeling?" Tech asked. "Sore, but OK otherwise," Phee replied, her voice raspy from disuse. "Listen, Phee. I'm sorry I offended you in our last conversation before we left for Eriadu. I was distracted, ensuring everything was ready for the mission. Can you forgive me?" Tech said, sighing as a guilty shadow crossed his features. Phee gently caressed Tech's face and replied, "I forgive you, Brown Eyes. There's something I'd like to know," "What is it?" Tech asked, gently removing her hand from his face and taking it in his own. "Tell me how your brain works. I can tell it works differently from your brothers, alright?" Phee replied, smiling gently. "I will. We'll have plenty of time before my brothers rescue us," Tech replied. "I hope they know you're alive and we're here," Phee said. "If they don't know now, they'll find out. They'll find out you're missing, at least. Hopefully, they know I'm alive too," Tech replied.

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samspenandsword · 2 years

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SFW Alphabet: Plo Koon

Summary: SFW Alphabet for everyone’s favorite Jedi dad, Plo Koon. Pairing: Plo Koon/reader; gender-neutral, humanoid reader with no other mentions of their appearance. Rating: GEN — SFW Warnings: None — allusions to war and violence, fluff, relationship firsts, family dynamics, overall romance. Word Count: 2.7k

Woooo boy lads this one took a while to crank out. My focus has been elsewhere lately, but I was determined to finish this because I love Plo and he deserves some love. I hope you all enjoy!

You can find the template I used here

NSFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

So incredibly affectionate. More than he probably should be as a member of the Jedi Council, but this man has so much love and affection to give. Much of his affection comes in the form of words — words of affirmation, compliments, deep, meaningful conversations. He will speak with you about everything from the nuances of the Force to where to get the best meiloorun shake on Coruscant. And every conversation with you, even if it’s silly, is just so incredibly heartfelt. Plo wears his emotions and heart on his sleeve, just as blatantly as he wears the symbol of the Wolfpack.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Plo as a best friend sounds like actual heaven, not gonna lie. Endlessly caring, a selfless sort of best friend who is concerned with you above all else. Very paternal, as is his nature. Will fuss if he thinks you’re not taking proper care of yourself. But he is, 10000%, a totally shameless gossip. And he could spend hours indulging your need for mindless Jedi gossip, including but not limited to the fact that literally everyone knows about Anakin and Padmé, Obi-Wan sits like a whore during council meetings, Mace Windu has the worst sweet tooth in the galaxy, and everyone has had a crush on both Kit Fisto and Depa Billaba at some point, it’s lowkey a rite of passage.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Yes. Cuddles all the time. Plo will indulge every cuddle urge you have, gladly and happily. Rest your head on his shoulder, let him stroke up and down your back. Lay your head in his lap and fall asleep to him scratching and massaging your scalp.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I would definitely think of Plo as a domestic partner. Man is pretty self-sufficient as a Jedi, but also as a Kel Dor. His physiological needs are so different from the gross majority of the Order (also the galaxy) that he can take care of himself pretty well. Cooking for himself, cleaning, meeting his specific needs, etc. This man also considers it a matter of pride to be able to take care of others. He is definitely the sort of friend and partner who is happy to do your laundry when you’re burnt out. And he is 10000% the type to gently place you in his lap and lightly scratch your scalp, or even read to you if he senses you just need some quiet alone time cuddling with him. Moments like that are some of his favorites in your entire relationship.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

As a Jedi, I don’t see Plo getting into a relationship unless he’s all in. He has to be willing to break the Code, but also hide your relationship from both the people he’s closest to, but also the people you’re closest with. I think it would take a lot for Plo to end his relationship, but if he did, it would be because he was trying to protect them. He’s a war general who’s constantly in danger, a member of the Jedi council, outspoken supporter of clone rights, and that comes with a target on his back and no guarantee of tomorrow.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Commitment is more than a little important to Plo, and he really appreciates a partner who feels the same. Everything about your relationship takes a commitment that reaches “beyond” levels. More than just commitment to each other, it’s commitment to secrecy, commitment to boundaries, awareness and willingness to accept the reality of your situation — that you can’t go on regular Tuesday night dinner dates, that you can’t show affection in public, that you can’t even publicly admit to your feelings. But even beyond that, Plo appreciates someone who is committed to their family, their ideals, their friends, their job, their hobbies. It’s such an attractive trait to him. So yeah, commitment is huge to Plo.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Plo can treat you as gently as you need him to. He can sense where your thoughts and emotions are every time you’re together and can adjust his tenderness and attentions to however you need. He is such an accommodating partner it’s ridiculous. Plo is, to his core, a caretaker. All he wants is to care for you, however you need. And if you need gentle care, he will more than readily give it to you. But if you need something more outspoken, firm, reassuring… He can and will give you that as well.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Plo’s hugs are like being cocooned in a blanket fresh from the dryer — warm, encompassing, comforting, leaving you a little cold and bereft when they’re gone. Plo offers hugs and physical touch much more readily than other Jedi, and he has no qualms about taking comfort from hugs and touch himself. Your relationship, whether platonic or romantic, has no shortage of physical affection. However, if you are someone who isn’t necessarily comfortable with that, all you have to do is tell him and Plo will understand. He will never push or violate your boundaries, and actively works to care for you in whatever way you need.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

This might be the one milestone in your relationship Plo hesitates to reach. Even between you, using those three little words feels like a bridge that once he’s crossed, he can never come back from. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing, but Plo might actually feel a little anxious to use the L-word, knowing that he very well might die in the war and leave you alone. He might hesitate to use it, as it feels like a much bigger violation of the Code than your entire relationship. But with that said, Plo will ultimately never fail to acknowledge to himself and you how he feels. But it simply might take a bit longer than normal to get to the point of him using the L-word.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I don’t really think jealousy is Plo’s thing. Protectiveness is though. The closest Plo comes to true jealousy is when he sees other couples out and about in public and he gets a little saddened by the reminder that he can’t be with you publicly. Also he gets a little frustrated when people flirt with you, but he trusts you to handle things like that. But Plo is a protective partner. He likes you knowing that he’ll always protect and take care of you, no matter what.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Plo are… I don’t want to say non-existent, but yeah, essentially non-existent. At least, not in the traditional sense. Plo is always a little dejected by the fact that he can’t give you traditional affection. But you two have developed your own form of physical affection. He very much loves every time you place a kiss over his antiox mask. Or if you brush your lips over his palms or knuckles. He loves the feeling of your lips on his skin. He, in return, has taken up the habit of gently nuzzling you. Placing his forehead on yours (a gesture he learned from his clones), nuzzling against your temple, even against your shoulder and neck. He also returns affection with his hands — stroking over your cheeks, your knuckles, your back, your neck, your scalp. It’s his special form of affection. And it’s just another thing that makes your relationship as unique and special as it is.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Plo Koon??? Around children??!??!? Sign me up! Even if you and him have decided that you don’t want kids for yourself, seeing him around children and the younglings at the Temple is such a treat. All the kids absolutely adore Plo. And he never hesitates to pay them all a visit when he gets back from a particularly long mission. He gathers them around and tells them stories and exaggerates them the perfect amount to keep them all endlessly hooked and entertained. Not to mention he radiates such paternal energy that pretty much every youngling at the Temple has accidentally called him “dad” at some point (another rite of passage). Plo himself also loves children, he finds them so refreshing and comforting and is considering becoming a creche master after the war is over.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Plo is absolutely a morning person. He very much enjoys getting up with the sun, preparing breakfast in the comfort of his apartments where he can go without his mask, meditating, maybe even reading a little. Mornings with Plo are calm, comforting. On the rare mornings you can spend together, he’s the type of partner who will wake you by gently stroking your hair and telling you he’s made you breakfast. Even if you aren’t a morning person by nature, it’s hard not to enjoy domestic mornings with Plo.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Plo likes to spend nights in. He’s truly not one for going out on the town, though he might enjoy accompanying you to your favorite restaurant every once in a while, even if he can’t enjoy the meal with you. He prefers to stay in and read with you, talk about your respective days, maybe even indulge in a holo-series.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

I don’t think Plo is necessarily closed off, but it might take a while for him to share his deep emotions with you. He’s happy to talk about his upbringing, the Order, the accomplishments of his Wolfpack, and even some of his missions with you. But talking about the underlying emotions, the distress the war causes him, how tired he feels, the heaviness of the Force weighing on him throughout the war… That will take longer.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Plo has the patience of a saint, even more than most Jedi, who are notorious for being neutral and patient. He is one of the few Jedi that has the patience to work through and discuss emotional outbursts, which is another reason he’s so popular with the younglings. He doesn’t make them feel shamed for not having the best handle on their feelings. And for that matter, he never makes fully-trained Jedi feel ashamed of their moments either.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Yes, Plo remembers everything. He makes it a point to. You mean so much to him, he cannot bring himself to forget anything about you. And he gets a little embarrassed if he does. Remembering things about you is how he gets through long campaigns and deployments, in the thick of battle and destruction. Remembering you and everything about you has become a sort of peace for him amongst the chaos of war.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment in your relationship is the time he walked into your apartment and found his wolfpack sprawled around you, all practically cuddled up to you, while watching a holofilm. You didn’t complain as Boost and Sinker bickered practically the entire time, and answered all of Comet’s questions with a smile. But what really sold it was his commander. Wolffe, closed-off, ornery, doesn’t-like-strangers, touch-adverse Wolffe, had his head in your lap, and practically rumbled with content as you massaged his scalp. Nothing felt more like coming home than the image of Plo’s loved ones all together, safe and sound.

S = Security? (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Plo is naturally protective. As a guardian of peace, and someone who grew up learning that life is something to be protected and safeguarded, it is simply in his nature to be protective. But he’s never smothering. He never makes you feel coddled or babied, and you love that about him. And he appreciates every time you accommodate his protective tendencies. Because even though he will always worry about you, he is comforted whenever you let him shower you in protective love.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Plo doesn’t plan the biggest dates and gifts in the world. Nothing elaborate, or extreme, or over-the-top. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t put effort into doing things for you. Instead, his gestures are smaller, intimate, more personalized to who you are. A date to your favorite ice cream shop. A gift of your favorite tea and a new teacup to go with it. A small weekend getaway to Naboo for your anniversary. Folding your laundry while you nap. Restocking your kitchen without prompting. The little things that let you know he truly knows and loves you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Okay I love him but Plo has the absolute weirdest habit of not accidentally answering questions. You can ask him something and he’ll think the answer and then forget to speak aloud. He always gets a little embarrassed when it happens, and sometimes it’s a little annoying, but over time it just becomes amusing.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Plo has never been super concerned with his looks. But sometimes he feels a little conscious of how different he is from you, and how he can’t give you traditional affection. He can’t kiss you in the way someone else would be able to. But Plo can feel your emotions through the Force, and knows how much you love him regardless. So no, Plo isn’t very concerned with his looks.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

You have become a very rare solace for him in a galaxy that’s tearing itself apart. So while he doesn’t necessarily feel incomplete without you, the only time he feels at peace anymore is in your company. With you, he doesn’t have to hide his distress over the war, the worry he feels for his men, who are for all intents and purposes, his sons. He doesn’t have to hide from you, and for that reason, he cherishes you more than he can ever express.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them)

Plo does that dad thing where if he sits in a comfortable chair for more than thirty minutes, he’s liable to fall asleep. He has fallen asleep during long council meetings before. Yoda and Windu absolutely know and while Yoda finds it absolutely hilarious, Windu went through stages of being frustrated by it, to becoming resigned to it, to finding it amusing but being unwilling to admit so.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Someone who complains and is unable to accept his other commitments. Yes, he is committed to you, but he is a Jedi and a general (as much as he doesn’t like it) first. If you are unable to understand and accept that then there will be problems in the future.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Plo is a relatively light sleeper. In fact, he sometimes describes his version of sleeping as more of a dream-like trance. Only when he’s really tired does he fall into a deeper sleep. He also, like most Jedi, experiences visions during his sleep. Mostly snippets, nothing that ever makes sense. And waking up next to you soothes him in a way meditation can’t. Which is why he takes every chance he gets to sleep beside you.

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ariadnes-red-thread · 1 year

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The Last Word: Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO: THE WOLVES

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter [coming soon]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Fives/OFC

Chapter Summary: Flashback to a week before, Mal is faced with a big decision that could alter her life drastically. But is she ready to leave the safety of the Wolfpack and face the hard questions that she’s been hiding from?

Chapter Warnings: Some swearing and mentions of Umbara/past trauma

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Recommended Listening: The Wolves by Ben Howard

A/N: No Fives this time, but lots of our other favorites, I promise :) Thank you so much for all of the support on Chapter One! I never could have imagined how loving and positive the response would be. Excited to share more of this story with you all! As always, comments, likes, feedback, and reblogs are always so appreciated!

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The transfer talk had started a week earlier. Four Venator-class Star Destroyers lingered as a fleet in the Expanse Region, the armies recollecting while their generals strategized and regrouped. Mal kept busy organizing the medbay. She and the 104th’s clone medic, Crux, worked in silence as they tried hard not to think about why they were all gathered in the depths of space and not on their scheduled leave.

The first sign that something was wrong had been Plo Koon. The General, normally extremely patient and even-tempered, even by Jedi standards, stormed onto the bridge with a thunderous call to attention. He pulled Wolffe away for a meeting that lasted hours. The first anyone heard from them was a crackling summons for Sinker and Comet. The venom in Wolffe’s voice, clear even over the comm, sent a chill down Mal’s spine. She’d never heard him like that, not even after Abregado. The officers disappeared, and the meeting dragged on for even longer. Mal waited with Crux, Wildfire, and Boost. They crouched around a communicator listening to the rumors that began to trickle in from other ships over private lines; stories of brothers killing brothers under orders, horrors that the clones couldn’t imagine.

Mal, on the other hand, felt her heart begin to race as they listened. She knew horrors like these. They were the ones that haunted her nightmares and sometimes her waking moments, like ghosts that hung over her shoulders, their weight ladened with guilt. She never imagined terrors like this could reach her - or her friends - here, in the Republic army, far from the Separatists and surrounded by an army of brothers. She gripped the edge of the seat to stop her hands from shaking. When the comms finally went silent, no one spoke.

Before anyone could find the words, the meeting adjourned, and the officers were back on the deck. It seemed whatever fury had been burning before had subsided. They all looked heavy now, older. It was the oddest on Wolffe. Though he usually chose his words carefully, the stoic quietness that had overtaken the usually grumbling Commander was new and darker. Sinker barked the orders instead. The Jedi cruiser immediately made its jump to the Expanse region to gather with other Republic ships.

Three days passed before Mal saw Wolffe again. He locked himself in his office and didn’t respond to comms. Mal checked on him through Sinker, who made sure that he was eating for her. Satisfied that Sinker was doing his best to pester the Commander into taking care of himself, Mal found boredom creeping up on her without anyone to patch up. She and Crux did their best to stay distracted. The medbay had never looked cleaner. When Mal wasn’t restocking med packs or refilling bacta containers, she was organizing games of sabacc. Sabacc had always been a source of comfort for Mal, and it had been a downtime staple of the 104th since she joined. With the minimal stipends the clones got, Mal never let them play for real credits. Usually, they used ration bars or scraps of flimsi. It made it more fun anyway. There was more laughter and teasing, with nothing really on the line. Nothing on the line was a nice change of pace.

This afternoon’s game came about during a lull in after-lunch chores. Mal, Comet, Wildfire, Sinker, Crux, and Boost were huddled in a circle in the men’s barracks. Mal was in the middle of a roll when Wolffe called. The dice tumbled from her hand just as the comm on her wrist beeped, its final notes drowned out by a collective groan at the numbers she rolled. When Mal answered, Wolffe’s voice met her ears and brought a smile to her face. It was back to being its recognizable gruff timbre.

“Mal, get in here.” He snapped before he cut the call.

The message was short and to the point, as his comms always were. Mal knew she’d find him in his office, and before she could wonder why she was being summoned, the other clones began to make low whistles.

“Someone’s in trouble!” Comet chuckled.

“What the fuck did you do this time?” Boost shook his head at her with a paternal smile.

“Don’t worry, ad’ika. We’ll have Crux ready the medbay for after your chewing out.” Sinker elbowed the medic next to him, who quickly shuffled his cards away from the trooper and glared.

“The Jedi are probably finally giving me a medal for putting up with you all.” Mal sighed as she threw down her own cards.

Sinker leaned over the table, abandoning any pretense of subtlety, to stare at her hand before his gaze snapped back up to Mal. His jaw hung open, and betrayal was written all over his face.

“You’re a liar!” Sinker called out.

“It’s called bluffing. I know you’re not familiar with it.” She winked at him before she turned, leaving the rest of the soldiers to tease their brother about his bad sabacc face.

Mal wound the dark halls of the Venator until she reached Wolffe’s office. As the blast door slid open, she knew she’d find the Commander bent over a desk covered in flimsi, holos, and datapads. Mal had offered to clean it for him time and time again. Still, Wolffe always rolled his eyes at her and said it was organized to him, usually throwing in some colorful adjectives along the way. Mal wasn’t expecting an unfamiliar clone to be waiting with him.

The new clone, a captain according to the rank on his chest, sat in one of the two chairs across from Wolffe, his left hand resting on the chair arm and the right laid on the helmet that was perched atop his knee. Mal quickly saluted the familiar yet unfamiliar man. She wasn’t officially military, not like the clones. Civilian medics were a subset of the GAR, but she held no rank, and the field training had been practically shameful. The role was created so there would be extra hands to help the clone medics and the medical droids in the medbay and the medbay only.

Though she might not be officially GAR, Mal didn’t mind the military aspects of the job. The structure and the order of everything had seeped into her blood quickly. A part of Mal loved it. Craved it even. It felt safe. She just couldn’t stand being told what to do, not since Takodana. Luckily, Wolffe never minded if Mal took a little creative license with her scope. From the beginning, he had encouraged Crux to take her with him into the field. He respected her experience, and she also suspected that Wolffe knew she liked the intensity and distraction of it all, even if they never talked about it. It was one of the ways they were similar.

The captain smiled as Mal paused in the doorway. He had close-cropped blonde hair and brown eyes that twinkled even in the cabin’s dim light. She found that she liked the man right away. He radiated kindness, not a meek, differential kindness, but the warm kindness that comes from a confident, caring heart.

“Yes, sir?” Mal lingered at the entrance in case she had misunderstood the summons.

“You’re suddenly all polite in front of company?” Wolffe winked his cybernetic eye at her, his brown one bright with glee. Mal instantly relaxed. “Have a seat. Captain Rex and I were talking about you.”

“You must be the Captain Rex talking about me.” She flashed a smile at the man as she settled into the third chair. “Nice to meet you.”

“My vod always had a talent for introductions.” He grinned at his brother, bringing a familiar scowl to Wolffe’s face. “I promise it was only good things.”

Mal glanced back and forth between the officers. When neither of them spoke again, her curiosity got the better of her.

“So, what’s going on?”

Rex’s eyes flicked to Wolffe. When the Commander didn’t speak, his brow seemed to set in determination. He turned back to Mal, facing her fully.

“I was asking the Commander if you might be open to a transfer.”

A black hole could have opened up and swallowed her at that moment, and she wouldn’t have been more surprised. Mal’s eyes flitted to Wolffe, hoping to see some sort of anger or shock that another battalion was trying to steal her away, but she saw nothing. That stung. She always knew Wolffe was less openly emotional about his attachment to her than the rest of the 104th, but Mal still thought their relationship meant something to him. She certainly never thought he’d push her out.

“I’m sorry to ask.” Rex quickly added, reading the shock on her face. “I wouldn’t like the idea of leaving my men either. Truth is, my troop is short on medics. I promoted my man Coric to CMO, leaving my Torrent Company with only one primary medic. And uh, frankly, we’re a little too reckless for that.”

Mal pulled her attention from the cool commander and back to the captain with the soft eyes. She could deal with Wolffe later.

“Wolffe brags about you all the time to the other COs. Figured if I was gonna go searching for a civilian medic, I might as well try to get the best.” Rex drummed his fingers on his helmet as he spoke.

Mal blushed at the statement before she quickly searched the Captain’s face. She was looking for flattery, but his smile was unwaveringly genuine.

“I promise you I’ll think about it,” she assured Rex. It was a lie, and Mal felt a pang of guilt after seeing how earnest he was.

“All I can ask.” Rex stood, tucking his helmet into his hip. “I need to get back to my ship. Can’t leave those di’kute unsupervised for too long.”

He let out a half-exasperated chuckle to himself before he nodded to her and then saluted the Commander. Rex turned on his heel without another word and marched from the room. Mal waited until the door was sealed shut behind him.

“What the hell, Wolffe?” She snapped as she spun back to him. “You’re trying to get rid of me?”

Wolffe leaned back in his chair as he raised an amused eyebrow at her, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. It was the look he always gave Mal when she got feisty with him. He enjoyed her hot-headed nature and entertained it the same way a loth wolf would tolerate the play-fighting of a pup. His lackadaisical response to her fury often made her laugh and soothed her, but sometimes, it irritated Mal, especially when she was really pissed off. This was one of those times.

“After everything, you’re just gonna ship me out?” Mal felt her voice start to rise as fear bubbled in her chest. She shifted to the edge of her seat, the world suddenly a little unsteady. “You’ve got to be kidding. This is bantha shit.”

“Settle down, ad’ika. I’m not kicking you out.” Wolffe crossed his arms, his voice even. “I’ve already found that you’re impossible to get rid of.”

“Fuck you.” Mal fired right back at him before she paused. His little quip helped temper the panic, but frustration still seethed from her. “Then what the hell?”

“Look,” He leaned forward, his voice dropping a half an octave. “Rex is with the 501st.”

Mal gasped, despite herself. Everyone in the GAR had heard of the 501st, the famously brave and infamously bold legion that fought under the command of General Anakin Skywalker. Stories of their more creative battle plans were told over shots of spotchka. In the last week, however, their name had been uttered in hushed tones and horrified whispers as the stories of what had happened on Umbara last week spread throughout the GAR.

“He was so…” She thought about Captain Rex’s smile. “... kind.”

“Always has been. Rex is the best of us.” He spoke without affection as though it were a fact. “The bravest, the most creative, the boldest. Even while he’s hurting right now, he’s only thinking of his men. For better or for worse. I think you can relate to him. In more ways than one.”

Wolffe settled back into his chair as he let the inference in his words sink in. The already small durasteel office seemed to shrink, closing in on Mal as she shifted in her seat.

“From the stories, they were tricked on Umbara.” Her heart began to pound at the implication. “Not controlled.”

“Didn’t say it was the same, ad’ika. Just said you might be able to relate.”

Mal’s frown deepened. Finally, when she didn’t speak, Wolffe rolled his eyes and sighed. She knew it was at her refusal to admit he might be on to something, but when he started again, his voice was softer than she had heard in a long time.

“Look, I know I don’t say it a lot, but I don’t know what we would have done without after….” Wolffe trailed off. Mal knew what he meant. He coughed. “You rescued Sinker, Boost, and me way back then.”

A silence filled the room for a moment as memories overwhelmed them both. The war had felt like years, but the weight of those early days never felt less heavy, especially if they looked directly at them.

“You rescued me first,” she quickly replied, giving him a small smile.

“Us finding you was luck, Mal.” He said firmly. “You came back, and you brought mirjahaal with you.”

Mal knew what he was implying. She had worked hard in the days and months after Grevious’ attack to make sure that the remnants of the 104th healed or at least knew that they would eventually heal, inside and out. It was the least that she could do. They had done the same for her not long before. And it seemed like Wolffe thought she could do the same for the 501st.

“I don’t know them.” She frowned.

“But I know you, and I think you can help them.”

“How can you ask me to leave you? To leave Sinker and Boost? After everything?” Her voice was starting to rise again.

“Because I owe Rex that. We all do.”

Mal didn’t say anything. What Wolffe was asking her - to leave the only family she had left- was impossible, and he should know it.

“It’s not just about the 501st, though. There’s another reason I think you should at least consider it.” Wolffe’s eyes narrowed, the white and amber iris each focused on her. Suddenly, the air was tense, and Mal felt bare before her old friend. “I didn’t say anything to Rex, but this is also your chance for answers… if you still want them.”

Answers. She hadn’t thought about answers in a long time. Defense bubbled up in her chest. Of course, she still wanted them. Wolffe had to know that. She looked at him, half-pleading. His scar. Before Khorm. That was the last time they had talked about this. Before Khorm. Mal’s heart began to sink as she realized that it had been almost a year since she had looked into any of her leads. She didn’t realize it had been so long. What had happened to her family was easier to push down and push aside while she busied herself with making war. She pretended that fighting the Separatists was enough. She had ignored her oath to find out why everyone was dead, and she was ignoring the debt she owed them. She’d gotten comfortable. The oxygen was suddenly scarce as Mal tried to inhale. Cadex and Tynan’s faces flashed before her, their green eyes staring blankly into hers.

Wolffe cleared his throat again, pulling her back to the present. Breath flooded her lungs as Wolffe waited. She mustered up the courage to respond.

“I do.” Mal finally answered.

“Then take the transfer,” Wolffe repeated. “I will follow General Plo until I die, but his methods are slower… more precise. Skywalker will get you where you want to be.”

She didn’t say anything, the flame of defensiveness wetted by her guilt. It had been over two years, and she hadn’t gotten any closer to finding out what had happened or why. Mal had brought her story to General Plo Koon after she had first been rescued. The Kel Dor listened with interest and promised he would help. She knew he meant it, but the war raged on, and nothing had come of it. Wolffe was right. It was time for answers, and she needed to find a Jedi ready to help. She needed a Jedi who would be a little reckless.

“The decision is up to you.” Wolffe shook his head, finally breaking eye contact for a moment, just enough to let her breathe again. He brought his hands down to the desk, a tell-tale sign that he was closing the subject. “But you should know I wouldn’t give up my favorite medic unless I had a reason.”

“I’ll think about it,” Mal said as she stood.

This time, she meant it.

Mal tried to think about it as she made her way to the mess hall, but the annoyance that had dissipated under Wolffe’s gaze was beginning to bubble up again. How dare he try to talk her into leaving? This was her family, the only one she had anymore, and she belonged here. A feeling of betrayal settled like a rock into the pit of her stomach as she collected whatever slop the GAR was serving. She sought out her friends quickly.

Mal spotted Crux first. The clone medic stood out with his shaved head, the practical choice he once told her, and the GAR medical sigil tattooed on the back of his neck. Sitting with him were two other unmistakable heads, one of silver and the other decorated with two long, maroon strips.

“Why the long face?” Boost asked as Mal set her tray on the table and plopped down on the bench across from him.

She told them about the transfer. She gave them Rex’s offer and Wolffe’s logic, and then she told them all the reasons she was furious. This was her home. Her family. She waited for them to be mad for her. She waited for the cries of outrage. They never came.

“‘S not a bad idea.” Boost rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced over at Sinker.

Mal followed his gaze to see Sinker nodding. She snapped her head to her fellow medic, looking for support, but next to her, Crux shrugged in agreement.

“What is this?” She threw her arms up in the air. “Is everyone trying to get rid of me?”

“No one’s trying to get rid of you, ad’ika.” Boost quickly tried to assure her.

“Yeah, that’s impossible. We already tried.” Sinker snickered.

“That’s what Wolffe said, too,” Mal grumbled, shooting a glare at Sinker as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Neither of you are funny.”

“Look, be mad all you want.” Boost answered as he dove back into his meal, the shock of the news immediately wearing off in the face of a rapidly cooling dinner. “But Wolffe is right. If you want to be in the middle of the action, if you want answers, and you want ‘em quickly, the 501st is the place to be. And a spot with them isn’t going to open up every week.”

“You never know with their casualty numbers.”

Sinker chuckled again as Boost shot him the glare this time. Boost shook his head at his brother before he turned his attention back to his meal. He sliced a piece of his protein cube off and found it with his fork before he turned back to Mal, waving his skewered food like a lightsaber.

“It’s your call to make, but the fact that Captain Rex asked for you is a compliment. You’re a damn good medic, and you’ve worked hard to get here. Done a lot for us clones in the 104th along the way. Now it’s time to get what you want. Don’t you think you deserve that?”

You deserve to be happy.

“Tye would have told you to do it,” Sinker added, his joking tone suddenly gone.

Mal didn’t respond to that. She didn’t even look at Sinker. Instead, she turned to Crux, trying to ignore how her skin was starting to crawl.

“What do you think?”

The 104th’s medic was quiet, momentarily assessing as he always did.

“It makes sense.” Crux finally spoke. “Will we be short a medic for the time being? Yes, but the 501st has far higher mortality numbers than we do. Strategically, they need you more.”

“Aw shucks, just saw you’ll miss me.” Mal elbowed the stiff medic.

He grinned back.

“Well, that goes without saying.”

The conversation quickly turned to other subjects, but food quickly disappeared, and the meal wound down. As they gathered their trays and empty cups, She and Crux said their goodbyes to the other two before they started to wander back to the medbay. Mal waited until they were in the empty halls to broach the subject again

She and Crux hadn’t always seen eye to eye. Their first few months together had been particularly rough. He didn’t trust her as a civilian, and she resented him for… well, for not being Tye. But it had been a long time since then. His even temper and logic in the face of blaster fire and carnage were a perfect balance to her emotionally charged reactions. He was the only one besides Wolffe who would know what the right answer was.

“Really, what do you think?” She slid her hands into the pockets of the grey jumpsuit as she prodded the stoic medic again.

“You really want to know?”

“I asked.” She shrugged, her long gently red braid bouncing on her shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I’ve fallen into that trap before, Mal.” Crux chuckled, and Mal knew that one of any number of memories of heated arguments was on his mind. “You don’t usually like being told what to do.”

“I just want your advice,” She said, “as a friend, not as my medic CO.”

“Alright.” Crux sighed before he spoke. “I think that, despite what it feels like right now, this war isn’t going to go on forever. You have to take the opportunities you’re given. Take it from a clone.”

Mal stopped in her tracks. Crux continued a few steps, not realizing he was leaving his companion before he looked to his side and found the space empty. He paused and turned back to where his words had stopped her in her tracks. Shame burned her cheeks. Here she was, oscillating over choices that gave her a power in her future that the clones rarely saw.

“I’m sorry, Crux, I-”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Mal.” He shook his head as he quickly cut her off. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just offering a different perspective. I don’t want to see you miss your chance to change your path.”

Mal bit her lip as she nodded, digging her hands further into her pockets. Crux gave her a small smile.

“Go get some rest, Mal. I’ll finish up in the medbay.”

Mal didn’t realize how exhausted she felt until she stripped off the jumpsuit, let her hair loose, and pulled on sweatpants and a sweater. It had sunk into her bones and laid heavy there. Still, neither rest nor clarity found Mal when she crawled into bed. As the lights flickered off on the living quarters of the Star Destroyer, Mal lay in a lonely lower bunk in the small and otherwise empty civilian barracks. The idea of a transfer had taken root in her head, and it was sprouting. She wished she was back on Coruscant, something that she rarely felt. Still, Mal missed the dingy local pool that she and Tye had found on the 576th level the week after she had moved into her off-base apartment. She wanted to swim. The future was always clearer in the water.

Instead, Mal stared up at the dim metal of the top bunk. The thought of leaving the 104th still made her pulse quicken and her breath rise. Leaving this battalion would be more than a transfer. It would be losing her family again. She owed her life to Sinker, Boost, and Wolffe. She had been with them when they had to rebuild. The idea of not having their back or them not having hers was devastating. Who would patch them up? Who would make sure that Wolffe ate something or that Comet slept?

Mal turned on her side, eyes looking out into the impenetrable dark. It was overwhelming. She was usually grateful that she didn’t have to share the bunk with anyone. She didn’t have to worry about upsetting them when the nightmares came, and she had always appreciated solitude. Tonight, Mal would have liked someone to talk to, though. She thought about comm-ing Wolffe or Crux, but a growing part of her realized that the one person she really wanted to talk to was Tye.

Tye. In the span of a lifetime, she’d only known him for a fraction of it, but he had a clarity and purpose that she’d never seen in anyone. She could use that clarity right now. The last time she remembered having it was when she made the decision to join the GAR as a medic so she could help the 104th. She had needed to give something back to all of the Wolfpack, but her debt to Tye weighed heaviest on her, and it was one she couldn’t repay. Not anymore. He was a corpse floating somewhere out in the Abregado system. All she could do was look after his brothers and hope it was enough. Now Wolffe was telling her his brothers needed help. Maybe this was what she needed to do to keep repaying that debt.

And then there was the promise of answers. Wolffe was right. Mal had pushed that quest aside for a long time, focusing on the day-to-day battle instead of the questions always in the back of her mind. If this was the chance to finally find out what happened to her family, she had to take it. She owed it to herself and them, another debt to the dead. A hand wandered up to her temple and traced a familiar path into her hairline until it found the raised skin that lay beneath her auburn roots. Mal ran her fingertips over the small incision, long since healed and hidden. It had been hidden long enough. It was time for answers.

Sleep crept up on Mal like a nexu, springing out at her from the darkness and wrestling her mind into the abyss. She didn’t have any nightmares that night.

Mal woke up the next morning feeling rested in a way she couldn't remember being since before the war when rainy nights on Takodana would turn into bright mornings where the sun-kissed dew would fall from the overgrown canopy. Those mornings when she would take her boat to the lake and patrol the waterways were the last time she remembered having this kind of purpose. Despite the uncertainty ahead, it was fortifying.

Mal took a quick sonic shower in her private fresher before she braided her hair and pulled on her gray jumpsuit. She glanced in the long mirror as she ran her fingers over the 104th's emblem on her chest. She traced the aurebesh numbers and the small wolf emblem. With deft fingers, Mal took the pin from the fabric and pocketed it.

She stepped out of the fresher, and immediately went to see Wolffe. The hallways were filled with familiar faces and greetings, and she savored every one of them. Wildfire met her with her morning caf. They took it the same - one sugar, one cream - and after continuously switching cups in briefings, he finally just started to bring Mal her own, with an M on the lid. She surprised him with a hug as she took it and promised she would meet him at breakfast in a little bit. There was something she had to do.

The caf tasted even sweeter today, and Mal smiled as she sipped on on the warm drink. She clasped her hands around the cup as she found herself stopping before Wolffe's office again. The blast door loomed before her for a moment. She knew that there were things on the other side that she might not like. There were no answers that would save her from her sins. One hand left its grip on the cup so she could run her fingers over the cool durasteel, tracing the fine lines until she found the control panel. Mal typed in the code she knew by heart, and the door slid open. An affectionate smile crossed her lips when she spotted Wolffe. He was sitting behind his desk as he always did, behind a mound of flimsi and nose buried in a datapad. She realized she would miss his messy desk.

“I’ll do it,” Mal quickly spoke, not giving herself even a second to change her mind.

Wolffe kept typing.

“Our leave next week overlaps with the 501st. We’ll make the transition then.”

“You already talked to Rex.” She huffed. It wasn’t a question.

He finally looked up from the datapad with a sly grin.

“I knew you’d say yes.”

Mal shook her head at the Commander as she rolled her eyes and sighed at his arrogance. The annoyance didn’t reach her eyes, though. With nothing else to discuss, Mal turned to go. Before she could make it to the door, Wolffe spoke again.

“You made the hard choice, Mal,” Wolffe called. “He’d be proud.”

Mal stopped in her tracks. She could ignore Sinker when he brought up Tye, but she couldn’t ignore Wolffe. Mal turned to him with an attempt at a smile, even though she knew it likely looked like a grimace.

“I know.”

“They all would be. Your father, Cadex, and Tynan too.”

Mal’s eyes widened as the names left her friend’s mouth. Wolffe never mentioned her family directly. Even though he knew more about her than anyone else alive, he’d always respected her privacy. Bile began to rise in Mal’s throat. Could she still make them proud? She tried to nod to Wolffe. She stiffly lowered her chin just a little before she spun on her heel and double-timed her way back to her barrack. All along the way, a voice chased her.

You deserve to be happy.

It wasn't until she reached the mess hall that her ears stopped ringing, the noise of the hungry clones a reprieve from the thunderous voices in her head. Wildfire waved her over to a table, and Mal pushed aside Wolffe's final words. No one knew what she deserved, but she was ready to find out.

When Mal finally stepped onto the hangar of the 501st battalion, the morning’s distress had evaporated along with any remnants of a hangover. She had closed the book on her mistake. The clone, Fives, was a mirage now. He was nothing more than a memory at this point, a reaffirmation of her rules, and eventually, once the shame wore off, an embarrassing story for her to tell Sinker and Boost the next time she saw them. Mal had real things to worry about now.

Though the hangover may have been gone, the headache seemed to come right back as she stepped into the sea of blue and white troopers. Her new blue jumpsuit, swapped for her old grey one, matched the armor of the men who marched by her, but there were no signs of recognition. They swarmed around her, looking at their datapads, at each other, looking anywhere but at the nat-born who had just entered their realm. There were no greetings or hugs. There was no Boost to slap her on the back, no Sinker launching an airborne assault of loving insults in salute, no Wildfire with her morning caf. She shifted, all alone amid the Grand Army of the Republic. For the first time in a long time, the machine of the GAR ground on around Mal.

“Mal!” A friendly voice called out from behind her.

She spun immediately, thirsting for anything familiar. A vague feeling of disappointment settled in her gut as she realized the voice was attached to a pair of rapidly approaching jaig eyes.

Stop it. She chastised herself. You agreed to this. Time to make the most of it.

So Mal tucked away the ache and waved at the approaching man. He pulled his helmet from his head, revealing a sideways smile. Captain Rex held his hand out to her before he chirped over the din of the GAR’s machinations.

“Welcome to the 501st.”

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