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taska-rokanh · 1 month

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SHATTERED STARS CHAPTER ONE - INTRODUCTIONS

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None

War! The Separatist Alliance has begun attacking the Galactic Republic, sparking a galaxy-wide conflict. In an attempt to keep the peace and protect the Republic, the Jedi Council has begun deploying their Knights and Masters to fight the droid army. Young Knight Taska Rokanh is waiting anxiously to receive her assignment. Unbeknownst to her, her new attaché of clone troopers is doing the same.

Breathe.

Breathe in. Breathe out. When you breathe out, you are entrusting your worries to the Force. And when you breathe in, you are accepting the strength It offers you.

Taska hoped that the Force was generous with strength today.

The extremely temporary quarters the Kaminoans had offered her for the few days she would be on the planet really weren’t that different from her quarters at home—in the Jedi Temple, that is. The floor was made of durasteel, and so colder than the polished terracotta floor there. She hadn’t had the time to bring her mat. Instead, she spread her robe out on the floor and sat cross-legged there for her morning meditations.

This would be her last on Kamino for a while. This morning, she would be assigned troops and sent to whatever corner of the galaxy the Chancellor and the Council deemed necessary.

Her master had told her to stay planetside as she left to assist during the Battle of Geonosis, and despite her anxiety to help, she was grateful. She took the time to meditate, and, when she was ready, used the days before the Council would contact her to study the art of war. It was tedious, exhausting, nauseating, and wholly unpleasant. She was glad that her enemies would be battle droids—inanimate objects with no presence in the Force—but she was all too aware that the ones she would be directing were not. She didn’t know how she would react to the death of one of her own clones. She had been able to dimly feel the flickering-out of some of their presences during Geonosis, lightyears away, how it took away from the brightness of the massive combined glow of all the clones.

She could only imagine how painful it was up close.

She continued her deep breaths and reflexive smoothing of her tunic under her new armor all the way to the hangar, where she was to meet her troops and then board her new ship. It didn’t feel right, to be put in charge of a war vessel as an agent of peace. She tried to push the thoughts out of her mind. A Jedi had no doubts, and if the Council knew what they were doing—of course they did—she should trust them.

---

“Yes, Master, thank you,” she nodded and bowed. Master Mundi flickered out of view, and Taska sucked in another breath. He had just confirmed their plans for the morning. Taska did the math in her head—they would have three days in hyperspace to get to know each other and learn how to work together before arriving at their first planet, Zarrebar.

Taska had never provided reinforcement for a Republic military base, much less commanded troops for that purpose. She was just glad that there would be established military personnel already there at the strategic base. Hopefully they were willing to cooperate with “new blood,” as she had already been called.

She sensed the discord inside the hangar before the doors opened, and braced herself for overload. The hangar was bustling, with long lines of clones going to and from, but mostly to, ships, whether fighters or transports, to take them to the seven Star Destroyers or various light cruisers waiting in the upper atmosphere.

“Force,” she whispered to herself. She checked her holopad again, a nervous habit, to make sure she was headed in the right direction. Bay 37, Gunship 12. On the other side of the hangar. She expected to be making close calls as she wove through the dense melee, but the clones recognized her presence almost instinctively and halted to clear a path. She tried her best to thank all of them.

She got the sense that the clones thought the Jedi were quite far above them.

She didn’t like it.

---

“Are we all here?” Ace asked, taking another breath through his nose. He wasn’t going to start shaking this time. He could take this. He could do this.

“Yes, sir,” Lark answered. Ace could practically hear the laughter in his voice. Even after the past few years, it never felt natural for him to call his brother ‘sir’. “I think two headcounts is enough to prove that. We just have to wait for our general.”

“Bay thirty-seven… good, alright.” Ace would barely have been able to hear the muttering with his own ears, but the enhanced helmet picked it up clearly. A good thing, too, because it gave him time to straighten to proper attention.

“General Rokanh, sir!” He heard a small kriff before Lark clicked his heels and followed suit, followed by all the men in the gunship. He sighed and tried to focus on the general instead. She wore cream robes and tall dark brown boots, characteristic of the Jedi. The plates of armor on her chest and arms creased the fabric awkwardly, and the end of her long, slick braid was too close to getting caught in one of the junctions. She would have to get better armor soon.

“Oh! Um, hello,” she said, moving her arm almost as if she wanted to salute before thinking better of it. She stuck her hand out instead. “Taska Rokanh. And you are?”

“CC-3135, Captain of Hail Company, sir,” he answered, hesitantly grasping her forearm in greeting.

Her brows furrowed over her deep, dark eyes. “What’s your name? You must have something other than an ID number.”

“Right, it’s, um, Ace, sir,” he dropped his hand quickly to his side. “Nice to meet you,” he added as an afterthought.

She smiled warmly. “It’s good to meet you as well. Hello, I’m Taska Rokanh.”

“Lieutenant Lark,” his brother answered easily. “Excited to be working with you. Do you prefer sir or ma’am?”

I should’ve asked.

“Either is fine, whichever you like better,” Taska reassured him.

She stepped onto the gunship, the men giving her more room than they could really afford, sandwiching themselves into the back of the ship. She carried on in the same friendly fashion, shaking hands and introducing herself to each clone, and by the end, the weight was so evenly distributed on Gunship 12 that they no longer had to worry about their landing capabilities.

The general smiled as they went through the energy field over the hangar, the blue light playing strangely on her slightly crowded teeth and bronzy skin.

Funny. In all of Ace’s imaginations of Jedi, none of them smiled, and she had just done it twice.

---

The light cruiser Silverhawk was much smaller than the Star Destroyers, to be sure, but no less impressive. At least, that was what Taska thought, as it loomed closer and closer in view. “I’ve never been on a ship this big,” she said to no one in particular, and regretted it almost instantly. She didn’t want to put her men ill at ease, thinking she was incapable.

“This day is full of firsts, sir,” Lark added, and Taska smiled. At least he was being nice about her slip-up.

When they touched down in the hangar, Taska hopped out and stood to the side. It didn’t take long for the Captain to follow her lead. He looked at her as if he expected her to say something. “Give your orders, Captain, you know what you’re doing more than I do,” she lifted her hands. She had studied command, but she wanted an opportunity to check that her information was up-to-date.

“Right,” Ace said slowly. “Men, we have work to do. I want each ship that comes in after us arrayed, introduced to their superiors, and especially the general, before bunking up. We’ll have time to get bedding and kitchens set up after we leave atmosphere. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The call was ringingly loud, even from only nineteen clones.

“So I’ll stay here, then, get a chance to say hello to everyone,” Taska said, only half-questioning. It was a solid plan. Morale and unity depended on everyone knowing and trusting one another, and that meant introducing herself as soon as possible.

“Yes, sir, I’m sure the rest of us are… eager to meet you,” Ace said, clearly trying his best to be polite.

She wrung her hands. “Right,” she echoed. “It looks like the first transport is coming in,” she nodded up to the open hangar doors, where three transports were lowering in in quick succession.

“There’ll be four more in a minute,” the clone told her. “There are 165 men in Hail company, including command. There’s probably about half of that just running this ship.”

“That’s a lot of people,” she muttered.

“Not really,” Ace disagreed. “There are at least four times that aboard each of those Star Destroyers.”

Taska smoothed the front of her robe. “Right. I know. It’s… it’s just good that I’m starting small, I suppose.”

Ace hummed almost imperceptibly in agreement.

---

The general and captain stood off to the side as the transports unloaded, all the men proceeding in mostly orderly lines to their sergeants and then the sergeants to their lieutenants. Hail Company was nothing if not efficient. “It looks like they’re about ready,” Ace said, though it was so quiet that Taska couldn’t be sure it was intended for her. She made her way in front of the crowd anyway.

“Attention!” Ace bellowed, voice ringing through the hangar. There was a loud crash as 164 feet stomped and 164 hands went to temples at once. “Our new general wants to speak!”

Taska thanked him and seemed to nearly float onto a nearby crate—one full of bedrolls, a glance at the label told—and went from being a foot shorter than the clones to a foot taller.

“Hello. My name is Taska Rokanh. I am a Jedi Knight. I am twenty-two years old, and I was knighted just about six standard months ago. I’ve lived most of my life on Coruscant, but I’ve studied cultures and environments from all over the galaxy, and been fortunate enough to visit several worlds. I’ve started to and will continue to intensely study the art of war so that I can be the best possible leader for you.” She tried her best to look at each individual clone. “I would like to get to know you all, so please don’t be… afraid to approach me. Don’t think that I will turn away your questions or dismiss your thoughts. Thank you. I will speak to you all again when we’re closer to Zarrebar.”

She hopped down on her own, and mentally, Ace scolded himself. He had seen shows and movies before. He should have thought to offer her his hand. It was the polite thing to do, something she would probably expect from a professional.

“Get to your assigned bunks and set up! There will be no trading, and there will be no pranks. I want us settled in before 0900 and ready to ship out!” He barked, and the hangar dissolved into a flurry of activity.

“I suppose I should do the same,” Taska said. “I think I saw my bags over there. Walk with me? I prefer not to be all alone.”

Ace almost forgot to speak. She was… seeking out his company? But they had only just met. And she was his superior. “Of course, General.”

“And… would you mind removing your helmet? I haven’t had a chance to speak to you face-to-face.”

He silently obeyed.

“Hi,” she said with a smile before sobering a bit. “I hope that’s not intrusive of me. With the way I was raised, I like to make connections.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Actually, I had a question for you.” Ace calmed himself silently. He hoped it wasn’t a strange, intelligent Jedi question that he wouldn’t be able to answer. “Have you studied a lot of strategy?”

“Extensively, sir,” Ace answered easily. That was a question he knew the answer to.

“Naval strategy as well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” she breathed. “I wasn’t… I had my studies growing up, but they were mostly of the engineering, investigative, diplomatic sort. Nothing about commanding armies,” she chuckled nervously. “And I probably shouldn’t tell you that, what with me being in command and all, but I think you have a right to know that I will need your help.”

“Our first assignment is a good one to learn on, especially if you’re unfamiliar with army structure and protocol, sir,” Ace tried to provide some form of relief. “And that’s what I’m here for. To help you.”

Yeah, that sounded good.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“General Rokanh, sir!” A clone painted in green ran up before planting his feet and saluting. “I’ve been sent with a crate for you, sir!” As he spoke, another clone pushed the levitating package toward the group.

“Oh?” Taska said inquisitively. “Well, thank you. Ah, what is your name?”

“CT-1516, Sergeant in charge of mechanics, sir!” The clone responded, not breaking attention.

“You can put your arm down, you know,” Taska said gently, and waited for him to do so. “What is your name, Sergeant?”

“Greaser, sir,” he responded, still looking unsure.

“Thank you, Greaser,” Taska smiled. “Now, do please open this crate, I wasn’t expecting a delivery.”

He did as he was asked, and pulled a stout cylindrical droid from its depths.

“Aree!” Taska said with a smile as the droid was booted up. The chromium-and-ice blue droid whirred and spun its head in greeting.

“Aree?” Ace asked timidly.

“Well, his full name is R2-E3, but I shortened it to R-E, or Aree, I just like the sound of it,” the Jedi explained with a shrug. “How are you, bud?”

The mech gave a couple of happy chirps, and Taska laughed. “Yeah, we’ll finally get to put all that training to good use,” she agreed. “If you haven’t guessed yet, Aree is my astromech,” she told Ace. “We’ve been flying together since my first sim when I was about fourteen. He’s very experienced with repairs, but neither of us has a lot of practice with weapons systems,” Taska’s face became more serious as she spoke. “That’s something we’ll have to brush up on, eh?”

Ace stood by silently, slowly realizing that this Jedi felt very similar to himself—entirely unprepared.

He supposed they’d learn together.

---

Ace seemed worried. That was what kept Taska from sleeping as she lay in her new quarters. The floor was durasteel again, but this time, it vibrated. The light cruiser wasn’t as large as it seemed, and the dull thrum of the three powerful engines spread throughout the cruiser. Not that she minded. She could thrive in much more uncomfortable conditions. She had her meditation mat now, a few changes of clothes that she would put away in the morning, and a small folding table that she thought would probably fit best under the mirror someone had recently installed. That was all she needed. More than enough, really, so it wasn’t that that bothered her.

It was the ill feeling that rolled off of Captain Ace from the moment she met him. It wasn’t sinister by any means—he was clearly sincere and wanted to do a good job. But he was worried. For some reason, Taska wasn’t sure what. When she finally got a chance to look him in his honey-like eyes, they were just… uneasy. Wary. There was anxiety everywhere on the ship, but nothing like his. She didn’t think she was the cause. She hoped she wasn’t the cause. The clones were battle-ready, but Ace taught her something that day—they were also still very young.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #tcw #clone trooper oc #clone oc #jedi #jedi oc #sw oc #shattered stars #ace ct 3135 #taska rokanh #long sw fic #star wars long fic

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wanderinginksplot · 10 months

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Just for Kix

Additional content (in collected one-shot format) for Nobody Listens to Kix that didn’t fit the overall tone.

Oaths

Neutralized

Displaced

Leia

Vent

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starplusfourletters · 4 months

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Guys I think I've lost my mind

VOY s7e11 shattered == TCW s7e11 shattered

Like, only in terms of production order. But in this essay I will

#this is truly the funniest timeline #live footage of me: lol tcw shattered just like in the cw's voyager #wait they're both s7 too #OH MY GOD #star trek voyager #tcw #s7e11 shattered

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clonesimpextra · 2 years

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A Shattered Peace: Chapter 1

First Impressions

[next]

Pairing: Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 3.4K Series Rating: Explicit (18+ Only) Series Summary: A woman raised to be a peacekeeper and a man created for war, Jedi Knight Amara and Clone Commander Wolffe help lead the 104th Clone Battalion as co-commanders. Both are intent on protecting their men and bringing victory to the Republic. They just have to learn how to work together first. A/N: Eventual smut starting a few chapters in, but this will be a bit of a slowwww burn. Tags updated along the way. Link to AO3

-----

Jedi Knight Amara Kora was many things.

She was the former padawan of Master Plo Kloon. She was strong in the Force. She was a fierce warrior.

Jedi Knight Amara Kora was many things.

But she was not a good liar.

As Amara stood next to her former master in a crowded hangar and watched the men of the 104th Clone Battalion stand at attention in front of them, she struggled to keep the frown off her face. This didn’t feel right - Jedi acting as army generals and commanders, prepared to lead men, created for the sole purpose of war, into battle.

But then, nothing had felt right since Geonosis.

The rules that Amara had been raised with had all but been tossed out the window when Dooku had revealed himself as leader of the Separatists. He’d forced the Republic’s hand. And, in turn, the Republic had forced the Jedi’s.

Never mind that Amara had always thought the Jedi incapable of being forced into anything. If that were true, she wouldn’t have been given the title of commander in the Grand Army of the Republic mere days after she’d been confirmed as a knight of the Jedi Order.

In truth, Amara had requested that she be made commander under Master Plo rather than general of her own battalion. Not everyone on the council had taken kindly to that - they needed as many Jedi as possible to send across the galaxy, after all.

But Amara wasn’t ready. She knew she wasn’t ready to lead soldiers on her own. Not like this.

That didn’t mean she didn’t still want to help, to learn how to become the leader she’d seen other Jedi like Anakin Skywalker turn into almost effortlessly. Thankfully, Master Yoda had listened to her. And, because his opinion was, ultimately, the one that mattered most, Amara’s request had been granted.

“Better it is,” the little green master had stated solemnly, “to have a commander who knows her limits than a general who continuously ignores them.”

Everyone in the room had nodded sagely at Master Yoda’s words, though Amara was fairly certain none of them were entirely sure what he’d meant.

Still, in the days that followed, Amara had poured over intelligence reports about the Separatist strongholds, watched holos about battle strategy, put in more hours in the sparring rooms. She wasn’t sure about this war, but if she was being made to fight in it, she was damn well going to be prepared.

Now, as Master Plo gave the same speech to the men before them that he’d practiced in front of her hours earlier, Amara allowed her mind to wander in the Force, reaching out to the strangers whose lives would soon be in her hands.

This was the closest she’d been to the clones since Geonosis a few weeks earlier, but even then she’d been entirely focused during the battle. Focused on staying alive and keeping those around her alive, on ignoring the heat bearing down on her that had reminded her just a bit too much of the planet she’d once called home. She hadn’t had time to wonder about the helmeted men surrounding her aside from a nod and a thanks to the Force that their arrival maybe meant she wouldn’t die that day. But now, with hundreds of those same helmets - several now painted with stripes and swirls of maroon - turned to face her, Amara tuned out Master Plo’s greeting words and opened her mind to the men.

All Jedi felt the force differently, and for as long as she could remember, the Force had come to Amara in the form of colors. Every person she met had a specific hue, some were brighter than others, some muted but no less encompassing. From what she’d been told about the clones, Amara had assumed they’d each be a variation of the same color. But she couldn’t have been more wrong. When she opened her mind she was immediately hit with a rainbow, no two clones shared the same color.

Struggling to keep her face neutral and her hands behind her back instead of nervously tugging at her two braids, Amara allowed her gaze to flick from clone to clone. She couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t read whatever stories their eyes might tell, but she could feel them, and she could see their colors. And they were devastatingly beautiful.

Before she knew what was happening, Amara found her eyes drawn to the clone - the man - standing in the middle of the group. The only thing physically separating him from the others was a shoulder antenna. But Amara was drawn by his Force color, which was nearly the same as the paint that decorated his armor: a deep, vibrant maroon somehow both louder and softer than all the Force colors Amara had ever seen.

And it vibrated with barely contained emotion.

Something about this soldier felt achingly familiar, but Amara couldn’t quite put her finger on what. Regardless, she found herself wanting to know more about him. With a color like his, Amara needed to understand how it worked. Was it always this vibrant? Did it darken when he was angry? Why did it match so closely with the color of the battalion?

The questions formed quickly in her head and Amara swallowed against the rush of them, barely stopping herself from stepping closer to him. She was used to the curiosity that often came along with interpreting a person’s Force color, but it had never been this intense. It had never made her lose focus.

Curiosity was fine. But this . . . this felt dangerous.

Amara closed her eyes and blocked the colors from her sight. It wouldn’t do for the men to see her get lost in her own mind. She was meant to be a leader - she had to start acting like one. She took a deep breath and straightened slightly, tuning back in to the speech.

“My former apprentice, Jedi Knight Amara Kora, will act as co-commander alongside,” Master Plo nodded to the clone Amara had only just stopped staring at, “Clone Commander CC-3636.”

Amara watched, intent on keeping her mind closed, as CC-3636 stepped forward and saluted.

“Sirs.”

His voice was sharp and deep, similar to the ones Amara had heard on Geonosis and in the hangar before this meeting, but still different in its own right and projecting a cadence that she felt sure she would be able to recognize anywhere. At the sound, she felt a pull in her chest, begging her to seek out his color just one more time.

“Do you have a name, commander?” Master Plo asked gently.

The commander tilted his head. “Sir?”

Master Plo looked down at Amara and she nodded, stepping forward.

“We heard some of you have given yourselves and each other names.” She made a point to look at various clones as she spoke. “If you have, Master Plo and I would prefer to call you by your chosen names, if that’s alright with you, of course.”

The commander stared in her direction for a moment before looking back at Master Plo.

“I go by Wolffe, sir.”

Wolffe . . . Amara wasn’t sure what to think of that name. Where did it come from? Had he named himself or had someone given it to him? More questions Amara knew she had no right to ask.

She wanted to, though, and that worried her.

She’d always thrived on her connections with others. Master Plo had once said her empathy was what would make her a great Jedi. But they were walking into a war and Amara wasn’t sure how she was supposed to balance empathy alongside leading men to their deaths. Did she want to know more about these men? Did she deserve to know more about them - when it was her people who helped put them here in the first place?

She blinked when Master Plo placed a hand on her shoulder and bowed his head to the commander, “Ko-to-yah, Commander Wolffe.”

Amara’s eyes flicked up to her co-commander. She didn’t know how, but she was certain she had caught his gaze, even through the darkened visor. Before she could peer too deeply, she nodded. “Nice to meet you, Commander Wolffe.”

He nodded stiffly back at her and moved to stand on Master Plo’s other side as they walked down the line of clones.

Amara smiled at each clone they passed, committed their names to memory when they told her, and opened her mind just enough so that she could associate those names with their respective colors. With every name, every number, Amara tried to pretend like she couldn’t feel the dread pooling in the pit of her stomach as she looked into their blank visors.

But try as she might, Jedi Knight Amara Kora, commander in the Grand Army of the Republic, was not a good liar.

Not even to herself.

* * *

And that unfortunate fact was currently biting her in the ass.

Standing in one of the many briefing rooms on the GAR compound with Master Plo and Commander Wolffe a few hours later, Amara was beginning to regret whatever choices she’d made in her life that had led her to this moment. And, based on the sudden rush of calm she felt the Jedi master push her way through their bond, she wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding her thoughts.

She didn’t think her frustrations were entirely unfounded, though. Not when Commander Wolffe - her co-commander, the man she was meant to work closely with for as long as she was part of the 104th - was proving himself to be one of the most insufferable men Amara had ever met - and she was friends with Anakin Skywalker.

It all started on their walk from the hangar to the briefing room. Amara, still trying to grapple with the incessant pull she felt toward the helmeted man next to her, had turned to Wolffe with a hesitant smile and asked how preparations were coming along for their lift-off the next day.

The commander hadn’t so much as tilted his head toward her as he answered. “Barring this briefing, everything’s ready, sir. I took care of it this morning.”

“Oh,” Amara had fumbled around for a response. She’d expected for there to be something she could help with. Something that would let her get to know some of the men, or at least Wolffe, better before they left Coruscant. “Well maybe I can have a look around the Triumphant later. You know, familiarize myself with everything.”

Wolffe did look down at her then. And even though her eyes fell on the black depths of his t-shaped visor, Amara knew she was peering directly at him. It wasn’t so much the lack of facial features that felt so unnerving - she was used to Master Plo’s ever-present mask, after all - but rather the fact that so much of Wolffe was covered. The helmet, the plastoid armor, all of it working against her ability to easily interpret what he was thinking.

She did have the Force, though, and the heat Wolffe was currently projecting toward her had made Amara stop in her tracks. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or something else - she wasn’t even sure if it was there because of her. All she knew in that moment was that Commander Wolffe did not want to be speaking to her.

His next words, though not spoken harshly, only confirmed that.

“I don’t have time for that, commander. But I can have someone else show you the ropes if you’d like.”

Things had only gone downhill from there, with Amara’s anger and confusion slowly rising every time Wolffe refused to look at her when she spoke or made some passive aggressive comment about one of her ideas. And now, after Wolffe had, yet again, spoken to Master Plo as if she weren’t even in the room, Amara knew she was at her breaking point.

And apparently everyone else knew as well. Because as soon as Amara opened her mouth to finally toss out one of the many insults she’d been mentally yelling at Wolffe for the past hour, Master Plo clapped his hands.

“I think we’re done here, hm?” He nodded to Wolffe, who had resolutely kept his helmet on throughout the entire meeting. “You’re dismissed, commander. Make the most of your last night on Coruscant - There’s no telling when we’ll be back.”

“Yes, sir,” Wolffe saluted and tilted his head toward Amara, still not turning toward her fully. “Commander.”

As he walked out of the room, Amara grit her teeth at the reminder that not only was she going to have to endure Wolffe’s . . . whatever it was he was projecting at her and on her during her first mission, but she’d also be stuck on a ship with him for Force knew how long. The Triumphant was massive, but Amara had a feeling it still wouldn’t be big enough to get her away from that man’s ire - wherever it was coming from.

And that was the main issue for Amara. Wolffe’s actions, as annoying as they were, wouldn’t have bothered her so much if his feelings weren’t ebbing out of his mind and all but forcing themselves onto her. She’d thought clones were trained to build up mental walls to avoid things like this happening, but now that Wolffe was out of the room, some of the anger Amara had been feeling was also fading, meaning he was directly affecting her mood, intentional or not.

But there was something else, simmering under his rage and annoyance, that Amara could only just feel. Whatever it was, the remnants of it pooled in the depths of her stomach and set her on edge almost more than Wolffe’s anger.

She couldn’t quite believe how quickly her earlier feelings of curiosity had turned into whatever the Force she was feeling now. She wasn’t even sure at the moment where her feelings ended and his began.

Dangerous, she thought again.

“Something bothering you, Amara?”

Master Plo’s voice rang loud in the quiet room and pulled Amara from her thoughts. She looked up at her old master, who was staring straight at her, his hands folded gently in front of him. Amara remembered a time when she’d had difficulty reading the Kel Dor - his mask that filtered the oxygen poisonous to his species covering everything that might have clued her in to his feelings, even his eyes. But after nearly ten standard years by his side, Amara prided herself in her ability to notice the subtle shifts in Master Plo’s posture, in the smallest tilts of his head, the ways he held his hands or crossed his arms, that most people, even other Jedi, missed.

Now, Amara could tell just by the master’s folded hands that he was amused. She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think my co-commander likes me.”

Master Plo hummed but made no indication of wanting to say more. Of course he wouldn’t. Every time Amara was upset, he always gave her space to speak her worries out loud.

Giving a voice to our fears means we don’t have to fear them alone, was something he’d taught Amara long ago. And now, even though they were no long Master and Apprentice, he still practiced this with her - no matter how often she thought she’d rather sulk in silence.

“It’s just,” Amara sighed, “I thought we’d be able to work together. And before you say it, I know. I know we only just met and that he has no reason to trust me. But he wouldn’t even look at me!”

Amara hadn’t meant to raise her voice on that last part, or to sound more like the Padawan she was supposed to have graduated out of than the Jedi Knight she supposedly was, but the more she spoke, the more her anger (and her fear) leaked out.

“And you know I can’t help what I feel through the Force, but with him I-,” she hesitated, eying Master Plo’s patient form.

She trusted her old master with her life. She trusted him more than anyone in the galaxy and she knew that he would treat whatever she told him as something to be guarded. But Amara wasn’t entirely sure she was supposed to be feeling what she was from Wolffe - especially if Master Plo himself hadn’t felt it the way she had.

Yes, Amara’s power in the Force was much more connected to empathy than most Jedi. It was natural that she’d feel certain emotions from others more keenly and clearly. But, try as she might to deny it, Amara had never felt what she had when Wolffe was in this room. And something about that made her afraid to tell anyone.

Even Master Plo.

She opened her mouth to change tracks, to make up some excuse, but in a rare move, the Kel Dor interrupted her.

“You felt his emotions more clearly than you have from anyone else.”

It wasn’t a question. And Amara flushed at his ability to see right through her.

Definitely not a good liar.

“And his feelings were . . .” Master Plo trailed off, waiting for Amara to tell him the truth.

Again, she hesitated. She never lied to Master Plo. But the emotions she was feeling weren’t her’s alone - they weren’t even meant for her to know about. She might trust her old master, but that didn’t mean Wolffe felt the same - not yet.

And no matter how Wolffe had acted toward her, he still deserved his privacy. Amara knew all too well what it was like to have one’s feelings poked and prodded and questioned - she wouldn’t do the same to someone who was supposed to be an ally, not even if that someone was currently at the root of her current issues.

“I’m . . . not sure he’d want me to tell you that,” Amara stood up straighter, a feeling of absolute certainty filling her for the first time since she woke up that morning. “He didn’t ask for me to be able to feel his emotions so clearly. So long as he’s not endangering himself or others, I don’t think I have a right to tell anyone else what he’s feeling. Not without his permission. Not even to you.”

Amara resisted the urge to bite her lip as she watched Master Plo closely. They were still navigating how to work as equals rather than as master and apprentice. And though Master Plo had been gracious and encouraging in the time following her knighting, Amara sometimes found it difficult to stand on her own, especially when it was against the person who had practically raised her.

Even now, a small part of her was worried that, for the first time since she’d known him, he’d admonish her. But of course, he didn’t. He never did, because that wasn’t the kind of person Plo Koon was. Instead, he bowed his head ever so slightly, before reaching out a hand to place on her shoulder again. He didn’t squeeze or pat or move at all. And, in his silence, Amara knew she had done right.

She might question her place in this war. She might question most things these days. But in this decision, she knew she was right.

Even with the hurt and annoyance still coursing through her veins at Wolffe’s attitude, Amara couldn’t deny that her co-commander’s sudden presence in her life had inadvertently brought her something she hadn’t felt since before Geonosis: a small moment of peace.

As she walked out of the briefing room with Master Plo, clones nodding and saluting as they passed, Amara wished she could convince herself that the feeling would last.

But the residual anger and confusion left in her mind from Wolffe had also fueled her own tumultuous emotions, reminding her that even though she was a Jedi - peacekeeper of the Republic - this was war. And until the war was over, there would be no peace to keep, only fragments of it to fight over until they either won enough pieces with which to rebuild or lost enough to watch the Republic fall.

Maybe that’s what Wolffe was upset about. Amara had approached him with questions and ideas born from nothing more than what she’d read about and the small amount of experience she’d had in Geonosis. But Wolffe had been preparing for this his entire life. He knew what she was only just beginning to realize: win or lose, people would die.

Amara wasn’t sure how there could ever be peace in that.

#commander wolffe #wolffe x oc #jedi oc #the clone wars #tcw #w: a shattered peace #star wars #clone fic #wolffe

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meandmyechoes · 2 years

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@/gizkalord: they’re going to make it explicit that anakins training is what helps ahsoka survive order 66 aren’t they.

#um. yeah #flashing gif #ahsoka tano #tales of the jedi #totj spoilers #tcw s7 #the clone wars #shattered #i know tomorrow when i wake up they're gonna release an HD trailer so this post is most #the circled shot has it closer in 518 #and the twist mid-air move is preceeded by a cartwheel in 518 too #and of course stun rings another similarity

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eriexplosion · 3 months

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So the main reason I think that TBB will have a reasonably happy ending is multifaceted but I think the biggest one is that a lot of the series it's compared to have entirely different focuses but only one requires minimum the majority of the characters to be alive.

It comes down to the central question of the work. Let's look at TCW - this one is super broad because it's essentially an anthology rather than an overarching narrative. It's literally just "what happens between attack of the clones and revenge of the sith." The only thing needed to bring it to a satisfactory close is to go up to the end of the clone wars and segue into ROTS. Which, as a tragic film, does necessitate a bit of a downer ending. But, the ending feels fulfilling even with the tragedy because it satisfies the central question.

Rogue One is much more narrow, how did the rebellion get the death star plans? The reason you can do a total cast annihilation in this one is because the central question isn't character focused at all, it's mission focused. As long as they move the mission forward, the characters dying doesn't make the ending less satisfying. The central question is answered.

So what's been TBB's central question? It hasn't been mission focused, it's not "how do we fight the Empire" and its not as broad as TCW's filling in a multi year gap between movies. It's asking "who are these clones if they're not soldiers" it's asking "how do you heal this family that's been broken by tragedy."

And killing off most of the main cast answers these questions as "nothing" and "You don't." It's like answering "what happened between these two movies" with 'nothing' or 'how did they get the death star plans with 'they didn't.' It negates the central question that we're introduced to, it would render the entire endeavor pointless. Why would we need three seasons to get Omega from 'alone' to 'still alone' why would we build up the desire for the family to heal just to say they never will? Why would we watch them go from broken to more broken to absolutely shattered in a trauma mill? It doesn't answer anything, it just trails off.

I don't even think that the question of how to heal the family can be satisfied if Tech is actually dead. MAYBE if we had more time we could soothe away the trauma of that and still resolve everything. Maybe if his loss was the only one that needed to be wrapped up and processed we could resolve that in the time we have left.

But needing to bring Crosshair home, bring Omega home, AND heal everyone from Tech's death in fifteen episodes that also require enough action to keep ten year old boys interested? Yeah, I don't think that's happening. I think the only way that this gets wrapped up in a way that actually holds to the themes of the show is an ending that has the family together, an ending that actually answers the questions we started with, one that said *they're not soldiers, they're family* and that the family is in fact capable of being healed.

#the bad batch #tbb speculation #idk idk i just can't doomsay about this one #maybe it'll all backfire on me but right now I'm an optimist #i do genuinely think it'll be okay #its almost 2 am so this might not be coherent

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breakingdownsomebarriers · 8 months

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Been a hot minute since I’ve been on here, but I scribbled these down and figured I’d share! This is my first fully-formed clone squad known as Shatter Squad. The Shatter Squad is within the 501st, if that wasn't clear by the color. Some of those in the squad are transfers, such as Bonesaw and the twins (Tripwire and Deadbeat), while the others were put into the squad from the get-go. Some of these designs aren't exactly all in the same timeframe during their story. For example, Trip's design is actually a future version of him, while the others are mostly when the squad was freshly put together. Confusing? Yeah. I'm just a tad lazy and didn't want to change it lol I have some basic info down below of some of the members, if you want to have a read. If not, I hope you liked the doodles!

Coil is the leader of the squad, but I haven't decided on a rank for him yet. He's a pretty serious guy most of the time. On the rare occasion that they have extended downtime or go to 79's, he's much more loose and open to jokes. He got his name when someone from his batch complained about him being "tightly wound like a coil". It stuck. Bonesaw is a medic, and a damn good one at that. He is actually pretty snarky, sarcastic, and so, so very smug. When he's actually peeved at someone though he has a great resting bitch face. He enjoys verbally tearing into someone if they've done something stupid and got injured for it. A nat-born medic called him Bonesaw once because of his very good ability to verbally maul someone. Kept the name because he thought it was badass. Tripwire is the team's trap-setter and infiltration-leader. Very efficient in his work- super thorough and good at shifting plans on the fly. His name was originally Livewire, but it ended up shifting to Tripwire because he is prone to being "tripped" when someone hits a nerve. He's Deadbeat's twin (they were made in the same decanting chamber). (Bit of a note here regarding his future stuff. His eye is made out of recycled assassin droid parts and both of his forearms have been replaced with prostheses. I won't get into spoiler lore because...that'd be no fun. I'll write it out eventually but until then, my lips are sealed.) Deadbeat is the team's heavy weapons guy, with the Z-6 rotary blaster cannon being his firearm of choice. The poor guy can't stand shinies: they ask him too many questions, and he hates how arrogant most of them end up being. His name was given to him as a joke, and he was too indifferent towards it to look for a replacement.

Flint is the team's electronics expert. Absolutely a prodigy when it comes to tech and loves to tinker whenever he can. His name comes from his ability to go from kind and soft to prickly and sharp. Most of the time he's pretty passive and complacent, but if he's worn down enough he'll make jabs at pretty much anyone. He can only take so much shit from people before he'll throw self restraint out the window and fire back. Oh, and he's also an ARC trooper- so there's that.

Bombshell is the final member of the team, and is the explosives expert (note, he does already have a post of his own, so you can go and check that out if you want). Anyway, he's blue-yellow colorblind and this has led to a few funny moments during his time as a shiny. He got his name when Bonesaw made a comment that he was practically a factory with the amount of bombshells he kept dropping on the team. He liked the word, so he took it and kept it as his name.

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