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Poets and Painters (Late Afternoon) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss [and in this segment, more explicit conversation about death and what comes after], Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word-count: 5,342

Everyone will look a little sun-kissed by nightfall after spending all day basking in the light of Little Archossi's nearest star. It'll be easier to notice on some members of the crew with skin different than the deeper browns commonly found among the Clones. Hopefully people found and remembered to use sun protection this morning. (Or, the medics aboard the Triumphant have a lot of bacta gel in case people come back to the cruiser looking redder than the skies over Dathomir.)

You’ve been doing your best to prevent getting sunburned, others don’t give a single kark in the galaxy. Much like this particular Clone who’s lazing in the grass, fingers interlocked and tucked around the back of his head, one leg propped up in the air on the opposite knee as he sways and bobs his foot in time with some song stuck in his head that’s popular on the Holonet these days. Maker alive, you can only hope he won’t get sunburn, given that he's a spacer. (You're pretty sure he is, anyhow, given the uniform of a naval officer.)

"I wish we had more days like this… Don't you, Arcadia?"

Those who spend much of their time in space and under artificial lighting are loving this. Sun lamps can only do so much for keeping their overall mental well-being buoyed. For all the technological advancements in the galaxy, there are some few things there are still no shortcuts for.

You certainly don't disagree, but you need to finish passing out the rest of this crate you volunteered to distribute to people on this side of the clearing. This trooper lazing about in the grass is slowing you down, so you playfully roll your eyes, and fix him with your best look to show him you're not afraid to mean business if he doesn't sit up soon. "Maybe when the war's over, soldier. C'mon, take your ration so I don't lose my momentum. Commander Wolffe wouldn't be happy to hear if anyone goes hungry today."

No, he probably won't be, the trooper agrees with a kind chuckle. He sits up and takes the ration gratefully. "First thing I'll do is have a picnic, I think. When the war is over." The troopers and crew are - technically speaking - having a picnic right now, you point out with a bemused grin, handing off another individually wrapped ration bar to his neighbor. "I mean a proper one. With food, instead of rations! Something with flavor. Not colorless and loaded with bland preservatives."

"Beige is a color." you retort.

"Karkin' ugly one, sure."

You fix him with a teasing grin this time. "Are you pulling a prank on me by pretending to be Orchid? I can actually tell the men apart from one another, you know." A careful balancing act of patience and practice, to be sure, but the time spent observing everyone pays off for moments like these grateful smiles.

"You can? Then who's that over there, slinking out of the forest just a little off to the left?"

Yes, you definitely can, you promise the Clone trooper who's decided to be cheeky with you. And- perfect! You've got just one ration pack left in the box, and he doesn't have one in his hands, as far as you can tell. "Everything okay, Comet? Have you gotten a lunch ration yet?"

"Oh good, I would've hated to miss chow. Thank you, Arcadia. And yeah, everything's good; just well-hydrated."

You toss him the last ration pack from right where you are and tuck the box against your side now that it's empty. "Better that than being dehydrated. Enjoy your lunch, Comet."

"Where's your's?" He's sweet enough to worry and ask why you don't have any food for yourself, but it's unnecessary.

"I'll get one from another crate, don't worry, Comet." you assure him with a warm smile. You'll probably see him soon enough when he joins the small assembly on the hill under the red and yellow leafed tree with Sinker, Boost and the Commander. You imagine you'll be joined by Plo Koon as well.

But will you still get to address Wolffe like an equal in front of his sergeants when it’s no longer just the two of you? Or should you play it safe and return to addressing him as commander and sir rather than risk looking, acting, overly familiar?

"All finished, Arcadia?"

"Passed off the last in the box to Comet." you explain, sitting across from Commander Wolffe rather than next to him. His brothers have taken up their places beside him, leaving you no room to join. And that's fine; you already sat side by side with Wolffe for hours.

“Then that should be everyone. Here.” Rather than ask one of his brothers, Wolffe gives you one of the rations in the box settled behind him in the shade, sheltered from the sunlight. You take it gratefully from his hand. “Thank you, sir. Hopefully these aren’t too bad.” Always a bit of a gamble, ration bars… Some are pretty soft and crumbly while others are tough and chewy. The flavor is oftentimes fairly plain at best, or rather unpleasant if you’re unlucky in your choices of supplier. But a meal’s a meal.

As you’re chewing your first bite of the ration bar thoughtfully, trying to imagine who in their right mind would willingly scarf these down were it not for a war, the Commander politely clears his throat to get your attention.

“You’re still welcome to call me Wolffe, Arcadia.”

The slight warmth in your face has nothing to do with the sun above you; it's the six eyes trained on you and your every little move as you further shuck the wrapper encasing the foodstuffs. "Sorry, I… didn't want to assume it was still okay now that it's not just the two of us." you explain, nodding hello to Sinker and Boost in kind. (They return the gesture just as politely.) But if you're still invited to address him without his rank, or a respectful term, then you certainly will. It had just been better to play it safe.

"I see…" His eyes narrow here, and for a heartbeat, you think he's almost sort of glaring you down, but you realize he's squinting and looking behind you. "What is the General doing…?"

You turn and look.

Master Plo Koon is standing at the edge of the clearing, speaking with Comet, who's pointing deep into the trees. He's making animated hand gestures, and demonstrating the size and shape of something to the Jedi. Tall, and coming to a peak. And he's not having a lot of luck with properly conveying a few other things, as evident by the long, growing pauses and the Kel Dor softly shaking his head. Finally Comet gets a better idea, and is gesturing for the General to follow him.

"Arcadia, could I use one of the pages in your sketchbook? There's something I'm trying to figure out how to explain to the General. There's something in the forest, I think."

That gets Wolffe's attention.

You carefully tear one of the pages out by the perforated edge, and pluck one of the graphite pencils from your bag for him to borrow. The words something in the forest sounded a little urgent to you, and like the Jedi, you want to understand what's going on now. Like Wolffe, you want to determine if this thing is a threat.

Comet thanks you, and begins to send the pencil shwoop!-ing against the page without a moment of hesitation. He's gotten a good look, some of the shapes looked pretty organic to him, from what he could make out. Boost chuckles, trying to lighten the growing tension when Wolffe gets to his feet, and stands beside his brother, observing.

"Yeah, they're called trees, Comet; those are pretty damn organic."

Comet shakes his head firmly, his full lips pursed together in concentration as he quickly tries to sketch down what he saw. "No, it looked different. Like a sort of… hut built around a tree. But it was really far away, so I couldn't see it clearly." When he came back from doing his business out in the woods, he meant to inform the Commander and General what he saw; but you had stopped by with food, a momentary distraction.

What Comet thinks he saw was some kind of structure from the inhabitants of Little Archossi. "Perhaps I should investigate the structure and the surrounding area, to determine what it is that Comet saw... Commander Wolffe, remain here with the battalion, and be prepared for anything." Plo Koon offers, beginning to walk where he's been directed.

Wolffe bristles at the idea of General Plo volunteering to investigate the structure alone. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, General."

He is invited to stand down, asked to watch over his brothers and the crew once again. "Don't worry, Commander," the Kel Dor adds soothingly, laying a steady hand on the shoulder bell that bears the face of the wolf on the flint-gray armor, "I do not sense any threats or hear any warnings from the Force, for the time being."

"... very well, General." the man with the mark of a survivor agrees reluctantly.

Survivors get scars for their efforts, Arcadia. Skin-deep, scrawled in the deepest recesses of their minds… it doesn't matter. A scar is a scar. But the victims… the dead… they are lucky if they get a crude headstone in this war.

"I'll keep an eye on the men. Wait for your orders." Wolffe promises a little more firmly. And you, interrupting Boost and Sinker without intention, offer to help the Commander keep an eye on everyone this time. The look the three of you direct his way says, in a way impossible to mistake for anything else says you think you're doing this again, alone?

Somehow, we'll pass the time together.

According to the display in the upper right-hand corner of the datapad in your hand, the time is 14:30. You have another half-hour to go before it is 15:00, and have agreed with Sargeants Sinker and Boost that is when you should start to become concerned for the male Kel Dor's absence.

Jedi Master Plo Koon left to investigate the structure out in the forests of Little Archossi at 12:30 sharp, and he has not yet returned. But he has touched the comlink at least once, to inform his commander of his findings.

"The structure is a crude hut… One in desperate need of repair; time has not been kind to it in its occupant's absence. I sense it has been empty for a long, long time. I saw other, similar structures further still into the forest - I intend to investigate these as well. No trouble in the clearing still, I hope, Commander Wolffe?"

"No sir. Everything is fine." Wolffe had promised him, likely grateful that the Jedi could not see the tightness of his jaw, and the disapproving shake of his head. He still didn't (and still doesn't) like the idea of his general being so far from the safety of the clearing without company. 'Someone should have gone with him' has been uttered more than once to the three who have volunteered to split the load of monitoring the company and the edge of the surrounding forest.

"General, I-"

"Yes, Commander?"

Wolffe had shaken his head again, and changed his mind. "...I thought you would like to know Tack confirmed the blue flowers are in fact Dinocaeruleus anthos and has checked the credibility of the original findings. He and Arcadia believe it will still be best not to draw excessive attention to them."

You and Tack both had been praised and thanked for your diligent assessment and skills as a researcher respectively before the Force-wielder said he expected to return to the clearing by 15:00 at the earliest. If anything delayed him, he would be making contact once more.

The nearest star is no longer directly overhead, and the shadows are just beginning to lengthen and throw themselves further eastward. You distract yourself from your worries about the General's absence with something to read for a moment, something chosen at random. (You were "instructed" to take a break as part of some protocol (one you are partly suspect of being made up).)

You're not paying much attention to the Aurebesh on the screen, quite honestly.

You're more distracted by the Commander and his acts of quiet anxiety. Patrolling the circumference of the clearing once again, routinely stopping and watching in the direction of the dilapidated hut for any signs of the Jedi. Discreetly conferring with Sinker and Boost. And when they can convince him, he returns to either of the tallest grassy hills for a moment to stop and observe all of his men at once.

The time is now 14:35.

And your reading material is about as interesting as an instruction manual on how to polish and clean up a blaster without corroding the material or compromising its firepower. So you decide it's time to try something else from the reading material you have loaded up on the device.

It's labeled as one of the free holo-novels of the month, courtesy of the five-credits-a-standard-month subscription service that was recommended to you, a best-seller. But there's no synopsis or pitch of any kind that advertises what you'll find inside and why you should read it. It boasts a generic title (The Rush of Hyperspace) and pretty innocent cover artwork of an astro-map.

Curious, you select the best seller just as Orchid passes by behind you. The whispered words from over your shoulder chill the very blood in your veins.

"Psst, hey, Arcadia! You realize you're reading that in public, right?"

"What do you-?" your eyes flit to the very first sentence now that the screen has loaded in, and oh galaxy and all her stars. The very first sentence talks about how much this protagonist - a soldier - misses his girl, and the steering column is not the only thing he's throttling at the mere thought of her… the words 'a loud, sinful groan filling the cockpit' are practically seared into your retina.

Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!

You've never backed out of a story so fast, nor anxiously prayed that Orchid would keep his fucking trap shut. "I had no idea, I swear."

"One of those stealthy ones?"

"I don't know, Orchid. And keep your karking voice down." you warn him, removing the free story from your suggestions so you can't make the same mistake twice or be recommended more of the same thing in the future.

"Sorry. Was only trying to warn you that your screen was visible to everyone. What you do and don't read isn't my business, just like what I read isn't yours." Orchid replies with a casual, little shrug. "I ain't gonna tell anyone, Arcadia." he promises.

Your voice comes out in a low, threatening purr as you tell him you're going to keep him to his word. "They'll find you fertilizing the rest of the flowerbed if I find out you have, Orchid."

While the threat doesn't have quite the intended effect, you're grateful that Orchid is taking you seriously, in his own way… "Hah, I suppose that'd make for a fitting end. Name myself after a flower, get turned into flower-food when I die..." He smiles, finding humor in the threat while promising again that he really won't tell anyone.

"I hope I'll make really beautiful flowers when I die."

It's a little strange, almost unnerving to you, that the possibility of dying doesn't seem to phase him. That he's making jokes about it, almost. You suddenly feel worried about him. "Orchid-"

You're stopped with a single, apologetic smile. "Sorry, sorry. I know that all sounds pretty morbid, Arcadia. But I've made my peace with it and I don't bar myself from joking about it either, really. Now, I don't want to die, of course, but I'm not really afraid to, either."

You suppose that's fair, with some internal reasoning. "I guess that makes sense. Everyone has different thoughts about the inevitable end of a lifeform's conscious existence. What it means for them, to them. What happens to us after. Or, what we hope for, like…" you add with a nod to Orchid, "making beautiful flowers from… whatever's left."

There's a partial, amused chuckle from Commander Wolffe, who's recently returned to the hill following another perimeter sweep, and has been listening to you and Orchid for the last few moments. The time is now 14:50, according to a fleeting glance at the top of your datapad. "More of your philosophical ponderings, Arcadia?" And care to explain why you threatened to bury one of his men in a flowerbed, while you're at it?

(Thank the Maker he didn't hear what sort of novel Orchid had seen you open, at least. Something so raunchy it opened right into the act of self-pleasure and cultivation within the very first paragraphs.)

"Ah, y'know me, Commander," Orchid says dismissively, taking the heat off of you to explain away the situation, "just saying the usual banthashit that makes Soapsuds threaten to wash my mouth out. Arcadia got a little more creative than that, though!"

Commander Wolffe sighs, looking both surprised and unsurprised. Yes he certainly does 'say the usual banthashit', but to turn it into a discussion about death and what comes after, that's an unusual thing to follow up with. (Usually it's more lectures about discipline and reading the room.)

"Well, Arcadia has a knack for that."

Strange how only this morning, you and the commander were little more than perfect strangers, and by midday, you were calling the other by name in private. And now, here in the early afternoon, you had briefly shared lunch together, and still called each other by name, only now permitted - promised, even - to do so in the presence of others.

"Oh yeah, I saw the art," Orchid replies with a strangely wolfish grin, "good stuff. Looked like worship."

The words "The fuck do you mean by that?" find themselves clawing out of your throat before you stop and consider the tone, the snappy weight of them. Trying to cover your self-perceived blunder, you're now laughing nervously, tugging a hand through your hair in a harsh movement. "Maker alive there's something really weird about this planet, everyone's saying all this sage shit and acting so damn… strangely today!"

You've fooled Orchid. But you haven't fooled his commanding officer. Not entirely.

"Oh I just meant-"

"I would agree, Arcadia…" Wolffe begins with a thoughtful look as he regards a chrono for the time - now squarely 14:55 - and chews over something on his mind before speaking with brevity, "Today has been anything but normal. Strange planet. Strange plants and animals…" Strange lack of communication from his General, you figure he must want to say. This is a little out of character for the Force-wielder to behave in some of the ways he has today; by and large delaying the 104th battalion for most of a full day that could otherwise be spent traveling just for a day in the sun.

All for what? has been asked, secretly, over and over. By yourself. By the flint-gray Commander, of course. By Sinker and Boost, too.

Why are we here on Little Archossi? Where is Plo Koon?

And how will you keep a newly forged friendship of sorts from fizzling out after today? … Are you even friends? Have you misread your interactions of the day so far, believing there's something special? With you, for you?

You're not special.

You're just Arcadia.

Taking note of your silence, or perhaps a troubled expression, Orchid asks you what's wrong. "You look deep in thought. Something on your mind?"

"Just hoping General Plo returns or contacts us at 15:00 when he said we should likely hear from him." you offer after a shrug. It's true enough at least. Unless he's run into trouble, or has been delayed, there should be little reason that you would not see the Jedi as he concludes his search of the area beyond the decaying structure.

"Same here," Orchid replies, nodding to his Commander in a more respectful manner than he would when talking to Suds, "you too, I reckon, sir?" The singular, short exhale is Orchid's answer. "Oh, right, stupid question; of course you are, Commander." he offers almost apologetically, face darkening with embarrassment.

"I had to watch, helpless, inside that damaged escape pod, as my General and my brothers fought off those battle droids who were killing the survivors… Desperately trying to keep that distress beacon active, all because he had the hope someone would come for us."

You had finished adding some of the deep blue to the fluffy black curls of his hair that served as the highlights while Wolffe recounted for you, in more detail than what had been supplied by Tack, the Battle of Abregado.

And the way he was telling you, it seemed to suggest something to you. Something you could only guess at.

"Well… given that you're sitting here next to me, telling me this story, obviously General Plo was right. Did you…?" The words "not fully believe that at the time?" hang in the air between you, unspoken. He'll know. Smart and capable man that he is, the seasoned leader of the 104th battalion will figure you out.

"I wasn't sure." Wolffe admits with a grim expression, ripping up blades of grass by the fistful the longer he talks. "We were promised, pledged to, that we were not expendable to General Plo. Now perhaps General Skywalker and Commander Tano still would have come to scout the wreckage even if it wasn't for General Plo, because they seem to truly care for their men from the look of things… But we had no way of knowing at the time, for sure."

A tender hand is laid on his crossed leg, just for a moment, a silent offer of comfort for him.

He takes a deep breath before speaking in a hushed voice. "Given that I am sitting here, next to you as you said, Arcadia… ultimately, the General was right."

"I'm glad he was." you whisper back, just louder than the slow, smooth sweep of the coloring pencils in your hand against the page.

Stirring up such emotions to the surface will take a toll on him the longer you draw out the conversation, so you were sure to move on to something else. Something innocuous, something ordinary.

Does he ever play games to pass the time?

The chrono has barely ticked over to 15:00 when the Commander's comlink trills. A sound famous for being rather startling at times is for once one of the most wonderful sounds in all the galaxy: it promises that the Kel Dor is safe.

"There are more dwellings further from the decaying structure that Comet saw from the clearing. I believe I found one of the settlements, but I will be returning to the battalion instead of making contact."

"Why is that, General?" Commander Wolffe wonders, brow furrowed with confusion.

"I believe the inhabitants of Little Archossi are nocturnal… and should I wake them simply trying to make contact, I'm afraid I would appear to them as a threat instead." the Jedi explains haltingly, voice sort of rumbling down the mic and audio sensors. You wonder, with how cautious his tone is, if he is near the settlement right now as he speaks. "I will be back shortly… and will explain in more detail."

"Understood, sir." Commander Wolffe dismisses himself from the communication, just short of breathing a sigh of relief. The General is safe and will return in a timely manner, then. He can allow himself to loosen his guard.

Orchid is a little more crude in his relief as he thanks the Maker before excusing himself. Being soldiers, you rationalize that their language is going to be more colorful than most peoples', but Orchid… he's something else.

"How the fuck do you even spell that?" you wonder to yourself with a shake of your head, "And where does he find all these words?"

"It's best you don't ask." Wolffe cautions you. "Only inspires him to find more." The look he supplies you with suggests more than just speaking from experience. Don't encourage him. I don't need more headaches on the day we're meant to be relaxing, apparently.

"I'll be sure not to." you promise with a soft laugh and a teasing smile. "Best not to invite trouble in the General's absence."

Best not to invite trouble, or give the impression of it, at every available opportunity.

Wolffe, still as a sentinel beside you, greets the Kel Dor as he extracts himself from the forest and reenters the clearing. "Welcome back General."

You imagine you're being regarded with a great deal of confusion, an unexpected sight beside the Clone Commander. "...Arcadia, is something the matter?" To be greeted by his men is one thing, a normal and familiar occurrence, but this time one of the crew is present. Has something happened in his absence? Given your talents in risk assessment, have you found anything that would be a cause for concern?

"Just keeping him company," you explain, indicating Commander Wolffe beside you with a little gesture of your free hand, "while I sketch one of the Dinocaeruleus anthos flowers. For Tack." You felt you'd rested your wrist long enough when you made the offer to the researcher Clone, concerned for the device when he complained it was growing hot after hours without end in direct sunlight.

Offering to draw this strange little flower with blue silky petals, as accurately as you could to the best of your abilities, once again made for a pleasant distraction for the one-oh-fourth's battle-hardened leader. (He'll actually stay put so long as you're working on something, it appears.)

"That's very kind of you, Arcadia." Plo compliments you deservedly. "Making Tack a botanical illustration to reference at a future opportunity… Most helpful."

"Feeling rather spoiled." Tack chuckles agreeably. "An Arcadia artwork of my very own."

Stifling a sigh for the time being, you instead laugh softly and opt for teasing him in return. "Consider yourself lucky that I was bored and wanted to kill some time while waiting for General Plo to return. Can't expect these every time, Tack."

"Oh, I would never," Tack promises, "that'd be pretty karkin' entitled of me…" Swallowing his sudden nervousness, Tack recomposed himself after a beat. "It's good to see you've returned safely, General Plo."

The Kel Dor before the three of you dips his head in a gesture of polite agreement, mirroring the relief felt by the collective trio with gratitude of his own from the way his shoulders slacken ever so gently, and the time he takes to answer. "Thank you, Commander Wolffe and young Tack, both. I am relieved that no trouble found you all while I was away, and that I was able to return safely as well."

You don't need the use of the Force to sense the budding concern within the men to your left and right. "Oh? Did you run into trouble, General?" you ask, verbalizing the wonder shared by all.

With a simple shake, whatever fears swelling within you are abated, for the moment. "Not the sort you assume, no. There was something nearly troubling about the settlement when I came upon it; the stillness was unexpected. I presumed the inhabitants would be going about their lives up to my approach, expecting them to flee or fight if I made myself known, should I have made contact… But there was nothing. The entire place was still, deep in slumber."

And waking them up would have been unwise, Wolffe paraphrases the relayed message sent in earlier, connecting all pieces of the explanation. "Came back to avoid giving the impression of a threat in the event they found you."

General Plo nods before further adding he also sensed a strange presence in the Force in the settlement; he wants to wait closer to nightfall to potentially return, rather than leave. "I understand you must have your concerns, all of you… Especially yours, young Tack. But there was something strange… a flutter in the Force in that settlement that I cannot ignore."

His mere acknowledgement of the concern is a slight comfort for the moment. But why had Tack in particular been singled out? He had reacted the least between Commander Wolffe and yourself to the addressal of strange presences and the notion to remain on Little Archossi as night fell, rather than leave before the full setting of the sun as was originally planned.

The tight squeeze of the Commander's jaw had you concerned for the eventual ache to come following such an action; not to mention the sort of subconscious, nonverbal signals commonly associated with it were not entirely positive. Subtle insights to Wolffe's way of thinking.

The General wants to stay here past dark, now? A flutter in the Force could be anything, mean anything, or worse yet, nothing. Is the Force known for playing tricks on those it bestows its blessings, could this be a test? (But why would the General be tested here, now, on this likely uncharted planet untouched by war?)

Tack had given no such signs on the other hand, apart from now with the stammer in his voice. "G-General, I'm not certain what you mean…?"

Later, Plo Koon promises, he'll likely take the time to explain how he sensed the worries Tack has about this situation; for now, it appears he's getting a feel for the opinions of his commanding officer, Wolffe, and a member of the crew with training in risk analysis, you, first. "Are there any reasons you believe we need to consider that sway in favor of leaving before nightfall?"

Someone, between the two of you, gives a long-suffering sigh first.

"The safety of the Clones, and crew, sir." Short, to-the-point, and continual in his concern for his brothers, Commander Wolffe makes a rather obvious and deliberate point to communicate his reasoning.

And you did not miss the way his eyes, the brilliant silver and the rich vandyke, had raked you from head to toe as 'and crew' parted his lips. It wasn't a simple glance, or meeting your eye, but he eyed you up and down. (Why? Why had he done that?)

Since Wolffe has expressed concern for Master Plo's forces so succinctly, you opt to voice your concerns stirred up by the Kel Dor's observations he's reported back with.

"I'm not wild about the idea of looking like a threat to the people living on Little Archossi… There are so many of us. We had no real way of making contact before taking the gunships here this morning, and… I hate to make assumptions, but I have concerns we could vastly outnumber the inhabitants of the settlement and not know it. If I were them… I think I would be concerned about so many people suddenly showing up on my planet by the time I've woken up."

Two sides of the same credit, you and Commander Wolffe. In the end, the concern of overall safety, and the concern of appearing safe have been taken into account.

If he explains his findings to everyone else in the clearing, Plo Koon thinks inviting everyone to decide for themselves is the best option. It is officially the start of the late afternoon here on Little Archossi, and there is still time to plan for an encounter.

Those who wish to return to the Triumphant will leave before the sun begins to set.

With the will of the Force, and a healthy dosage of luck, any potential large-scale interaction between the soldiers of the Republic and the people on this forested planet will go off without a hitch.

Don't have a fic taglist form for the time being. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (for example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

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battlekilt · 1 year

Note

Your interpretation of Cody and Obi-wans relationship in parallel to Obi-wan and Anakins was something that never really crossed my mind. But now that you say it, it really is a fascinating view on them. I'd read a whole book about it.

In response to this post.

Funny you should say that, Anon. I am currently in the process of writing a rather sizable chunk of a fic, for the purposes of having a lot of it written before it starts going up, and the dynamic between these three are a key element. Though, I have a blorbo—Rex is the main character. These three? Though? They contain some of the most important relationships in his life, so that will be explored, a lot. Especially since the three of them play a large part in what drives the narrative.

I am glad you feel that way, specifically.

No matter what, Cody is, like all Clones, an incredibly young man. Even if we somehow set aside the fact that he was 'born' the year Obi-Wan became Anakin's master, which I don't think is entirely honest to wholly do, and focus on his physical development...

Cody is 'twenty-years' old when he meets Obi-Wan. Cody is functionally, in comparison, a 4-star General.

Let me elaborate further:

In the US Military, there are currently 17 active 4-Star Generals.

To quote Wiki:

There are currently 44 active-duty four-star officers in the uniformed services of the United States: 17 in the Army*, three in the Marine Corps, eight in the Navy, 11 in the Air Force*, two in the Space Force***, two in the Coast Guard, and one in the Public Health Service Commissioned Corps. ARMY** and AF** are bold because it fits the scope of the 3rd System Army, with the 7th Sky Corps is nested within the System Army. Which, fits with the allegorical theme of the GAR being based on the US Military. The Air Force was a nested tactical corps within the US ARMY from its inception in 1933-35 (ask a military historian which date and start an argument), and became a separate and equal element in 1947.

One remarkable note is that the US Army has the most 4-star positions that it has had since WWII. But, I digress.

Much like the US Military is divided regionally, the GAR is divided into the major galactic sectors. Nearly all are under the command of a member of the Jedi High Council, and there were a 1–2 Admirals that were given command for brief periods. All were served by the highest rank achievable by a Clone—Marshal Commander.

That's our sunshine boy. One of the most powerful 12–15 Clones in the whole Grand Army of the Republic.

Under Cody's command, because let's be real, Obi-Wan is there to provide legitimacy, vibe-checks, and familiarity with the galaxy that Cody would not have—having grown up on an isolated world barely connected to the GFFA, there are 250,000 Clone Troopers, with a support personnel corps at about 4x–7x per Clone Trooper, and this is aside from Naval staff and any civilian personnel.

This puts the 3rd System at:

Low: 1,769,472 High: 2,359,296

Let's put this more in perspective.

The current US Military, combined:

Active Duty: 1.4M Total: 2.2M

Alone, the 3rd has more Clones than the Army Reserve, as of 2021. However, in total, would have more personal than the Active Duty on the low estimate, and the total (active+reserve) is still under the highest estimate for the 3rd System Army.

Cody's command is... massive. While I understand that this fits with the galactic scale, that is still... a lot for one person. Yes, I am going to stand by my assessment that Cody would have the most military responsibilities, even in comparison to Obi-Wan. General Kenobi does not have the training that Cody has been given.

Now, let's go into Training VS Experience. Training is the education received: NEARLY all US officers are required to have a higher education—a bachelors degree or above.

(Admittedly, this does get complicated).

To my knowledge, most have all been taught at one of the military schools—West Point, Naval Academy, Air Force Academy, etc. There are some senior military colleges that are also secondary higher academies that some O-10s may have come from. Sorry, I didn't get too far down this one. While there may be exceptions, for the most part... this is going to be typical.

Generals typically have over 20 years of military experience.

30 years.

Developmentally, Cody is a twenty-year-old. 20. 10 * 2. Half of 40.

The lowest commissioned rank in the Army is 2nd Lt. Statically, the average age for all commissioned officers is, on average, in their forties, though a good number of our 2LTs are in their thirties.

Generals are typically in their forties.

This means that Cody is younger than... any officer.

Experience? Life Experience? Outside of education, drills and simulations? None. According to Legends, the Kaminoans barely allowed the RepComm trainers to ever use LiveAmmo. Though, it would be reasonable that by the time Cody would have entered ARC training, he would have been exposed to life-fire practice.

No matter how hard his training was, it was not the same as life-experience in the field. This is where Obi-Wan, one of the few Jedi Masters who has worked with military operations with ANY comfort—which was still very little, really lends himself to his XO.

The Kaminoans are professionals at creating and building... well, professional militaries. They had the help of Jango Fett and other Mandalorian trainers to augment their training. However, for the most part, the Clones were trained using the methodology and educational paradigm the Kaminoans created—though, never on the same scale. This was pure professional military education on an industrial level.

Cody?

Cody may have more training and knowledge than most four-star generals will have in their lifetime, all with the benefit of a wikipedia style swath of information, modern technology to impart that knowledge, and some pretty extensive stimulation. But, what is under Cody's pretty-little-military-cut head? All of it is knowledge that surpasses what most Generals will EVER dream, even if they just stayed in military education.

However.

He is a ten-year-old in a twenty-year-old's body with the brain of AT LEAST two-life-times of military experience.

Impressive, huh?

But, Cody is still... not like you or I.

At the time of Cody's training, it is highly unlikely they left the Kaminoan starsystem. If they did, they did not engage with the galaxy at large. This is a bit like growing up Tatooine.

On the edge of the galaxy, with only the stars to stare up at.

Anakin grew up in a sea of sand. Cody grew up in a... world of seas.

Cody's life experience, the life experience you and I would take for granted, is nonexistent. He could lead an army better than our best Generals could hope for. But, what else has he known?

My parallels are that Obi-Wan purposefully encouraged Anakin to be a sassy menace. He wanted to break that slave-mentality. Luckily, Anakin already showed that he could become a spitfire, even when he was sweet little Ani.

Similarly, I characterize that Obi-Wan did the same for Cody.

Anakin's shackles were the explosive in his body, the ferocity of how slave culture was brutally enforced—fear. However, Anakin knew that he was a slave, and he knew enough of something more.

Cody's shackles are the indoctrination he received from the time of his birth. Unfortunately for fandom at large, Cody is... a much more obedient military man that I think many want to see him. Based on remnants of Legends and the retained canon, no Marshal Commander would be in their position were they not... very obedient—to militant POVs. In fact, in the Disney comics, Cody has... a rather brutal attitude towards deserters—

BTW, in a military, desertion is one of the worst offensive that could be committed against a soldier's oath, that which they swore themselves to... but more importantly... their fellow soldiers.

In contrast, Wolffe is much more forgiving, and advocates for their re-assimilation in the GAR; Cody... disagrees with the fact that the deserters are still alive, and believes they should still be executed by a firing squad.

In season 1, Slick—for whatever reason—becomes a rare voice to call out the circumstances of the Clones. Not only do Rex and Cody recoil at a brother betraying the GAR, the Jedi, and of course... the killing of brothers, but they also scoff at his assertion that they are slaves.

Cut becomes a critical introduction to the slow character development we see Rex go through; Cody unlikely goes through the same because that's just how stories like this work. Just the simple act of asking the questions he gave to Rex set the stage for what happened on Umbara, and even then, Rex struggled to show defiance.

BTW, Fives's actions are fulfilling the duties of an (active) ARC. They are supposed to be more independent, whereas a command-class Clone like Rex may be a trained ARC, but his duties as a CC**** would mean that his prime directive is the cohesion of the command, and to assist in the joint operation between the Clones and the Jedi.

Fast-forward to Order 66 and Cody doesn't hesitate. Yes, it is the chip. However, that was not how ROTS was scripted or filmed. I know this is getting Doylist, but it is relevant. At that time, the Clones knew what was going to happen. They knew that they would eventually turn on the Jedi. Through the story of TCW08, it changes to a Manchurian Candidate concept, and eventually evolves the story of the chips that we know today. As the Doylist context changed, it remains that Cody acted without any pause. This is in line because the highest priority Cody held was always loyalty to the Republic. Loyalty to the REPUBLIC—Not the Jedi, not his brothers, not General Kenobi. Just. The. Republic. A traitor to the Republic is worst than the Separatists.

When the order went out, Cody's brain heard:

Obi-Wan friend. Obi-Wan betrayed Republic. Kill General Kenobi. He is no friend to the Republic—thus—to Cody.

Makes sense to him, especially at the moment. This is conditioning. This is indoctrination. This is militantism in action. The chip wasn't really necessary... it was for the sake of the audience who didn't want to believe that the men we began to care about would ever do this 'willfully,' even though all that mental conditioning and indoctrination would mean that they didn't have a choice... even if they didn't have the chip.

Obviously, by the time you get to TBB, when some Clones begin to question that Manchurian voice in their head, Cody's rationale returns, and so does his critical thinking. We have Cody, a Clone depicted in recent comics with a militant intolerance towards desertion, going AWOL from the Empire—that is HUGE. Was this his fall from grace? His fall to what was his darkside? From one angle, yes. However, it was a fallback into grace, and I like to think that it goes back to two people: Obi-Wan and Rex. We'll continue to focus on Obi-Wan, though.

I like to think that it was the seeds of the Jedi finally germinated, and it was Obi-Wan that planted them within his dear Clone Commander.

Obi-Wan being a one former menace himself—you know, a young man who thought tying two lightsabers to the ends of a rope was a good idea—got himself stuffed into one of the dreaded Jedi Council armchairs. Great, now he HAS to be responsible.

Cody and Anakin are, in many ways, parallels, just not direct. They are often inversions of each other, and together they make a great foil for Obi-Wan in general.

The idea that Obi-Wan saw this INCREDIBLY accomplished, intelligent, "gifted-child" of a Clone Commander and thought... "How do I get him to be a menace?"

I love it. I feel like it is just the thing someone like Obi-Wan Kenobi would do. It makes sense that Obi-Wan would want to help Cody grow beyond the very narrow—but extensive—field of knowledge, all for the express purpose of watching the young man develop into a more rounded individual.

It is also very, very Jedi. It was always the Jedi that were the sole friends of the Clones. So, it makes sense to me that the Jedi would advocate for this sort of well-rounded development. And the Clones? They would sorely need that kind of encouragement.

The Clones were never supposed to have names. They Clones were not individuals. It was the Jedi who told them to paint their units colors. It was the Jedi who TOLD him to pick out names. In Legends, and I think it fits with the remaining printed canon, Cody was actually very apprehensive and skeptical about how much of a good idea it was for the Clones TO develop individuality.

Cody was not bred for the specific purpose of his role—not even for being a CC. (Sorry, fanon)

He was just another Clone. Maybe he got nurtured and natured into a better candidate for a command-class Clone, but in the end? He was randomly chosen. As clarified in recent apocrypha, Cody was just a Clone Captain in the 91st when Obi-Wan found him and was impressed by him.

What made "Just A Clone Captain Cody" stand-out to Obi-Wan? There's plenty of theories that can arise.

In my lore, Alpha-17 recommended Obi-Wan go check out "#2224 in Windu's battalion."

From Captain to Marshal Commander? AHHHH. Someone send help.

Imagine the fine-lined walked poor young Obi-Wan had with Anakin: a former rebellious ginger-child himself, he became a well-behaved rule minder under Qui-Gon. Now he has this older Padawan, who is also a former slave of one of the harshest slave planets we know of. He has to get Anakin to be self-expressive, learn how to act on his own self-agency—AND—he has to also... try and help Anakin assimilate into the Jedi Order.

Take Cody: ten years old, looks twenty, has the knowledge of several lifetimes lived by career military men, who has seen very little of the galaxy.

Keep in mind, Obi-Wan met Jango Fett. He knew just what kind of attitude could lurk under that stony face so like the others, even if he said, "Yes, sir," without hesitation, and followed his orders faithfully.

I don't think Obi-Wan would be able to help himself. It is part of the Jedi Culture to be a positive presence. Unlike Anakin did with the 501st, Obi-Wan purposefully kept himself removed from most Clones; his empathy made it too difficult to ensure their suffering and death, so distance kept him remotely functional. The only two Clones Obi-Wan accepted as friends had been Cody and Rex. Obviously, Rex is an Anakin problem. But, Cody? His young, cloned, new friend? Right there. Right there. That... Jedi compulsion, that ITCH they get, it would gnaw at him. He can't help many others.

The same could have been said for Anakin, who was just freed, but had nowhere else to go—little Ani had no one else. Obi-Wan didn't have the same responsibilities as a fresh Knight as he would as a Jedi Master. He could risk everything and leave the Order to train Anakin if the Jedi won't matriculate him. He risked everything to help this one little boy. Later? He wants to risk everything, again. But now, his everything doesn't belong to him anymore—not even enough to consider leaving the Order. Every Clone death is another slice across him, and even a thousand papercuts will get'cha.

But, he wants to help. He would want to help beyond vibe-checks, lightsaber wielding, crazy feats of Force-enchanted bravery.

He would want to help a person—Cody, the clone so often by his side—become a PERSON in his own right. A young man that everyone else has forgotten IS a young man. I doubt Obi-Wan would ever forget that, like he never forgot that Anakin was a young man.

So, there is that itch. That... Jedi need to just... reach out and help make the galaxy a better place for others. One Clone. Is that too much to ask? Can he be allowed to be a mentor for ONE Clone? If he helped this Clone become more than a faceless soldier, if he helped this Clone have more growth and life experience than just what he was given on Kamino, maybe... Maybe Obi-Wan can imagine that there will be a life after the war. To do that, he wants to help his new friend become a full person—in the hopes of the After the War.

Obi-Wan cannot save everyone. He cannot help everyone.

But maybe...

Maybe, JUST maybe, he can help this one Clone become more of a person, and far... far less of just another number.

Slavery is a hell of a thing, and it comes in many forms. But another face of slavery is indoctrination, which is ultimately the stripping away personhood, so they can be utilized as a tool—sound familiar? Yeah, me too.

I think, Obi-Wan would recognize this about the two young men he cares about. Yes, even Rex, but... this post is about Cody and Anakin.

I went on more about Cody than Anakin because... there's a lot of wonderful meta about Anakin, and I'm not confident enough to try and fill the same niche. I also have so much I could say about how I envision Anakin and Cody get along, and how it might be through Obi-Wan's eyes. I'll just say this: he thinks both his overgrown students are hilarious together, and his tickles him... Ginger. ;)

Anyway, I hope this post finds you, anon, and you get anything from it. At the time of this post, I only have one posted fic. While it doesn't go as deep into this meta, there are some elements in it to get a taste of this characterization/meta. When the bigger version of the AU goes up—who knows. It is currently at 270K+.

Thank you for the engagement!

EDIT: There are MORE points of comparison that I just... couldn't get to. Such as the earliest characterization notes we were given about Cody, right after ROTS came out. (Overly cautious, anxious, but highly competent—I love me some anxiety-riddled people with excess competency. My "Imposter Syndrome" Cody isn't going anywhere, and it helps him lineup with Anakin.)

Side-notes and additional commentary under the cut.

***We don't acknowledge "space force" in this house.

**** Yeah, no, Rex is a CC. I'll fite over this. He is labelled in far more apocrypha as a CC, and it just gets way too complicated to label him a CT when he is in a command-class position. This is one area of new canon I'm just... gonna ignore. I hc that Krell was being a jackass to Rex.

Note: Rex was always a CC until the Umbara episodes. When he was called CT-7567... it was a script terror. I'm ignoring that retcon. There's even books printed as late as 2021 that list him as CC.

#commander cody #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #long post #kilt's clonely meta #kilt's meta #gffa meta #bucket answers #anonymous #bucket's meta

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the-strength-of-the-wolffe · 2 years

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Wolffe’s Story

Intro Part 1 Part 2

Part 3: Rebuilding

The 104th has been reduced to a shell. It’s just an obsolete number now, unlucky even, needing to be replaced. But Wolffe won’t have it.

He finds General Plo during a lull in the Malevolence business. He has to explain himself first—he’s supposed to be recovering on a medical frigate after all—but he’s keen to unload what’s on his heart. It wouldn’t be right to dissolve the 104th, he argues, not after the sacrifice they made. The designation should be preserved in their honor, and the surviving members allowed to stay if they want. Humbly, he also submits a personal request: that he be assigned to their new cruiser. After the nightmare they shared, he feels bound to his fellow survivors and doesn’t want to serve anywhere else.

His appeal is unusual and presumptuous, but General Plo responds exactly as Wolffe hoped he would: he vows to take up the cause.

For Plo, understanding the needs of his men is a learning process. He was undecided on the fate of the 104th—there hasn’t been time to sit down and figure things out—but he realizes that the survivors care deeply about what happens to it, and he must approach the matter with sensitivity.

Inscrutable, the General seems to change subjects, inquiring about Wolffe’s background. If he’s going to rebuild the 104th, he explains, he needs quality officers. He’d like Wolffe to be one of them.

At this point, Plo is still forming an opinion of Wolffe, but what he’s seen in the past few days has impressed him: he’s calm under fire, invested and driven, and has a fighting spirit.

I think Plo doesn’t fully understand military protocol, but he has the clout to make things happen.

Wolffe is stunned. He hasn’t even entertained the possibility of switching tracks; it’s impossible, unheard of. His future in the navy was set in stone. The General, however naively, has opened a door for him. He doesn’t hesitate—he wants this more than anything.

There are considerations, of course, which he’s straightforward about: he missed out on the specialized training all troopers have under their belts, and historically his leadership hasn’t been strong. Nevertheless, he’ll go to any lengths to measure up. The General seems contented, and Wolffe takes his leave, dignified but blazing with incredulous joy.

General Plo is as good as his word. After the Malevolence has been eliminated, he puts their plans into motion, to immediate controversy. Re-forming a battalion instead of requisitioning an existing one is sentimental but permissible; throwing a naval commander into the mix is entirely different. He’s advised to reconsider—he’d waste too much time and resources bringing Wolffe up to standard when other commanders are ready to go. He politely disagrees.

The General returns to Coruscant where new troops, supplies, and a load of paperwork are waiting. Meanwhile, Wolffe, Sinker, and Boost head to Kamino. Their reception by the Kaminoans ranges from surprise to blatant disapproval, but Wolffe is too preoccupied to savor it. With the troopers’ assistance, he undergoes an army crash course.

Like all clones, he’s a born warrior, but his techniques are rusty, barebones. He perseveres through numerous challenges. There’s no room for pride—any help is welcomed, whether from fresh-faced cadets (who are excited to teach for once), Kamino security, or passing ARC troopers (the ones who think he’s worth their time). Even General Shaak Ti graciously spares an afternoon.

With Wolffe’s endorsement, General Plo sends two of the new 104th captains (Dire and Midnight) to provide additional instruction. It’s a courageous move on Wolffe’s part, taking them into his confidence; there was a risk of lost faith. Thankfully, they admire him for what he’s trying to achieve.

Not everyone feels the same. Captain Torc, who remained with General Plo, isn’t thrilled by Wolffe’s instatement, and he won’t be the only one.

Btw, all the captains will be properly introduced in their own post!

When Wolffe finds his footing, he turns swiftly to involving himself in the 104th’s development. He is passionate about valuing each trooper’s strengths and individuality and works with every platoon to ensure no one’s in a bad situation. He doesn’t forget his naval brothers, either.

The most complicated case he handles is the reinstatement of Captain Roan, an original 104th officer who was injured prior to the Abregado massacre. I’ll talk more about this later. (Also pictured are Wildfire and a private named Cameo).

At last, the 104th gets underway. Everyone’s in high spirits, but nobody more than Wolffe. After years of feeling second-rate, isolated, wrong-footed, his first weeks as battalion commander are the best of his life—he will never be as happy as he is now.

He contemplates changing the battalion’s colors to gray not only to unify his men (it’s a hodgepodge currently) but also to commemorate the original 104th. However, those plans, and his future, are about to be thrown into doubt.

#the clone wars #commander wolffe #plo koon #wolffe's story #wolfpack #wolfpack ocs #season 1

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korribanarchive · 2 years

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Friendly Fire- Those Who Shape Us

Friendly Fire

Rated: Teen

Words: 910

Warnings: Aftermath of clone death, Umbara arc, Angst

Summary: Larel Corusca finds herself sickened as she goes through the casualty reports from their complete campaign on Umbara. AO3 link at the bottom.

Inspired by Angstpril 2021 prompts (old piece I wrote for it last year).

CT-7558. Cause of Death: Friendly fire.

Larel had to stop and reread the line of the casualty report. They had just left Umbara after a very long and arduous campaign. Her master had been exhausted when they left, so she had settled down to handle some of the administrative reports for the 212th and 501st while her Master got the rest he needed. She had spent the latter half of the campaign with the medics- laid up at first then helping once she was able to talk Cross into letting her back on her feet- so the least she could do was help Master Obi-wan with flimsywork.

CT-7897. Cause of Death: Friendly fire.

Force… How many had this happened to? How had this happened? And why? She read down the list. Almost a third of a platoon had been killed by friendly fire… Her eyes fell on one last line in the series.

CT-7997. Cause of Death: Friendly fire.

Waxer. A man she had come to think of as a dear friend killed by his own brothers. She looked up from the datapad in front of her, swallowing thickly and trying to keep the moisture gathered at her eyes from escaping. She was in the common area. There were so many others around and it wouldn’t do to let her emotions get the better of her in front of the naval and clone officers. Peace, Larel. Serenity. Not grief, not despair, she reminded herself silently.

Instead she silently searched Cody out with her eyes. He, Rex, and a trooper they called Fives were sitting around a trooper with a stylized V tattooed across his left eye. Cody spotted Larel looking his way and gave the trooper a reassuring pat on the shoulder before walking over to her.

“Did you need something, Commander?” he asked, his searching gaze seeming to try to pierce her wavering calm.

“Cody…” she managed to rasp. “Tell me this didn’t happen. Tell me that this is some kind of error… ”

Confusion flashed in his eyes before he glanced down at the datapad in front of her, focusing on the line of the casualty report that she had stopped on. Understanding replaced confusion in the blink of an eye.

“Tell me that Waxer, Jet, and the others weren’t gunned down by their own brothers…”

Cody hesitated at first, glancing back at Rex, Fives, and Dogma before looking back at the young Jedi. She had grown into an effective commander over her time under their General, but it was times like this when he looked down at her trying to keep her emotions together, her lip trembling and her face growing red from the effort, that he remembered that she was just a kid really. Still he and the rest of the troopers respected her. She treated them with respect and kindness, going out of her way to tend their wounds or cover their retreats.

“I won’t lie to you, Commander,” he said seriously. “The information is correct, but it wasn’t their fault… They were tricked and betrayed.. So was Torrent Company.”

“But how? Waxer’s platoon was sent to reinforce the 501st and… Master… Krell…” The realization sparked in her eyes and the horrifying implication it came with quickly followed. “Did… he..?”

“Yes, Commander, he did,” Cody confirmed with a sad sigh.

She didn’t need to finish her question. His General, her master, had had the exact same reaction to the information. The girl before him shuddered and looked away, her face twisting with guilt and grief for a moment as she seemed to be processing what she had learned. Cody reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, knowing the teen’s frequent line of thinking by now.

“It wasn’t your fault, Commander,” he assured, his usually rigid tone softened trying to be kind. “They were ordered out while you were laid up.”

Larel knew he was trying to make her feel better, but Force, that didn’t help at all. If she hadn’t gotten herself hurt she would have been right at their sides. She could have prevented that from ever happening. And Master Krell… a Jedi had done this. Killed Republic troops, tricked them into killing each other. No… a Jedi wouldn’t do this… A Jedi would never trick loyal soldiers into killing each other.

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, composing herself before she lost what cool she had in front of Cody, scrolling further through the report before she saw something on the casualty report that brought an amount of satisfaction to her that she found rather unsettling. She knew it wasn’t very Jedi-like to think that way, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. These troopers deserved justice.

General Pong Krell. Cause of Death: Executed by CT-7477.

The traitor had been killed by the trooper that Rex and Five were comforting. As she slowly quieted her mind, she could sense his guilt and worry as powerful as her own and she stood, walking over slowly.

Dogma looked up at her, fear crossing his face. Did he think she was about to punish him for executing Master Krell? She softened her expression and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You did the right thing, Dogma,” she said quietly before turning, gathering her datapad and retreating to her quarters, leaving the troopers and officers standing there stunned that even a Jedi seemed to agree that Krell had deserved what he had gotten.

#star wars clone wars #clone wars fic #female oc #commander cody #clone trooper dogma #umbara arc #212th attack battalion #501st legion #padawan oc #friendly fire #larel corusca #Em's writing #tcw fanfic

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majordallows · 9 months

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Special Agent Jaina Dallows, hailing from Empress Teta, had a challenging upbringing in an impoverished miner's family. Despite her circumstances, her exceptional intellect was recognized early, leading her to secure a Naval scholarship for studies at the Royal Imperial Academy on Coruscant.

During her academic journey, Jaina achieved four Doctorate titles, specializing in diverse fields, such as biomechanical augmentation integration, polyarmored-matrice metallurgical analysis, hyperlightspeed beam emission topography, and renucleation of microtubules in post-Hayflick cloned tissues. However, she often neglected lectures to pursue her passion projects, which ultimately affected her graduation status.

Facing a lackluster position as a Junior Science Officer aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer, Jaina reluctantly accepted an offer from Director Kelbier to join the Tarkin Initiative, a secretive branch of the Imperial Department of Military Research. Her work on Project Stardust and other military projects, including Pax Aurora, showcased her significant contributions.

Under the codename "Serra," Jaina played a key role in the obscure and secretive Project I71A. Her official dossier claimed she researched bacterial-based self-healing starship hulls on the fictional vessel "ISD Maramere." After the abolition of Project I71A, Jaina transitioned to the Dark Trooper program, eventually serving under Commander Fordo, DT-ARC-77.

Dallows exemplifies intellectual brilliance, dedication, and shows great courage in navigating the difficult choices that need to be made in the turbulent world of Imperial military research.

#(This is my life now. Teaching a computer how to make Star Wars)#(I'm think I'm actually getting there! holy shit)

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kamino-coruscant · 2 years

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CLONE NAVAL OFFICER APPRECIATION

#clones #the clone wars #tcwedit #tcw #clone trooper #clone naval officer #swedit #Star Wars #79s

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shadowphantomreaper · 4 years

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Clone Oc

Black Reaper Rose

Been transferred so many times, he ends up with the Bad Batch. If he gets transferred again he won’t go to another squad he’ll be reconditioned or worse. Along the way he meets Jedi Master who is known for swordsmen ship and known for going head first into danger. How will it play out, it’s anyone’s guess. Will their romance or will their be another heartbreaking transferr back to Kamino where they don’t take kindly to clones who fail them.

#bad batch #clone oc #clone trooper sketch #CT-2003 #Black #naval officer #turned ground soldier #Rose and thorn tattoos #Clone and Jedi romance #m/m #Clone Force 99 #the bad batch #Star War the Clone Wars #crosshair tbb #the clone wars #oc #art #Jedi/Clone #Clone/Clone

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professional-yearner · 2 months

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Steel is coming back. No stopping it. He is approaching as we speak.

#yandere clone troopers #yandere #yandere clone troopers x reader #yandere star wars #yandere x reader #yandere clone trooper #yandere clone #yandere clone trooper x reader #yearner's oc tag 🦢#yandere male #naval officer #naval officer Steel #Can't help falling in love 🤍

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holding-hands-and-hearts · 2 years

Note

Based on your wip, what would your top 5 underdeveloped/background characters be?

oh gosh, there are so many. that's one of the bits about sw that keeps me coming back over and over again - there's always something new to figure out, especially when the worldbuilding is done well.

that said, I suppose that a lot depends on what you consider to be an underdeveloped character. think about the clones for a minute - there are 1006 named clones, and probably dozens, if not hundreds, more that appear throughout the prequels and animated shows. there's so much potential there, with varying levels of development. You could probably consider Echo underdeveloped. Keeli and Thorn only got a few minutes of screen time, but both are pretty well known in the fandom. Commander Trauma is on-screen momentarily, but he has a name and (brief) backstory. Would you consider that underdeveloped, especially compared to characters like Ringo and Oz (they died on Umbara)? alternately, there are characters who serve as plot devices, like the naval officer abducted by Aurra Sing along with Ponds and Kilian. Then, of course, there's Toast Clone.

the possibilities are completely endless, which is just so exciting for me. I have lists and lists and lists of incredible characters to think about, but here are five (completely random) ones I think are cool.

Warthog, a clone pilot in the 104th.

Nossor Ri, the Quarren leader in the Mon Cala arc.

the younglings - I tend to think of the class Obi-Wan interrupts in AOTC, as well as the doomed ones hiding in the Council chamber during Order 66.

the troopers of Tango Company, which were infected by Geonosian brain worms

the battle droids walking through Theed Palace during the Invasion of Naboo. it's kind of random, I know, but I think the idea of it is amazing and I'd love to write about it at some point.

thank you so much for the ask, Ro! and let me know if you have any underdeveloped favorites of your own! 💕

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kaminobiwan · 4 years

Note

Hanging out at 79s with the boys would be peak entertainment, like ma'am I just wanna drink half the 501st and a certain general under the table, is that too much to ask

panna you didn’t ask for this but you also kind of did

✵✵✵ rini’s minis ; clones + drinking games (feat. anakin)

at first, people had thought it had been a line for the bathroom.

rarely was anything ever so organized in the middle of the clone bar, but the unofficial layout was well-known to regulars. The second floor saw the more quieter observers and younger university kids shy of their first interactions with clones, the table with the best view of the largest vidscreen reserved for an off-duty commander wolffe’s enjoyment of odupiendo racing, and the longest booth closest to the tap, vandalized painted with less than symmetrical bright blue cogs, was widely accepted as belonging to one 501st legion.

so for those falling into the queue for a lavatory that was actually on the complete opposite corner of the cantina, coming face-to-face with a circle of violently drunk soldiers and a tabletop littered with alcohol was an understandable surprise.

mercy to the newcomers that had mistakenly volunteered to go toe-to-toe with your veteran liver.

almost every one of them had immediately hightailed it away from the increasingly rowdy troopers egging them on to take you, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment when no one was brave enough to try.

the competition thus far had been lacking.

jesse and tup were half asleep thanks to the ambrostine three rounds in, and dogma had vomited into his helmet after trying to match you shot-for-shot of soulean brandy. the poor bastard.

kix—never one to count out—was currently swapping spit with a pretty pantoran in the back, which meant your next best bet at a worthy adversary was fives, who you’d long known to be more bark than bite.

“ready?”

“on three.”

“one, two, thr—” before echo had even finished the word, his brother had tipped the drink back, dark red droplets staining his beard. cheater.

it hadn’t mattered—the salty liquid had forced him to gasp for breath not five seconds later, having gone down the wrong pipe, and he’d watched you miserably as you downed the last of your mug with a wink.

in the midst of echo’s shrieking laughter—had he ever been that loud before?—you catch fives’ choked out plea, “remind me to never order rancor blood with you again.” the mess of his unfinished drink splattered along his nose and cheeks made it look like he’d just gotten into a fistfight—and if you hadn’t just seen him physically drink the crimson colored alcohol, you wouldn’t have been thought twice in believing it to be true. “worst drink ever.”

“debatable,” you chirp, and finally, the pleasant buzz of intoxication swirls through your veins again, having subsided after the break the boys had needed after the last round. “come on, no one else? would’ve expected you guys to be at least half a challenge.”

you look to echo with a devious glint in your eye, and he’s already shaking his head furiously when suddenly he stills, gaze catching on the dance floor—

“maybe I can help you out in that department.”

a turn of your neck rewards you with the sight of an un-helmeted captain rex, but it’s not him that you’re intrigued to see.

“general skywalker!” even jesse is cognizant enough to wipe the drool off his chin and attempt to stand at attention with the others, and anakin laughs as tup careens dangerously towards the ground.

“at ease, men, please.” a gloved hand raises and lowers, and so do the bodies of the half armoured clones around you. “just thought I’d join in the fun.”

“maybe you can start it,” you snort, raising your empty cup with a raised eyebrow. “that is, if you jedi are allowed such debauchery.”

the provocation in your tone isn’t missed, and anakin’s face twists into a grin.

half a bottle of pallie wine later, the rivalry is at its highest—everyone has sobered up enough to place bets and loudly cheer on their prospective winners, and you and anakin are racing to finish five mugs of huttese ale before the last one ate through the cup—because apparently, tatooinian alcohol was corrosive. you snatch up the final drink the same time the general does, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that even rex is gripping the table in anticipation—a thought that only spurs you further as you force yourself to chug the last few swallows of the burning, bubbling liquid.

the force at which you slam the mug down shatters it—although, the bottom had already begun to dissolve from the fizzy drink—and the entire booth erupts in a cacophony of riotous whoops and cheering as anakin coughs in defeat.

“ack—fine, you win!” he pouts, and you snicker as he reaches into his pocket.

“oh, I don’t accept credits, skywalker.” troopers and the jedi alike glance at you confusedly, and an evil smile makes its way across your features as you spot a particularly rambunctious naval officer that is positively killing it in the middle of the strobing lights. “I hope you brought your dancing shoes.”

it’s fives and echo who carry the general to the dance floor, though echo almost drops him from how hard he’s crying from amusement, and you pretend you don’t see rex pull out a holorecorder to capture the moment.

you know you’ll see it on the net eventually—even if you have to be the one to upload it yourself.

#rini’s minis #HAHAHAH THIS WAS SO FUN #i rly wanna live it up at 79s right about now #thank u for the inspiration panna i hope ur not asleep #clones x reader #not really a pairing here just dumbasses being dumbasses #rini writes

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Character: Commander Fox x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Secretary!reader finds herself wanting to help her Commander. It's her job. It certainly is not because she's got a foolish crush. The Commander certainly doesn't feel the same...

A/N: Unpopular opinion: I love Fox. Our dear Commander gets far too much hate and not enough fics. I'm going to do my part to correct that. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think and if I should write more.

------

The datapad has been loaded to the brim-reports, warrants, requisitions, schedules, and guard rotations- awaiting the Commanders attention. You frown as you review the list you’ve uploaded. It’s hours worth of data the Commander will need to review and sign off on. Your not ready to spring it on him. He needed his rest. Since the incident with the Chancellor and the rogue clone trooper, Fives, he seemed to be getting too little of it.

He’d stumbled in this morning at 0700 sharp- per his normal but the faint scent of fire-water hung in his wake. He’d been out all night again, too regimented to be late, but slipping in his seeming ability to care for himself.

You’d wanted to ask him how he was feeling, to suss out exactly what he needed from you. Though you’d been his personal secretary for nearly a year you still hadn’t figured out how to read his many moods.

When you’d begin working for clone Commander Fox he had been so clear and concise with his expectations. He liked his schedule, thrived from it. He required order and regulation. It was your job to keep his day running smoothly. You’d worked hard. Having proven yourself capable he’d reached a point where he seemed to trust you to know what he needed.

It was anxiety inducing on the best of days.

You were proud of his trust in you, privately preening over your ability to know what he wanted before he had to say anything but times like these- the times when he’d say not one word to you for days and arrive each morning like he’d come directly from the cantina, that you wished you had just a little more insight. You didn’t want to disappoint. You wanted him to value you, to know that you were needed and important.

You groan quietly. You were pathetic.Your fingers worry the hem of your uniform skirt. It hadn’t taken you more than a week before you’d begun to harbor a crush on the stoic clone and it had only grown worse the longer you sat at the desk outside his office.

This morning you’d let him walk by with only a soft, barely-there greeting slipping past your lips. Commander Fox had given even less in return, merely nodding silently as he’d entered his office. Your shoulders had slumped as his office door had slid shut, only to open again immediately with a quick growl to hold all comms.

You’d spent the morning turning away all attempts to see the Commander. You’d fought back your reserved nature to hold your ground with the pushier inquiries, offering soft promises to his men and higher ups.

Yes, I’ll make sure Commander Fox knows you need to speak with him

The commander is indisposed right now. Can I take a message for you?

He should be available after lunch Lieutenant Thire. May I schedule for then?

The last, Lieutenant Thire, had let his irritation be known with a huff. You apologized but told him the Commander was taking care of very important matters. His look had been skeptical as he’d turned and left the office, his helmet held tightly under his arm.

It was nearly lunchtime now and you’d not seen hide nor hair of your boss. You’d hoped, given some time, the Commander would be able to work past the hangover you were sure he had and rejoin the world of the living, knowing for a fact that you wouldn’t be able to put off the list of inquiries into his whereabouts much past the lunch hour. So you did what you did best and set to work making things run smooth. You sent an intern, the son of a well to do senator who was looking to add GAR experience to his application for the naval academy to his resume, to grab lunch with a few spare credits from your pocketbook.

When he returned you fixed a tray. balancing a mug of black caf, nuclear hot, and a Shawda club sandwich on the tray in one hand and the loaded datapad under your arm as you knock once on the Commander’s door. You frown, the scowl feeling as if it’s becoming permanent whenever Commander Fox was in your thoughts as of late. You use your hip to bump the control panel, silently moving into the darkened room as the door slides open. It closes behind you quickly, leaving you struggling to get a bearing on your surroundings. You blink rapidly for a moment before shutting your eyes entirely to allow them to adjust to the wild change in lighting before you reopen them, able to focus more readily in the low light. The blinds on the low window looking out into the midst of Coruscant are pulled tight with only a small sliver of light filtering through.

He’s sitting straight, feet on the floor and hands flat on his desk. You’d learned quickly that The Commander rarely if ever seemed to relax, at least not when you or other civilians were around. You’d walked on him and Thire a few months ago, joking and laughing with one another. The difference had been stark. His posture loose and relaxed compared to the stiff controlled way he held himself now. He glances up, helmet still firmly in place. The blank black visor follows your movements as you pad softly across the room.

“I’ve brought you a little something.” You mumble setting the small tray down in front of him. The helmet flows from the sandwich and caf back up to you.

“I would have been fine with a ration pack.” His voice is a low rumble. Not quite disapproving but not particularly warm either. You’re sure it’s not meant to sound discouraging. He’s just pointing out a fact. Still, you feel your heart sink. You’d never worked for such a hard person to read and your natural inclination was toward pleasing those around you. Sometimes it felt like the harder you tried the colder he became.

“Yes, of-of course Sir.” You fumble, “I just thought you deserved something with a little more substance. It’s from Dex’s.” You say as if explanation. A weak smile crosses your face. “I’ve also got some stims” you reach into your pocket for the packet and slidie it across his desk before he has time to say anything.

“Do I look like I need stims, Little Mouse?”

Little Mouse.

He’d taken to calling you the nickname after he’d heard some of the men referring to you as the little mouse scurrying about his office. It was embarrassing- except when it came from Fox’s lips. Something about it made your belly twist in the most delightful way.

Fox’s chair swivels to the side and you're both relieved and disappointed when his attention is no longer focused on you and instead on the ribbons of light filtering in through the window. He pushes the stim packet back toward you And waves his gloved hand dismissively.

“What else have you got for me, Mouse?”

You hesitate for a moment as he holds his hand out impatiently. You slide the datapad into his hand. Your fingers brush against his gloved ones. You quickly pull away. The commander's helmet cocks slightly and though you can’t see his eyes you feel his gaze on you assessingly.

You clear your throat. Something about the Commander has always made you nervous. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, competent and prideful, the air about him like he could take on the world and win.

“Sir, you really should use the stims. You’ve got a full schedule of meetings this afternoon and that’s before you have drills and range time scheduled-“

He holds up his hand and you stop short.

“It's just a headache. I don’t need stims.”

“But they’d help”

“Y/N” his voice his sharp and you swallow hard, “I said-“

“I could help then!” The words have left your mouth before you’d even had time to weigh the pros and cons of them. You’re just a shocked as the Commander at your sudden outburst.

Fox reaches up to his helmet and you hear the soft hiss of release before he’s pulling it over his head. Dark circles sit under his eyes. He looks exhausted.

And gorgeous.

Even with the uncharacteristic shadow of facial hair and weariness seeping from his pores he was absolutely captivating.

The sharp cut of his jaw and the warm brown hue of his eyes draw your attention like they did everytime you’d gotten a glimpse of him. You don’t know where to look as you try to burn a few more details of the Commanders face into your memory banks to be pulled up and reviewed at a later time.

“How do you propose making my headache, go away?” He questions with a raised brow.

Your legs feel stiff as you move closer. His eyes are locked in your every step. “My Mama used to get horrible headaches” you begin softly “used to need to lay in a dark room and suffer through them till they let her be. I learned a few tricks over the years to help her. I c-could see if they work for you?”

“Tricks?” He chuckles, “wielding a bit of the Force, Little Mouse? Should I call the Temple and tell them they’ve misplaced one of their Jedi?”

Your eyes dip and your cheeks burn. You shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t speak out of turn with the Commander. You-

“You all talk now?” His voice has softened and you're even more embarrassed. He feels like he’s got to handle you with kid gloves. You can feel it in the way his words flow over your skin. You’re supposed to be a reflection of him. How could you help him maintain-

“Little Mouse, get out of your head.”

You look up at the order and glimpse satisfaction roll across his face.

“Come here and heal me if you will” You hear the teasing tone to his voice and you swallow hard before moving to comply. This was your idea after all. You could be useful. Helpful.

You move around the desk slowly, keeping your eyes locked on the Commander’s. You feel him pick you apart with his gaze. He’s studying you, like a predator waiting for their prey to show a weak point. It’s a sorry line of thinking because suddenly you imagine Commander Fox, your boss, stalking you, his eyes burning with a want that you could only dream he felt for you. you move to his side. Your knee presses into his, bare skin against cool plastoid.

Your heart flutters, beating against the bars of your chest. If he notices your nerves- and how can he not- he says nothing. Your hands rise slowly, hesitantly. You can not only feel but see your hands tremble as they move closer. You ball them into fists, squeezing until your knuckles go white. You release them just before they come in contact.

He’s warm. It’s the first thing you notice as one hand comes to rest against his forehead and the other cradles the back around where his occipital lobe was located. He kept his hair high and tight, not completely shaved along the sides but so short that it was almost nonexistent. You feel the soft prickle of it at the back of his head. You bite back the urge to run your fingers over it. He seems nearly as tense as you.

“You need to relax Sir” your encouragement is barely a whisper. Fox inhales deeply, you focus on the rise and subsequent fall of his shoulders. He repeats it twice more before you’ve seen enough tension drain to begin.

You place pressure through your palms as if you're trying to bring them together in the middle. The Commander grunts but you’re already relaxing back. You repeat it, pressing your hands toward one another then easing off. The Commander lets out a soft sigh of breath as you continue to repeat the pattern. You’re glad he’s relaxing into your touch because you feel as if you're only growing more tense, nerves balling in your tummy. You’ve never touched him before outside of the accidental flutter of fingers against his own. Now your so close you can feel the heat radiate from his body. He tips his head forward into your hand and turning and repositioning his chair slightly so you suddenly find yourself standing between his spread knees.

“That’s good, Little Mouse” he hums lowly and the sound shoots straight to your core. You barely have time to wrap your head around the feeling when his hand is coming up to rest at your hip. You squeak out a sound, his grip tightens, “don’t stop.” He orders.

“Yes, S-sir”

“It’s Fox, Mouse. Call me Fox.”

“Yes Comm- Fox” Your hands continue a gentle pulse of pressure against his head. His thumb begins a series of slow, maddening circles at your hip.

“See that’s not so bad is it.” His voice has gone low, silky like you’ve never heard it. So much more dangerous than the usual gravel of it. “You’re always trying to take care of me, aren’t you, precious girl?”

You open your mouth to say something- anything- when the door slides office door slides open suddenly. You stumble away, as if you’ve been burned by his touch. Fox’s hand drops away but he makes no other indication anything is amiss. You blink dumbly into the bright light backlighting the new arrival.

“Am I interrupting?” Lieutenant Thire’s voice sounds amused as you take another step away and lower your eyes. You mumble a quick excuse and slip toward the door. You hear the Lt. chuckle. Fox’s voice, so much like Thire’s but yet so different calls after you.

“We’ll continue this conversation later, Y/N”

#commander fox x reader #commander fox/reader #commander Fox #the clone wars #tCW #fox deserves better

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halzore · 4 years

Text

Tenderly

Characters: Fives x Reader

Note: Omg Look! It my two favourite things. Fives and Jazz. For the purposes of my sanity I am REFUSING to call it jizz. I need to have a strong word with George because frankly, its a travesty. Feedback is appreciated. Anyway, enough housekeeping. ENJOY!

Contains: Mild swearing, a female reader, a very good tune (listen here) and some actual tooth-rotting fluff.

Tags: @a-lil-perspective

Centaxday was a strange time for Fives to be going to 79s. Centaxday was usually either for work, or training, never for pleasure. But tonight was different, Echo was on mission investigating a separatist plot and Fives had to stay on Coruscant to run point, to chase any leads that made their way back to the mysterious metropolis.

79s was grimy as usual, a little less packed than when he had been here on leave with the 501st. The lighting was warmer, the pounding bass gone, the room filled instead with the chattering of Naval Officers having a cheeky pint together after a mundane shift.

His eyes scanned around the room. He cursed to himself, the informant was late.

Typical.

He made his way up to the bar, perching on a stool. A simple motion to the bar tender and he was ordering a drink. Thats when he heard the crackle of the microphone. The buzzing of the amp.

He glanced around and saw you setting up, fussing with the keyboard you had propped on a stand in front of you.

Strange, he thought. He’d never seen a live performance.

He shifted back around focussing on his drink, hoping that his stupid informant would show up soon, he looked pretty sad drinking alone without his squad. A few more swigs and Fives ears were greeted with the flourishing openings of the piano. An arpeggio leading somewhere, somewhere Fives was not sure.

He turned around properly this time, giving you his undivided attention.

“The evening breeze, caressed the trees, Tenderly.” Your voice was rich and sultry, unlike anything Fives had ever heard.

“The trembling trees, embraced the breeze, Tenderly.” You had not seen the ARC trooper, whose eyes were transfixed on your form. No, your eyes were closed, enjoying the melody, swaying gently as your fingers tapped the familiar accompaniment on the keys.

You opened them, looking out into the crowd, the sea of grey uniforms you had grown used to greeted you. The warm smiles from familiar faces as they soaked in the words from another one of your sets.

But then you saw him, a trooper, in armour.

You hadn’t seen one of those before, and he was looking at you as if you were the first person he had ever seen. A soft smile graced you features as you sang.

“Then you and I, came wandering by, and lost in a sigh were we.” Your eyes met, the trooper’s face morphed into a mixture of awe and surprise. You didn’t take your eyes off of him until you finished the last line.

“You took my lips, you took my love, so tenderly.” You could have sworn that the man’s life force had left his body, the vacant shock so plainly on his familiar features.

~~~

You were the most beautiful woman Fives had ever seen. He watched as your velvety purple lips moved, forming the heavenly tones. He couldn’t take his eyes of you. He watched as your fingers caressed the piano so gently, he traced every curve of your body as it gently swayed in time with your song. All thoughts of his mission had ceased to exist. He could only think of you

The muffling of the microphone being ousted from its stand brought Fives from his daydream.

“Alright my GAR boys, humanoids and other folk, thats my set for tonight,” A few whines of protest came from the audience. You chuckled a little. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back next Centaxday with more tunes for you. And remember, stay safe out there, there is a war going on.” You gave the patrons of 79s a wink before beginning to pack down.

~~~

Fives sat at the bar, nursing his drink.

How could he have let you go without saying something? He was kicking himself. So much for being the designated flirt of the 501st.

His informant hadn’t come, but he didn’t care. He only cared that his pride was hurt. He took a pitiful sip of fire whiskey and then hung his head.

“Hey handsome,” Fives felt a nudge on his shoulder plate. He looked over, it was you! “Ya reckon you could buy me a drink?”

Fives had forgotten how to function. You were standing in front of him, you came back? And that dress… Fives mind wandered.

“Eyes up here champ.” Fives shook his head a little, jolting him back to the present.

“Oh.. Uh yeah… sorry… A Drink!” The sheepish apology was quickly replaced with a manic quest to wave down the bartender. “Can I get something for our wonderful singer?”

You told the man behind the bar your favourite drink before perching yourself on the stool next to Fives. You two talked for hours, he was different to the officers that had hit on you in the past. This man was nervous, but he had game, much more likeable than some of the shitty moves some other clones tried to pull on you. You had never thought you would be a part of one of those stories you so frequently sung about in your songs, but here you were as a nice feeling started to blossom inside you.

“What’s your name?” You asked after a while.

“Fives.”

“Thats interesting.. but in a good way.” You hurriedly specified.

“Uh, yeah I guess.”

“What’s up?” There was a something settling on the face of Fives, you couldn’t tell what it was.

“A civvie has never asked for my name before.”

“Well I am glad I’m the first.” Fives fixed you with a big grin to match your own.

You continued talking, comparing war stories. His from the battlefield, yours from the back alleys of seedy pubs with awful men trying to hit on you. Fives was easy to laugh with, he was just easy to talk with. You felt safe. But the night was drawing to close, and your life had to go on.

“I’ve got an early start in rehearsal tomorrow, but I’ll see ya round?”

“Definitely.”

You exchanged holo frequencies, Fives promising he would try and come to your next gig. He got up to leave with you, slinging an arm around your waist as a crowd of your incredulous regulars stared him down with envy. You made it all the way out the door before you pulled him to the side and pushed him up against the wall.

The bewildered look that had been on Fives’ face when he first saw you had returned. You stood up high on your tippy toes, hands on his shoulders, your lips meeting his tenderly.

“I’ll definitely see ya around Fives.” A grin plastered on your face, you left Fives, and escaped into the night.

#fives x reader #arc trooper fives #halzore writes #clone wars imagine #when life gives you lemons #write a fic instead of facing your responsibilites

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the-strength-of-the-wolffe · 2 years

Text

Wolffe’s Story

Intro Part 1

Part 2: The Massacre

Although facing an unwanted future in the navy, Wolffe refuses to stew in his disappointment. He tackles his new training regimen with characteristic determination. The expectations he fell short of as a boy aren’t demanded of him in this impersonal environment where everyone mans their own console and performs separate functions, so he easily keeps pace with his fellow cadets, and he even earns commendations from the higher-ups. However, he knows in the pit of his stomach that he hasn’t won his battle. As a command figure, he feels more disconnected and ineffectual than ever.

A bolt from the blue drives these troubles from his mind: the war he and his brothers have been preparing for their entire lives has finally erupted.

Acknowledging Wolffe’s track record, the Kaminoans recommend him for an elite naval position, and thus he’s assigned to command the Republic cruiser Triumphant, on which the 104th Battalion is stationed. Orientation is rushed as the battalion’s first mission arrives with the leadership. What a formidable pair: Commander Vond, his armor splashed in red, unsmiling despite the promise of action, and General Plo Koon, a warrior of the legendary Jedi Order, tall and fearsomely masked. Every soul on the bridge is electrified by their presence.

Vond is one of almost sixty clones I invented to bring Wolffe’s story to life. Some are just names, like this poor guy, but I’ve given at least basic characterization to most of them (I’m nowhere near as good at this as the rest of the fandom, though, especially when it comes to designs!).

The first few assignments are planetary deployments, so Wolffe and his crew shuttle the 104th wherever it’s needed in the galaxy. During one of the longer flights, a trooper approaches Wolffe with a surprising request: it’s becoming a trend to customize one’s armor with art, and he and his squad want to use Wolffe’s name as inspiration. Chuffed, Wolffe consents, and soon a handful of the rank and file sport wolf symbols on their helmets. If only the boys could see this.

News of savagely destroyed Republic cruisers reaches the Triumphant, putting the crewmen on edge. It’s almost a relief when they’re ordered to investigate. The mission profile is familiar to Wolffe, having run many simulations like it, but it’s his first time serving directly under General Plo—he’s unsure how it will go. Thankfully, despite his intimidating visage, the Jedi turns out to be courteous and mellow, giving Wolffe room to breathe. The navy boys are eager to prove themselves, and in short order they home in on the Malevolence.

Their mission fails in the worst possible way.

Adrenaline and professionalism hold Wolffe together through the thick of the crisis. It isn’t until he finds himself alone in the escape pod, breathing slowly to conserve oxygen, that the awful truth grips his heart. The Triumphant is gone. His brave crewmen, all the crewmen, every naval officer and pilot, Commander Vond and the entire 104th, are lost. One of the first things a clone is desensitized to is death; otherwise, hardly any of them could cope with the constant danger or regular casualties. But surely no clone has taken a hit like this.

Just as upsetting is the fact that he couldn’t do anything to assist, not even when the four of them were fighting for their lives. He was so useless confined to the pod—just as useless as he’s felt over the past few weeks cooped up on his bridge. Did he contribute anything to the Republic’s cause? Did his life matter at all?

He hopes Fox fares better.

Fending off despair, he searches for a distraction. The comm system is dead, and the two surviving troopers are out of sight, but General Plo is still crouching on the lip of the viewport, the picture of calm even now. He was good to them, and admirably bold. Wolffe can’t be sure, but he gets the impression that the Jedi is glancing down at him now and then, and it heartens him, if only a fraction. He tries to sit up straighter, look composed. If it’s all he can do, he’ll keep at it until the pod becomes an airless, icy tomb. Which doesn’t feel far off…

The rescue he doubted would ever come materializes in a glorious blaze of light. Seeing General Skywalker and Ahsoka in the flesh, brimming with satisfaction and concern, lifts the weight from Wolffe’s soul. They risked a lot against some very poor odds because they believed the survivors were worth it—he won’t forget that.

The survivors are whisked to the safety of Skywalker’s cruiser. General Plo intends to stay aboard, but he promises to rendezvous with them later at the medical frigate. This plan, and his sudden absence, leaves Wolffe feeling dispirited. He doesn’t want to be split up, carted away from the action, and judging by their disgruntled expressions the two troopers concur. When they’re told to prepare for departure, Wolffe pulls rank and has the three of them escorted to the cruiser’s sick bay instead.

Army and navy don’t readily mix, but Wolffe’s little flex scores him some points: the troopers become more friendly and talkative. They’re batchmates, he realizes. He can’t help but like Boost—not only did he create the wolf design, but throughout the ordeal he never abandoned his positive attitude, and during the Twilight’s rough flight he kept Wolffe from injury by holding onto him. Sinker is less amiable. Stress seems to affect him worse than most, and he’s cheekier than a sergeant has the right to be (in Wolffe’s opinion).

The troopers take out their restlessness on the medical droid, but Wolffe can’t fight his exhaustion anymore. His sleep is heavy and dreamless at first, then filled with increasingly disturbing scenes: tiny vessels adrift on the sea; a blood-red wave that swallows everything in a fury; armored bodies, uniformed bodies, strewn across platforms—are any of them still alive?—he’s running, slipping, straining to reach them…

Wolffe wakes up dazed and ill. The room is dark, but he can hear Sinker and Boost in whispered conversation. The troopers’ guards are down. They’re struggling to come to grips with the loss of their squad and battalion. Part of being desensitized to death is moving on quickly. To dwell on it too long, to express grief freely instead of locking it down, is almost taboo in their culture. Adhering to this, Sinker is trying to be tough, dismissive. But he can’t keep it up; Boost is voicing the horror and uncertainty inside all of them.

Wolffe’s instincts are in turmoil. Part of him has already detached itself from the tragedy and accepted his fate—wherever he ends up, whatever happens to him, it can’t get darker than today. But part of him, the part that resonates with Boost’s words, is seized by a desire to fight. Not just the enemy. To fight for these troopers, who suffered the same trauma he did, who are afraid of being separated, who will be thrust back to the front lines in some unfamiliar battalion as demoralized as two clones could be. But he can’t do it. Commander or not, he doesn’t have influence over army affairs. He’s powerless to help them.

Through his agitated thoughts, a memory slices like a dazzling blue blade: General Plo floating in front of the viewport, shielding the escape pod’s most vulnerable spot with his body, striking away the weapons that would’ve brought certain death to its only occupant. He fought to keep Wolffe alive. It isn’t a stretch to believe he’d fight again, especially for the remnants of his own battalion. Wolffe doesn’t have a strategy, and leaping halfcocked into anything isn’t his style, but for once he doesn’t care. Entreating with the General is the least he can do.

The troopers are startled and defensive when Wolffe interrupts them, but they hear him out. Their skepticism only bolsters his resolve, and the moment he’s cleared from sick bay he seeks out General Plo.

#the clone wars #commander wolffe #boost #sinker #plo koon #wolffe's story #wolfpack #clones #season 1

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holonetnews · 3 years

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It had been six standard months since Palpatine's declaration of a new order. The war that had once seemed to have no-end in sight had ended as abruptly as it had began, and with each day that passed it all seemed more and more like fading memory, wrapped up in a surreal quality.

Deena brushed the stray hairs from the shoulder of her jacket, and took her press pin from the doorbox. Her eyes examined the metal tag, which had been stamped proudly with the roundel of the Imperial HoloNet. It fastened itself onto the leather of her collar notch with a satisfying and efficient click.

At least she was allowed to wear her own clothes. A number of the smaller Holoreporters had to wear the HNN uniform, which was effectively little more than naval officer dress with a unique patch.

COMPNOR had decided not to ordain that HNN's Executive Reporter follow suit. Deena was sure that the reason was to allow them to maintain an illusion of press freedom for the public, that HNN's Deena Tharen wasn't under COMPNOR's constant scrutiny.

Gaff Rhel Gaian had taken an extended leave of absence, and many freelance reporters, including Alsaine Langely, had disappeared quietly, literally overnight.

Had they been disappeared? Or had they fled, and escaped the curling fingers of The Emperor's durasteel grip on the Imperial City?

She looked herself in the mirror, and adjusted her demeanour from world-wearied acceptance, to the the bubbly, sophisticated woman the HoloNet expected her to be. The mask was easy to wear, but harder to accept.

If her cheer on the frequencies gave some sort of sense of happiness to those listening, it was worth it, even if it was feigned. Compared to the average Coruscanti citizen, she didn't have it bad at all.

Her apartment door slid open and she strode across the hall to the stairwell. For some reason, it seemed safer than the turbolift.

The rhythm of her heels cascading down the metal steps faded as the crisp morning air greeted her stepping out onto the concourse.

Coruscant seemed almost like a different world now. The streets were quieter, pedestrian traffic less than a third of what it had been before the outbreak of the war. The speeder lanes too were less active, the constant stream of dots like flame ants marching across the sky had slowed to a trickle of moths bumbling their way through the towers of the district.

Even the cities characteristic whirr of traffic had been been replaced for the intermittent growl of grey-painted V-Wings on constant patrol.

Military checkpoints which once housed troopers of the Coruscant Guard were now left empty, white armored clones bearing no distinctive markings instead roamed the city. Vigilant for the occasional Jedi survivor or self-proclaimed freedom fighter.

Aside from the breakfast offerings that attracted hungry masses to the Tapcafs that dotted her walk to the tramway, her trip was predominantly a lonely one.

Had she made the right choice? She wondered, the question of late had nearly consumed her. Her mind lingering on her a chance encounter with Senator Organa on that fateful night. The night the Republic had become undone...

#HNN: Off Air #hnn: your host ( deena tharen. )#( drabble babble )

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speedgeek · 3 years

Text

Another Nano snippet! This is part of the same story as the first one I posted (Vader waking up on Tatooine with a new body during the Clone Wars), probably fairly close to the end of the story. Anakin’s armor is supposed to be a bit like Revan and some of the other Old Republic era Sith designs crossed with beskar’gam (but not too close to it), made by a Mandalorian armorer (payment for taking care of Mandalore’s Maul problem). It’s beskar with cortosis weave on the arm and leg pieces (why yes, he’s paranoid about having his limbs cut off again). His lightsabers are an orangy-pink-lavender color, the kyber crystals are krayt dragon pearls.

Jedi Master Luminara Unduli had always trusted the Force. It was a key component of the Jedi Code and she strived to be an exemplary Jedi. She followed its guidance in all things, even when the purpose behind that guidance was not immediately clear. The Force would never steer her wrong. From childhood, she found serenity in that belief.

However lately, she couldn’t help wonder where the Force was leading her and why. It wasn’t gently guiding as it had her whole life; it was pushing hard.

The Force had pushed her to trust more and more in the clones. She already trusted her troops implicitly; putting clones in open Naval positions on the Tranquility- eventually even in command, replacing the non-clone personnel- seemed to just be an extension of that. Despite the questionable nature of their origins, the clones were loyal and trustworthy, and good at their jobs.

Admiral Yularen’s death would have been written off as casualty of war, if not for the Force prodding her until she convinced Obi-Wan Kenobi to assign someone to take a closer look. Quinlan Vos found a string of murders and assassinations, of which Yularen’s had only been the latest. A lightsaber was the murder weapon in several- originally identified as red and assumed to be Sith, but under new questioning the descriptions spread to orange, pink and purple as well. A unique blade, to be sure. Others, the cause of death was too similar to Dark Side techniques to ignore. There was little actual connection between victims; several were middle aged, several were young adults, a few were teenagers. A few were in the Republic Military or other government office, most were not; several were even Separatists. In fact, this same blade was connected to the assassinations of most of the Separatist Council, including the entire senior leadership of the Trade Federation.

And then Strategic Planning Amphitheater was bombed during a meeting of the Republic Special Weapons Group. Only after the debris was cleared away, was it clear that every single member of the group had been killed by a lightsaber.

A security holo showed a powerful force user, wearing black armor and a mask, with swordsmanship skills reminiscent of Sith Warriors of old. On this, the Force was silent.

The Open Circle Fleet was spread throughout the galaxy on a mission to find the assassin. Chancellor Palpatine insisted it was the Separatists; his concern was genuine, but the Force would not allow Luminara to believe him. Something did not add up; it was a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

The Force all but screamed for her to take the protection detail of a classified installation at Geonosis. The Jedi Council wanted any information she could discover there; they weren’t aware of any Republic military installations in the system and were understandably concerned. The Tranquility entered the system near a spherical skeleton frame the size of a small moon and the fear pain PAIN in the Force- Luminara and Barriss both wept from the impact. She moved the destroyer deeper in to the system, close enough they could still monitor any traffic to and from the planet, but far enough they wouldn’t be visible on any sensors. Gree ordered two fighters to do a flyby of the construction platform and the planet for more intelligence.

This was the “Ultimate Weapon” the Separatists were supposedly building. The Republic was building it instead. She didn’t need to reach out to the Force to know this for certain.

Despite the dark emotions she feeling in the Force, it told Luminara to wait.

Barriss reacted poorly, unable to filter out the pain. Once Gree decided he had enough scans of the planet, Luminara sent her on a shuttle back to the Negotiator with the scans and her report on a datachip, instructing her to return to the Temple after delivering it to Master Kenobi. She hoped her Padawan would have sense enough to seek out help.

A week the Tranquility waited in the dark, for something to happen.

The starfighter was nearly missed. It circled the construction platform. Fighters were dispatched but did not get a chance to intercept. The mystery fighter- a Mandalorian Fang fighter according to the pilots- disappeared into hyperspace.

The Fang returned a few hours later. The only planet close enough for a round trip of that length was Tatooine. A good place to base yourself if one wanted to launch an attack on Geonosis. It immediately lined up on an attack vector and headed to the construction platform and the frame.

The Force once again told Luminara to wait.

She ordered the Tranquility forward, but did not launch the fighters.

The Fang fired on the platform and destroyed it. It turned around for another run and destroyed part of the frame. Another run and the section that looked like it might hold a dish was gone. By the sixth attack run, whatever the Geonosians were building was in small pieces.

Now, the Force said and she obeyed.

She moved the Tranquility closer to the planet and ordered the fighters to intercept. The Fang entered the atmosphere. The pilots reported the Fang was attacking an active manufacturing facility. Going by their chatter, the Fang’s pilot was good, exceptionally quick. Jedi quick. She ordered Green Company to the surface in order to capture the pilot. She joined them on the second LAAT.

The Fang’s luck didn’t hold out. One of her fighters got a lucky shot and forced it to the ground. The first LAAT of troopers were on top of it before the pilot could escape. By the time she landed, the pilot was in custody. He hadn’t put up a fight.

Troopers Gizmo and Ringo had him on his knees, his head lowered. Gree held two lightsabers. The man wore a black cape with a hood covering his head and obscuring his face, but she could clearly see the black armor from the security holo. Beskar, if she was not mistaken, although the armor was not of traditional Mandalorian design. The mask, however, was missing. She pulled back the hood, revealing short, dark blond hair. The man looked up at her and she immediately recognized the face.

“Anakin?” she gasped.

His presence in the Force was much the same, but darker. His face had new scars and had a decade’s worth of age, if not two. It was Anakin Skywalker, she was sure of it.

The Force urged her to trust and believe.

A smug smirk spread on his face, lacking any of the kindness of the Anakin she knew. “Hello, Master Unduli.”

That very last bit is actually the first thoughts I had on this AU, followed by the interrogation that’ll be the next scene, where he warns her about Barriss and the Temple bombing (which isn’t far in the future).

The Fang fighter was originally an Athersprite, recovered from the remains of a battle (Vader picks up a lot of junk in this fic), but they don’t have hyperdrives, according to Wookiepedia, the Fang fighters used by the Mandalorian protectors do, so that’s what I went with. (Vader’s too busy to outfit an Athersprite with a hyperdrive.)

#nano 2020 #fic #star wars #anakin skywalker #darth vader #luminara unduli

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