#jedi master plo koon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dukeoftheblackstar · 9 months ago

Text

ѕαтυяиιиє || ρℓσ кσσи χ fєм!яєα∂єя

Dividers by Saradika

I was supposed to make something smutty, but then it didn't go so well and then it went okay and now it's out of the WIP furnace, I can sleep.

“Don’t..”

It was all you needed to keep your eyes closed and the room vehemently dark. You didn’t particularly like it, but there you were, drawing your hand back over your chest before you could even reach for the lamp. You could tell it was one of those nights Plo wanted something he could never bring himself to ask nor speak of. Nights when he’d come from a grueling mission that left him doubtful even through numerous hours of meditation and decompression with the other Jedi Masters; nights when words fail even the most eloquent and wise Kel Dor that he’d come to you unannounced to be something that is not of a Jedi — himself.

Plo had already broken his vow of celibacy when he had met you and it had been even more of a constant struggle to manage a certain emotion that he knew well within himself should not be a difficult task. Plo never once was plagued with the need to temper insecurities or jealousy for that matter, they were insignificant negativities that hardly impacted his role as a Master Jedi.

It would not deter him from being a remarkable pilot or an exemplary swordsman, nor will it tarnish the depth of connection he has to the force knowing he had, if not perfected, neutralized an unbreakable hold of his emotions to not let it cloud his judgment. Surely if he could have harnessed such power to procure control over his Electric Judgment, mere jealousy would be of no match… yes?

But he had seen you days before he had finally landed the interceptor a walk away from your humble abode. He had seen you so full of mirth and without a care in the world as you danced and twirled, and cheered, and sang, and laughed, and smiled with the locals celebrating some sort of festivities that he wasn’t even made aware of. He had seen you bask in the glory of peace and though his heart swells at the sight of you safe and sound, merry and perhaps having the time of your life, he couldn’t rid the darkness that pooled within him in the form of envy.

Vicious, vicious envy caressing him like the mistress of hate that had taken form in that very man you had allowed to touch you so closely, so intimately. He had spent hours of meditation to rid the image of how he had held you in his arms as you danced and sang, and twirled, and laughed, and smiled. Hours indulging his fellow Jedi for a bout or two, had hovered over the designated docking area for the interceptor but opted to leave with an even heavier heart.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak to the Grand Master either for reasons he knew he should be able to handle this with the grace of a Master Jedi and one of his experiences. And so he did; he had kept himself away for days when he had been granted time to tend to ‘personal matters’ to retain a sound mind for when he would be called for business. He had also elected to keep your messages unread and your calls declined — all at the expense of satiating both conditions ; to be sound as a Master Jedi and to be sound as a beloved who would not be in any way unreasonable, confrontational, and untrusting. After all, it was just a dance … right?

A meager dance with his fingers laced between your delicate digits, your eyes sparkling with unabashed bliss as you laughed at everything he said, smiled at every turn and twirl with your forehead against his and your body so firmly in place against him.

An inconsequential matter that should not have his own fists balled up under his sleeves as he listened to his commander reprimand the chaos of Boost and Sinker arguing over proper bathing etiquette while Comet and Warthog heartily cheered ‘brawl’ repeatedly. A minute happenstance that should not even qualify as a problem but it has.

And so it brings us to the current.

“Plo, what’s wro —”

You drew breath from the deepest recesses of your lungs, pitched and rapt with unexpected pleasure as you felt a pair of talon-clad fingers press against the sweet bud nestled between your folds. Your voice shakes and you silently curse how wet he had made you with just a press as if you were some switch that activated a harem of whores begging for a fuck. He hadn’t even moved the slightest, but you could feel the rough hide of his fingers caress you in short, circular motions, parting to spread your folds not even by much to let his fingers slide down, but enough to make you whimper a little.

You knew something was wrong by how he had chosen to touch you but not dare look at you. He had always been one to tell you how beautiful you look, how your lips beckon him even in silence, and how your eyes illuminate the darkest of his nights when lost and uncertain. He had always kept the light on; always looked down at you when you writhe under his touch and begged him to fuck you as raw and unbridled as possible, knowing the next may never be certain.

He’d always trace the contours of your face from the bridge of your nose to the curves of your lips, from the arches of your brows to the spans of your jaw, and from the column of your throat to the dip between your clavicles before he’d ask — no, beg; beg so desperately to touch you as if you were some fragile little thing that would break under the size of his hands and the sharpness of his spurs.

You shudder under the cold, stannic mask grazing along your thigh and you could hear the slight whirr you’ve come to love, knowing it was how his breath had gone heavy as yours. You’ve memorized every ridge and texture, every camber and cavity, every point and tube that has roamed your body many times over your skin but never often there.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t for reasons so valid you’ve forgotten it ever existed — it being the feel of his mouth or tongue that was hardly permitted to kiss you on the lips more so down south, it being how beyond comprehensible it felt when he’d go down you, and the fact that Plo Koon is indeed, a pussy-eating champ that would leave the both of you literally breathless.

“Plo, are you al— Fuck.”

He had descended to daub along the stripe of your cunt until you were fully glossed with arousal, bestowing upon him a web of intimacy between his fingers. You feel his touch briefly part and the whirring heightens as the mask, too, had abandoned your thigh. Plo Koon grunts as his talons bury onto your calf, complying with the unspoken request to spread yourself more for him. And so you do, you lift your knees and part to the stance that had made the mattress sink further to his comfort and his grip firm on each leg.

The spurs of his mask prod at your thigh for a moment as if to distract you from the cold, viscous, hardness of his rebreather smearing over your flesh until he had pressed his rebreather in between. Your legs closed abruptly and swift that even Plo didn’t anticipate the sudden clamp. But before you could mutter an apology, he had brought one leg down with his hand and blocked the other, hooking it slightly elevated over his shoulder.

He pressed his mask further into you, nuzzling and rubbing the metallic device all over, parting your folds and dragging every groove up and all over. You writhe and arch your body up, peaks attentive should they be given the attention they so desperately crave beneath your shirt. Hands balled on each side with blankets scrunched between your fingers, pulling one off by a corner. You moan and whimper, hips lifted swung left to right only to be stilled back down and be slipped two fingers in, ruthlessly pumping with abandon you swore it was laced with animosity.

Plo had focused his rebreather between your folds and right over your clit, turning and tossing his head lightly as he fervently fucked you with his fingers, one curling after the other inside you. You propped yourself on your elbows as if it would do you any good, but all it did was reel you back into the bed and have you rake and pull your hair back as your hips sank onto the bed and your chest arch to the heavens.

Your breath ragged and desperate, toes curling as you felt your walls constrict. You were so wet with shame that you’ve come apart so ungracefully onto him, so.. prematurely without even a fight.

He stopped when you did — fingers steady inside and his mask slowly pulled away. You can feel yourself drip from his mask and onto your leg. You can hear his mask whirr louder for a moment and feel the rustling of the blankets as he wiped his mask clean with it. Panting, you apologize and beg him to come up and hold you. You tried to ask what troubles him as his fingers slipped out gently and lathered the stripe of your pussy with your own slick before you sensed him dismount the bed quietly.

You hear a loud whizz and locks unclipping. Then footsteps and the chime-like sound the antiox mask made when he’d hook it over a specialized stand when he would clean the filters or tweak the seals. You’d expect the room to pump Dorin gas any minute and you were ready to reach into your side of the bed and take out a smaller version of a mask you’ve made for yourself as a present so he could undo his mask when he’d have the time to visit.

You turned to reach for the nightstand, but he had pulled you back to the center of the bed as he mounted your shared cot. Plo had pulled you by the hips high up over his lap and folded your legs until your knees touched the pillow underneath your head.

“I saw you..” Came Plo’s sullen response, his voice soft and barely audible without the mask. It wasn’t velvet sweet or sultry deep, it was neither arousing nor hypnotic — rather it was as real as he could possibly make it so. He would have to scream for you to hear him and you heard him. You heard him scream how he had seen you and it didn’t take long for you to realize that it truly was him flying over during the festival. You felt it in you that day and instead of rushing home, you danced and sang, and cheered, and laughed, and smiled — you were so drawn by the crowd and the music that you turned not to meet him, but meet him.

“Happyier.”

It wasn’t an argument, let alone a conversation — mainly because he wouldn’t let you speak. Not when he had dragged his tongue from the very pinnacle of the back of your pussy to the very peak of your clit with the thickness of his tongue and the deliberate slowness of his stride without ever disconnecting the touch. He lugged his tongue back in the same fashion; slithering back all the way back ensuring no crevice nor flesh left untainted while you stammer and desperately explain yourself that it was harmless fun.

You were panting when he stopped. Chest heavy with confusion and unexpected guilt as if you’ve committed such a crime that you wonder if it is unlawful for a Kel Dor’s partner to be seen dancing or embracing another man — considering they have such a peculiar law against theft.

You force your quivering voice to make your point, explaining how it meant nothing and it was truly, truly, just happenstance that the man was there for the dance. But you couldn’t, not when he had lapped at your pussy with such vigor and quickened flicks while both his hands took purchase of your breasts with such roughness and aggression you were starting to believe that it had truly, truly upset him — no, infuriated him.

“Betrayal” was all you heard, but you can feel how loud he had shouted — how loud he wanted to be for you to hear him.

You feel him hover more as his hands grip at your hip, allowing one leg to fall before shoving himself head to hilt without warning. He pulls you steady, anchoring himself with every thrust that deliberately disentangles himself from you only to plunge himself all the way back to the hilt.

You groan in pain, not so much the pleasure. He bottoms you out rough enough to make you cry and reach out to push him, but only for a while. Plo had rarely been anything but kind and sweet that it was starting to feel like a well-deserved punishment. You sniffle and grunt in agony until you finally manage to speak.

“Plo, it hurts…” You’d say softly that it sounded more like an apology. Not because you should, but because he couldn’t. He couldn’t apologize for something he is yet to understand. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t comprehend the concept of envy, but because he couldn’t calibrate himself to a level of understanding said emotion as a Jedi should — not one to suppress or indulge, but one to manage and neutralize.

Plo Koon pulled away and once more dismounted the bed. You hear him pace in the dark and reattach his mask with a loud hiss and a few clicks. A sigh soon followed — resigned and troubled; followed by a shift of weight on the mattress as he sits by the edge of the bed.

“I am.. old.” He would say with an equally pliant huff.

“You are.” You’d smile. Biting the urge to laugh as you test the waters of his mood.

“Obstinate.”

“Mhm.”

“Disconsolate.”

“I don’t know what that means, my love, but yes.” Came your response that merited a small chuckle from your beloved, currently sullen and stressed Kel Dor lover.

“Captious, perhaps?” Replied a much calmer Plo Koon. The warmth of his hand over your calf meriting another smile and ease in your chest.

“Sure, my love.” You giggle, clearing your throat in mock remorse. His hand moving further up the back of your knee.

“Saturnine.” Came another as he positioned himself knelt between legs he’d lift by the back of your knee and part very gently.

“Oh, so we’re just making up words now?” You teased, propped on your elbow and slightly sat up.

“Old and cranky.” You hear him chuckle, followed by the cold touch of his mask on your forehead, then at the tip of your nose, your chin, the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder, pushing you back onto the bed.

“Sounds about ri—(ght).” You groan, feeling him hard between your thighs with one hand by the side of your head and the other wrapped around his cock. You hear him grunt at the slightest contact of his engorged head slip between your folds with each stroke.

“Mine?” Plo would ask, once more barely above a whisper — that of a plea to hear no other word than ‘yes’.

“N.. Not… Not yet…” Your voice trembles, reaching to place upon fingers on each shoulder as if to brace yourself knowing fully what was about to come. And ‘come’ it came.

Plo slid himself slowly inside, only to pull and angle himself so the engorged head of his cock would dip and slip out with a wet pop a few times, knowing how flustered it makes you to hear yourself so damn wet for him. You whine in complaint as he purposely timed himself to move away when you tried to sink down on him. You harrumphed and he’d titter, reaching to flick the lights on.

You wince and blink, trying to acclimate your sight from the darkness that surrounded you hours ago.

“Beautiful.” He’d say. “And now?”

“Spirits, yes!”

Whether it was your answer to his question or the fact that had just plunged himself all the way to the very hilt, lifted your leg up over his shoulder, angled himself to strike that deliciously sweet spot of yours that made you moan like a proper bitch in heat than the elegant lover of this seasoned, saturnine Master Jedi, we may never know.

We do, but you know — cue dramatic effects.

#♝#plo koon #plo koon fic #plo koon x fem!reader #plo koon x reader #plo koon x femreader #jedi master plo koon #jedi plo koon #dukeoftheblackstar #mildly smutty #mildly angsty #duchii writes

26 notes · View notes

roachsauce · 1 year ago

Text

pov: you’re anakin skywalker

#star wars #tcw #jedi council #mace windu #kit fisto #depa billaba #master yoda #yoda #obi wan kenobi #eeth koth #plo koon #shaak ti #ki adi mundi #mundis head was so fun to draw lmao #at first i was gonna redraw this meme as the clones as ‘pov ur at 79s’ but ive drawn so many clones lately #i missed drawing the jedi :)#my art

3K notes · View notes

izzystizzys · 5 months ago

Text

There is a scratch mark on the floor of the Council chambers that Mace has never noticed before. Not a deep one, mind, quite shallow. This matters because it’s making the white-hot pulse of agony stabbing through his eyeballs ebb momentarily. Then, he chances a glance upwards at the fidgeting Knight in front of them, and it returns in full force.

Huh, he’s never seen Oppo Rancisis’ face turn that colour before.

“Hmm”, Master Yoda hums, deep and scratchy. His expression is unreadable even to Mace beyond a baseline gremlinness, and the force with which he grips the edges of his seat is making his bones creak. Master of the Order you should become, they said. Follow the calling of the Force, you should. A fulfilling purpose, it will be. Mace is going to hunt the little goblin for sport when this is all over, and he’s going to laugh the whole time.

“Show us the livestream again, could you, Knight Parvo?” Yoda asks. Mace bursts a capillary, he’s pretty sure, and so does poor Knight Parvo, whose orange Mon Cala skin tips all the way into blood red with stress. “Most unusual, this is.”

“Absolutely not!”, Ki Adi intervenes before Mace has to, thank the Force for little mercies. Plo Koon’s tusks tremble slightly with either suppressed laughter or abject horror, maybe both, and Stass Allie has her head in her hands. “The holo stills should be enough”, Ki Adi proceeds to add, and Mace has to reconsider all feelings of grace he just felt towards his fellow Councillor.

He never wants to watch Yoda zoom in on someone’s abs again. Or Depa raise her eyebrows at the curve of thighs bent over the dripping front of a speeder.

“Speeder Wash For Our Troops”, his former padawan reads out loud from a still of what has to be hundreds of the things gathered in the public senate parking lot. “Fund Our Boys And Get A Wet Seeing-To!” The series of images features dozens of Coruscant Guard troopers in various stages of unkitted, gleaming and shining with soap suds and water. The fact that the whole thing is also massive shatterpoint after massive shatterpoint is, quite frankly, insulting.

“Well hello- oh dear”, Obi-Wan’s blue form crackles to life in his chair, followed by several sounds of choking that are definitely not him. Good, Mace thinks acidly. If he has to deal with this, then so does kriffing Skywalker. “I’m sorry, why am I looking at Commander Thorn using a washrag like a lasso on top of a speeder?”

“Oh, the Guard’s little fundraising project”, Bail Organa says, as he steps into the Council chambers. Normally, Mace likes the man well enough. Now, he just smiles and adds on, “I’ve already donated, in mine and Breha’s name. Remotely, of course.”

“The Guard’s fundraising speeder wash?”, Obi-Wan repeats, edges of his holo form flickering with what Mace suspects is Skywalker very unsubtly trying to edge in. Force, but the man really is horrible at any and all stealth, like kissing his secret wife in an open arena in front of his Master. “And they are fundraising for…?”

“GAR budget allocations have to come from somewhere”, Organa shrugs. “And with the tide of public opinion turning, they’ve been tending towards cuts. The Guard feels them more keenly than any other sector - they’ve been reduced from half to quarter rations, and medical supplies have not made more than a token appearance in the last draft. The Chancellor has cancelled three consecutive meetings on the matter, and thus it was agreed that a more hands-on approach was needed. Any surplus will go into the Army fund.”

“Surely it can’t be that dire”, Oppo protests, a slightly less concerning shade of purple now. Senator Organa shrugs again, jostling the smattering of cracks slowly building around his person in a way that makes Mace wince quietly. “It’s all publicly available data, Masters.”

It really can be that dire, as it turns out. And quarter rations is only scratching the surface of how dire, considering the Guard has apparently never had access to bacta in all their posting, and also includes requisitioning forms available to the Senate for reconditionings and decommissionings, two words Mace has only heard Ponds whispers amidst shuddering in the early days of the war before Shaak Ti went off and just about tore some throats out over it.

“Alright”, he concedes, rubbing at his temples. “Fair enough, we have failed to tackle a massive blind spot in the Guard’s well being. There is no Jedi assigned to Coruscant, and that’s an oversight on our behalf. But how in the everloving kriff did this get past the Chancellor and Commander Fox?!”

Who have both signed, black on white. Bail Organa smiles cryptically. “Well, if you scroll a bit past that one image, up to the industrial speeder in the back - Commander Fox is currently having credits stuffed into his codpiece in the back, I believe.”

“HE’S WHAT IN THE WHAT NOW”, Commander Cody screeches through the speaker of Obi-Wan’s holo image, and Mace has to summon every bit of Jedi-serenity he possesses in his body to keep from dropkicking a cackling Yoda through the chamber windows.

#fox forged palpatine’s signature is how it got past him #it’s not like anyone can admit to that considering the backlog of official reports he’s been forced to do it on #‘come for me and we’re both going down bitch’ fox says #triple dog dare #fox himself is in such a constant state of sleep deprivation delirium that a sexy speeder wash sounded fair enough #or not worse than anything else that happens on the daily on coruscant anyways #padmé’s handmaidens make it rain with whoops of joy and take a commemoration selfie with all the commanders #‘wait. where’s kit?’ obi wan asks halfway through the meeting ‘wasn’t he supposed to land on coruscant an hour ago?’#‘oh No’ says the council collectively #‘coruscant daily breaking news: residents are horrified by half-naked nautolan streaking through the city apparently making for thr senate’#‘wait that appears to be JEDI MASTER KIT FISTO-‘#it’s very good advertising it turns out #the vod who suggested it (nuisance) gets promoted against his will #the remaining clone commanders have to be restrained first from dogpiling civilians launching their credits at corries #‘BUT GENERAL THEY’RE OBJECTIFYING FOX’ wolffe cries to plo koon #then from murdering several senators aides and the chancellor when certain records surface #‘this is all public knowledge??’ fox asks very confused and still dripping water under six robes his ori’vode launched at him on sight #‘i don’t understand where this is coming from?’#cody is too busy making slitting throat motions at anyone who looks at his vod’ika too long to bother responding #palpatine chokes on a raisin in shock and dies #‘BREAKING BREAKING NEWS: CHANCELLOR EXPLODES IN A BLACK CLOUD AT SIGHT OF WASHBOARD ABS’#and thus the galaxy is foxed #i’m leaving that typo #commander fox #corrie guard deserves better #coruscant guard #jedi high council #mace windu #oh mace my beloved i am so sorry but it’s so funny putting you in Situations #sw tcw fic ideas

481 notes · View notes

comradewolfe · 2 years ago

Text

#star wars #star wars fans #artists on tumblr #star wars the clone wars #digital fanart #the clone wars #clone wars #tcw fanart #plo koon #dad plo #sith #jedi master #star wars clone wars #star wars art #starwars #ashoka tano #star wars ashoka

4K notes · View notes

nchlsdmn · 2 days ago

Text

Full Plot of the Cancelled Sith Shrine arc from Star Wars The Clone Wars: Season 8

The plot of this arc was repurposed in Star Wars Rebels, when Ezra and Maul merge Holocrons together – as well as for the Sith temple on Malachor. The design for the temple and the wasteland where the swords are impaled in the ground were all concepts that were created for Star Wars: The Clone Wars, but were later reused in Star Wars Rebels; and the Sith temple which was supposed to be located deep beneath Coruscant became a planet of its own instead of Malachor.

Yoda gets lured by Sidious like he did in Season 6 when he was messing with Yoda’s mind. Palpatine activates the temple and the disturbance in the Force lures Master Yoda. Additionally, Sidious partially messing with Yoda’s mind, since he knew that Yoda was likely the only one who had an idea of what was to come.

Sidious wanted Yoda to open a Holocron for him, but Yoda refuses, so he decides to hold Yoda hostage and to have other Jedi come down in an attempt to rescue him. The plan was for the other Jedi to open the Holocron for Sidious instead, in order to free Yoda in exchange. Ahsoka realizes this, and went to inform the Jedi that chasing after Yoda was wrong because it was a trap. Sidious would have also tried to sacrifice Yoda because in ancient times, the Sith used to sacrifice Jedi on altars.

Sidious wanted a Jedi Holocron – which Ahsoka would have then secured and returned back to the vault, and she would seal the door shut with her lightsaber while Sidious was on the other side shooting lightning at her. This would be her only glimpse at Sidious, even though she didn't exactly know who he was.

The Geonosians were utilized by Dooku in order to look for the temple itself. Sidious and Dooku didn’t know where it was but Sidious heard about it, so they had to find it first. The Jedi also need to use the Geonosians as guides, because the Geonosians being creatures that live in catacombs and depths by nature, were useful. The Jedi then free Poggle in order to tell them where all of those Geonosians were going (the Geonosians used by Dooku).

The Temple had kaiju-like monsters called "protectors." They lived in the depths and had moved to those caves to live in them. After a while they started acting as custodians or protectors of the ruins beneath the surface. The Jedi had to get past them in order gain access. Their role in the story was more so for lore-building rather than vital to the plot itself.

The Sith temple was only one. But still underground, just above the surface of the buried Sith temple there would have been both Sith and Jedi architecture sometimes even mixed together testifying how the Jedi had gradually started building on top of more ancient Sith ruins and ended up "overwriting" the history of those locations by imposing Jedi architecture and Jedi culture that concealed or sometimes even destroyed past Sith architecture.

This would have also shown the battle that happened between the Sith and the Jedi, so it had more than simply a cultural relevance. The whole plot and theme of the arc was similar to the ruins of Mar in the Jak and Daxter franchise where the ruins of Mar are buried deep beneath Haven City and the city was built on top of it.

The Jedi would have also used capsule-like vehicles to descend deep beneath the surface because they had trouble descending in Level 0. The main Jedi accompanying Ahsoka were Anakin and Obi-Wan. There would have been scenes where Plo Koon, Kit Fisto, Mace Windu, Ki-Adi Mundi appear – but the main ones involved are Anakin, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

The reward for mixing Darkside arts and the knowledge contained in a Jedi Holocron was similar to what Ezra and Maul obtained in Star Wars Rebels, although at the time when they wrote the Sith Temple arc, they had decided that the reward for mixing Darkside and Lightside was a vision of the future – and Sidious wanted to see the future to know if his enemies would be defeated and if his schemes would actually come to fruition, or if he had to retrace his steps and change some things and to see how his enemies would have reacted.

As far as how the arc ended – the Jedi rescue Yoda, Poggle returns to Dooku (hence his return in ROTS), and the Temple would have been destroyed similar to what happens in Star Wars Rebels with Malachor. The Jedi decide to keep the matter a secret -- even from other Jedi who didn’t know – because the fact that the Darkside of the Force was so close to them, and they never noticed or sensed it would make the Jedi look weak.

Also, according to them – in the end it was better that the temple was destroyed because the Jedi had the mindset that the Darkside has nothing to offer them or to show them, so it’s better off if it was destroyed and buried forever. But this would leave Master Yoda disturbed because it meant that their enemies were much much closer than they had initially realized.

Ahsoka would have "returned" to the Jedi, but she would have acted as a sort of "external informant" on their behalf for some time; and this is where her role comes into place with this arc – because she would have investigated in the lower world and found out where Master Yoda was taken. In the original intentions for the show, Ahsoka was not so sour with the Jedi after she left them.

Anakin initially is upset that Ahsoka left to begin with, but by the end of the arc, he accepts that Ahsoka made her own decision, a nod to Obi-Wan's wise words in the Utapau arc: "She made the decision..." Ahsoka doesn't fully commit to the Jedi until the Siege of Mandalore arc, which is where she joins with Rex and the 332nd.

Unrelated, but one element that was removed from Dark Disciple is Ahsoka's role, because in the original version, Ahsoka still held a close relationship with the Jedi despite being outside the order; and she would act as an external informant or agent for the Jedi when the Jedi themselves were limited by their own morality or code. So the Jedi would have gotten Ahsoka to contact Ventress for the job they wanted Ventress to do for them (assassinate Dooku with Quinlan Vos) because they thought Ventress would be more open to listening to Ahsoka and also because Ahsoka lived in the underworld so she could find out Ventress’s location at the time and approach her.

#star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #star wars #clone wars #captain rex #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka #ahsoka tano #ventress #count dooku #darth sidious #yoda #master yoda #kit fisto #plo koon #ki adi mundi #mace windu #jedi

113 notes · View notes

stealingpotatoes · 1 year ago

Note

Momma Shaak and Poppa Plo file a marriage certificate on coruscant so they can legally adopt the clones. An investigative reporter finds out about the certificate and does an exposé on marriage in the Order. The 37 times obi-wan has accidentally gotten married on various planets come to light, among others.

This leads to a Debate for the Council. Shaak and Plo vote in favor of marriage so they can keep their clones. Obi-Wan does because he wants to stay a Jedi. Ki-Adi Mundi is canonically married and votes yes. Yoda votes yes to be a troll. Mace votes yes bc he has a headache of the shatterpoints. The rest of the Council votes no and it’s left to Anakin to break the tie. He votes to legalize his own marriage, thus foiling palpatine’s plots.

Of course, there’s an outbreak of marriages after this edict goes through. From Jedi falling for their clone commanders, or an unlikely nightsister ally, to all sorts of likely and unlikely pairings!

im obsessed w this. mainly just the first paragraph but im literally obsessed. it's like a green card marriage but instead of getting a green card its to get your 5 million children human rights

#u can imagine shaak ti and plo koon in a fix it au like shit how are we gonna get the clones rights!!#and fake marriage and adoption is somehow these jedi masters' least worst idea. somehow #thanks for the ask!

539 notes · View notes

oceansssblue · 6 months ago

Text

SW REQUESTS:

"Would love to see a Wolffe x reader fic where the AFAB reader is injured in battle, Comms him and then their Comms get jammed and he's just freaking the hell out. Love some angst of him carrying her back to a ship and losing his mind over it"

Some minor alterations but I'm SO HAPPY with how this one came out! I love wolffe and there aren't that many fics about him. Do recommend your favourites! Xx, sky.

"RADIO SILENT" –WOLFFE/F READER

WARNINGS: BATTLE, WOUNDS&BLOOD, ANGST AND FLUFF. 📩💔💖

Halsakaa is a nightmare. The Republic hasn't been able to redirect more forces to the Outer Rim planet to help you; and your troops are struggling to keep the droids battalions at bay. It honestly feels as though the Republic –and the Jedi– have abandoned you to your wrath; no-one coming to this remote location in the galaxy to save you. The destine of your own life, and the lifes of your soldiers, are solely in your hands. And you'd give everything for them, even sacrifice yourself if you have to. After so many experiences together, for almost three years straight now, they have becomed such an important part of you it feels as if you have ingrained every single one of them in your soul. You know you should'nt be so attached to them; Master Ploo quietly reminds you from time to time –though you know he's not exactly indifferent either–. The wolfpack is his own just as they are yours. Yours. Growing up as Jedi you haven't had this kind of... ownership over anything but your saber. Obviously, you don't see the clones as something you can posses, use; but they do belong to you in some sense, and in that way, it's your responsability to command them, to take care of them. And you... love them. It's a dangerous word for a Jedi. But it's the truth. It is the reason why, right now, your soul aches. Each death is a strike right to your heart. But how can you see them any different, when they are such loyal friends? Such fierce soldiers, who fight and die selflessly for the freedom of other citizens in the galaxy, a freedom that hadn't been given to themselves?

Your dark emerald green lightsaber flies in your hands, deflecting one bolt after the other one. Sweat makes your usually comfortable jedi robes stick to your body; minor scratches and wounds tingling painfully at the friction of the fabric. It doesn't make you move any slower, though; you feel unstopable jumping from a cluster of droids to another, the hum of your saber following you around while you slash through your enemies with persistent focus and skill. General Ploo is doing his own thing on the other side of the battlefield; your clone troops split in half to defend both sides of Halsakaa's capital.

You don't know how much longer you can hold this off. All of you have been trained for this, and you're used to drawing strength from the Force, increasing your usual endurance; but even you are feeling exhausted, muscles straining like painful cords, and the thing about the droids is that they never tire out. You know this has to end eventually. Right now, Master Ploo's orders are to hold on til some other battalion can come to your rescue –the other option abandoning Halsakaa to the separatists, which would cause a disastrous impact on the Republic–; though you don't know when that will be. It may be days, or weeks. A month, maybe two. Even with the system of rest-and-takeover you've got established with the clones you're afraid you're going to lose.

The night falls, and some troopers fall back into the delicate safety of the makeshift camp, a decent distant away from the battlefield; they'll try to shut the eye for some hours before replacing other brothers positions again. You keep fighting, completely exhausted but knowing perfectly well that your presence in the battlefield equals the force of ten clones; pushing through your energy limits and fiercely holding your own.

Hours pass, and the two suns of Halsaaka rises again; your tired eyes getting used to the new light while you keep slashing droids with your saber.

"We're pushing them further away from the South Door" Master Ploo's calm voice picks up through your coms. "I have been informed that the 442th have been dispatched in our way. They will join us in two sunrises".

You can't help but give a relieved sigh. The 104th have worked with the 442th more than once in the past. They are heavy infantry; and you wouldn't say no to some of that now. Any fresh soldier would be a welcomed addition. You can see the strain on your troopers; though none of them would dare say a word out loud.

"Copy that" you answer through your channel with your Master and the 104th's commander and sergeant. "I'll feel as happy as a kid with a popsicle when I see that green stripped armour along our light gray one".

You dodge a shot and use the Force to push a wave of droids to the side; your troopers quickly using the oportunity to blast them down.

Wolffe's deep husky voice pipes up in a tiny, well-humoured comment.

"Still a kid yourself, General" he teases you, voice still firm and contradictionally serious.

Your lips pull up on a tiny smirk.

"We can't all age in a blink of an eye, my dear Commander" you chirp back.

The coms pick up his raspy chuckle before the frequency goes back to silence.

The droids make way for something bigger and you groan under your breath. The first bolts make the earth beneath your feet shake slightly; orders and screams shouted all around you.

"Bad news, boys" you open the general coms this time so everyone gets updated in this very unwelcomed surprise. "We've got some spiders".

You focus yourself on them; flying through the battlefield and jumping on one droid after the other one, sinking your saber into their red sensors or cutting off their laser canions. Then, when you're in the middle of jumping off of one, a surprisingly well aimed bolt crosses the air and hits you; and you fall down with blood quickly soaking your side, staining the fabric of your Jedi clothes.

"Fuck" you mutter out loud, jaw clenching til your teeth hurt while you stand up quickly and deflect another bold with your saber, trying to cope with the pain. You open your private frequency with Sinker and quickly inform of your state.

"Sinker, I've been hit" you grit between your teeth while you kill the droid responsible for your wound and step back between your troopers to cover yourself momentarily.

You pull your clothes up and quickly glance down at the wound. Usually the bolts inmediately cauterizes the wounds; but this hadn't been a normal droid, but a combat-J1, with it's weapon specifically designed to make the most damage to human's skin without it's predecessors side-efects. The apparently less dangerous bolts are quite the opposite; dividing into smalller ones that diverts into different directions when hitting a surface with enough resistance. Right now, there's only one entrance wound on your right side; but you know they may have carved more than one path inside of you, making it a life or death situation depending on how lucky you are.

"How bad is it?" He asks, slowly but effectively advancing through the droid lines towards you, an easy person to locate with the shine of your emerald saber.

You grunt in pain, hand soaked in dark scarlet blood, and take a deep breath in, knowing what you need to do for now.

"Bad" you just answer, carefully lowering your own saber towards the wound "It's a shot from a J1. I'm going to cauterise the wound for now, but I might go into shock in the next hour. Just a heads up."

You chuckle weakly, and then carefully graze your lightsaber against the wound. The skin quickly hardens and clots; the smell of the burn quickly reaching your nose. Your knees buckle while you swallow your scream of pain; legs shaking weakly and tears springing to your eyes while you finish putting a momentarily solution to your wound. At least you won't die from blood loss for now.

"Maker, General" Sinker is suddenly there, taking a strong hold of your opposite hip to stabilize you. "That really doesn't look good. You should go back to camp, Sir".

You find solace in his strength for a minute before rightening yourself again and getting ready to move. You close your eyes and center yourself with the Force. You're hurt, but you're still in the middle of open fire; you need to swallow the pain and dizziness down and hold on.

You give Sinker a firm nod.

"I'm letting this side of the battlefield on your hands, then" you tell him, his own back inmediately straightening too under such responsability. "Just one more night and we'll have reinforcements with us tomorrow".

Sinker nods in understanding, appreciating your words of encouragement. He quickly orders Comet to help you get safely back to camp; while he inmediately takes the role of leader and commands your part of the 104th clone troops. You need to protect the North Door of Halsaaka while Master Ploo and Wolffe take care of the South.

One arm around Comet's shoulders and finding strength in the Force, you quickly start your dangerous way back to safety. Even though Comet's alert with his own blaster and you're still deflecting bolts with your saber, you're vulnerable now. You just hope you're both able to make it.

You open your coms to inform of the new situation.

"I've been hit with a J1" you warn Master Ploo and Wolffe. You don't like how weak your voice sounds. "Wolffe, I..."

There's a small explosion right beside you; and the force of it pushes both you and Comet to the ground. You whimper in pain, but quickly grab him and push the two of you back up, resume walking –more like stumbling forward–. You try the coms again, wanting to tell Wolffe you've left Sinker with command before retiring for the night; you grumble in irritation when you see your com device has detached from your forearm and has been left abandoned behind.

"Do you have your com?" You ask Comet.

His voice is barely audible under the protection of his helmet.

"My audio appears to be broken after that last fall, General."

You sigh, tired. There's nothing you can do about it now. Sinker will communicate with them sooner or later.

"Let's just make it back to safety then" you say, and Comet nods diligently.

You'll just focus on not collapsing to the ground before reaching camp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wolffe's heart stutters inside his chest when he hears your voice in the coms. You're always strong, always fierce; something he had admired from the very first time he had had the chance to work under your command. He had been cold towards you back then; not purposedly harsh against you, but not friendly either. You hadn't cared. When one of his men had pointed out to you it wasn't personal, but just Wolffe's reserved, unpolished personality, you had answered unbothered and completely understanding. He could still hear those words in his head; "I get it. I'm a stranger that holds the lifes of his brothers in her hands. None of you know me yet; trust is earned. I hope I will with time. I'd like us all to be comfortable with each othef. But if not, it doesn't matter. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to fight. I'm here to protect people; and I'm here to direct my assigned troops as best as I can in order to achieve the best results with the minor number of casualties. If Commander Wolffe opens up to me I'd be honored. If not, I'm sure we could still be good comrades in this war". He still remembers the way you had tilted your chin upwards; staring defiantly at the clones in front of her, completely unaware of him standing not so far away at her back. "Now, I believe there's still some preparations needed for Jaal; and we're taking off in an hour". With that not-so-subtle signal that the conversation had ended, the troopers around you had quickly fell back to place; and Wolffe had silently followed Master Ploo Koo towards you. "Look at you, little warrior" the older Jedi had told you, a pleasant smile wrinkling the corner of his covered eyes. "Already displaying such good lidership traits". You had turned around in surprise; so many life presences around you, and experiencing a rush of your own emotions, you hadn't been aware of both of their presence. Your cheeks had flushed slightly; though that same defiant glint hadn't left your eyes. "Master" you had slightly bowed towards him. "You see me with good eyes" you had smiled softly at him, in a clearly opened affectionate way Wolffe wasn't used to seing in other Jedi. "Just having a chat with the troops". Master Ploo had chuckled quietly and pointed at him with a hand gesture; Wolffe quickly taking a step forwards towards them. "I have just had a quick meeting with the Council. Commander Wolffe will update you on my behalf, as I need to go have a word with the pilots" Master Ploo had glanced back at him pointedly. "If he'd be kind enough...". Wolffe had inmediately nodded, firmly. He had high respect towards that specifical Jedi; and he didn't usually hold others in such high regards. "Of course, sir" he had then turned towards you. "General, if you can follow me to the strategy room...". You had firmly hold his stare for a few seconds; and the quiet inquisitive gaze had felt as if the young Jedi Warrior had scanned his own very soul. Wolffe had had his first tingle of that uncomfortable but curious feeling back then; a feeling that had only increased with the following years. Nowadays, he...

Wolffe cleared his thoughts and focused on battle. Your voice had sound weak and tired, but you were perfectly capable of holding yourself, and this wasn't the first time you had been hurt before. He had actually patched you more than once in the past and... And then you mentioned a J1, and whispered his name, and there was a loud ringing sound through the coms that sounded too close to an explosion for his comfort and... And the sounds died, leaving nothing more than radio silence. And Wolffe, going against everything he had learnt and was trained for, pannicked.

"General?" His frantic, afraid voice was enough for Master Ploo to focus his attention on him, a graze at his Force life enough to make him understand his commander's feelings. "General. Come on. Com in, kid..."

There was only static.

Wolffe's heart pumped faster, adrenaline shooting through his veins. His hands trembled. A knot formed in his throat, slowly chocking his voice. He never broke down. He never broke down, but...

"Cyar'ika" he begged in a whisper. "Please, please answer and tell me you're okay".

He still got no answer back from you, and he felt his soul hurt.

Master Plo's hand suddenly renched him back into reality; a comforting wave of what could only be his Force washing over him. Wolffe turned his face towards him. The Jedi watched him in understanding.

"I can feel your turmoil. It is such it's difficult for me to focus on anything else. You are in no state to stay in the battlefield" he told him, cautiously gentle. "If my padawan has been gravely injured someone has probably helped her return to camp. You must go and make sure she's okay".

Even if Wolffe wanted nothing more than to start of a run and find her, he still hesitated in front of his General. He was a soldier. A commander. He couldn't leave his place just because he had stupidly, oh so fucking stupidly, fallen in love with her...

Master Plo squeezed his shoulders once. He knew him so well.

"Go" he insisted. "That's an order".

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wolffe quickly wrenched the flimsi excuse of a door of the tent open. He had gone to the makeshift infirmary first; his doctor quickly informing him of the state of his Jedi, and where he could find her resting at the moment. "A dangerous wound, but surprisingly stable" he had told him while he took care of the wound of a fellow brother. "She's a tough one, our General. It was a good idea to use her own lightsaber as a cauterizer. She wouldn't have probably made it all the way back here otherwise". That probability had made Wolffe tremble.

His own eyes quickly scanned the Jedi's state now. She was laying down on a rucksack, unusually clad in just a sport top and his Jedi pant's; outer robes discarded and clean bandages effectively wrapping around her lower torso, with just a small amout of blood transpairing on her side. Her lightsaber had been carefully placed at her side. Her hair was untied and a mess; some sticking to her dirtied face and some falling around freely behind her. Despite her evident exhaustion, Wolffe hand't ever been so happy to see her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Commander?" You asked in a surprised voice, slowly and carefully propelling some of your weight in your elbows in order to see him better. "Shouldn't you be back on the battlefield?"

Your face quickly changes into a deep, worried frown as you scan him up and down quickly.

"Are you hurt too, Wolffe?"

His heart clenches again. He steps inside the tent, slowly falling down on his knees besides you, and closes the door.

"No" he simply answers, observing you quietly.

You're completely lost. He's looking at you in a different way. He... Feels different, in the Force. Usually he feels much more reserved, almost as if he had learnt how to shield his emotions from a Jedi; however this... This felt raw.

"I'm afraid I don't understand" you chuckle and then wince at the way the movement tugs at your wound, a bit nervously now. You pointedly look at him. "You wouldn't be here just because you got worried, right?"

Wolffe's expression doesn't change.

"You went radio silent" he answers, quietly.

You arch an eyebrow.

"Our coms died" you explain, still confused about his attitude.

Wolffe can't help himself. He reaches forward and carefully grasps your chin in his right hand; eyes boring into yours. You gasp in surprise and can't do anything else but stare at his breathetaking mismatched eyes in response; emotions inside of you swirling dangerously with his move.

"You were hurt" he enfasises, almost as if he's trying to tell you something else, something you're not quite understanding. "You were hurt, and you went radio silent".

Oh. Oh. He thought you might be... You might have...

"Oh, Wolffe" his name is an understanding, affectionate sigh on your tempting lips. "I'm okay".

He doesn't want empathy. Doesn't want that almost condescending type of comfort. He needs to make sure you're still here; with him. He needs to exteriorize all this raw, painful emotions he has been keeping hidden for so fucking long, and he wants you so fucking bad it makes his mind and soul burn...

He bends down over you, holding himself against one hand proped against the floor while the other one tugs your neck forward, and then he's kissing you –fiercely, dominantly, real–; he kisses the same way he fights and a surprised but delighted whimper of a moan can't help but escape from your lips, hands quickly clinging onto his shoulders desperately.

You... You hadn't thought you'd end up having this. With you being a Jedi and him being such a perfect, respected clone Commander, you had always brushed your wants aside and...

"Wolffe" you whisper, trembling inevitably when his plush warm mouth moves from your lips to the side of your neck, biting gently. "Wolffe, I...".

He breathes and looks up at your face again; cupping your cheek with his right hand and observing your reaction with his eyes shimmering in needs and desire.

His Force signature blasts. He loves you. He loves you, and you...

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum" you whisper, risking it all and giving your heart to him.

Tears blur your sight. They're not sad tears; they're not happy either. They're a mix of emotions that make you feel like a mess and...

Wolffe sighs. You love him. You love him, and the fact that you've told him in Mando'a...

He closes his eyes and gently presses his forehead against yours; finding solace and peace in your embrace, in this Keldabe. His eyes then flutter open, and he holds your face in both of his hands, slowly joining your lips in a kiss much more sweet and unhurried than those from before. You hum, surrendering in complete bliss.

He caresses your smuged cheek with his thumb, taking some of the dirt and exhaustion of the battlefield away.

His voice is a secret whisper as well.

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, cyare".

Your fingers tug at the hair at the back of his neck, and you crash your lips onto his.

You imprint those five mandalorian words in your soul.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This one was a blast to write! Felt the emotions so raw myself tooo bfbfbsfb this two are so cute. I hope I get to write more of Wolffe in the future, I really like the guy.

Did some minor alterations –like him not been the one to actually carry you back to safety– but it kinda wrote itself and I'm happy with how it came out. Hope you liked it as well!

Also, dear friends, if you ever want to request something longer than a one-shot, you're able to do so as well (if the plot goes accordingly or I find it expandable). I'm not writing whole stories, but a short one of maybe 2-5 chapters max would be okay.

Stay tunned for the next one yall. It will be a little angsty one with Echo, and then we'll have a flirty fun one with Crosshair.

Xx,

Sky.

Back to main masterlist here!

209 notes · View notes