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wild-karrde · 10 months

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Hi Karrde! Congrats on the milestone! Quote ficlet: “Wait. What do you want me to do?!” & Wolffe 🤭

Thanks so much Kira! This one took a bit of a turn that was unexpected for me, but I kind of like how it turned out (and I really hope you do too!) Thanks again for the ask!

Rating: T

Warnings: language, mention of death/canon-typical violence

Word Count: 1.9k words

Wolffe lengthened his strides, trying to pick up his pace without looking rushed. His meetings with his general had normally taken place at the Coruscant base near the barracks, but for whatever reason, Plo Koon had insisted Wolffe meet him at the Jedi temple this time. And after getting turned around in the unfamiliar corridors and having to double back at least twice, Wolffe was running late.

Wolffe hated being late.

He rounded a final corner and fought the urge to sigh audibly with relief when he caught sight of the door the general had indicated in his directions. Wiping a little bit of sweat from his brow, he straightened his spine to attention and pressed the buzzer on the door panel.

“Enter,” came the familiar baritone of Plo Koon from within.

Wolffe was surprised to find the door unlocked. He couldn’t think of a single door on base that wasn’t secured with the exception of maybe the refreshers, but even those were attached to the individual barracks, which required an access code.

Must not be as concerned with security since damn near everyone here wields a lightsaber.

Stepping inside, he found the Kel Dor Jedi master kneeling in front of a low table. To Wolffe, it felt as though he had intruded on some private moment, and it made him sweat harder under his armor.

“General, I apologize for my tardiness. If now is a bad time, I can come back later and –”

“Wolffe, you can set your helmet by the door. Please come sit down and have some tea with me.”

The clone commander stumbled in his apology as the general’s words settled into his brain, and he uncharacteristically stuttered. “W-wait. What do you want me to do?”

The Kel Dor chuckled to himself, gesturing at a cushion next to him. “I’d like you to sit down and have some tea with me.”

Wolffe stood still by the door awkwardly. “I still don’t understand, sir.”

Plo Koon pushed himself to his feet, crossing the room and reaching out his hands for Wolffe’s helmet. “I find I’m more effective in my leadership when I have a good understanding of those I’m leading. Even more so if they are my friends. So I would like to be your friend, Wolffe. I understand that we have a power dynamic that makes this difficult, but I would like to try anyway. Is that alright?”

Wolffe nodded slowly, his brain rushing to process what was happening. The general wanted to be his friend. He thought very highly of the general, but he’d never have thought to cross the line into ‘friendship’. Come to think of it, Wolffe wasn’t sure if he’d ever really had someone he called a 'friend'. He had Cody and Rex and Fox and Bly and the others, but they were brothers, and a brother was different. They were of course friends by definition, but it almost felt like the default, and very different from a friendship he would share with any other being. Only brothers understood what a brother went through, but maybe that was Plo’s point, his goal: to figure out what it was like to be Wolffe, to be a clone. To become his friend so as to better understand him. Wolffe did agree with the tactic; he found he was more effective as a commander when he understood the mental states and personalities of his men. As much as it felt like a violation of some sort of unwritten protocol, he relented, handing his helmet to his general and striding over to the cushion on the floor.

Plo set his helmet on a table by the door, coming to sit across from him. He watched as Wolffe attempted to lower himself onto the cushion, trying to emulate the Jedi Master’s cross-legged seated position, but finding it difficult with his armor on. The Kel Dor chuckled again. “We are not currently under threat of attack, Commander. If it would be easier and more comfortable, you are welcome to take off some of your armor.”

That felt too casual for Wolffe. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think I’d rather keep it on in case I get called away suddenly.”

Plo nodded. “Very well. How do you take your tea?”

Wolffe stared at him. “I’m not much of a tea drinker if I’m honest, sir. Normally all we have around is caf, and even then, it’s the type of stuff that would peel paint off a star cruiser.”

The Kel Dor chuckled again. “I’ll keep that in mind for any future meetings. For now, let’s just see if you enjoy it the same way Master Kenobi does. He was the one that I first had this sort of tea with. I’ve been assured it’s not too abrasive to the human palette.” He sprinkled a little bit of sugar into the cup closest to Wolffe before reaching out and sliding a box that had been sitting on the table towards the clone commander. “I’ve also noted you have a bit of a sweet tooth. I hope these are to your liking.”

Wolffe popped the box open hesitantly, and was immediately hit with the smell of warm butter and cinnamon. His mouth watered involuntarily as he stared down at the glazed sweet buns inside.

“They smell amazing, sir. Where did you get them?”

“I’d heard it rumored that the 28th Combat Wing frequents a certain shop on one of the lower levels, so I made a point to stop by there. Getting their captain to disclose the location required me to promise not to reveal the location, not even under threat of torture.” Because of his mask and eye coverings, Kel Dors were somewhat limited in their expressions, but Wolffe suspected if Plo could have winked at him, he would have. That particular shop was indeed a well-kept secret, one that Wolffe had damn near promised his left kidney for, but he wasn’t surprised that the Jedi Master had gotten the secret out of Crater. The captain of the 28th had always been a good judge of character, and if you spent more than five minutes with Plo Koon, you likely would trust him with just about anything.

A thought struck Wolffe. “Sir, are you even able to eat these?”

The Kel Dor was carefully adding dried, purplish leaves into a teapot. “I could, but it wouldn’t necessarily be a pleasant sight for you. Due to my inability to breathe this atmosphere without my mask, eating for my species is a somewhat involved task, one that I’d rather not subject you to.”

Wolffe nodded, trying not to let his mind wander towards any insensitive questions. He noted that there were two tea cups out, and he was debating whether to ask his next question, but the Jedi seemed to read his mind. “Luckily, when it comes to liquids, I do have an apparatus in my mask that allows me to ingest those with some ease.”

“But won’t that still poison you? Sir?” Wolffe added hastily. “The oxygen in the water that is.”

Plo chuckled again. “It’s actually not usually a problem if I ingest something containing oxygen as long as the concentration isn’t above a certain threshold. The main issue is with my respiratory system, but my mask does contain a filtration system to keep me safe while drinking as well.” He pressed at a small place on the side of his mask, and a thin apparatus only a few centimeters in length protruded, seemingly some sort of straw. Wolffe nodded.

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Plo pulled the strainer containing the tea leaves from the tea pot, setting it aside and pouring the steaming magenta liquid into the two cups, sliding the one containing sugar towards Wolffe.

“I sense you have other questions, Commander. Ones that aren’t about my anatomy.”

Wolffe felt heat creep across his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled, hurriedly taking a sip of the tea. It was light and floral with just a hint of sweetness from the sugar. He deemed it pleasant, even if it did scald his tongue.

“No need to apologize. I’m not necessarily a species one comes across outside of my homeworld,” the Jedi reassured him.

Wolffe nodded, setting the tea down on the saucer and running his burned tongue across the roof of his mouth as he considered how to ask his next question. The Kel Dor watched him patiently. Finally, Wolffe gave up trying to beat around the bush. Subtlety and flowery language had never been his favored approach.

“Alright. Why do you suddenly want to be my friend, sir? Don’t get me wrong, I agree with your reasoning. It just seems that something spurred this on, and I’d like to know what changed in case I need to adjust accordingly.”

He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what event had caused this sudden shift. The way his Jedi general stared out the window for a moment with a seemingly distant gaze all but confirmed it.

“After what happened with the Malevolence, there was one particular moment I couldn’t get out of my mind. The violence and death disconcerted me of course, but it was a moment with your brothers while we were outside the pod. They told me they didn’t think anyone was coming because clones are meant to be expendable. And that is…unacceptable to me.”

Wolffe nodded slowly, trying to keep his face neutral. His brothers had relayed the other side of the conversation to him, and quite frankly, the general’s emphatic response that they were not expendable in his mind was a moment that would live on in the Wolfpack’s minds forever. It had been the moment where Wolffe knew they’d gotten lucky, that their general cared about them, and that at the end of the day, they’d follow him anywhere because of that.

Plo continued, “I want to ensure you never feel like that. I never want you to feel that I don’t care about your well-being, or that I see you as a weapon rather than a being worthy of empathy and compassion. So, I thought it was best that we come to understand each other, not just as general and commander, but as friends.”

The two of them sat quietly for a moment, both sipping their tea. Finally, Plo spoke again. “I understand this is unorthodox. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable. If so, I sincerely apologize.”

Wolffe bit into one of the buns, chewing contemplatively as he studied the Jedi Master before him. There was something about Plo Koon that always seemed to instantly disarm him, something that made him want to confide in the Jedi. He’d always been slow to trust anyone that wasn’t a brother, but the Kel Dor had never given him a reason to doubt his motives or question his intentions. He’d always been honest with Wolffe, even if he sensed he disagreed. In fact, he had welcomed any opposition to his line of thinking, occasionally changing course if Wolffe could provide reasoning to make him see things differently. And above all, he liked the Jedi, no matter how much he tried to keep the barrier between their roles a very clearly drawn line in the sand. He took another bite of the bun, and the buttery warmth soothed his scalded tongue. He smiled to himself.

If Crater trusts him with the sweet shop, then you can trust him too. And you’ve always known that.

“With all due respect, sir, if you keep providing me with this quality of pastry, I don’t think I’ll have any choice but to be your friend.”

If Kel Dors could smile, he was certain Plo’s would have damn near swallowed his face. “Noted for our future teas together then, Commander.”

Thanks for participating in my 800 Follower Celebration!

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @gjrain20-starwars @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @extrahotpixels @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @meekaielmyerhs99 @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @sleepingsun501 @rexxdjarin @samspenandsword @babygirlrex0504 @ladytano420 @fxlsealarm @runforrestr @rennyboo9 @djarrex @corrieguards @the-cantina @witchklng @Gelflet @teletraan-meets-jarvis @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

#karrde writes #800 follower celebration #follower celebration #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #commander wolffe #wolffe #plo koon

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saradika · 1 year

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Hi! I've stumbled upon your Plo Koon HCs and anon-fic/ask thing and I just wanted to ask if you have written any others. I know you have a lot for Boba and you're probably busy with other fics and requests to :) Do you have a tag list I can join for Plo fics if you ever have the time to make one?

ahh hi! Thank you so much, so glad you liked this! Plo is definitely a character I’d be interested in writing more about in the future (and will tag you if I do!)

I checked through my Masterlist - you mentioned the other two, but wasn’t sure about the first one:

Kinktober - Mirror Sex

Sweet & Spicy Plo Thots

Ficlet: Outercourse

Thank you, again! It’s exciting to hear you liked what I wrote for him! 💕

#dukeoftheblackstar #saradika answers

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ao3feed-obikin · 2 years

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Take a chance on me

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41167212 by musicismagic Anakin kisses Obi-Wan during a training session. It doesn't go as planned... or does it? (Summary taken from the art work which inspired this ficlet) Words: 813, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Plo Koon Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: First Kiss, Well - Freeform, Second Kiss, Getting Together read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41167212

#IFTTT #Obikin #AO3feed #Star Wars

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dukeofqueers · 3 years

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I got possessed by feelings late at night so enjoy this sketch made in a haze despite my crippling artblock. Don't ask me how they're nearly the same heights i guess Jaster is standing on a box.

My terrible non-revised writing for this is under the cut:

Plo allows Jaster to gently catch a hand around his nape, pulling him forward into a mirshmure'cya. For a moment, the rest of the sounds in the hangar fade away into a quiet lull and Plo lets himself breathe in tandem with his partner, sort through his worry.

He brings his taloned hands to Jaster's sides, the claw-guards clinking against the plates of painted beskar until both of his hands are resting comfortably against the Mandalorian's ribs. He shivers slightly when Jaster's gloved thumbs brush against the soft, thin underside of his head in return.

It's a show of trust they're both familiar with, an exchange they repeat each time they let the other touch their most vulnerable sides.

"I'll call you once we're back," Jaster murmurs in the short space between them, "We can celebrate together then."

It isn't voiced like a question, but Plo hears the silent inquiry anyway. "Of course, I'll be waiting for you and Jango."

He smiles softly at the wave of unaltered affection that Jaster exudes immediately at his reply.

There is a tense quality to the Force that Plo can't quite understand, but it isn't an unusual display. It's the kind of feeling that permeates the very air around them each time they have to part ways, yet this time it seems much more potent.

Jaster's grip is firm and warm, and Plo can feel how each of his heartbeats says I love you, I love you, I love you, a chant that his own echo without any hesitation.

He hears someone's modulated voice somewhere behind Jaster, he recognizes it as a call even if he can't understand all of the words. Jaster's head tilts only ever so slightly upon hearing it, listening, but doesn't let go- pulls Plo ever so slightly closer to him even.

"I'll see you soon, ner kar'ta." He promises, and lets his hands slowly slip away from Plo's nape while the taloned hands remain hooked in the creases of his flightsuit for a moment longer.

"I love you." Plo says as Jaster allows himself to linger and press a kiss to one of the many embed patterns of Plo's antiox mask.

Jaster's smile is soft as he finally lets go, but Plo sees the sadness in his eyes as he looks at his partner as if committing him to memory. Plo knows that he is. "I love you even more," he replies with something close to his usual cheekiness, Plo chuckles quietly.

Other Haat'ade warriors start to pool into the hangar, and Plo watches as Jaster puts his helmet back on, shoulders his rifle and joins his people. No one will ask Plo to leave, so still he remains until the last of the ships leave for Korda Six.

And he starts waiting.

I want to say, from the bottom of my heart: Oops?

#star wars #clone wars #tcw #tcw fanart #star wars fanart #jaster mereel #plo koon #jasplo #jaster/plo #fanart #sketch #art #ficlet #writing #my art #just posting one of my writings for once is fuckn nerve wracking but here you go #gotta make the content myself before i starve #i swear at first it wasn't meant to have such a big sad value to it

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zinzinina · 2 years

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ficlet responses

Boba Fett on the throne

Gentle lover Plo Koon

Boba Fett the spitter

Tech has a praise kink

Hunter wants to taste himself

Thrawn loves shibari

Dirty talking Boba Fett

Beard burn with Kanan

Giving Bodhi head while he pilots

Somno with Thrawn

#star wars ficlets #star wars fanfiction #zinzinina masterlist #star wars fanfic #boba fett x f!reader x din djarin #plo koon x f!reader #tech tbb x f!reader #hunter tbb x f!reader #thrawn x f!reader #kanan jarrus x f!reader #bodhi rook x f!reader

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asiminthering · 3 years

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[ID - A sketch of an AU scene from the Mandalorian. Jedi Master Plo Koon is on the left kneeling down in front of Grogu in the center, who is walking towards him. On the right is Din Djarin, left arm slightly reaching out towards Grogu. The background is a vaguely sketchy inside of a space cruiser.]

Sketch & Snippet because I heard the cast were told the Jedi coming to save them on the cruiser was going to be Plo Koon and I was like “but that would have been amazing”

The slamming of the dark troopers against the door echoed, and Din readied himself to die. Maybe, maybe if the opening was small enough, they’d be able to take them one by one, and they’d manage.

Maybe.

He had the thought that he should kill Gideon before he died, in that case. Maybe Fett would come back before any other Imps did, and he could take Grogu. Din trusted him that far, at least.

Suddenly, a ship dropped out of hyperspace, some kind of pre-Empire starfighter. What could it do though? Those ships could seat two, maximum.

“One starfighter? Great, we’re saved.” Cara said sarcastically.

Still, it landed in the hanger and a hooded figure jumped out gracefully, igniting a lasersword as they went.

“A Jedi?” Kryze wondered.

They all watched as the Jedi tore through the dark troopers, destroying most of them with a single stroke. They were briefly distracted when Gideon made his move, but after Cara knocked him out their attention returned to their apparent rescuer.

When they approached the door, Din made a decision. This was a Jedi, he had been quested to find a Jedi, and all the dark troopers had been taken care of so it was safe enough to open the doors.

The Jedi stepped through and deactivated their blue lazersword – Din guessed they came in different colors, since Tano’s had been white – before reaching up to lower their hood.

They were a Kel Dor, Din realized, the mask on their face was because they couldn’t breathe in the oxygen-rich atmospheres that most ships and habitable planets had.

Grogu made a startled noise that Din thought sounded... maybe excited? And toddled toward the Jedi.

The Kel Dor knelt down as he approached. “It’s been a long time, young one,” their voice was calm and deep. Reassuring, Din thought. It reminded him of his covert’s Armorer, in some way, and he felt himself relaxing instinctively.

Grogu reached them and clutched at the Kel Dor’s long robe. They made a humming sound, like Tano had when she spoke with Grogu using their powers.

They picked Grogu up and approached, and Din tensed again. Would this one also tell him Grogu was too attached to be trained? He wasn’t sure whether he’d be relieved or disappointed for Grogu’s sake. Grogu being taken had showed him what his true feelings were, that he saw Grogu as a son and didn’t want him to leave.

“Young Grogu tells me you’ve been taking care of him,” they said. “Thank you. It’s such a relief to find that at least one youngling from the creche survived.”

Grogu made a sad noise and his ears drooped.

Din took a too-loud breath that he knew his external comms probably picked up. “You’ll take him? Tano said he was too attached.”

“Of course. He has seen much darkness, but time will help. He is attached to you, but he wants to go and learn with me too. That speaks well of his ability to love without clinging too tightly,” they said.

Din swallowed and felt his eyes prick. “Will I... will I ever see him again?”

The Kel Dor paused and looked down at Grogu again for a long moment. “Having family is a difficult line to tread as a Jedi but... time will teach him to let go of many things in his long life. I think... it would be good for his continued healing, to have his father visit.”

Din breathed in sharply at the word ‘father,’ and swallowed again. He reached up and released the seal on his helmet, pulling it off and setting it on the floor.

Grogu made a noise of happiness and reached out to him, and the Kel Dor held him out for Din to hold easily. Din looked down at Grogu with his bare eyes for the first time, took in his small green face and liquid brown eyes. “Do you want to be Grogu Djarin, then?” he asked.

“Patoo!” Grogu said.

The Kel Dor chuckled. “He was waiting for you to ask.”

Din chuckled wetly and touched his forehead to Grogu’s small one for a long moment and then stood up.

He reluctantly held Grogu out to the Kel Dor to hold again.

“May I call you Djarin?” they asked, bowing, and Din couldn't help but nod. “I am Jedi Master Plo Koon. Here,” they said, adjusting Grogu so they could reach their belt, retrieving a comm. “My comm code. I’m afraid I don’t want to say our location with so many ears, but I’d be happy to have someone retrieve you in a few days and take you there.”

Din reached out to take it without taking his eyes off Grogu, nodding.

Plo Koon gave a slight bow again before turning to leave. Din watched them go, and he was sad but his heart felt light. Grogu would be safe with this Jedi, and they’d get to meet again, maybe in just a few days, even. This wasn’t the end.

#the manadalorian #din djarin #grogu #plo koon #sketch #fanart #ficlet #sksn

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clonemando · 3 years

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Plo Adopts Boba AU idea thing

IDK what this is exactly but i was bored and wrote it so I'm gonna post it. Just thinking about what if Boba ran out of angry juice. I can’t hold onto being angry for more than like half an hour so he has to deflate at some point as a kid for like naps and moping time. So here’s that plus some Plo.

When Plo took Boba in to keep him out of prison, he wasn't sure what to expect. Certainly, he figured, there would be anger and attempts at escape. Possibly there would be fights with the other clones. He thought he'd need to lock up the weapons and have a constant clone assigned to Boba's side to keep him from sowing chaos and destruction in his bid to get revenge.

What he actually got was... none of that. Boba was quiet and avoided the clones but never tried to harm them or make any attempts to flee. He didn't argue or fight the orders given to him. Just did what he was told so he could return to the small private bunk Plo had managed to arrange on the ship for him next to his own. He was almost timid really. It was a child who's anger had failed him and who saw ghosts of his father all around him but was never seen himself. Wolffe watched him like a hawk for the first few weeks, but did any of the clones really see Boba? He wasn't considered one of them from what Plo understood from Wolffe's debrief. It took all of Plo's willpower not to swoop the small child in his arms and promise him he wasn't alone, wouldn't be alone again. But he knew that wouldn't be appreciated. Instead he played the long game.

He slowly integrated himself into Boba's habits. Joining him for meals, leaving books he thought Boba would enjoy on a shelf in his room, asking Boba's opinions on matters before making his choices even on little things like what meals should be planned for the next week or if the brown robes or light brown robes brought out his skin more. (The last had earned him a rather dramatic expression of exasperation that Plo recalled fondly whenever he needed a smile.) With Plo's acceptance, the clones followed suit. They wanted to be near Plo so they would also end up near Boba and Boba was not shy with opinions when listening to their conversations. Soon the clones got used to Boba's interjections and eventually they came to encourage or ask Boba to join in the discussions. Boba opening up and connecting to his brothers was something Plo found he was very proud of managing to arrange.

The weight of grief on the boy's shoulder's grew lighter and a bright child eager to please and share information soon was uncovered. Boba had an amazing memory even compared to his clone siblings. He loved history and philosophy and Plo did his best to nudge Boba towards Obi-Wan through suggestions of talking with Cody who Boba claimed to have known on Kamino. Boba took to leadership easily and flourished under praise and gentle guidance. Plo almost wasn't surprised that it was Boba who pieced together who the Sith Lord was through old recordings his father had saved on the Slave One and a very awkward prank call to Dooku where the Count confused the hooded figure of Boba for his master in a fit of sleepless exhaustion.

No. Boba was nothing like Plo had imagined he would be in the beginning, but he was very pleased with the person he had become since.

#boba fett #SW TCW #Plo Koon #Boba Fett Gets Adopted #Random ficlet thing #AU #Boba prank calling Dooku is galaxy brain #I need to use that more #Dad Koon #He has the most dad energy for a non dad in star wars

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dukeoftheblackstar · 7 months

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"Right Here"

Summary: It’s ‘one of those days’ when the things are just too much. Sometimes all you need is an old man and their old man-foolishness. - Depression strikes and you're at the medcenter.

Pairing: Plo Koon x Duchess/Duch (oc/reader), Plo Koon x Reader

Word Count: 4.2 K

Rating/Theme: Angst, comfort, tw-suicide, gaslighting, innuendos, tw-depression, pre-established relations, flirting, slight choking, barely smutty

Notes:

“Right Here”— Second installment of Somewhere Only We Know

The song Plo sings for oc/reader are official lyrics from from @mimimirage / @eloquentmoon's "Planet Pink" [ permission to use granted via discord DM ]

1st pic = art by my very best friend and sister at heart, @amorfista [ please do not repost ]

2nd pic = commissioned art from a local artist [ personally owned / please do not repost ]

Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: You/OC/Reader Blue: Internal thoughts Purple: Self-Inserts

Perfect divider by @idontgetanysleep with itty, bitty, cutie-patootie Plo Koon face ♥

You do so much day in day out that it has become a wonder if you exist only to appease the fury and bitterness that resides in the damned. A conundrum of a cycle wherein you have no qualms in allowing anyone of your borrowed time and yet it seems to be quite burdensome to rob others of theirs, regardless of how deep you have plunged into the great seas of woe. A quandary that leaves you doubtful if you even deserve to feel such sadness and allow it to consume you when you should be keeping your heart empty to nurse and rid others of the vicissitudes of fate. An enigma that though should have enticed you to unravel and explore, leaves you abandoned not with want, need, or wanton desires, but abandoned as the word itself defined — left alone and all its synonymous narrative; forgotten, maybe.

But it’s not that bad, right? You get to live, meet people, experience things old and new — and besides, someone out there has it far worse than you. You should be grateful.

And so you become just that; "Grateful” — in every sense of the word.

You stopped ‘complaining’ because someone else has it far worse than you; stopped trying to ‘talk about it’ because you’re afraid to tell them that even after all the unprompted and unsolicited advice, you remain buried six-feet under the vicious weight of thoughts so intrusive you couldn’t bring yourself to cry it out of your system anymore —in hopes that it depletes you enough to fall asleep.

That you stopped trying to ‘deal with it’ because it has come to the point that trepidation has now been rooted so deep within the confines of your soul, it hinders you to function. To have fear of having to be seen in such a pathetic, weakened state that even the most mundane tasks remain undone. That the mere fact that you haven’t showered or bathed in days because you were so afraid that if you’re not careful enough, you’d slip and die without having to tell someone how much they mean to you.

That if you perish, as you begin to feel so deserving of such fate, you would leave them with the same conundrum. That, they, too, would have to suffer these intrusive thoughts because no one came; because they, too, were abandoned as the word itself defined — left alone and all its synonymous narrative; forgotten.

So yet again, you sit not with your knees enclosing your chest in an embrace like in the holovids — rather you’ve taken shelter under the dining table because it felt ‘safe’ there knowing that escape is but a kitchen knife away. Yet again you do not stand before the mirror contemplating on smashing it with your head or your fist, because you couldn’t bear the thought of having someone clean up the mess you’ve made. Yet again you do not frantically tap your fingers on the floor in fear that the neighbors might hear and complain and as such, you will all that you could muster to silence even the slightest of whimpers because you know someone would come and would have to sit through your ‘dramatics’.

And so yes, here you are in all the glory of one being ‘grateful’.

Here you are under the table of your lavish living room with today’s breakfast at midnight, a pile of unwashed dishes, laundry on the ground, and your commlink buzzing incessantly that seems to stab your fingertips with each attempt of a response. So you just read them, the messages — the funny ones, the sad ones, the work-related ones, the ‘are-you-okay?’ ones, and the ones from your beloved friend and confidant who had constantly dropped by and threatened to break the door down, forcing you to reply ‘I’m not home, I’ll message you the soonest’.

But you are, as we have established.

You pray to gods your people serve, even to ones you don’t and know not of; eyes closed with fingers knotted over your chest so tight that you could feel the in-between dips of your knuckles burrow further as if ready to break if not bruise. Your lips shake begging through a plethora of ‘please don’t’, ‘go away’, and ‘not today, please’, hoping that this does not turn into some heroic stride of having you swept off your feet and be given the ‘much needed’ respite and attention because today is simply not the day — as it was yesterday and the day before, and the day before the day before yesterday.

You’ve gone this far, do you honestly wish to disappoint those who believe in you? Do you feel it wise to make them feel bad because their words of comfort and support failed? Do you feel they are deserving of your failure because you could not find it within you to handle even the simplest of things?

Exactly. They deserve better than that. And after all, someone out there has it far worse than you.

Right…?

***

“Is it the gown that’s throwing you off? Cause I can’t cut it up and make it look sexy and we can rolepla—”

You couldn’t even finish because he’s stared you down with such oppressive silence all you could think of was apologize for something you don’t even know you’ve done but whatever it is, it must have been as heinous as to exist in the same timeline as him.

“What?”

“...”

You knew exactly what — he no longer wants you around. He no longer wants to deal with your obstinacy and how you constantly pry him from more pressing matters over something so trivial, so dramatic, so unnecessary.

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re gonna be baby about this, Plo.”

“...”

It’s exactly that. He’s supposed to be somewhere; a meeting maybe? A mission? Maybe he’s tired. Tired of you.

“Look. I’m okay. I just… I just have really nosey neighbors, okay? I’m fine. Please.”

“...”

“I’m really, really, really, okay. I promise you.”

“...”

I’m okay, baby. I am. I am now.

“Well?…. Say something.”

“...”

He’s upset, no — he’s angry. He’s… He’s…

And just as you have occasionally been exposed to the oppressive nature of his silence, you turn to him as if matching your assumptious claim of him plagued with seething abhorrence over having to ‘take care of you’ again. Your brows meet in brewing animosity, glaring vehemently at Plo — ironically in contrast to the relaxed creases of your Kel Dor Jedi.

“If you have somewhere to be, just leave. I don’t know why you’re here if you’re just gonna be like that.” You couldn’t pocket an obvious sniffle and so you opted to turn your head away towards the unsuspecting bouquet of flowers of pinks, whites, and yellow chrysanthemums. It did you no better as ragged breath fell past lips that quivered and silver-hazed eyes that threatened to become even more fuddled with tears.

“I get it, okay? They shouldn’t have called even if it was an emergen—.”

They really shouldn’t have. I’m sorry if they had to call you. I promise I’ll try harder. I’ll be more grateful for what I have. I swear. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.

“But they did.” Came Plo Koon’s abrupt response, devoid of any obviously implied emotion — neither from the tone of his voice or the subtle shift in his masked visage.

You knew better than to argue. After all, you were no stranger to how ornery he can be, that even his fallen master found him stubborn and difficult — for all the good reasons, that is.

“Sorry.” Was all you could say.

For having known Plo for centuries, you would have thought that you’d get used to the power he held over you. That even mere words carry so much weight that he could say ‘love’ and wound you so deep to this very day, that him mirroring your candor with so much nectarous affection in the form of endearments ‘little love’ or ‘my darling’ disillusions you from the illusion itself.

That just by the mere sound of his voice, that unspoken timbre reserved only for your ears and your ears alone, would have you whisked into the grandeur of a fool’s paradise. A quixotic ideal where war can go fuck itself just as Plo can go fuck himself too, but through means of using every inch of your existence leaving nothing to waste. That just by the mere serendipitous touch of his talon-clad fingers paired with his poorly crafted apology for inadvertently wrapping around your neck so deliciously tight, he could easily bring to your knees to do no more than worship him as you would a god to atone for the sins of subjecting those around you in yet another depressive episode.

It gave you a sense of grounding at the very least; a laughable means of coping you’ve developed over time. One that would put his mind at ease to know that in spite of the decline of mirth within your soul, you still had some reserve to keep yourself from the point of no return — even if it meant you were doing it for others, not so much yourself.

You turn to face the still-standing Kel Dor whose hands remained tucked behind. Expressionless was better than him pacing frantically and mouthing off a full-on lecture. Though part of you expected to use this to his advantage; to go over how your last visit went and the lingering feeling of having professed indirectly required confrontation — then again, it wasn’t exactly the first time the two of you indulged in a very elusive discourse about matters of the heart. But at least you got to say it again, right? I mean not hearing it back is nothing new.

You hear him sigh, whether it was relief or frustration it hardly mattered. He was gonna chew you off you and you knew it. He’s probably at his wit’s end having to come to your rescue for what, the third time now in a month? You’ve already quit bounty hunting because Plo pulled the ‘I would rather you indulge my father in managing the hatchery in Dorin’ card. I mean who wouldn’t? You get to spend time with Dorin’s most charming Kel Dor, who has been quite-like a father to you with little knowledge that he’s about to become your father-in-law if Plo would just stop being a Jedi Master for a hot minute. That, and the fact that you get to help Dorin rebuild their population through the hatchery — not your more preferred method of helping since you’re pretty set on the fact that Plo is quite virile.

Even wishful thinking of him has deterred you from your further decline even for the fleeting moment of his visit. As for how long it’ll last, the daunting possibility of how grave the next ‘episode’ would be, looms about.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” It was more of a statement than an inquiry. You knew he was upset just from the fact that he hadn't approached you yet or had spoken much. Not many knew how chatty Plo Koon can be or how mischievous or playful he truly is behind the ever well-behaved aristocratic demeanor. You lowered your as your teeth sank to the bottom of your lip apologetically as you continued. “I understand if you are. I’d be mad at me too.”

“Good. Then we can move forward.” Plo Koon replies, true to his no-attachment Jedi teachings that infuriated you more than anything. And he knew; he knew how to drive you so far up the wall, you sometimes wish he just would — drive you up the wall and impale you on some 13-inch goodness of Kel Dor dic— “Oof!”

“Plo, what the fu—.!”

Plo Koon had very uncharacteristically whacked you with a miniature version of himself in the form of a plushie. Yes, your beloved three-hundred and eighty-four year-old Kel Dor childhood friend who makes you feel things that the Order would frown upon, has brought you the greatest gift that he could and could not give — himself.

“Oh, you are clever. Clever, clever, clever.”

And just like that, he had completely flipped your mood in ways you had not anticipated. The ever-wise, patient, kind, and doting Jedi Master had struck again. He didn’t need to say anything to convey his unwavering presence in your life and how he’d continue to be there in ways you’d need him; be it an amicable sense of support and an ear to ramble onto or the carnal sense of allowing you to peruse his entire existence in smutty stories in your head as long as they’d keep you occupied to leave no room for thoughts that he believed shouldn’t be there. He knew — knew you like the back of his own hand.

“Though I must say I did not have the heart to have that made anatomically correct.”

With a dramatic and proud pause, Plo makes his way to sit beside you, pushing you quite forcefully to give him room on the bed. Leaning to rest his back against the same pile of fluffed pillows as his arm wandered around your waist, he made himself further comfortable by crossing his boots beside yours at the edge. A subtle clear of the throat had you leaning your temple onto his shoulder, chuckling amused as he continued his seemingly required narrative.

“I’m sure you’re quite aware of how it would be highly inappropriate to make it so.”

He made a gesture to measure the length of the Plo-plushie’s leg, extending quite a leap past it as if you didn’t know how impeccably well-endowed he is that you need a visual. “Then again, I get the feeling this little one will be subjected to being defiled in the most… intimate of ways with or without… a certain appendage.”

“Plo, you prude, old man. Just say it. Say ‘cock’. Say ‘cock’ right now and I swear on all things encompassing our centuries-old friendship I will cease all attempts of killing myself.”

Plo had never seen such sternness and determination in your eyes that you actually had him caught off-guard for once. Torn between addressing your suicidal thoughts and the fact that the proposed resolution is so ludicrous that he was actually considering it knowing how you operate. You’ve had this chase of making him purposely say filth as it gives you delight beyond comprehension to have the dignified and highly revered Jedi Master General succumb to such sinful treats. Not that he was above such things, but they weren’t exactly preferred in his vocabulary.

“These… thoughts, my dear. Are they frequent?” It was enough to melt your heart among all the things Plo Koon. You’ve loved him for so long you’d let him stab you in the gut for fun — not that he’d do it, of course. Genuine concern etched over the creases of his face and the tenderness of his free hand caressing the back of yours that held the adorable toy. “Has something happe—.”

“Plo, I swear. Just say co—”

“Duche—”

“Plo.”

“Duch.”

“Just say—”

“Little love, please let’s tal—”

“Ep! Ep! Ep! We don’t say things like that in public.”

“Yes, we surely do not say things like that in public.”

The impasse called for silence. Lucky you, you had a little Plo-plushie to play with. You folded the plushie’s arms to cross over his chest, holding it down with one hand while the other pressed down over its forehead making it look disgruntled. “There we go. Now there’s two of you.”

“Indeed.” Plo Koon replies, taking the hint of your uneasiness and unwillingness to divulge the woes of your existence just yet. “Though I do not as such, little love.” He adds, reaching to adjust the split-legged plushie, into a more self-respecting fashion.

“You do not sit like that!” You replied incredulously. “Not with your —”

“But I do, my sweet. I do not, as you young ones call ‘mansplain’ in spite of being well endowed with a very large cock…—alorum behavior, which by the way is very much unlike me. I am but a humble Jedi with humble needs.”

The excitement in your eyes bloomed with laughter, shaking your head with a well-deserved slow-clap offered to the improper-elusive Kel Dor Jedi Master. He joins in the chorus of your blissful giggle with a hearty rumble of his own and a playfully pompous nod of acknowledgement of yet again another triumph.

“By the stars, I love you.” You sigh, dreamily as you feel the light creep through the darkened veins of your soul — truly a Jedi’s work at play. “I just… I love you. I love you so much I can’t.. I can’t….”

But as quick as the light bore once more into the shadowy depths of depression, you began fanning yourself in an attempt to suppress an outpour. Your eyes welled up and you began gasping for air as you tried your very best to stifle the whimper than turned to disheartened groans of pain, until you had begun to cry so profusely, your body shook in a mix of incoherent emotions.

You mumbled in between tearful pleas of asking Plo to make “it” stop, to do something because it wasn’t what you wanted right now. You threw in painful lines in jest, innuendos and petty attempt to restart the banter, self-deprecating jokes and nostalgic references etched like core memories between the two of you in your younger years— the last thing you wanted was for your time with Plo to end on a bitter note knowing he’d have to leave soon.

He held you tighter than what your knitted frames would allow, a little more and he’d have crushed you and as much you knew within yourself you wanted nothing more than to be turned to dust by a certain Kel Dor’s embrace, your tears seem to be the undisputed victor.

You felt the weight of his head over your crown, the scent of him filling your senses as you head your drenched face onto the side of his neck while your arms latched onto the toy, squeezing it in your own embrace. You wanted it so badly to be him, but you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to bestow him guilt of being limited in the gesture as to comply with the teachings of the Order. You wouldn’t dare put him in that predicament. And so you held the toy version of him imperviously close to you as if suffocating the poor little thing.

And then it happened.

“I know it baby, i’ll be a star And then you’ll be all mine And they won’t be able to take you from me”

You have been a fan of Mimi Mirage for as long as you can remember. The day you saw a poster of her at a record shop, you were so drawn that you purchased all four of her albums and had it on repeat that at some point, you were sure Plo Koon fancied a song or two from one of the most played albums when he’d come over. He’d also taken upon this interest of yours to spoil you Mimi Mirage merch, using his connections to procure signed copies. Plo had also made it a point to frame them because it’ll wear less if unexposed — all for your benefit, of course.

“I’m gonna make this planet pink I don’t care what they think I’m gonna make this planet pink”

You started to laugh in between a now fully-developed hiccup from all the crying and hyperventilating. You sniffled, whimpered, giggled, and even sorted a little at how off-key and weird it sounded being sung by your beloved Kel Dor friend. He continued, straining to get the key right and endure the missing words with hums and guesses that had you laughing as your face remained nuzzled on the side of his neck.

“You’ll be mine”

He mouthed the words slower over the specified lyric, the spurs of his clawed hand drawing idle patterns over the small of your back while the other purchased your cheek with a thumb strumming sweetly over the corner of your lip.

“I’ll take the risk”

You turned to receive a rather affectionate gaze, his thumb in a continuous stroke over the fullness of your lips from corner to corner. The weight of him heavy over your own forehead; turning, tossing, seeking that perfect angle for you to feel the contrast of the cold, stannic mask and warmth of the little exposed skin on his face. You could feel the protective lenses over his eyes push against the bone of your brow until he found that perfect spot to nest half of his face onto half of yours.

Your lips curve into a smile, then parted to utter more serene titter as you hear that luxuriously rare, short, single-syllabled chuckle of his that made you just wanna bear ninety-nine of his babies. But unfortunately, this little space-face-press shenanigans would pardon him from depriving her auditory needs to hear more of Mimi Mirage’s Planet Pink butchered by an esteemed member of the council, General of the 104th Battalion, and Jedi Master of great tenure and importance.

“Sing, old man.”

You whined with a pout — to which you then blushed from Plo Koon’s response of pushing the tip of his thumb between your parted mouth to shut you up. After all, you asked him to sing and you best listen. With a sigh of defeat and amusement in one, he dipped his thumb further enough to feel an earnest tongue brush onto the pad of his digit.

You hear an evenly rare grunt that had you bite your lip as if to savor the fleeting touch that descended excruciatingly slow down your chin and delicately along the column of your throat.

Flustered beyond recognition, you feel the heat pool between your legs as his tone takes a chasmic turn. Spurs slithered along the expanse of your neck until he had collared his hold around you with a verily gentle and mindful squeeze. The gesture merited an sultry groan of approval and encouragement, accompanied by an elevated hissing sound from your smaller frame.

“Must I say the words, little love?”

You were too intoxicated to respond that all you could was a well-surrendered hum.

“I….”

In spite of the nearly losing all inhibition with the faintest of force applied over your neck, you draw your sight back as if to peer through the decorative holes of his protective eye-wear and gaze upon the windows of his soul. Your heart quickened further, anticipation built on the very hill you’ve silently swore to die on for this make or break turn of events.

Has the day come for him to finally say it?

You whispered the very words you’ve often given him, the endless ‘I love you’s’ that were often replied with “I knows” and “thank yous”. Days when you’d want to wring his neck or stuff him inside your pocket and whisk him away from the Order — days unlike today where he knew exactly what to say to make it all better. To make all the pain go away and allow herself to redemption to start anew. Today, he said the words… to Mimi Mirage’s Pink Planet in the perfect key and timing.

“I wanna be your dream girl I’m gonna be your dream girl”

Plo distangles himself from you, his hand cupping his antiox mask with a hearty laugh before rubbing his temples and taking a seat on the couch beside the bed.

Nothing in this world would have made you feel better and would have rid you of the storm that brewed in your apartment for weeks than to hear your favorite three-hundred and eighty-four year-old Kel Dor Jedi utter the words “I wanna be your dream girl, I’m gonna be your dream girl.”

The room was soon an echo of you laughing so hard you wept a little. Then complained that your cheeks stung and that your stomach felt knotted from having to crease up. You’ve also boldly asked him to sing more of it — of which he politely declined, responding of talks of copyright and apprehension in jest.

As you simmer down and the minutes turn to hours of light conversation, you sigh and ready yourself for a nap. It had been such an exhausting week and with sleep finally blessing her with attendance, she turned to his side and momentarily watched him in his meditative state. With a yawn and a kiss to the little one (Plo-plushie), your eyes grow heavy.

Part of you wanted to wake him up and confess what it was that had gotten you down this rabbit hole of misery, paranoia, anxiety, and immense sadness, but you weren’t his burden to bear. You weren’t anyone’s burden to bear.

Your eyes finally submit, once more enveloped in darkness as your voice fades to a whisper. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I just don’t know where home is anymore, Plo. I don’t know where you are in my life anymore either. But you don’t have to know that…”

Unbeknownst to you, Plo knew exactly what the answer was.

And just as you have drifted to the land of dreams, his hand hovers over yours, light enough to touch but never wake you.

“Right here.” He says.

“Right here.”

NPT. @saengak @amorfista @eyecandyeoz @kimiheartblade @t3mpest98 @starrrgazingbunny @exosorcery @eloquentmoon @plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows @daddycephalopod @quiglettt @mild-disorganization @reader6898 @matookahitaki @ghostperson69 @notthestarwar @sev-on-kamino @sofir-kefir @veny-many @daimyosprincess @pickleprickle @baufraus @bobaprint @storm89 @arcsimper5 @what-i-meant-to-say @keebeees @omaano

#♝#dukeoftheblackstar #plo koon #plo koon x reader #plo koon x you #plo koon fic #plokoon #plo koon/reader #plokoon/reader #plokoonfic #plokoon/you #ρℓσ∂υ¢н #plo koon ficlet #plo koon x oc #plo koon/oc #there's a very handsome hubby-material Kel Dor Jedi Master General in there bearing gifts if you look really hard ♥

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mandalorianbrainweasel · 2 years

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Night Six: Gifts - Plo & Wolffe & Boost & Sinker

Eight ficlet prompt fills for the eight nights of Hanukkah, focusing on how some clones celebrate the (not canon) Mandalorian holiday Nau'ule be'Cinciri - The Snow's Candles.

Wolffe gathers Boost and Sinker up from where they’ve been supervising some of the shinies setting up their eight candles. It’s nice that the new kids are settling in and that they’ve mostly figured out the holiday for themselves by this point, but not only does he want some time with the brothers that he has left from the first Pack, the General has called them to his office.

General Plo has two rooms, his own quarters and his office where they meet for smaller issues. His own quarters, after all, are suited more for his own species.

All four of them are all that are left, from before the Malevolence. And what a name for that damn ship.

Wolffe knocks on the door to the office and Plo calls for them to come in, so they do. And Wolffe has to keep himself from stopping short, as there’s a set of nine candles laying on the General’s desk.

Plo’s face moves in the way that Wolffe has learned is like a smile to his species. “Hello Commander. Sergeants.”

“General,” they all greet.

Wolffe works to keep his eyes away from the candles.

“I understand that coming out of Kamino was...not how you planned to spend these eight days. And for that I apologize.”

“It wasn’t your fault, General,” Boost argues, still unused to his promotion.

“No, but I know there are things I could do to help ease your thoughts, as you have missed your lost brothers. And most of them I have done. I contacted ARC Captain Maze—.”

Wolffe can’t help himself, he guffaws at that, somewhat in surprise and somewhat in fear. Most all of the commanders are Alpha-trained, and Wolffe is no different. But he’s far too used to the Alphas’ weird heads. Seventeen characteristic among them.

Again, Plo’s face reveals his amusement. “And he pointed me to Jango Fett for information about the holiday, past what you had told me.”

All three of them give their general concerned looks.

“Fett was somewhat sympathetic, I think, for him, to what I was asking. I asked Fett if it would be proper for me to participate in any way. He, of course, asked if I had asked you about that, and I admitted I had not. So he said if I asked you what you were comfortable with, it would be fine. When I explained my personal reasons for not asking, he admitted he could see why I was not. And so he did mention that an exception would be securing a gift for each of you for the eighth night. He did, however, tell me I had to wait until after all the candles were lit.” Plo nods to the candles. “I can step out, if you wish.”

“No, General,” Wolffe says, surprising himself by how fast he says it. “I don’t think any of us mind if you stay for, uh. For the last lighting. Candles are pretty public.”

Sinker elbows him and Wolffe nearly trips forward, bringing out a lighter and lighting the working candle, then, just as Seventeen once showed he and his brothers, using it to melt the bottoms of the others and affixing them to the desk before lighting them one by one. For a short while, they all watch the lights and the melting candles.

Then Plo brings out three small, wrapped packages.

One in silver goes to Sinker. One in blue goes to Boost. The final one, pale blue stripped with gold, goes to him.

“Thank you,” Wolffe says, emotion welling up inside him. “Thank you for remembering, General, and for doing this.”

“Of course, my friends. This holiday is yours by culture, from what I had heard you say and from what Captain Maze and Fett himself had said. I am only glad that I could give you the space to practice it.”

After the candles have guttered out, the wax in puddles over the desk, the General waves them out to enjoy the rest of the night. They all end up in Wolffe’s quarters to unwrap the presents. For Sinker, a comm booster, which would be put to good use. For Boost, a piece of what was probably once soap from the pleasant smell, but had been carved in the shape of a wolf and would now never be put to good use, much to the other two clones’ amusement, as they tease him about the joke Sinker had made in the escape pod.

Wolffe stares at his own package for a long while.

“Are you going to open it?” Boost prods.

“Hey, he doesn’t have to,” Sinker snips back.

Wolffe opens the wrapping carefully, preserving as much of it as possible. Out of it comes a round piece of metal with a flap that opens on one side, the flap having a wolf etched onto it in a similar shape to Boost’s soap sculpture. He clicks a button on the side and it pops open, revealing a very simple compass. Unlike in Sinker and Boost’s packages, there’s a small note: for always keeping us on the right direction.

“Oh,” Wolffe says dimly.

“Guess he really knew what to get each of us,” he hears Sinker tell Boost.

Also on Ao3

#happy hanukkah #happy chanukah #hanukkah 2021 #hanukkah ficlet #Jedi Master Plo Koon #clone sergeant sinker #clone trooper boost #clone commander wolffe #my fanfiction

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