#don’t accept tea from wolffe

[amberskyyking]

Apparently this is gonna be a series now cause Commander Wolffe and his Wolfsbane are making me so happy! LOOK AT HIM!!! Hes so proud that such a poisonous, deadly little guy is named after him!

Whose next? Think I’m feeling Cody…

Part 1: Commander Fox and his Cactus

[totowlff]

chapter five — making the rules

➝ the time has come to settle the legal issues related to their child. and the meeting with the lawyer revealed some problems.

➝ word count: 3,1k

➝ warnings: none

Sitting on the brown leather couch in the reception area, Cassie was incessantly jiggling her foot, staring at the floor. She still had a hard time believing everything that had happened already, and how fast this process was going.

She had decided to have a child on her own. She had undergone what seemed like a dozen exams and started on medication to regulate her cycle. She started feeling ill at work because of it. Her boss noticed that she felt ill. They were good friends, so she told him why she was taking the new medication. He made a proposal to her to be her sperm donor. She had accepted. He had undergone the necessary exams as well, and they showed he was in perfect condition to be her donor.

And now, Cassie was sitting in the lobby of a law firm that specialized in family law, just west of Oxford, in Botley, waiting for Toto — her boss and presumptive donor — to meet her so they could take another step towards realizing their dream of becoming parents.

Well, co-parents.

The sound of the door opening snapped Cassie out of her thoughts, and she looked up toward the building's entryway. Toto had just walked in through it. He was breezing his way through the lobby, walking quickly, with a serious expression on his face. However, his stern countenance came undone almost immediately when his brown eyes caught sight of Cassie.

— Good afternoon, Cassie — he said. She rose to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Considering they were going to have a child together, a little more familiarity in their greetings didn’t seem amiss. 

— Good afternoon, Toto — she replied — How are you?

— I’m fine. What about you? Has your stomach settled a bit?

Cassie blinked. She really hadn’t expected him to remember what she had replied to him on WhatsApp earlier, when she told him she was feeling nauseous.

— Yes, it has. The lemon and ginger tea I had at the office helped a lot — she replied, giving him a shy smile.

— Excellent. Did Claire show up yet?

— I don't think so — Cassie replied, looking at the door beside the reception desk. No one had passed through there since the moment she’d arrived and sat down.

— Wait here — he said, heading toward the receptionist and inquiring if the attorney they'd been meeting with was in the building. After asking to check and make a call, the woman said that Claire was on her way down to the lobby to receive them and take them to a conference room. There, they would discuss the legal aspects of their relationship, setting up firm rules for co-parenting and raising the child they were having.

“Our child”, Cassie thought, watching Toto walk back over.

It still felt surreal.

A few minutes later, while they were standing together in the lobby and talking, a blonde woman with short hair and wearing a well-tailored set of black pants and a smart-looking blazer approached them.

— Mr. Wolff? — she asked.

— Yes, you must be Claire — Toto replied, smiling, and  — Nice to meet you.

The two shook hands before the woman turned to Cassie.

— And you must be Miss Aldersey, right?

— Yes, it’s nice to meet you — she replied, squeezing the woman's hand.

— Could you follow me? — Claire asked, holding out her hand to show them the way.

Walking down the long hallway to the office, Cassie couldn't help but feel a little nervous about the situation. They would be discussing crucial questions about the life of a person who didn't even exist yet, but who both of them loved already, to the point that the first message Toto had sent her after their coffee date had been a picture of a rather familiar stuffed rabbit.

“They didn't have stuffed wolves”, he wrote.

The image made Cassie feel nostalgic. She knew that rabbit. It was a Peter Rabbit plush, a character from the Beatrix Potter books that she had read to exhaustion as a child. The tender scenes of the rabbit family made her travel to a different reality, where she didn't have to deal with her mother's strange looks and her father's cruel words. Seeing that rabbit again, in that context, made her eyes fill with tears.

Their child would never need to hide from reality as she had.

They would never need to see the rabbit family as an impossible wish, but as a tangible reality.

They would be the most beloved child in the world.

The three of them entered the conference room and sat at the table, where there was a legal-sized notepad and a pen, with three empty glasses and three bottles of water laid out for them. Cassie was hanging her bag over the back of her chair when Claire cleared her throat.

— Well, from what Mr. Wolff said over the phone, would you like to draft a co-parenting agreement, if I remember correctly. Is that the case?

— Yes — Toto replied.

— Excellent. How long has it been since the two of you separated?

The two looked at each other.

— We’re not separated — Cassie said.

— No?

— We’ve never been in a romantic relationship together.

The lawyer blinked.

— But…

— I decided to do in vitro fertilization and become a single mother — Cassie explained — However, in the middle of the process, Toto expressed interest in becoming a known donor, since he also has the desire to become a parent.

— And due to the fact that we are not a couple or have any legal connection, we decided to contact you to make a legal agreement, with all of our rights and obligations spelled out, along with our intentions to co-parent, just to make everything official — Toto said.

Claire nodded, making some notes on the notepad in front of her.

— So we have some important questions to sort out about his life… Or is it hers?

— I'm not pregnant yet.

Again, surprise came over the woman's face.

— We're still in the middle of the process — Toto said — But, hopefully we’ll be expecting soon.

Claire smiled.

— Well, anyway, it's really good that you decided to go ahead and make this all, uh, legal, especially considering that we're talking about a third party whose quality of life will depend on how well both of you work together — she said, shuffling the stack of papers in front of her — I made a list of topics that will need to be addressed in the final version of the agreement you sign. I think today we should just focus on going through each of them one-by-one to make sure you’re all in agreement. If not, we can work toward finding an acceptable middle ground. Does that sound amenable?

Cassie looked at Toto before nodding.

— We can start with the basics, which I believe would be the baby’s name. It’s fine if you haven’t necessarily discussed it, yet, it’s not necessary for the agreement, but it might be interesting to decide how the choice will be made.

— I believe we'll decide on that with that when the baby is on the way — Toto said, looking at her, waiting for her confirmation. Cassie nodded — But it will definitely be something that will be decided together.

— Yes — the attorney said, writing something down on her notepad — What about the child's last name? As you well know, the custom here in the UK is for a person to have a first name, one or more middle names and a surname, usually the father's. However, something that is not unusual are compound surnames, separated by a hyphen. It is a very common custom in other countries, including Austria, which is where I believe you are from, Mr. Wolff? So, I would like to know what you think.

— It should be Wolff — Cassie replied, immediately.

Toto looked at her, a little startled.

— You know I don't mind if…

— I don't care if our child doesn't have my last name, Toto. It might be better that way, considering… My family.

Cassie didn't want to delve right now into the problems she had with her parents, especially with Albert. Even still, it wasn't uncommon for her to have nightmares of her father's voice screaming in her ears, claiming that she wasn't really part of his family, and that she didn't deserve the last name Aldersey.

It made no sense for her to give her child something she didn't deserve, and oftentimes, didn’t even want.

— We can do it like in Austria, with a hyphen. Aldersey-Wolff, what do you think?

— That’s too much, Toto. Wolff is more than enough of a surname and, let's face it, it’s much nicer than Aldersey.

A small smile appeared on his lips.

— Well, if Cassie doesn't mind, we can follow British convention and just use ‘Wolff’.

— Excellent — Claire said — This brings me to another issue, the child's nationality. Considering that Miss Aldersey is British and Mr. Wolff is Austrian, I believe this needs to be discussed as well.

— Wouldn’t they have dual citizenship? — Toto asked.

— Unfortunately not, Mr. Wolff. Austrian law, as far as I have ascertained, does not allow men who are not in a registered union to automatically pass on their citizenship to their children.

— What if the baby is born in Austria?

— Austrian law does not grant the right to citizenship by place of birth, the so-called jus soli. In order for the child to be granted Austrian citizenship at birth, Cassie would need to be an Austrian national. Austria confers jus sanguinis citizenship through the mother.

— Another subject for Her Majesty — Cassie murmured with a mischievous smile on her face. Toto looked at her, a little aghast.

— Is there a problem with our child being Austrian?

— No, but I’m curious, Toto, what is this insistence on your citizenship? You don't like the idea of our child being British?

He blinked.

— No… I just wish they would have my citizenship, too.

— Well, there is the possibility of applying for dual citizenship at the Austrian embassy, presenting a series of documents that I can provide for you after the birth of the child. That is, if Miss Aldersey agrees.

Toto looked at Cassie, his gaze filled with anticipation.

— What do you think, Cassie?

— Do you want them to have your nationality?

— Yes, I would very much like that.

She smirked.

— Then, that is fine.

He looked back at Claire.

— They will have dual citizenship, then.

The woman smiled, writing down their choice on her legal pad.

— Now, regarding where the child will live, have you discussed that?

Toto and Cassie looked at each other.

— Well, usually children stay with their mother, don't they? — Cassie asked.

— There is no hard-and-fast rule for which parent gets primary custody, since that varies based on circumstance. However, I believe that, in your case, it’s something that merits discussion, since we are talking about two people who have never been in a relationship. In most known donor cases, for the first few years, the child stays primarily with the mother, and the father gets partial custody. However, given that the two of you have a good relationship, I believe that an alternative arrangement can be found, which will allow Mr. Wolff to have more than simple partial custody.

Toto and Cassie were each silent for a moment, each of them deep in thought. Cassie couldn't see any way to bring Toto and their child closer together. It wasn't like he could go live in her flat after their baby was born, there simply wasn’t enough space for all of them.

— What if you move in with me, Cassie? — he asked, in a low voice.

— And, what, live with you?

— Yeah. My house is more than big enough, and I have a guest room. You can stay there for the first six months. That way, I can help you in the beginning, and we can have this… experience together. Once the baby is weaned and is eating solid foods, we can go back to living separately and working with visitation, depending on the race schedule.

— You know moving in together is a big step, right? I don’t know if we know each other well enough for that.

— Cassie, we're having a baby together. If we know each other well enough to have a baby, I think moving in together isn’t such a stretch.

Toto was right. She hadn't stopped to think that they had made a much bigger and more permanent decision than cohabitation without necessarily knowing each other well enough, as she claimed. It didn't make sense to put up more obstacles. Besides, Toto also had the right to participate in his own child's life, especially in the first few months. Those moments would never come back and depriving Toto, who wanted a child as much as she did, would be horribly selfish.

Besides, what harm could she possibly do living with him?

— I didn’t think about it that way before, so, I agree, I think it's better for us to live in the same house at first.

He smiled.

— But only until the baby has introduced food and can be alone with you for long periods. Then I'll go back to my apartment and we'll arrange a schedule, okay?

— Sounds perfect.

Discussion of the details of the arrangement went on to cover the smallest minutiae of the child's life, from how they would spend the holidays, or the use of phones when they were older. They also agreed that the baby would not have a nanny, or be sent to boarding school; Cassie took a firm stance on that. They also discussed how birthdays and holidays would be divided, and taking the baby on international trips, mostly to see Toto’s family in Austria.

— You should come with us too — he said in a soft voice.

Cassie looked at him, a little confused by his tone.

— Is that an invitation or a request?

— Whatever you want it to be, Cassie — he smiled, resting his head on his hand, his index finger reaching for his cheekbone.

The most tense part of the discussion was the discussion of finances. Cassie knew that Toto was quite well-off; he was a multi-millionaire, after all. However, she abhorred the idea of having no financial responsibility for her child. To her, it sounded unnatural, almost an offense to her worldview. She believed that women should have independence and the ability to make choices and to sustain them.

Despite agreeing with her central point, Toto did not like the idea of splitting the bills exactly in half. In his view, it didn't make sense for him for someone of his means to pay the same amount as Cassie, who didn't have such a large salary as he did, nor the existing wealth that Toto had built through his investment career. After a lot of talking, a few cups of coffee, and a short breather after Cassie almost burst into tears of rage, they finally reached a compromise.

Cassie and Toto would be responsible for the child's expenses while they were at their respective houses. Education expenses would be Toto’s responsibility, while health expenses would be covered by the plan offered by Mercedes to their employees. However, one detail of the conversation made Cassie's heart sink.

— I would also like to establish a special trust for my child. I plan to fund it with a considerable value, which would serve as an immediate backup in case... Something happens to me. I know inheritance processes can be time consuming and I wouldn't want your lives to go on stand-by because of me, whatever the reason.

She reached out and took his fingers between his.

— Nothing will happen to you, Toto. Rest assured.

The rest of the conversation moved quickly. Both decided that they would not impose any religion, diet or restrictions on pets. They resolved not to use any sort of physical violence as a means of discipline, and agreed to periodically talk about the child’s routine, so that it stayed consistent between both residences.

— Now that we have all of those details sorted, let's talk about events that may impact your life and thus, the life of your child — Claire said — Regarding any international moves, how would that work?

— I don’t have any plans to move, and I don’t believe Cassie does, either, so I don't think that would be a factor.

— Well, what about changes in financial conditions, like a layoff?

— That’s a question for Toto — Cassie said, giving him a mischievous smile.

— Why?

— Because my job is in his hands.

— Do you work together? — the lawyer asked.

— Ah, yes. I'm the CEO and part-owner of the company, and she's part of the marketing team — Toto replied — And if it's up to me, you'll never leave Mercedes. Never.

— Good to know — she said, laughing.

— And what about having other children together?

— I can't say that for sure, considering I don't even have one so I know what it's like and if I could handle having more.

— Personally, I'd like to — Toto murmured.

— Of course you would, you don’t have to carry and give birth to them.

— Indeed — he replied, laughing.

— And about romantic relationships, how do you intend to deal with that? Well, third-party relationships, in your case; say, if either one of you starts dating someone.

The silence stretched for long, uncomfortable seconds. Cassie hated thinking about it, but at the same time, she couldn't resist imagining herself with Toto. There was something about him that drew her in; he had an indescribable gravity that Cassie had become trapped in somehow. It wasn't just because he was a handsome, charming, good-natured man and the father-to-be of her child.

Cassie shouldn't want him. She knew it was a bad idea to get even more entrenched with him, but she couldn’t help but wish he was something other than a co-parent. Other than a friend. Other than a boss.

— I believe we'll discuss that if a new person appears in our lives and we'll define together his role in our lives — Toto replied — With the maturity, respect, and cooperation that we've always had.

— Exactly — Cassie added, forcing a smile.

— And, if I may ask… Is there any possibility that you may, in the future, develop a romantic relationship?

Cassie's eyes went straight to her hands. She was holding a small styrofoam cup of coffee. She stared at the rim. The room was uncomfortably quiet again. Her head had one answer, but her heart had another, completely different one. Cassie had no idea what to say to the lawyer.

— No, absolutely none — Toto replied definitively.

Swallowing hard, she lifted her head, looking at the woman.

— Do you agree, Miss Aldersey?

— Yes, absolutely — she said.

Cassie had never lied so well.

[thejbi]

wait, is that JACOB BEN ISRAEL? they kinda look a lot like ALEX WOLFF, don’t they? i heard the 20 year old is known as the PAPARAZZI around mckinley. it seems like they auditioned to be in DULY NOTED which is so lame? people at campus have said they’re PERSISTENT, but don’t be fooled since they’re also TACTLESS. rumor has it, you can find them at DIGITAL MEDIA CLUB, THE MUCKRACKER, AND WRITING CLUB, when they aren’t belting show tunes. their entire vibe revolves around sleepless nights spent gathering intel, piles of dog eared books sticking out from under the bed, and conspiracy podcasts to fall asleep to. but no one pays attention to that here in ohio.

BASICS:

full name: jacob ben israel

pronouns: he/him

nickname(s): "jbi" "jacob" "if you don't stop recording me i'm going to call the police"

birthday & age: 20 years old, 09/27, he's a libra

relationship status: single and saving himself for the hottest girl in school

sexuality: bisexual, jbi is a lot of things but he doesn't discriminate

clubs / sports: digital media club, AV, writing for the muckracker. no sports he's allergic to balls.

glee club: duly noted. he has to infiltrate the glee clubs somehow. that's where all the latest tea is spilled.

major: journalism

minor: law

LIST ABOUT 3+ HEADCANONS ABOUT YOUR CHOSEN CHARACTER!

He has a little sister named Adah that he visits often. Their Mom worked a lot, so it was just the two of them until he got accepted into McKinley on a journalism scholarship.

He’s created his own website to launch his own investigative reporter career. It has all the latest local gossip.

He pays for his meal plan and living arrangements by using the sales of B-List Ohio celebrity bath water. It’s all consensual and locally sourced. Don’t believe him? Take it up with his lawyer.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

best friend / partner in crime / unlikely friends

childhood friend - maybe someone popular now or has an entirely new friend circle so there's maybe some angst/hurt feelings there

exes / ex hookup

unrequited crush

business partner / someone who works on his gossip website with him

informant - someone who brings him the hot goss (and who he can gossip with in turn)

i'm really open for anything, let's talk about it!

[lilhawkeye3]

Find Your Way Back Home, Ch 5

Riyo Chuchi x Commander Wolffe, Riyo Chuchi x Commander Fox

Rating: T |||| Word Count: 2.1k |||| Set Post Order 66

AO3 Link

previous • next

Riyo’s heart was in her throat as she slipped out of Wolffe’s room that morning, hair slightly disheveled from her pillow’s thickly woven fabric. She hadn’t meant to sleep in so late, but tried to crush her lingering guilt by reminding herself that she hadn’t slept that well in months now.

She came to an abrupt stop when she spotted Rex standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at the fields of javun with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He looked back over his shoulder at her with a soft smile.

“How is he?” Nothing could get by the captain, especially in such small quarters with two of the people he held dear to him.

Riyo offered a tired smile. “Healing. Able to hold a conversation, and be sarcastic,” she added as an afterthought, feeling pleased when Rex chuckled. “I think he’ll be alright.”

The blond’s smile turned bittersweet. “As alright as the rest of us,” he sighed.

Her shoulders drooped. “I suppose so.”

He grimaced apologetically and turned away, back to the window and the world outside. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“But not untrue.” Riyo made her way around the kitchen, snatching her favorite mug from the drying rack and a reusable tea bag from her cabinet before preparing a drink with the hot water pot and tea leaves Rex had left out on the counter.

He spoke up as she poured water into the ceramic mug. “I’m glad it was you.”

She nearly spilled the pot all over herself with how much she jolted in surprise. “Pardon?”

Rex was looking at her again, eyes a deep gold in the morning light. “I’m glad it was you here.” He lifted his drink to his mouth, but not in time to hide his sly smile. “I don’t think there’s anyone else that could really help him now. And I know Ahsoka’s been glad to see a friendly face.”

Riyo blinked at him vacantly for several long seconds. “And you?” She asked, choosing to side-step dealing with the confused swirl of emotions that now filled her.

Rex smirked, clearly knowing she was avoiding it. “I found it nice to see that someone held true to their oaths.”

Her mind flashed back to when she’d first met Rex and his men, the renowned 501st Battalion. Orto Plutonia had been an unhappy experience, but one that she had grown much from. Seeing the lives of so many men cut short over miscommunication and greed, learning that her people were in the wrong, treating with a proud nation despite being uncertain of her place.

“‘To die for one’s people is a great sacrifice. To live for them, a greater sacrifice. I choose to live,’” she recited, those words seared into her soul until the day she died. She met his gaze with a steady look and a raised eyebrow. “What do you choose, Rex?”

He met her stare with an equally quirked brow, as if to say I’m here, aren’t I? “I live for my brothers that haven’t been freed. I live for the ones that already breathed their last.” He paused. “I live for her.”

Ahsoka.

“She chose you,” Riyo said slowly, parsing out his hidden message. “She saved you.”

“Yes.”

“She saved you… but at the cost of your brothers.”

He sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

Riyo closed her eyes, feeling the pain that rolled off him in waves. “And you blame her for it, yet you owe her everything.” She opened her eyes, and the devastated look on Rex’s face showed she’d guessed correctly.

“Sometimes, I wish she’d let me die with them,” he whispered into his mug, watching several stray tea leaves swirl in a gentle pattern. “To see them living, but not really alive– ” He trailed off, searching for something, anything to keep him afloat. Riyo rushed forward, gently taking the mug from his hands and setting it aside before wrapping her arms around his waist. She hoped he wouldn’t take offense– they’d never been close– but he readily clung to her, breaths coming in ragged pants as everything finally overwhelmed him.

She wondered if he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now, in this safe haven on a forgotten planet.

“It’s a fate worse than death,” he finished, fingers clutching at her knitted sweater.

Riyo stroked his back, trying to help soothe him. “It is for you and them,” she murmured. “You can grieve for what you lost. You’re safe here.” She felt him tremble against her and tried to hold him tighter. “Would… would you like to come help me in the fields today? Ahsoka can stay here; she’ll be able to monitor Wolffe and come get us if needed.”

Rex exhaled shakily, but she could feel some of the tension leave him at the temporary escape she was giving him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

It seemed that Wolffe wasn’t the only trooper under her roof that she’d be helping to heal.

————————

Riyo woke Ahsoka after she’d gone to get dressed for the day. She wasn’t about to leave the house without alerting her friend, seeing that her and Rex disappearing with no notice could trigger a traumatic response. As it was, Ahsoka opened one eye to listen to Riyo’s explanation of where they’d be before mumbling her thanks and burrowing back under her blankets.

And so Riyo and Rex went out into the juvan fields.

They talked while they worked. Rex spoke of the brothers he’d lost, Riyo of the friends among the Corries. Color returned to his face and light to his eyes as the day went on and the memories piled up. By the time the afternoon light began to fade, he was able to laugh over some of the shenanigans his Torrent squad had got up to.

Ahsoka watched them both with curious eyes when they returned, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she told them that while Wolffe had been muttering on and off in his sleep, he hadn’t yet woken up again. Riyo made sure to set aside some of their soup that evening for him, thinking that he might finally be stable enough to eat. When dinner was finished, Riyo left Ahsoka and Rex to their low conversation as they spoke over washing dishes in the kitchen to check on Wolffe. To her surprise, he seemed to just then be waking.

The savory smell of the soup in her hands caught his attention first, and by the way his stomach rumbles, food was definitely what he needed. After a quick check to his bandages, Riyo held the bowl and helped him sip directly from it, finding that to be easier than trying to use a spoon. It was a slow and steady process, but she wanted to make sure Wolffe didn’t eat too fast and consequently vomit it up because his body couldn’t handle so much after so long asleep.

He seemed to be keeping it down well, to her relief, but then Wolffe mentioned needing to use the fresher, and a whole new set of obstacles arose. The first they barely managed to overcome as Riyo helped Wolffe stand by letting him lean heavily on her, and together they shuffled out of the room and to the fresher.

The second wasn’t as difficult physically, but still proved to be problematic on its own.

Riyo glares at him, unimpressed. “Can you even get your pants off by yourself?”

Wolffe’s indignant expression makes her fight back laughter. “Of course I can–” he starts, curling downwards slightly to try and pull them down far enough, but the crunch flares up his chest wound and he hisses. “Fine.”

Riyo sighed. “Wolffe, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I had to change you into these when you got here. Besides, I often walked through the Corrie barracks on my own, and one time I made a wrong turn and ended up in the Flash squadron locker room, and–”

“Alright, alright. Your point has been made,” he groaned with a roll of his eyes, and she finally caved in and laughed.

“Come on, then.” He held still as she carefully pulled down the sweatpants and underclothes, being sure not to aggravate his thigh injury. She’d been honest about seeing him bare not bothering her; anatomy was anatomy, and it was nothing to be ashamed of or shy away from, especially when acting as an impromptu medic. “There, is that good?”

“Yeah, I can–” Wolffe shifted slightly and accidentally put weight on his bad leg, nearly falling if he hadn’t tightened his hold around Riyo’s shoulders. Her hands shot out to brace his waist and keep him from toppling over.

“You’ll be able to do this alone soon, but not yet,” she reaffirmed. Closing her eyes, she jerked her chin towards the toilet. “Get busy, soldier.”

“Hilarious,” Wolffe deadpanned, but Riyo could feel him relax under her fingertips. She’d hoped her nonchalant manner would be similar enough to any medical care he’d had before, and it looks like her bet had paid off. She was a statue, solid and silent next to Wolffe as he relieved himself for the first time since waking. He was trembling from standing for so long by the time he finished, and didn’t say a word as Riyo helped him redress, wash off, and return to the bedroom. She knew how hard it was to accept help after spending so long being someone others relied on, and to be in a situation where he had no other option than to accept her generosity was bound to be even more difficult.

The unwitting sigh of relief that slipped through his lips as she guided him to lay back down on the bed was evidence of how taxing the short trip was. It worried Riyo. If he was to try and go anywhere further than the fresher, he’d need someone much stronger than her to steady him, and she didn’t know how long Rex or Ahsoka were planning to stay. She was already surprised they’d remained for this long, but she figured Rex wanted to make sure his brother was definitely alright before leaving him again.

“Thank you.”

She looked up from maneuvering the blankets back over his legs at Wolffe’s raspy voice. He was watching her again, appearing just as defeated as he had in the low light the night before. His eyes were flat, his face shadowed and paler than it normally was, which only served to heighten his haunted form.

“You’re welcome,” she finally replied after several moments of silence. “How do you feel now?”

He closed his eyes and let his head sink back into the pillows. “Tired.”

Riyo smiled lightly. “You need to rest. Can you drink some water before you go back to sleep?”

Wolffe hummed, which she took to be affirmative. When she returned with a mug of cool water, it was to find Wolffe had already propped himself up and was looking somewhat expectantly towards her. She held the mug to his lips again so he could drink and distracted herself by watching the way his eyes fluttered shut as he emptied the mug. With that done, she set it aside on the bedside table and hovered in case Wolffe couldn’t arrange himself comfortably on his back. To her delight, he was able to do it himself, albeit with shaking arms. Some progress was better than none at all.

Dusk was truly settling in and the room was beginning to grow darker with each passing second, so Riyo murmured a polite excuse and moved to leave. She was stopped by Wolffe’s hesitant call of her name.

“Yes?” Hopefully he wasn’t in too much pain…

“Can you…” His words died off as he gestured weakly towards the floor next to his bed.

Oh. “Of course I’ll stay,” Riyo agreed. “Let me wash up and change, and then I’ll be back.”

————————

His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in a steady, slow rhythm by the time she slipped back into the room. His arm dangled awkwardly off the side of the bed so his knuckles brushed the chilled floor. This time Riyo was the one to take his hand in hers and rest them on her pillow, next to her head. He was warm and solid, something real that grounded her as she drifted off to sleep.

It was too dark for her to see the weary smile on Wolffe’s face as his thumb rubbed gentle circles against her palm before he too was out like a light.

[ccinagalaxyfaraway]

Mayhaps... a senator au if you feel up to it? where plo koon is the senator for dorin, and the wolfpack is assigned as a guard for him for a negotiation mission or something of the like, whatever you want :)

“It would be most shameful if something were to happen to you during these negotiations, Senator,” says the Chancellor. “Especially since you’re overseeing them on our behalf. I won’t think of it. You must accept protection.”

Plo resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s at home; his face is uncovered. But oh, he would love to. “Chancellor, I am fully capable of looking after my own safety. My staff -”

“Are unfamiliar with the territory. These are dangerous times, Senator Koon.”

“I am aware,” Plo says. If he had teeth, they would be grinding. May you trod on plastic children’s toys, he thinks sourly.

“It’s settled, then. I know just the men for the job. The 104th Wolfpack Battalion will join you for the duration.”

“The what -? An entire battalion is excessive! Absolutely not.” He is a very private person by nature; the thought of having so many people around devoted to knowing where he is and what he is doing at all times is intolerable. Not to mention the stares and whispers that tend to follow his people wherever they go; it’s not a secret that most of the galaxy considers them unattractive at best. 

But the Chancellor has already signed off, his hologram winking out of existence. Plo starts a cycle of deep breathing. His sister the Sage swears it’s helpful. He thinks it’s banthashit.

 ---

Commander Wolffe, after whom the battalion is presumably named, is a stern approaching-middle-age man with a scar over the right side of his face. The cybernetic eye tracks Plo briefly before syncing with the Commander’s natural eye again; Plo pretends not to notice. 

“Senator Koon,” says the Commander, saluting and staring over Plo’s shoulder instead of at his masked face. “We’re to be your protection detail while you mediate discussions.” 

“Please call me Plo,” he says, offering a bow. “It will be a long week if we stand on formality the entire time. May I ask who else I have the honor of meeting?” 

The Commander introduces his personal squad - now Plo’s constant companions - and Plo bows to each of them in turn. “I do apologize to be the cause of this diversion. Please do tell me if there’s anything I can do to make this assignment easier on you; I am accustomed to coming and going as I please, but I understand changes will have to be made. We can discuss the details in the office.”

He leads the way through the hallways. “You’ll have full access to the ship, barring personal quarters, and an emergency override to my quarters should the need arise. My staff have been instructed to provide you with anything you require; there should be ship layouts and a preliminary intelligence report on our destination and relevant factions waiting for you. You are, of course, welcome to use the ship systems. Accounts can be set up with no difficulty.” 

“That is . . . very generous, sir,” says the Commander. “Thank you.” 

Plo shrugs. “Everyone starts somewhere. Let us say I am reasonably well acquainted with being on the other side of this arrangement, and how obstructive a client may be.” 

“You’re a soldier,” says the Commander with some surprise as they pause in front of Plo’s office while he keys in a code. Two of the men - Comet and Boost - take up positions at either side of the doorway. 

“Something like that, once upon a time,” says Plo. He stands aside so Sinker can clear the space and pick his spot on the inside of the door before entering, Commander Wolffe trailing behind him. “Please, have a seat. Now, how may I help you with your arrangements?”

---

The clone troopers are less of an imposition than Plo had expected them to be; they’re generally willing to allow Plo to have his freedom, even if they accompany him everywhere but the fresher and to bed. By the time they arrive at neutral ground, the shifts have been worked out and aside from Commander Wolffe’s presence as his shadow, things are almost normal. And even that isn’t altogether unenjoyable; the Commander has a dry wit and a general lack of tolerance for nonsense that aligns well with Plo’s own sense of humor. It’s like having someone to give voice to all the things he wishes he could say himself but can’t due to his position.

It doesn’t hurt that the Commander has had zero discernible thoughts whatsoever about his appearance. The few times they’ve made skin-to-skin contact, the Commander has been carefully, deliberately blank; clearly he’s done his research. It makes for a more cordial relationship, not being bombarded with opinions on things he can do nothing about. Every morning, he waits for Plo at the door to his quarters and escorts him to breakfast before proceeding to the conference hall. A half day of discussions later, they go to lunch, which Plo picks his way through around his mask while the Commander watches, and then back to negotiating. Afterwards, he brings Plo back to his quarters with a reminder to call if he wants to go anywhere, declines to join Plo for any kind of refreshment, and disappears to wherever he goes when Plo isn’t in public. 

Plo wonders if he ever eats. He has to; he’s not a droid. But unless he’s downing 4500 calories in one sitting after shift, he needs food during the day and he isn’t getting it. The rest of the men switch out at least; Wolffe is never out of reach. The most he’s ever managed to get the man to accept is a mug of unadulterated caf. It can’t be healthy. Not, of course, that it’s any of Plo’s business. 

Still.

The end of the week comes sooner than Plo expects with everything running so smoothly; so of course, the Separatists choose to attack on the last day. The explosion throws the room into chaos, smoke and fire spreading from the blast. Wolffe pulls him into his chest, curling around him even as he draws his pistols, snapping orders at his men. Plo makes himself as small as possible, trying to keep out of the way. 

After the first brief exchange with the droids, Wolffe shuffles them both towards Comet, who’s already radioed out for help in case the smoke wasn’t enough to tip someone off. “We were this close,” he complains, throwing a charge pack at Boost. 

“I know,” Plo mumbles. “I’d so wanted to tell the Chancellor I-told-you-so.”

“That eager to be rid of us?” Wolffe asks, eyebrow raised.

“Not you in particular, Commander,” Plo says, though Wolffe’s grin says he’s only teasing. “Just perhaps the rest of your battalion. Which I maintain is overkill for one unimportant expansion region senator.”

“Bet you’re glad we’re around now, though,” says Comet, whose informality endeared him to Plo on day one.

“I can’t dispute that,” Plo says. He ducks as more blaster fire strikes their cover. 

“We only have to make it -”

“ETA ten minutes,” Comet supplies.

“-until extraction,” says Wolffe. “Keep your head down and things will be fine.”

Plo nods and throws his arms around his head, wishing he’d brought a sound dampener. 

“Be ready to move,” Wolffe orders. Boost lays down cover fire for them as they run for the door, Comet ahead and Sinker behind, and Wolffe at his side. They’ve almost made it out when a second blast throws them into a wall. Plo gasps weakly, rolling onto his side, the world spinning. Wolffe has already climbed to his feet and is fighting a droid, his movements wild and uncontrolled; blood trickles from the side of his head. He misses a blow, staggers, and the droid catches him by the neck, lifting him into the air. Wolffe chokes, scrabbling at the droid’s arm for leverage, kicking to no avail, dying. 

That cannot be allowed to happen. Plo grasps around for a weapon. Anything. All there is is drywall and rubble. He focuses on a shard of stone. Reaches. The shard remains just out of reach. It can’t be. It won’t be. He clenches his jaw. 

The shard launches into the air, rocketing past Wolffe and into the droid’s head. Wolffe drops to the ground and kicks it away as it begins sparking. He staggers over to Plo and drops to his knees beside him. 

“What,” he gasps,” was that?”

“Learned it from my sister,” says Plo, right before he passes out.

---

By the time Plo recovers from his Force-exhaustion, cleanup is well underway and they are halfway back to Coruscant. When he steps out of his quarters, Wolffe is one of the men standing guard at the door. Wolffe salutes, and Plo dips his head. They walk to the mess in companionable silence Plo makes a cup of tea and a mug of caf and collects an assortment of fruit and pastry. 

“Would you join me?” he asks, taking a seat in the booth. Wolffe studies him, a new curiosity in his eyes, and then acquiesces. He sits stiffly, picture perfect for an army etiquette guide. 

“It’s been an eventful end to the week,” Plo says. “I’d wanted to thank you for your protection.”

“Just doing our job, Senator,” says Wolffe. He doesn’t sound, strictly speaking, as though that was the only thing he had been doing.

“Nevertheless, a job well done deserves recognition,” says Plo. He nudges the plate closer to Wolffe. “Please don’t feel like you have to stand on formality with me. You’ve seen how I am with my staff.”

Wolffe hesitates a moment and then caves, selecting a cluster of berries. Plo smiles. “I hope this diversion hasn’t cut into your original plans, Commander.”

“No. Just shifted back a week. If I may, sir, I had a question.” He studies Plo. “At the hall. You used the Force?”

“I did.”

“But you’re not a Jedi.”

“I am not.” He chuckles. “My family is frequently gifted with these abilities. Mine are not so prominent that my parents felt they could not handle me, and I was rather fascinated with systems as a child. When the Master Jedi asked if I wished to be trained, I declined in favor of continuing my studies at home. And so, here we are.” He spreads his hands.

“Here we are,” Wolffe echoes. “I should be thanking you for saving my life.”

“I could hardly do otherwise when I had the ability to help. And if I’m entirely honest, I’ve become rather fond of you in the last week,” Plo says. Wolffe’s eyes linger on him. He decides to take the chance. “Please feel free to refuse, but might I ask for the honor of your company at dinner?”

Wolffe’s lips twitch. “I am afraid I must decline, Senator,” he says. Plo lets out a self-depreciating puff. “However - I’m off-duty once I’ve reported in on Coruscant, and I have no plans other than to kill time with paperwork in an office. You might have better luck then.”

“I see,” says Plo. “Please do eat, Commander. I’m not at all collecting information on your preferences.”

Wolffe smiles and pops a berry into his mouth.

[liliheartbeat]

JESSIE J TALKS TO THE TIMES!

The most honest interview 💕

---------------------------------------------------

The singer Jessie J has always worn her heart on her sleeve. Nine years ago, when she was proudly bisexual, she cast her female lover in the video for her breakthrough hit, Do It Like A Dude. In 2014, as she migrated towards heterosexuality, she announced the change with a forthright tweet: ‘I fancy/date/love men and only men’. It’s no surprise that with romance again in the air, her new boyfriend looms large in her conversation.

“I’m thinking about calling my next tour ‘Magic Mike and I’ and having Chan open for me as a stripper,” she cackles. “He’d do it too! That would sell some tickets, eh?”

“Chan” is the American actor Channing Tatum, star of the 2012 comedy Magic Mike as well as such box-office hits as 21 Jump Street and Foxcatcher. The 31-year-old Jessie, born Jessica Cornish, rearranges the hem of her figure-hugging brown dress when she talks about Tatum. They have been dating since last autumn.

Then, as if by magic, he texts.

“Aw, he wants to know what suit he should wear for his meeting,” she chuckles, gazing lovingly at her screen.

It seems safe to ask how they met.

“Uh uh, no,” she says. “Chan and I got photographed before our relationship was even a thing and that created such pressure. We’ve needed time to get to know each other. We’ve just had our first holiday together, which was wonderful, but that’s all I’m saying.”

Is it fair to say she is happy living on 21 Jump Street?

“Oh I am very happy on 21 Jump Street! I always look for a guy with a good sense of humour and good morals. And hygiene. A man who showers is very important.”

It’s almost ten years since Essex-born Cornish became famous with her self-penned hits Do it Like a Dude and Price Tag. She was a contemporary of Adele’s at the Brit performing arts school, and enjoyed Top Ten album success in the UK and US. Yet in the UK she seemed to get bogged down in pointless debates over her sexual preferences (she was heavily criticised for explaining her bisexuality as a “phase”), and moved to the US in 2014.

“First and foremost I regret ever tweeting it was a phase,” she says.

Why apologise? It was a phase, wasn’t it?

“It’s a hurtful expression for some. But I was young. Aged 19, I was madly in love with a woman and I moved in with her. She was not my first girlfriend either. I was heartbroken when that relationship ended, but then I dated guys and women. I was a young woman experimenting between the ages of 20 and 30 like anyone should.”

Behind the scenes, life has become quite serious for the singer. Cornish has struggled with a heart condition called Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome since she was eight years old, and suffered a minor stroke in 2015, forcing the cancellation of some tour dates. Then she was diagnosed with adenomyosis, a condition in which the inner lining of the womb breaks through the muscle wall. It can cause agonising stomach cramps and heavy periods. It can also indicate a heightened risk of miscarriage or premature birth. It was a brutal blow.

“The pain I’ve been through with this disease is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face,” she says. “I get severe pain, which I have to manage, and psychologically, well, having children was always a big thing for me. I may be infertile, which, not gonna lie, would be devastating.”

Adenomyosis doesn’t preclude having children, but doctors offered her a hysterectomy, so I can only conclude that her case is serious. She declined the operation and instead pinned her hopes on a change of diet. She hasn’t eaten sugar for four years, and two years ago she went vegan.

“Basically, I am still hoping. Some days it seems possible I might have children and others not. I have to accept that becoming a mother is going to be a battle.”

Cornish is disarmingly frank. She has even channelled her anguish into a song called Four Letter Word. “Baby” is the four-letter word in question. The lyrics address her feelings of heartbreak to a notional child: “I pray I get the chance to bloom,” she sings, “cause someone’s ready for me, waiting to feel all my love and make you with me.”

She isn’t about to discuss whether Tatum might be waiting, but she has met his six-year-old daughter, Everly, from a previous relationship. I suggest that must have been hard.

“God no! She’s just six and absolutely lovely,” she says.

Of course there are other ways she could have children . . .

“Oh yeah, I might go down the route of adoption or even surrogacy. I pray I have children the natural way, but if not, I’ll deal with it.”

Cornish has just returned to our screens as a judge on ITV’s The Voice Kids, a junior version of the adult singing talent show. She beams at the very idea of mentoring 7 to 14-year-olds.

“Oh my God, when a seven-year-old sings a solo you just want to cuddle them. It’s a totally different feel to the adult version of the show.” Cornish was a judge for four years on this version too, before she left in 2013.

Cornish is warm, funny and open. It seems extraordinary that another journalist last year charged her with an “unbearable earnestness and an astonishing lack of humility”.

“Oh, but I cringe how loud I was in the past sometimes,” she says.

She once complained that the UK didn’t take her voice seriously. Nevertheless, she has established a global career. Tomorrow she flies to perform in Romania, then returns to London briefly before setting off to her second home in Los Angeles.

“I’ve been performing since I was a kid, so to me life is work work work. Obviously my health issues mean I’ve had to learn balance. I now have Sundays off. I wake, have a probiotic, then a celery juice. After that it’s breakfast and then a workout. If I’m in London I Iike to walk through the city and then I’ll go home, meditate and then cook.”

In LA the weather is more reliable. She might head off camping or hiking for the weekend.

“I’m happy outdoors and I’m happy around people. Don’t I look happy to you?”

I’d say she looks reasonably content. But then her phone pings again. A broad grin speeds across her face. Now she looks happy.

The Voice Kids continues tonight on ITV1 at 8pm

JESSIE J’S PERFECT WEEKEND

Pilates or personal trainer?

Personal trainer

Clubbing or pubbing? 

Pubbing, but no alcohol

Spa retreat or cultural city break?

City break

Soy chai latte or builders’ tea?

Peppermint please

Signature dish?

Vegan mac’n’cheese

What’s your screensaver?

A picture of my family

Love Island or Scandi box set

Love Island

I couldn’t get through my weekend without . . . 

Comfy clothes

[peachhoneii]

The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Rating: K+ Fandom: DuckTales 2017 Shipping: None (for now) A/N: I wanted a duck dad fist fight, and by George, I was going to get it. Tagging: @donaldtheduckdad, @robinine-blog, @spacedpanini (again for reading through all my ramblings) Summary: It was an unspoken rule within the Woodchucks to never, ever sell their annual popcorn bags on Chickadee cookies territory. Huey wisely adhered to this rule, preventing catastrophe year after year, but the JWG didn't tell him what to do when Chickadee ranks invaded Woodchuck popcorn territory.

Fortunately for Huey, his Uncle Donald wasn’t fond of rules in the first place.

When Huey initially requested to join the Junior Woodchucks, Donald saw no problem. Although he’d been barred from ever joining -- something about his temper, the counselors said, he knew it was impossible to deny Huey something he truly wanted. Of his boys, Huey asked the least.

Besides, Donald reasoned, the Junior Woodchucks’ reputation was foremost the most reputable reputation in all of Duckburg. They went to the recreational center to sign the registration forms. He dragged the pen over the signature lines, pointedly ignoring the counselor’s wary stare. Huey bounced eagerly at his side, clutching the end of his shirt as they returned to the desk, and by the end of the day, Huey was a bonafide Junior Woodchuck.

This decision was one of Donald's best. His boys were resourceful in their unique ways, but there was something about the JW that set Huey apart. He’d always been responsible, energetic, and observant.

The JW cultivated those traits, honing them to perfection, and sharpening them to levels that made Donald’s head spin. Huey’s resourcefulness relieved Donald, but the questions around the houseboat tumbled his brain. Did you know in 1895...Your great-grandfather founded the ….on and on, he went, but Donald didn’t have the heart to stop him.

Still, the Woodchucks was a good trade. Donald occasionally imagined what life would be like had he had a girl around the house, a little girl running up and down the halls, and shivered. She’d wear the traditional Chickadee uniform with its sash and multitudinous badges.

Worse, they’d have to sell cookies.

Coworkers, current and former, rushed around the city in search of potential buyers. Each wanted to sell more than the other. And why? Fifty boxes sold won their little chickadee a Rockerduck Powerwheel Jeep. Seventy-five boxes won them a trip to the Glomgold Inc. Tour - contract applied. One hundred boxes won a trip to Ollie land and so forth.

From what Donald was told, the amount of cookies sold provided a substantial amount of prestige in the organization. Awards were given at the end of the year, made from actual gold.

“Gertie Greylag wanted little girls to be equally efficient to little boys,” one parent elaborated during a monetary exchange.

This was preceded by a no holds barreled brawl. Another parent smashed through a previous transaction attempt just as Donald was reaching for the peanut butter tagalogs. He saw the parent’s head make an almost perfect 90 degree turn, but they bounced back quickly, flattening their hands on the ground and reaching their legs around the attacker’s neck.

“Buy my little girl’s peanut butter tagalogs! They’re 20% sweeter!”

“Impossible! You can’t tamper with the boxes, and he was mine first!”

Donald wisely tossed the exact amount of cash on the battling parents and grabbed a box of peanut butter tagalogs. A crowd formed a tight ring around them, and he wanted to disappear before the cops rolled in.

He learned early on it was equally dangerous to buy a box of cookies despite being easier than selling it.

Schools held annual fundraisers, but they could never match the vindictive competitiveness that was Little Chickadee cookie sales held from January 1 to the middle of March.

The time period relieved Donald of any responsibility. When popcorn season started on March 12, he and Huey visited the local supermarket to set up shop with Huey’s troop. Their sales weren’t high, but the cash intake was accept for Junior Woodchucks.

Separating the seasons and operating on a different item circumvented any potential clashes that could arise from the long standing rivalry between Woodchuck and Chickadee.

Their experience proved the system efficient.

“Where do you want to set up the table, Troop Leader Wolff?”

“Ah. Put it near the doors, but not in front of the doors.” A jovial, black wolf, Robert “Bob” Wolff grabbed the table cloths, “And set out the flavor display. We want them to know their options.”

Donald rolled into the parking lot with healthy drinks and snacks. He’d done this for six years now, and each year was better than the last. Saturday was the best day to sell popcorn.

The day of relaxation and errand running; adults rarely snapped at the children for their children hungered for tasty caramel corn, kettle corn, unbelievable butter corn, and the ever popular dark and white chocolate drizzle. The boys stacked the bags and display on the table, taking their seats behind them, and chattered amongst themselves.

“We can get maybe twenty bags, 22 tops.”

“I was hoping for thirty.”

Huey drummed his fingers on the table, “I think we may get 25. We may not earn our Life of a Salesman badge, but we won’t have to worry about not getting recognized for our efforts.”

Water precipitated on the ice chests propped along the supermarket wall with sandwiches and beverages stuffed inside. Donald was wiping his forehead when he saw the minivan zoom into the parking lot. A shiny cultured shade, its screeching stop grabbed everyone’s attention.

A carmine pump stepped out of the car door, and a voice unlike any other rang sharply, “Hurry girls! We don’t have all day. Set up over there, go, go.”

Donald’s visual acuity of 20/10 and higher was required to dissect the flurry of sandaled and tennis-shoe clad feet. Girls marched out of the minivan on all sides. In their hands were oversized paper brown bags they lifted without strain while the woman click-clacked to the trunk. A table and its cloth she stuffed underneath her arm and toted around until she found the spot she wanted -- the right side of the automatic doors to their left.

The girls huddled the brown bags behind the able as the woman set the table cloth on the table. Bright, orange lilies decorated the grassy green backdrop of the cloth. She pulled display after display onto the table, reaching quickly to snatch another out of the bag closest to her.

Cookie boxes followed and were arranged in punctilious formation; thin mints at the top, samoa/caramel delites and peanut butter patties/tagalongs in the middle, and do-si-do/peanut butter sandwiches and shortbread trefoils were the foundation. She did the same with the less popular flavors on the other side of the table; assuming someone would be interested for an oddity or two, preferably five.

As this storm descended upon them, Donald watched in ominous silence. There was something familiar about the woman; something he could not pinpoint his finger on. Was it her blond hair? No. Or her black feathers? No. Her distinct lisp; pronounced with every dribble of spit that splattered off her tongue struck him familiarly.

Folded chairs were unfolded, and metal scratching on concrete grated their ears. Be it familiar or strangely coincidental, they knew what was about to come.

“Right after twelve, good work!” She snapped her fingers, “And you said we wouldn’t make it.”

A grey rabbit whose brunette hair was plaited with lavender ribbons spoke, “You were driving three times the speed limit.”

“Yes, but we arrived before twelve.”

“Dad isn’t gonna be happy if you get another speeding ticket.”

“He won’t know that I’ve gotten one.” She glared at the girls, “And don’t tell your parents.”

The violet tinted skunk step forward, “Troop Leader you said we could get some snacks.” The woman gasped lightly and fished through her clutch purse, revealing a twinkling platinum credit card.

“Does Dad know you have that?”

“I was given strict instructions to use this card for your benefit, little miss.” She gave the skunk the card, “Get healthy snacks, y’hear me? We may be selling cookies, but we don’t need to raise our blood sugar levels.”

The grey rabbit stared at him, shook her head, and followed the girls into the supermarket, “You really are something.”

“And you’re wasting time, dearie.”

With a frown, she walked backward, revealing a brown wallet she held in her hand. The woman gasped as the girl giggled, running after her friends as the automatic doors closed, reflecting her cheeky expression.

“You’re despicable.” She gritted her teeth, “You are despicable, Babs Bunny,” as an afterthought, “and don’t forget to get my bottled tea!”

Holding a second ice cooler, he observed the woman. Her blonde hair - no, synthetic, a wig, brushed softly against the wind. Black feather glistened under the sun, indicating a special oil moisturizer product. He glanced at Huey’s white feathers. He winced. Light reflected and bounced straight into his eyes. Stepping back, he shield his eyes to see where the line formed and spotted her neck.

What he thought was the traditional white neck line of the American black duck was something brighter, more expensive than he originally thought. A pearl necklace.

“What would the girls do without me?” She contemplated aloud, accent thick with a well articulated lisp, “I need to make sure we sell enough to beat that loud mouth chicken.”

No. Donald’s chest palpitated. No. What did it matter that the extremely low chances were adjacent to impossibility? They were adjacent, not actually impossible.

It was the lisp. Donald hadn’t pushed it back as much as he allowed it to slip away. It’d been a relic of a former life, set aside for something more. He refused to believe the truth in the moment. There was a brief span of absolute nothingness in Donald’s brain before he started to move, started to open his mouth, and questions were spat out with demands trailing quickly behind.

Huey shouted his name in confusion. Wolff tried to pull his arm. One was too quiet, and the other, too slow.

She - he raised his head, and his brow arched contemplatively. Defiance crossed over his expression and chest; his high heel pump tapped impatiently.

Donald stood in front him with clenched fists, having abandoned the ice cooler near the table, and gritted his teeth.

“Daffy Duck.”

“You have grey feathers.”

Donald bristled, “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Spittle popped off his bill, “We’re selling cookies.”

“This is our turf.”

“Your turf?” Daffy scoffed, “This is the Duckburg Supermarket. It is open to all Chickadee and Woodchucks, as long as the required paperwork is signed, and bad for you, I have my sales permit!”

His bill twitched, “We were here first!”

“So?” Daffy straightened one of the displays, and waved flirtatiously at an approaching couple, “Our Chickadee cookies are absolutely delectable. They won’t crack your teeth like those popcorn kernels.”

“You can shove your cookies right up your -,”

“Uncle Donald?”

Spinning around Huey’s pensive expression locked him. He searched from one bill to the other, unasked questions ready to shoot at him, and Donald gulped. Daffy clicked his tongue and returned to the table.

At a loss for words, the question hung precariously between them. Donald thought of what he could say, of what was suitable for a twelve year old boy. He readied the response, whatever its content, when the automatic doors slid open.

“This...this person...is...an…”

“Daffy, we’ve talked about this.”

The grey rabbit and other girls came behind. She dropped the bag of bananas, apples, kiwis, and cans of coconut milk on the table; crossing her arms, she glared irritably at them, “Dad said if you get us banned from another supermarket you’ll be taken off as troop leader.”

Daffy’s arrogance dwindled briefly, “Children are meant to be seen, not heard!”

“We’re selling cookies. We’re gonna have to talk and be seen.”

Noticing their presence, the girl offered her hand to Donald and Huey.

“Sorry, my name’s Babs Bunny.” She glanced at Daffy, “And this is our troop leader.”

Huey gripped her hand back, “Um, aren’t there male troop leaders?”

“Listen kid, when you look me, you want to look your absolute best.” He popped a heel up, “And I like the height the heels give me.”

Donald’s glare dissipated at Babs, “So, you’re here to sell cookies?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, “We got banned from Acme Acres Supermarket,” she cut Daffy’s gasp off with a sharp glare, “we thought we could sell a little in Duckburg, but we forgot popcorn season started today.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“We don’t?”

Huey shook his head, “We don’t have a lot of bags in the first place, and this is a great hour to sell.”

“Wait, like, you guys have popcorn?” A blond-haired loon pushed through, “Like actual popcorn, please tell me you’ve got chocolatey caramel crunch!”

“Shirley!”

“Like Daffy, it isn’t for me. Pops and Grams love ‘em!” She pulled out a twenty, “I’ll take four bags.”

“Four?”

“Come on, like two bags would keep ‘em happy.” She rolled her eyes and ran to the table where Troop Leader Wolff and the others applauded their first customer of the day.

“Do you think they have the cheese flavor collection?”

“Yeah, we set up a few minutes ago.”

“Merci beaucoup, beau canard!” Hugging him fiercely, the violet skunk raced after Shirley, and was soon followed by the rest, having finished their preparations. Dollar bills and change jingled in their pockets.

“You’re telling me you could’ve bought your own snacks?” Daffy said, “Why did we have to use the card?”

“Because none of us wanted to spend our money on things we knew Dad was gonna buy us, plus, we knew you’d sneak the card.”

Daffy glared and watched as Babs walked to the table.

“So, Huey, do you have classic caramel and unbelievable butter?”

“And who are you buying for?”

“Dad and Buster love unbelievable butter.”

“Oh, right.” His shoulders shot, “And don’t forget my classic caramel!”

“Sure, Daffy.” She smiled at Huey, “I’d like to see your order arrangement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! The organization is so specific. It’d really help.”

Like their friends, they too went to the table, leaving the adults to themselves.

“I destroyed the dairy aisle.”

“Wait, what?”

Daffy sniffed, shrugging his shoulders, “And the bread aisle, and the fruits, vegetables, yeah, I destroyed 70% of the supermarket.”

“How?” This was Daffy. This was the little, black duck who refused to follow social norms and other rules of propriety, “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but how?”

Crossing his arms, he looked away, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You got into a fight with another parent, didn’t you?”

“No one insults my sweet, darling Babs.” He glanced where she and Huey munched on popcorn, “She’s the light of my life.”

“Doesn’t she have a brother?”

“Buster is my joy. Babs is my pride,” he clarified.

“Wait, I thought she was the light?”

“That’s what I said, my light and joy.”

“Buster is your joy.”

“Who asked you?”

Donald’s eye twitched, and on the right side of his head a headache started to throb.

The last time they’d seen each other, Donald succeeded in destroying Daffy’s white grand piano. In retaliation, Daffy smeared what Donald wanted to believe was mud across his piano keys, as well as booby-trapping the lid.

His fury knew no bounds.

Daffy’s laugh followed him right to the enlistment office.

“Uncle Donald?” Huey ran to them, “Hey, Uncle Donald!”

“Huh, yeah?”

“The Woodchucks and I discussed it.” He beamed brightly at him, “Troop Leader Wolff said we could buy some of the Chickadee cookies.”

“I want ten boxes of Do-si-dos!” Troop Leader Wolff opened his wallet, “And five thin mints, my husband loves ‘em.”

Daffy’s and Donald’s tense glares didn’t go unnoticed.

The long-standing feud between Chickadee and Woodchuck was longstanding. Huey researched the subject vigilantly, spending late hours at the local library when the official Woodchuck archives failed to offer the information he sought. Clinton Coot and Gertie Greylag were close friends, having grown up as next door neighbors, and chose to nurture a healthy relationship between Woodchuck and Chickadee.

Huey theorized the rivalry started after Greylag’s death, ten months after Coot’s, where the grieving members lashed out at each other. It was only then did their healthy, friendly relationship began to weaken.

His research didn’t produce any instances of disaster on one side or another. The rivalry was nothing more than a myth, but this didn’t stop the higher ups for making the tactful decision to maintain a respectable distance during cookie season.

Having purchased four boxes of Chickadee smores, Huey sat along the wall, breaking his personal vow to not snack before his proper lunch.

“What’s Daffy? Your dad’s roommate?” Marshmallow, chocolate, and graham-cracker was mushed together in crunchy delight, Huey stared at Uncle Donald and Daffy, engrossed in unstimulating conversation, “He really knows how to walk in those heels.”

“He’s more than my dad’s roommate.” She sipped her strawberry soda, “He’s my dad’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? You said he has a girlfriend.”

“He does.” Babs grinned, “He has a boyfriend and a girlfriend.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s simple.” She leaned on the wall and let the soda take hold, “Dad goes out with Lola every now and then, she sleeps over. Daffy goes out with Tina every now and then, and sometimes,  he stays at her apartment. But we have family dinner, and Dad and Daffy sleep together sometimes.”

All new and different, Huey looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what she was telling him, but she spoke with such normalcy that he couldn’t think of doubting her.

“How’d they meet?”

She shrugged, “The post office. It’s been six years now, and I like it. Buster was already living with us, so it was like we found the last piece to the puzzle...or the last piece found us,” she chuckled, “he said he was crashing but just ended up mooching off Dad. But it’s nice. Dad loves him, and I know he loves us.”

Huey bit into another smore, “Uncle Donald hasn’t dated. I don’t think he’s ever dated.”

“Aw, well, I thought the same about Dad, but he and Mom got along enough to make me.”

“How?”

“They weren't married.” Babs explained, “I think they grew up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood.”

“Do you get to see your mom often?”

“She’s a flight attendant, but she sends us tons of souvenirs and photos.” She showed him her phone, “She passed over Ithaquack.”

He checked the photo and grimaced, “Yeah, that’s Zeus.”

“You’ve met him?”

“My family visited Ithaquack,” visited being a loose term.  “We met Zeus and Storkules.”

“Is he as big of a jerk as he is in the myths?”

“Yep, pretty much. Uncle Scrooge beat him at every competition, but then we beat Storkules, who’s my uncle’s best friend.”

Huey stared back at Donald and Daffy. They didn’t appear angry anymore although Uncle Donald’s fists were still partially clenched, and Mr. Daffy’s arms were still crossed against his nonexistent bosom.

“I think they know each other,” Babs said.

“I think so too.”

She slid her phone into her back pocket, “Daffy used to play piano at the Ink & Paint Club.”

“What’s the Ink & Paint Club?”

“I dunno. Dad gave him the look, so he didn’t tell me the rest.”

Huey pulled back, staring at Uncle Donald and Daffy. Irritation tip toed around their bills and the corner of their eyes, and Huey dug for his JWG.

“Huh. Always wanted to see one up close.” Babs got out her LCG, “It’s dense material, ain’t it?”

He flipped through the pages, “Right here,” tapping under the bold print, “the Ink & Paint Club is a legendary Hollywood nightclub known for its numerous celebrity patrons and famous, occasionally infamous performances.”

“One of the most infamous performances was Looney Sailing Piano Duel.” Babs read the article in her LCG, “Known for its merrie melodies these piano duels were regularly performed with vulgar violence and obscenity. The last act resulted in both performers being hooked off the stage, which was how all performances ended.”

“It doesn’t identify the performers.”

Babs shrugged, “Daffy can be obscenely violent, and stupid. He didn’t mention a partner though.”

“The JWG says the last performance included,” reading on he twitched in disgust, “a booby-trapped upright piano. One of the performers was thrown under a grand piano lid, with the top smashing down on them.”

“Both performers were dragged off stage after the booby-trapped piano exploded, destroying the stage, but leaving the audience roaring with applause.”

“It sounds crazy,” Huey closed the book.

“It sounds fun.” Babs wondered aloud, “I don’t see why Dad cut Daffy off.”

"Mr. Duck!”

Mr. Duck, the black feathered one, clutched the underside of his bill in pain. He’d fallen backwards. His precious pumps clicked and snapped in two on the way down. He didn’t stare up at Mr. Duck, the white feathered one, in shock or even disappointment. A slow, wicked curve took hold of his bill, and he sneered, twisting his delicate hands into fists.

“You do know this means war,” he spat.

“Bring it, bub.”

Mr. Duck, the black feathered one, wrapped his hand firmly around Mr. Duck’s throat, and threw him to the ground, punching him right in the eye. The white feathered Mr. Duck shouted in pain, clutched his wounded eye, and rolled on the ground as they scuffle progressed.

“Oh no,” Babs stood and whistled, “come on girls, you know the routine!”

“Wait, Babs!”

But the girls knew what to do, grabbing the tables and bags, they ran to the minivan and tossed them inside. Mr. Wolff ran to separate them, but they were too fast, too strong for the hot-headed ducks. A small crowd formed around the fighting drakes, and Babs ran back, hissing at Huey.

“Take off your badges and hat!”

“But why?”

“Ya’ want those people to know it’s a Woodchuck - Chickadee brawl?” Glaring at him as if it was the most obvious thing, she ran to the tussling ducks holding a small device in her right hand.

Huey was about to ask what she was doing when Shirley threw him a pair of ear plugs. She motioned quickly for him to put them in, and he did without question. He was about to ask what she was doing when she blew into the whistle, and the most annoying, screeching sound came out.

But Huey was deaf to this sound. He watched as Donald and Daffy clutched their ears in pain, curling on the pavement, and the observers who were also ducks ran off in shock and horror.

“Sufferin’ succotash!”

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Her breath carried for thirty seconds. Lowering the whistle, she glared and pointed to the minivan, “Get. In. The. Van. Now.”

“But -,”

“I said now!”

Mr. Duck looked back at Mr. Duck and saw the amazed, amused stares beholding them. He grabbed his broken pumps and scurried to the minivan. Huey didn’t get to say goodbye or even wave goodbye before the minivan burnt rubber out of the parking lot, and out of the city.

“Uncle Donald?”

He lied on his back, arm covering his eye, “Yeah, Huey?”

“Are you...are you okay?” He moved Uncle Donald’s arm and winced.

“That bad?”

“No, no.” The crowd started to disperse, suddenly bored with the weak conclusion, “You may want to put a steak on that eye though.”

Donald groaned, covering his darkened eye again.

The drive back to the mansion was uneventful. Fortunately, the authorities were not notified, and the Woodchucks grabbed their belongings and returned home. Troop Leader Wolff was amazed. He’d heard of Donald Duck’s temper, but hadn’t experienced the full length of it. As he said, as long as no actual harm was done, there was no need to worry.

“Let's not make a repeat of this, okay, Donald?”

“Sure, pal.”

The drive back to the mansion was uneventful. Huey replayed each event in his head, trying to spot the actual moment his uncle’s anger was ignited, but the more he replayed, the harder it became. The second Mr. Duck appeared something was off about Uncle Donald. He didn’t restrain his obvious dislike for the man; it was impossible for him to completely conceal his dislike for him. Huey liked to think he had given it a try for his sake.

He sighed.

“Sorry.”

“Huh?”

Uncle Donald gazed into the rearview mirror, “I’m sorry for ruining the popcorn sale.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Uncle Donald.”

He gave him a look.

Huey laughed, “No seriously, you didn’t. Some folks bought the last of the popcorn to watch the fight, so you helped us out.”

“Great.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Huey fidgeted in the backseat. Along with the fight, the Ink & Paint Club cropped in his head. His uncle didn’t discuss much about himself. Huey knew better to ask a direct question about his uncle’s past. He might not have looked the part, but Donald Duck was notorious for evading difficult questions.

But still, Huey knew he had to try.

“Did you know Mr. Duck used to play piano?”

“Huh, you don’t say.”

“Babs talked about him.” He drummed his fingers on the faded cushion, “He’s her dad’s boyfriend, and he used to work at this club he told her about.”

“Oh did he now?”

“Yeah, he didn’t tell her too much, but she said it was the Ink & Paint Club.”

He made a right. His grip tightened around the wheel, “Ink & Paint Club, never heard of it.”

Huey swallowed his gasp. Uncle Donald never lied, except for the time he told them about the potty fairy; Huey knew what his uncle did with their waste. He was horrified.

It wasn’t his place to ask. Although his uncle’s tone didn’t end the discussion, Huey sensed this was the end, and he looked through the window as they drew near to the manor.

He wasn’t upset. Just a little disappointed.

It was then his gaze flickered to the ice cooler, and widened.

An excited grin punctured his disappointment.

Louie was elated to have his phone returned to him. He asked no questions when his brother went upstairs to wash up for dinner, ready to resume Ottomon’s Empire season two. He didn’t check the contacts, the call log, or even the browsing history. Of his brothers, Huey was the one he didn’t have to worry over. His phone was returned perfectly intact, no cracks or smudges; it even smelled of fresh wildflowers.

Lounging in the home theater with Dewey and Webby, he flicked through the channels as the other two discussed some unsolved mystery they were determined to crack. Ottomon’s Empire season two was an improvement of season one, though it’d taken him days to appreciate it.

“Okay, if we go down hill towards the lake we may be able to fish out the artifact.”

“Didn’t Uncle Scrooge say the lake was guarded by a mystical beast?”

“Why yes, Dewey, it is, but I found a magical mirror in the room of mysteries.”

“You mean the garage?”

“Yes, I mean the garage.”

Louie rolled his eyes, “There’s a million rooms in this place. Can’t you have adventure sibs somewhere else.”

“We wanted you to be a part of it.”

“And since you won’t leave until you’ve binged watched the entire season, we decided to stay here until the meeting is adjourned.”

“Huey isn’t here.” Louie groaned and increased the volume, “I’d say he was lucky to go on his JW camping trip this weekend.”

Perhaps, this was the trigger he needed for his phone vibrated on the cushion next to him. Picking it up, the indicator replied he received a new text message.

Sipping his Pep can, he tapped the screen, and his carbohydrate drink lodged uncomfortably in his throat.

Dewey and Webby stared in confusion as he sputtered and coughed, spitting Pep left and right.

“Dude, gross! Beakley just mopped.”

He coughed, patting his chest, “Muygh phooey.”

“My phooey?” Webby looked at Dewey, “What’s a my phooey?”

“No!” Louie snapped, throat cleared, “I meant my phone! I got a weird message!”

Louie didn’t receive weird messages, and during the rare occasion someone sent a text to the wrong number, Uncle Donald swiftly removed it.

But there was nothing weird about this message. Surprising as it was, Louie didn’t feel uncomfortable. Dewey and Webby leaned over his shoulders and chuckled weakly.

“Wait, is that Uncle Donald?

Look at what I found in Daffy’s closet! He totally did work there, and they were partners! Don’t tell ‘em I snuck in. ;)

Within the message was an old, black and white photo. On the right of the photo was a little black duck playing a white upright piano. On the left was their Uncle donald dressed in a black tuxedo playing a black, grand piano. The little black duck wore a cheeky grin dipped in looney mischievousness. Uncle Donald wore an angry, temperamental glare on his face; its temper was directed at the little black duck.

“Who is this!?”

“It’s signed, Babs B.” Webby read, “Didn’t Huey use your phone a few weeks ago?”

“He did.” Louie tapped the photo to enlarge it, “But why is this girl sending us - him a photo of Uncle Donald.”

Dewey pointed to the black duck, “This must be Daffy.”

A multitude of thoughts scurried back and forth through Louie’s mind. Of the many he had latched onto one and only one, and it was the discovery his responsible, ever cautious, ever reasonable brother was capable of the same cruder mannerism as the rest of them. He was speechless.

“Look guys, she’s sending another.”

Another message popped on the screen, Louie tapped it. He winced.

And thanks, dude! We made first place!

Young girls dressed in Chickadee uniforms circled around a great, gold trophy, their faces alight with victory and triumph. Beside them their troop leader, a lean black dack whose platinum blond hair shined through the picture stood nearby, smugly glaring into the camera

Dewey turned his head crookedly at the screen, “Hey, is that lady a dude?”

“I don’t know, but if he is, those heels give him great height.”

[ct-hardcase]

Clone Friendship Headcanons

Friendships within the 501st:

Jesse/Kix/Hardcase: Best of Buddies, would ride or die for each other, have known each other since the three of them joined the 501 as shinies, ultimate bros. Jesse and Kix were both devastated when Hardcase died, and Jesse was devastated when Kix disappeared. When Kix woke up, he often found himself missing both of them.

Harcase/Tup: Hardcase saw Tup’s ambition and started to do something that would be a mix between mentoring (if it were anyone but Hardcase) and being a friend, so Tup feels pretty close to him. Hardcase likes Tup a lot as well.

Jesse & Kix/Tup: They like him because Hardcase brought them around him, but they’re not as close to him as they were to Hardcase until after Umbara, when they became better friends with him, partly out of their shared experience, but also partly because Dogma and Hardcase are both gone and they figured he needed some companionship. Tup appreciates it and gets along well with the two of them after a while.

Tup/Dogma: They made friends when they first entered the battalion, and while Tup still likes Dogma alright, he’s starting to relax a little whereas Dogma has not heard of the word “relax” in his entire life, so the two try and pull each other in different directions. It’s because they care about the other.

Rex/Dogma: While their relationship definitely focuses more on the officer and subordinate aspect than Rex’s other friendships with the lower-ranked clones, Rex sees himself in Dogma’s difficulties and tries to help him adjust better. Dogma likes how Rex handles things and respects him.

Jesse & Kix & Hardcase/Rex: They always got on with him pretty alright, but as Jesse and Kix grew older and stayed in the battalion for two years, Rex got to know and like them, treating them less as subordinates (as he treated them during the first year or so they were in the war) and more as friends, especially when Jesse makes ARC rank and Kix gains more experience as a medic. They all make a significant effort to talk if they can all meet up later on in the war and talk about their various lives. These two are some of the only people Rex will gossip with aside from Cody.

Jesse/Fives: Good friends after Umbara, personalities got on well, Fives was the one that really helped Jesse get an in to the ARC program, they train together, and have an altogether good time.

Fives/Tup: Rose mostly out of the post-Umbara bond, Tup and Fives feel safe around each other. Jesse and Fives both watched Tup grow and train and get more confident and they’re so proud. Fives eventually starts seeing Tup for training and socializing more and as Tup gets his footing in the 501st, they gain a companionship.

Fives/Kix: Though they never got on as well as the others in their #squad, there’s still an implicit trust and friendship there, and Kix’s dry wit reminds Fives of Echo. Kix is happy that he gets to bounce his jokes off of someone who’ll respond positively who isn’t Jesse.

Fives/Echo: The best bros. Absolute ride or die. Could barely imagine their worlds without the other until they had to live it. They’d felt comfortable with one another from the beginning, pretty much since they joined Domino Squad, and they trusted each other with everything.

Echo/Jesse: Their friendship didn’t form as organically as the others, but Echo and Jesse heard that they had mutual friends in Fives and Rex, so Jesse feels morally obligated to talk to Echo because both of them are a little lonely. It forms slowly, but they grow to appreciate each other and learn that they share a similar sense of humor and a love for good stories. If they both make it to the rise of the Empire, they continue their friendship after that point.

212th:

Boil/Waxer: Ride or die, trust in each other completely and pretty much tell the other anything, bond over being overachievers and their ability to calm each other’s temperaments. This is someone else’s headcanon, but they make a great good cop/bad cop routine to introduce the shinies to the 212th. GAR’s most reluctant babysitters.

Cody/Boil & Waxer: He respects and trusts them, finds them good to talk to. They do a decent job of separating business from personal in terms of friendship, nobody accused Cody of favoritism when they got promoted because everyone saw how good Waxer and Boil were. Cody eventually becomes a lot closer to Boil as the war drags on, and Boil gets more responsibility/the 212th becomes more overworked/Kenobi’s plans get dumber.

Coruscant Guard:

Fox/Thorn/Stone/Thire: The Commanders are all good friends, often meet for drinks when they can, it’s a miracle if they can get more than two of them in one place at once, Thorn and Stone are the worst enablers for acting stupid, which happens more often then you think because they finally get to let their hair down (or not, in the case of Stone) after having to be entirely presentable and polite in front of civilians. Their salt-fests are absolutely on par with Cody and Wolffe’s, and they currently have a backlog of dirt on senators and representatives that the tabloids only dream of getting.

Everyone likes Sandwich Clone

Various Command Clones:

Rex/Wolffe: They’d consider each other friends, but not good friends. Will talk if they’re in the same vicinity, and they like working with each there in a militaristic context.

Rex/Cody: Ride or die, made friends during their initial training and haven’t separated since, really only became closer when they got assigned to their respective Generals, they’ve both seen each other at their absolute worst and have remained friends anyway. Both often talk to each other about their experiences, about what in the world is going on between Skywalker and Kenobi and why are they so cryptic, they complain, they laugh. They miss each other after the Republic falls, no matter the circumstances of their separation.

Rex/Bly: Good friends, will gladly interact if they’re in the area, will go out of their way to meet up if they’re on the same planet and doing so won’t disrupt everyone in the military.

Rex/Fox: They were never on the best terms to begin with, but after the incidents with Ahsoka and Fives, their relationship is especially strained. They’re both mature and don’t seek each other out for conflict. Notably, however, they do share a bond (as well as Wolffe) over their names being animal themed, and will agree with each other that everyone needs to shut the fuck up about it.

Rex/Gree: On chill terms. Acquaintances at their truest form. Will go out with mutual friends and maybe talk then. Gree thinks that Rex needs to chill a bit and Rex thinks that Gree is a bit pretentious but neither find the other actively annoying.

Gree/Monnk: The chillest friends, far less high-strung than most of their friends, Gree can let his metaphorical hair down around Monnk and appreciates it

Wolffe/Cody: Good friends, their salt-fests are legendary, Wolffe calms down a bit around Cody.

Wolffe/Fox: Good friends, not quite ride or die, but they met in training, it was a one in two chance that they either would become friends or hate each other, and they chose the former. Very set in their opinions and said opinions are similar, so they get on okay. Will not back down—they didn’t talk for a solid month while they were training because they had an argument.

Inter-Battalion/Other/Nonclone & Clone:

Hardcase/Waxer: I wrote a fanfic a while ago about them meeting while they were shinies, and I think that while they’d not actively try to keep it up, they’d say hi whenever the 212th and the 501st worked together and they were in those groups.

Most of the Coruscant Guard that’s worked with Senator Amidala can say that they like her and that she treats them with respect, talks to them, and is overall a good human being. It’s seen as an initiation if you guard Amidala and a mission goes wrong/she escalates the situation.

Rex is actually on pretty alright terms with Padme; she’s squeaked a conversation or two out of him, and he finds her a bit idealistic, but overall well-spoken and good to talk to. Padme finds Rex to be polite and more intelligent and awkward than he makes himself out to be.

Rex/Anakin: A rocky relationship in the beginning (they had a period where they didn’t speak save for work), but overall one that they find more comfort in after Ahsoka leaves and Rex loses Fives. Especially when Anakin starts being somewhat more considerate toward everyone else’s skills and lives in his battle plans.

Rex/Ahsoka: Becomes ride or die, they grow close and strong and their relationship barely suffers after having been separated for 20 years, they both feel protective over and so proud of the other, though the trust wasn’t immediately there, especially in the Rebels era, they trusted each other with so much.

Boil & Waxer/Numa: They liked the time they spent with her and miss her a lot. Boil sends a message to the Brils telling Numa that Waxer died. She was sad but keeps up a semi-regular correspondence with Boil after the fact. He appreciates it.

Cutup/Fives: The two liked each other well enough, and Cutup, at least outwardly, was willing to accept that Echo was Fives’ best friend.

Cody/Obi-Wan: A friendship is there, and while the two aren’t best friends and don’t trust each other with everything, both of them know that they don’t, so that makes it balanced. Obi-Wan is a good listening ear for Cody and Cody sometimes yells at his General to get some damn rest. They like having tea or stronger drinks together whenever time permits.

[charity-angel]

On Buns and Ovens (15/?)

[Part 1]   [Part 14]

[Read on AO3]

“Say you’re right,” Skywalker said, rubbing at his temples. “Say this was all set up by Palpatine, what was the ultimate goal here? What’s really going on with the Banking Clan?”

“Gain direct control of the cash-flow,” Wolffe said immediately. “Presumably there’s some evidence that points the finger at shady deals between the bank and the Seppies, so the Senate can take over and no-one will object.”

“He can’t, surely,” Kenobi said, looking up from the mug of tea he was now cradling between his hands. Sabé had thoughtfully provided refreshments – tea for Kenobi and Amidala, and enough caff to float the Redeemer. Sinker had even produced one of Koon’s specialised, atmosphere-locked drinks so that he could join them.

“That would be absurd. The Banking Clan must remain neutral.”

“Actually, it kind of makes sense,” Jesse interjected before anyone else could speak. “If you want to control the galaxy, you need to control the money and the military. If they don’t sort this out now, it would be more difficult to get control once they’ve overturned whichever government they’re getting rid of.”

“The Separatists,” Amidala said. “Not only would it make sense for Palpatine – Sidious – to be in control of the power they intend to remain, but Wolffe is right; we have found evidence pointing to something wrong. The Separatists haven’t been paying interest on their loans from the Banking Clan – they’re getting their money for nothing, and there is also money being siphoned off into… well, we haven’t managed to trace that from the records we have, but I wouldn’t be surprised at this point if they turn out to be Separatist-controlled accounts.”

“But what was the point of the fight?” Ahsoka asked. “I know he wants Skyguy all crazy, but he could have just left well enough alone and let jealousy work its way in. He specifically goaded you so that there would be an actual fight.”

“Senator, what would you have done if Ahsoka hadn’t called us?” Kix asked. “If she hadn’t called me?”

Amidala thought for a moment, staring into the depths of her cup. “I… I would have sent for a med droid. There are some in the building should any of us ever need one. But I don’t see how that helps us: I am much more grateful that you are here, and that things are more out in the open now, but a med droid isn’t going to help us get the information about the mystery accounts.”

“Maybe it could,” Jesse said shrewdly. “I mean, droids can be tampered with. Who’s to say that the droids haven’t been re-programmed to have that information?”

Amidala glared at him. “I know that Clovis is not the most popular person with anyone here, but he isn’t stupid. He would question the validity of any data coming from a source like that. He would never present it to the Senate.”

“Let us return to this particular step later,” Koon suggested. “Were you and Clovis to present hard evidence of underhanded dealings between the Banking Clan and the CIS, what would happen next?”

“The Senate would push for the heads of the Banking Clan to be stripped of their leadership,” Kenobi said. “And the Muuns would support that wholeheartedly – as a whole, they despise dishonesty. It’s why they gained control of the banks in the first place. They would have to install someone neutral as the head – someone supported by the Clan and both senates.”

“Clovis.”

Skywalker started to react to that – everyone saw his face contort before he sagged against the sofa. “Sorry. It’s hard, even knowing that everything in my head has been twisted. But the man’s a traitor to the Republic – there’s no way the Senate would endorse him.”

“They would if he brings this to light,” Amidala said, standing by her prediction. “By doing that, he would prove himself trustworthy. The Separatist Senate is nothing but Dooku these days, so there would be no problems there: he’ll do whatever Sidious tells him. And Clovis was raised by a Muun family – he’s one of them as far as they are concerned. That’s all three bases covered. But having him in power doesn’t benefit the Sith.”

“Not unless they have control of him,” Wolffe suggested darkly.

“Well, there’s a disturbing thought,” Ahsoka said. “The question now is: do we let things get back on schedule, or do we keep things as they are and stress out our resident Sith lord even more than we already have?”

“I vote for stressing,” Skywalker said: “he’s more likely to make a mistake we can take advantage of.”

“That’s true, and ordinarily I would agree with you,” Kenobi responded, “but in this instance I think we need to play things safe. Should we push too many of Sidious’ buttons, he is likely to issue Contingency Order Sixty-Six ahead of whatever schedule he is keeping. We need to find a way to protect the men en masse before we do too much rattling of our gilded cage. And I suspect that may be something you can assist us with, Anakin.”

.oOo.

The decision was fairly unanimous after that: Clovis would be brought into part of the conspiracy – this specific part – and asked if he would play his part in trying to uncover a mole in the Republic Senate. Amidala was confident he would agree, since he wanted his people to be free to act impartially and, more importantly, kept free from the war raging in the rest of the galaxy.

General Koon – a fairly neutral third party – offered to return in the morning to help with Clovis, and was gratefully accepted. As they left 500 Republica, however, he strong-armed Skywalker into allowing him to borrow Kix so that he could work with An’uram, the 104th’s medic in identifying and removing the chips. Kix tried to protest that the healers they had been working with at the temple knew more than he did, but he lost that argument somewhat spectacularly.

And Wolffe was right – traipsing more and more troopers through the Temple would get mightily suspicious quickly, and they didn’t want that. Rotating them through routine medical checks while they were between missions, however, was something to be expected.

Also, it would be good to get his hand in – neither the 501st nor the 212th would be grounded for much longer given that the restrictions had been lifted following Fives’ apparent escape into hyperspace in a malfunctioning shuttle, and it would be good to be able to carry out removing the thrice-damned things from his brothers while they were away.

They all agreed to start in the morning, which would give Kix some time to round up Ryll and get him involved in the chip operations too – Ryll was going to be looking after the whole of the 212th when they shipped out, and it was best if he knew what to do as well.

(Kix had been very grateful to learn that Ryll still had batchmates in the 212th, and that there were a lot of vod’e there who knew their favourite little medic well enough to spot the warning signs of his tremors early enough to get him to stop. He would be looked after there. And probably not get himself shot by a fucking sniper, or blown up, or (honest to the kriffing Force, fucking 212th) eaten by a carnivorous plant.)

.oOo.

Next morning found Ryll and the Zeltron healer, Tayla, joining them in the infirmary of the barracks the 104th were using (right next door to the 212th/501st ones). Bringing the healer was a good idea – she knew the surgery well by now, and ensured that the three clone medics knew the precise technique when it came to their turns. Unsurprisingly, it was the surviving members of the Wolfpack who submitted to the procedure first. Sinker was used as the example, since he already knew of the conspiracy and it seemed unfair to leave him any longer than necessary with that ability to self-trigger the chip.

Kix was given the honour of removing Wolffe’s non-functional chip next. They all agreed that it wasn’t worth the risk leaving it in there, just in case it wasn’t as non-functional as they thought; and Tayla wanted it for her and Awaraven to study. It might hold the key to disabling the lot. Kix doubted it, personally, but anything was worth a shot.

An’uram took Boost, and was as no-nonsense about the removal as he was with anything else.

Ryll was last, removing Comet’s chip. As always, he was as steady as a rock during the surgery, and looked rightfully pleased with himself as he handed over the mass of tissue to be preserved for study.

Before they could make any decisions as to how they were going to go about removing the chips from the rest of the three battalions, the 212th got their marching orders. Ryll gathered up his helmet and asked them to let him know whenever the decision was made.

(It wasn’t going to be made without him; they all knew that. But it was nice that he asked.)

Ahsoka pinged a message through to Kix’s comm a few minutes after Ryll’s departure saying that the bait had been taken. So it had been something to do with the med droid, then? That was the only thing that could have happened this morning, surely? Amidala had summoned the med droid to check on ‘her’ patching up of Clovis last night, make sure that nothing had been missed. The hope had been that things would progress as they were supposed to from there, and it looked like they had been right.

[Part 16]

[kyberled]

The topic of how many steps forwards is he willing to walk? Does he walk forward and then backwards or does he walk backwards then forwards when it comes to walking etc ? ( Tbh I'm sure this made better sense in my head Jay )

Send me a topic and I’ll write a meta about my muse! || Accepting

In terms of posture, his is pretty much perfect - all Jedi are like that, from what I’ve seen. The only ones who slouch often are the ones who are old enough for a cane. This actually makes a lot of sense, considering proper poise lends itself nicely to balance, looking confident, a lack of back problems, and, I’ve been told, poor posture can lead to heart and breathing problems, but, I’m not a doctor, nor was I present when the physiology behind that was explained, so I’m not gonna comment on that one. As an added bonus for Braig, it makes him look taller. Back straight, shoulders back, all that good stuff. Besides, this is Obi-Wan ‘I drink tea with my pinkie out while negotiating my own surrender’ Kenobi’s padason - do you really think Space Dad would let his progeny go slouching about everywhere? That would be uncivilised.

As to how he handles problems, it’s usually pretty head-on. He likes having some sort of plan, and if he knows about something early enough, he’ll make preparations well in advance - but that’s the thing with Braig. He doesn’t make plans, he makes preparations. If he’s being sent to a planet with lots of water, he’ll make sure his sabers have been properly waterproofed, see if he can find a place to work on swimming and fighting underwater, brush up on that planet’s language and culture, and still ask about a million questions once they land, but, that’s the thing - he doesn’t make plans, he makes preparations. He’s not much one for exact ‘go here, do this’, and most plans that are set in stone tend to be ones he goes against, if he thinks it’s for the best. Don’t get me wrong, he’s beyond capable of following orders - you have to, or you wouldn’t make it as a Jedi - but you can bet the instant he heard his men were in danger, he’d do his damnedest to try and help them, though he may still try to stick to his mission, or feel some degree of guilt for abandoning it, but he’d still go to save them, and, if he’d heard someone he cared about was in danger, especially Obi-Wan, he would drop literally everything without a second thought to go to his rescue. I guess, while he is capable of planning, and has proven good enough at strategy to make a name for himself in the Temple’s holochess world, he’s way too emotional to stick to strategies in a crisis. Besides, the way he sees it, there are too many variables in war for set-in-stone plans to be of any practical use, especially when you follow Obi-Wan, and even more so when you follow Obi-Wan and Anakin Skywalker, when everything tends to go the exact opposite of ‘according to plan’- it’s better, Braig thinks, to be able to adapt.

At the same time, he does know the importance of a proper plan, so, again, if he has time, he’s quite capable of coming up with some pretty devious schemes - surprisingly, he’s a pretty cunning kid - or, maybe it’s not so surprising, if you’ve been paying attention. But, like I said, he prefers to prepare, rather than to make a detailed, concrete plan. For example, if he were tasked with retrieving something from an enemy stronghold, he’d study the floor plans and any other information religiously, make sketches in his notebook, and make sure any and all troops have holodiscs with the plans and whatnot on them, too, just in case something happened (again, prepare, not plan), but the briefing for that mission would be… Well, brief. Something like ‘right, here’s the entrance we’re using, this highlighted route is the fastest way to where we’re going, which is here, you lot are coming with me, you’re all going to shoot this area with your fighters when I give the word, here’s what we’re looking for, and here’s the Seppie ass who’s in charge of the place. They tend to employ [X thing said Seppie likes to do] and [Y thing said Seppie likes to do], so watch out for that’, and spend the rest of the time talking about what sort of security measures/dangers/droids/etc they might be likely to encounter - especially for the men who’re going up in the air, since he won’t personally be there to help them out. He thinks it’s more important that he and his men know what threats they might run into and how to disable/destroy them. He feels like having a specific plan, such as ‘we’re going to go down this hallway, turn here, then through here’ and having that route drilled into his men’s heads is a recipe for disaster; What would they do if that hallway were suddenly flooded with droids? Whereas, in his opinion, his way would result in ‘oh, there are the B2s we talked about, that way’s out, I’ll cover you while you check your maps, we’re taking the air ducts on the left and someone call Ooze and Minor to let them know to shift focus to the northern face, and watch out for the towers’ - the sort of plan that can change on a dime without too much fuss, to sum it up. 

As far as smaller, more mundane problems, he usually deals with them pretty head-on. If there’s a riddle Obi-Wan’s left for him in his notebook, he’ll study it as intently as he can, writing out lists of potential answers and weighing the merits of each, even going to the archives, if he thinks the answer might be found in a book. He tends to hyperfocus on some things, though, and can lose track of time pretty easily when working on sabers, riddles, kata, meditation, or anything like that. He usually tries to handle things on his own, for better or worse, but he’s usually able to realise when he’s in over his head. Whether or not he responds accordingly depends on context. I do know that he tends to throw himself entirely at a problem - gives it his 100%, every time - unless it’s something he really doesn’t care about, like, say, cleaning the Temple refreshers. Then, they get ‘meh’ effort at best, but he’ll do just a good enough job that he won’t be asked to re-do it.

It’s a running joke/low-key actual fact that Braig’s somehow managed to charm his way into the hearts of… We’re up to one-third of the Council, now? Space Dad Obi, Mama Ti, Grandpa Mace, Low-Key Uncle Plo… Plus Uncle Vos - not on the Council, but still a powerful ally - Ori’vod Wolffe and Step-Dad Cody, also powerful allies, and all the other Jedi/not-Jedi he’s managed to win over. Trust me, he’s just as confused about how this happened as you are - but, as I’ve said before, he doesn’t actually like calling on this accumulated influence unless he feels like he has absolutely no other choice. Even then, he tries to keep things small - just tell one person, usually Obi-Wan, about the problem, and go from there. But, again, he tends to try to deal with things alone, so, in most cases, the help comes in the form of people realising he’s in a bit of a mess, and stepping in of their own accord.

Hope this is what you were looking for, I kinda just word-dumped. ( ^ ^ ;) If you want anything specified, let me know!!

[thisdaynews]

A DIY Border Wall Rises in the Desert

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/a-diy-border-wall-rises-in-the-desert/

A DIY Border Wall Rises in the Desert

SUNLAND PARK, N.M. — Down a bumpy dirt road, past a dozen “No Trespassing” signs, two amateur sentries in neon safety vests guarded the way to a giant symbol of Trump-era politics rising up from the Chihuahuan Desert.

After one of the guards Armando asked our business and radioed someone called Viper, telling him to “stand down,” we were waved through a makeshift checkpoint and onto the site where supporters of President Donald Trump have built hundreds of yards of border wall on private land overlooking the Rio Grande.

Story Continued Below

What began in December as a quixotic online crowdfunding effort to get Trump’s promised “big, beautiful wall” built has turned into a physical barrier constructed under the direction of influential right-wing immigration opponents. On Wednesday, its backers demonstrated the wall to a handful of reporters, showing off the structure in all its steel-and-concrete glory ahead of an official ribbon-cutting ceremony on Thursday.

Its organizers insist their version of the wall is a feasible model for securing hundreds of miles of southern border. Its critics call it a xenophobic scam. The fact that the effort has gotten to this point at all suggests a different and broader truth: That in the Trump era, the line between a surreal stunt and an important political development can be extremely blurry.

On Wednesday, former Kansas Secretary of State Kris Kobach offered a tour of the wall — at one point scrambling over crumbling hillside to demonstrate the difficulty of passing the terrain — while negotiating with local officials over a permitting issue that threatened to derail construction.

At the same time, Kobach has been overseeing legal aspects of the project, now housed under a nonprofit called We Build the Wall, he has been negotiating with the White House over a possible appointment as the nation’s actual “immigration czar,” a potential newpost that could give him vast influence over the federal bureaucracy.

Last week, The New York Times reported a list of Kobach’s conditions for accepting the job, which included 24/7 access to a government plane and were reportedly viewed as presumptuous by some inside the administration. On Wednesday, Kobach defended those conditions. “If you’re serious about solving this problem you’ve got to have a position that has the authority and the tools to solve the problem,” he told me.

He also said he is “99 percent” certain he knows who leaked the list, though he did not offer any names.

Kobach said he last spoke to Trump about the wall project in the Oval Office three weeks ago, and that the president drilled him on the technical specifications, expressing special interest in their model’s anti-climbing features, a set of horizontal steel plates covering the tops of the wall’s vertical slats. “Are you going to paint it?” Kobach recalled the president asking him.

The wall stands on the same stretch of border where an armed militia group, the United Constitutional Patriots, was recently detaining migrants as they enter the United States. Kobach and other leaders of the wall project said they are not associated with the militias and do not condone armed vigilante action. They argue that putting up walls will put such groups “out of business.”

But his disavowals have not been entirely embraced by the movement. “I don’t support that sort of activity—yet,” said conservative pundit David Clarke, a former sheriff of Milwaukee County, Wisconsin, who works on public outreach for the project. “I’m real close,” said Clarke, who said that if there is not a more significant migration crackdown by the end of Trump’s first term, he would endorse vigilante action.

There also appears to be some intermingling of the militia group and the wall efforts. We Build the Wall has shared footage shot by the group online, and people associated with the group continue to make appearances at the site of the private wall project, despite intense scrutiny of the militia’s activities.

On Wednesday evening, Jim Benvie, previously the spokesman for the United Constitutional Patriots, and now with a splinter group called the Guardian Patriots, showed up at the construction site. Benvie took issue with the group being described as “militia” or “vigilante.” He said the groups operated legally and complained that media coverage of the groups had been misleading. “There is a big difference between carrying a gun and pointing a gun,” he said.

Further blurring the lines between government and private efforts, Border Patrol vehicles constantly whizzed around the property.

The contractor building the private wall section, Fisher Industries, is using it as a show project in the hope of winning government contracts. We Build the Wall organizers said they designed the wall with input from Border Patrol agents, whose charge includes patrolling private land on the border.

A spokesman for Customs and Border Patrol said that Fisher Industries had notified the agency of the project. “It is not uncommon for vendors to undertake demonstrations of their capabilities utilizing their own resources,” said the CBP spokesman. “ We encourage all interested vendors to compete for border barrier contracts through established mechanisms to ensure any construction is carried out under relevant federal authorities and meets USBP operational requirements for border barrier.”

Along with Benvie and various We Build the Wall organizers, members of the media, laborers, and assorted activists milled about amid heavy construction equipment as large SUVs and pickup trucks came and went around the sprawling site. The property abuts Monument One, a white obelisk that marks the point where Mexico, New Mexico and Texas all meet.

Jeff Allen, co-owner of the brick company that owns the land, patrolled the property but declined to be interviewed, saying his words had been “twisted every time” he spoke to the media.

Susan Moore, 56, a retired EMS worker, strode around the site with a .45 revolver strapped to her hip, collecting signatures for two petitions, one advocating a border wall and another opposing a New Mexico state measure to impose stricter background checks on gun purchases. Asked how she connected with the wall-builders, Moore, a member of a Tea Party-type group called New Mexico Patriots, offered just a one-word response. “Networking,” she said, and left it at that.

Members of “Angel Families,” a group made up of relatives of those killed by undocumented immigrants that Trump regularly invokes, also toured the site.

The project began in December as a GoFundMe campaign started by Florida man Brian Kolfage, a decorated Air Force veteran who had operated conspiratorially minded right-wing websites that were banned from Facebook. Kolfage initially intended the money for the Treasury Department, to be earmarked for wall construction, but after discovering this was not legally feasible, he established a nonprofit to build the border wall on private land with a roster of anti-immigration figures that included Blackwater founder Erik Prince, former Colorado GOP Rep. Tom Tancredo and retired major league pitcher Curt Schilling, now a right-wing radio personality.

On Memorial Day, the group revealed on “Fox and Friends” that it had begun construction on this parcel of land. That news prompted the mayor here to issue a cease-and-desist order on Tuesday, which by Wednesday evening had been resolved with an agreement to obtain permits and resume construction. The hubbub renewed national media interest in the project.

In an interview on CNN on Wednesday, Democratic presidential candidate Beto O’Rourke — a former Texas congressman whose El Paso district sits right over the Texas side of the border from the private wall, and who often praises the benefits of exchange with Mexico — was asked about the project. “I think what you do on your private property, including building a wall, is your business, so good for them,” O’Rourke said, while reiterating his opposition to a federally constructed wall.

On Thursday, POLITICO reported that Trump was considering new asylum rules that would block Central American migrants from entering the U.S., and Trump, on Twitter, threatened to slap tariffs on Mexico until it halted the flow of Central American migrants through its territory.

At the wall site, the contingent of guards at the site’s entrance doubled to four on Thursday, and one was armed. Construction had resumed and dozens of laborers worked at the top of the wall, while at its base, organizers covered the concrete in front of the wall in red carpet and held a ribbon-cutting ceremony.

Trump’s estranged former chief strategist, Steve Bannon, who serves as chairman of We Build the Wall’s advisory board, had been scheduled to attend Thursday’s ribbon-cutting, but by email he said he was still in London. On Wednesday, the Guardian reported that Bannon was quoted in Michael Wolff’s new book as saying Trump will be brought down by financial investigations that reveal “He is just another scumbag.”

“This wall exemplifies the ‘can-do’ spirit of the American people,” wrote Bannon in an email. He did not address a request for comment on the Wolff quotes.

Mary Newman contributed to this report.

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