#at the center of wolffe is that fact that he really really wants nothing more than to protect his family

[jedi-enthusiast]

I'm bored, so here is how I'd fix 'The Bad Batch.'

Caveat: Obviously I would've preferred a show centered around clones like Rex, Cody, Fox, Wolffe, Echo, etc. instead of some random "special" clones we've literally never heard of, but that's not what we got so I'm making a post about what we have to work with. Also, obviously I'm not gonna cover every issue about the show, these are just the main things I'd change.

1. Un-whitewash them. In fact, un-whitewash all of the clones, but that's a given.

In the same vein, though, have them actually look like clones. It makes like 0 sense for them to have to hide or have to wear disguises or what have you to hide the fact that they're clones...when they don't look like clones.

I'm gonna be honest, if they weren't introduced as clones in the show, then I wouldn't have had any idea that they were clones. They look nothing like Temura Morrison or the other clones. Fix that.

Or, hell, if people are absolutely dead set on them looking different, have them hate the fact that they look different from the other clones rather than making them think they're so much better than everyone else.

Sure the Kaminoans might've said something or other about them being "better" then the other clones, due to their modifications, but they're also just as likely to have said something negative about them looking different since they want things to be uniform---not to mention that their "special modifications" probably got more attention on them from the Kaminoans, which would obviously be something that sucked ass and probably got them in more trouble/gave them more restrictions.

I feel like it'd be more plausible for them to want to blend in and not want that extra attention- (and everything that comes with it) -rather than them having a whole complex about being "so much better" than everyone else. Especially considering that, generally speaking, their modifications don't really seem to make them any more "special" than anyone else.

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2. Get rid of the animosity between TBB and the rest of the clones. It makes no fucking sense.

No more of the "regs" bullshit, no more of TBB not giving a shit about other clones, no more of the bullying that apparently went on on Kamino. None of that shit.

The whole "oh the regs bullied TBB because they looked different, boo hoo" thing doesn't even make fucking sense!!! 99 looked different than all the other clones and they fucking loved him! Not to mention the importance that the clones place on individuality, distinction, and being yourself---it makes no sense for looks, of all things, to be something the other clones make fun of TBB for!!

And, honestly, given how TBB consistently talked about/treated the "regs," I'm more willing to believe that the other clones started "bullying" them in retaliation to TBB calling them "expendable" and acting like they were so much better than them.

But, that's besides the point, anyway-

Have TBB actually care about the other clones, have them be close, have TBB have more than blank faced reactions to finding out their brothers are being mind controlled---actually have them give a shit and want to help, but they're unable to.

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1. In the same vein, get rid of the animosity Crosshair has with the rest of TBB. It makes no fucking sense, given the direction they're trying to take with the show.

It definitely makes no sense for them to have this whole plot/conflict thing about "saving Crosshair" when none of them actually seem to like each other.

In fact, make the whole team actually seem like they like each other---right now they seem like strangers who barely tolerate each other that just got locked inside a 7/11 together. If there's gonna be a show centered around them, that's gonna try and sell the idea that they care about each other or whatever, actually make it seem like it!!

Have them have more emotions about being separated from Crosshair, have them fuck up a mission on accident because they forgot he wasn't there, have them be more than just "😐" at everything, for the love of fuck.

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3. Instead of making them boring characters that are basically just stereotypes + a one-dimensional version of Echo, give them actual personality.

Also, assuming they keep the abilities the same, let their abilities actually affect them negatively instead of just being a way for them to one up everyone.

Hunter - Give him a habit of being overly anxious. He's supposed to be a leader and he's supposed to be close to his team, so have him be worried about making a wrong decision so he often overthinks things to make sure that doesn't happen. Have him look up to Cody and maybe try to emulate him, since Cody seems to take sort of "older brother" vibes when he's around other people, people just seem to look to him for answers- (yeah because he's Marshal Commander, but also let me just have this). Give Hunter sensory issues, have him get uncomfortable and irritable and upset when things get to be too much.

Wrecker - Instead of making him "stupid, childish, and strong," actually make him smart---he's supposed to be a demolitions expert, so he's not just gonna be a dumbass. Also, maybe make him really protective over everyone and self-sacrificing, believing that he's the strongest so he can take the things that everyone else can't---have him be reckless, not because he's stupid, but because he doesn't want his brothers- (including the "regs") -to do the same thing and get hurt. Give him chronic pain. It hurts to grow and he had to grow a lot more than the others---plus, with all the injuries he's endured from protecting the others, he's bound to have been a little fucked up by those.

Tech - They wanna make him autistic coded? Great, we need more representation, but don't feed into stereotypes this time. Make him smart when it comes to his interests---engineering, technology, etc---but then also have him be lost when it comes to things that aren't in his areas of interest, don't make him know everything because that's not realistic. Maybe give him anxiety when it comes to social situations, me and a lot of other autistic people I know get anxious because we don't know what's "right" and "wrong" in social situations, let him actually have anxiety related to his social awkwardness instead of him just- 😐 -all the time. Have him be curious about things related to his interests and prone to rambling about them---let him be excited to tell other people what he knows instead of just saying- "I thought it was obvious." I'm not really sure what Tech's special ability is supposed to be other than just "smart," so let's just say he has an eidetic memory or something. Give him insomnia. Again, me and a lot of autistic people I know have trouble sleeping, and also let him have stress related to everyone always looking to him for the answers---let him mess up and feel guilty about messing up because "he's supposed to know everything/be the smart one."

Crosshair - Don't just make him an asshole who's always looking for a fight---maybe just make him quiet but with a sarcastic sense of humor, that way it's a lot more shocking when he starts speaking up against Hunter. Let him also be anxious in social situations since he doesn't know how to navigate them, let him look to Hunter or Cody for cues on what to do. Instead of basically saying "let's leave Echo for dead, he's just a reg" in TCW, maybe have him be vocally supportive of Rex whenever someone else shows doubt---have him understand not wanting to leave someone behind, have him care deeply about his brothers, and then let that make it hit so much harder when TBB has to leave him on Kamino. He's supposed to be The Best Sharshooter Ever due to genetic engineering? Great, give him eye problems. Make really bright lights hurt him, so he has to wear his helmet to make things easier on his eyes---maybe have him struggle with seeing things really close to him.

Echo - JUST GIVE ME TCW ECHO BACK, AND LET HIM ACTUALLY HAVE PTSD FFS

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4. Finally, change the direction of the story.

Make more of their story center around trying to help Rex save their brothers and try to figure out how to stop the Empire, not just them apparently having the world’s worst luck and being shitty bounty hunter knock-offs. When Rex asks them to help the Rebellion/their brothers/whatever, have them agree to help and go with him rather than Hunter basically just saying- "welp, that sucks ig, but I only care about my fellow "special" clones, so nah."

Have them join the Rebellion and help Rex free the other clones, use the show to give us a deeper look into the clones---what sort of culture they would’ve developed, the complicated relationship they would’ve had with the Republic, etc.

Give us episodes that center around Gregor, Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Rex, etc. and give us insight into what their lives were like after the Empire took over, rather than just having this show about a random group of "special clones" basically copying the style of The Mandalorian.

[amorfista]

I'm so glad I waited to read this💕 Because it's so precious Duch. This is the kind of relationship you guys deserve. It's silly, and it's playful, and sexy, and full of love. I'm happy for you and proud that you wrote this ♥ "It was him who always waited past their scheduled meditation hours just so he could tell you he found a hive of bees that he thought you’d like" Right here sir, this is where the melting started 🫠

“I mean just look at that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby face!!!! And those cute wittle (little), itty, bitty, tusks on that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby cheeks!!!— Eeeek!!! “ I'm with you Duch. Right there with you 🥴

The day that I do not melt at this face is the day you should shoot me in the face. Because jesus christ. If that smile isn't the most precious thing I've ever seen. Every time I see it all I can feel is joy and an inexplicable need TO GRAB THOSE CHUBBY CHEEKS. Anyway.

"A very dignified ‘heh’ that sends a jolt of current through your veins as if to remind you how truly electrifying it is to be this close to this Kel Dor god of a man who should have his hands preoccupied all over you rather than some stupid datapad." How powerful is this man??😩😩 ❤️‍🔥

"After all, Plo had frequently insisted you be at the utmost comfort and to feel at home even at the temple or the Wolve’s Den." Whoops Plo, your words being used slightly against you? too bad hihiihi😌

"...if he would just start making those exuberantly hot Kel Dor noises from the other night when he was busy with himse—"

UHMMM YES????!!!!! PLEASE ELABORATE!!??

"Not that having a glimpse of a very slickened tip and a few ridges brought your soul to ascend to the heavens, but his ever-so-impassive response was truly astounding." His fault. Honestly if he asked calmly (not Dumbledore "calmly") given such a situation, IS HE REALLY BOTHERED TO BE CAUGHT? No sir.

"the metallic contraption that obscured not only his eyes but the lower chambers of his face brushes along your skin. You could hear the antiox mask churn and sustain life as he hovers intimately close over your neck that the protrusions from his facial anatomy grazing your skin feels divine. " MURDERED. OBLITERATED. I need Plo to do this to me thankkksssss😇🥰

Oh. OH. Of course. He's purring now🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠 alright i need some air, i don't think this can get any be- "That or the fact that you knew, he was packing a solid 13-inches."

BESTIE WHAT

"while both Comet and his ashen-haired comrade, pelted each other with what appears to be washable paint bombs inside GAR-approved “rubbers”." Innocent clone fun, nothing to see here.

"With a tap on the darkened screen, the device lights up to show a very creatively made collage of middle fingers forming a shape of a heart, with your face at the center and poorly scribbled lines that were ambigrams of the words bestie and bitchie." HAHAHAHAH WOLFFE MATCHING DUCH'S ENERGY PERFECTLY ❤️‍🔥 I LOVE IT SO MUCH

"Unsatisfactory as your answer was, you did no better than ‘Mmm..’ seeing as you’ve become no more than a babbling, groaning, gasp-stifling, mess with every feel of Plo’s hips gyrating wantonly upon yours that he could trace the clothed folds of your lingerie with the strained tent between his own." Okay alright I am a hot mess rn. no words just. 🥴😳🥴😳 <3!

“Your father thinks we’re married because you drunkenly said we were when Sha was born. You went on about having clutches upon clutches to strengthen the Koon bloodline and for a moment that day, I thought I was seeing two Ziars.” Plo sweetheart, stop denying yourself the pleasure to call Duch your waffly wedded wife. You want to, she knows you want to, Daddy Z knows.

"“Assertively? My dearest, it was invasively saccharine even for my taste.” " Alright, Plo is just flexing words at this point 🤓

"Plo groaned and sat up, giving your rear a very uncharacteristic squeeze and pat before rising to his feet." 👀 NICE!??? I WANT MORE OF THOSE.

"“One of these days, dear husband, I’m gonna have to kiss those lips of yours and there’s nothing that could stop me from doing so.”" Okay I want to cry and i need to know more I need this to happen alright? Nothing personal, actually yes, very personal. Please let this happen in the future 🥺? tyy<3

"Part of you swore he was grinning behind that mask of his at the thought.

He was."

OF COURSE HE WAS. BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND I LOVE THIS SO MUCH TOO​🥺​​🥺​​🥺​​💓💓💓

[ρℓσ∂υ¢н] єℓє¢тяι¢ ℓσνє:

¢нαρтєя ι: тнє ιиνιтє

Summary: Ziar Koon, Plo Koon's father, is hosting a celebratory gathering to commemorate the newly established hatchery as part of rebuilding Mother Dorin after a separatist attack a year ago. That said, Plo Koon is expected to be at the event and with you being the known closest to Plo, he is expected to have you by his hand during the ceremony.

Pairing: Plo Koon / OC/Reader (pre-established relations)

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: Smutty if you squint. Rated D for Duch(ess) whatever that means.

Notes: This is supposed to be a second installment of Somewhere Over We Know but I don't really know what happened and I wanted to play with my OC so, pretend you're my OC, maybe? Dedicated to @saengak and @amorfista for helping me build my character and indulging the sanity of my constant thirst for Plo Koon and all fuckable Kel Dors out there. Contains so much inside joke, it's disgusting. Glossary || Additional details: Alright Aphrodite - The equivalent of inviting the other for some steamy, unbridled lovemaking session in a more inconspicuous manner. Egg Economy of Dorin - Population. Babies. You get it. Ziar Koon - Plo Koon's father and known tycoon of the Egg Economy in Dorin. rubbers - Condoms. Yes, they were playing with GAR-issued condoms.

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Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: You/OC/Reader Blue: Memory Purple: Me, because I have no self-control to self-insert myself whenever Plo and Kel Dors are mentioned. I'm sorry >:

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

“Why are you so darn cute, Plo? Cutest little Kel Dor baby I have ever seen in my entire kriffin life.”

It wasn’t as if you’d only recently  been acquainted with the highly revered and cherished Master Jedi of the 104th Battalion, but never a day is there that existed in which you simply could not resist the charm of your beloved childhood friend, confidant, and husband — only if there was an official event to accompany that claim and he was actually there in your makeshift wedding that resided in your head since the day you met, then yes; husband. 

But he doesn’t need to know about that now; what matters is that you’ve become such an invasive presence in Plo Koon’s life at an early stage, that you’re practically married at the hip — distance be damned. Then again, it was him who always waited past their scheduled meditation hours just so he could tell you he found a hive of bees that he thought you’d like; or that he’d finish up his tasks and ask Master Tyvvoka if he could show you scriptures intended only for young Padawans, reasoning that you are in ‘dire need’ of teachings and that you were really interested — in him, not really the Order, but it’s basically the same thing, right?

And so here you are yet again, trailing behind your most favorite sentient in the galaxy like a moth to a flame — an always incandescent beacon in the darkest hours of need. And by the stars in the skies, you needed no one else but him and him alone. Well, him and now little versions of him because Papa Ziar, Plo’s father, had graciously bestowed upon you an old photo of his young boy. Your presence at the newly established hatchery seems to have brought upon a planet-wide desire to re-populate Dorin after a separatist attack a year ago that had impaled the Egg Economy in which Papa Koon happens to be completely perfervid of. 

“I mean just look at that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby face!!!! And those cute wittle (little), itty, bitty, tusks on that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby cheeks!!!— Eeeek!!! “

[ Art / Concept by @justalittletomato �� ]

A non-threatening screech but a screech nonetheless, you’ve once more merited an indignant turn of the head from Plo; whether it was due to the fact that you’ve pried his attention from a pertinent matter on the datapad clutched between his talons, or that you’ve simply been diverting his thoughts elsewhere and had resulted in accomplishing nothing.

[ Art / Concept by @justalittletomato ♥ ]

“I could just gobble you right up, babylove!”

Your voice softens and it is that look that would always have you biting your lip and grinning all frilly and smitten. So you whisper, just enough for him to hear and for the creases of his brow to relax and merit an exasperated yet amused sigh in response. 

“Nomnomnomnomnom!!!” 

You take a step closer, ducking under his arm and taking a mouthful of his robes into a bite as you lovingly gazed and basked in the rare display of Plo’s very tamed chuckle. A very dignified ‘heh’ that sends a jolt of current through your veins as if to remind you how truly electrifying it is to be this close to this Kel Dor god of a man who should have his hands preoccupied all over you rather than some stupid datapad.

But alas, we can never have it all. At least not yet.

“Quite fortunate that I have a thick hide, then.” Plo replies, tucking an arm over the small of his back, careful not to drop the device. “Well, go on then. Pray tell what it is that you obviously have the need to share, my little love.” 

You took a deep breath latched yourself onto his side, arms seeking his free hand and wrapping it over your waist to get all comfy. After all, Plo had frequently insisted you be at the utmost comfort and to feel at home even at the temple or the Wolve’s Den.

And so you did.

Seeing as Plo Koon is your ‘home’, comfort entails being as tepid as you can with the warmth of centuries-long friendship and maybe some other kind of heat if he would just start making those exuberantly hot Kel Dor noises from the other night when he was busy with himse—.

“Duchess.” 

Oh good lord, have mercy. The equivalent of an eyebrow raise from a Kel Dor is more than enough to make these knees so damn weak. 

“Right. Business as usual.” 

You titter, beguiled by the magnetic imagery of how Plo, in all his baronial manner of handling delicate situations, covered himself in such a dignified and unshaken fashion that the gallance in which he had calmly asked you why you were once more sneaking into his chambers left you breathless. Not that having a glimpse of a very slickened tip and a few ridges brought your soul to ascend to the heavens, but his ever-so-impassive response was truly astounding.

Like his dick.

“So.” You pause, ushering the two of you to walk; your arm slithered over his waist and your free hand in motion to emphasize the exigent need of his attendance. “Papa Ziar will be launching yet again a new hatchery. Him and your brothers at the Baran Do requests that you join us in celebration of our continuous rebuild of Mother Dorin.”  

It would have been difficult for anyone to procure thought from Plo’s masked visage, but you know him enough to know not only whether it was a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, but whether he was amicable to attend. The problem was how oppressive his silence can be, — oppressive enough to make you feel so small and foolish for even asking.

Panicked with a soft whine of worry, you slouched in disappointment and dislodged yourself to a respectful distance from him. Your tone betrays your anxiety into a disheartened response. “I mean you don’t really have to and … Well, Papa Z sort of said it was a long shot since you’re… you know.. Busy all the time.”

“And…?” Came the throaty, richness of his voice; talon-clad hand beckoning you back to his side by a firm grip on your pelvis. 

“Aaaaaaand… I said I will tryyyyyyyyy…. to at least ask if you’re free…?” You reply with so much incertitude, your eyes squinted as if it would provide some form of clarity.

“Mhm. And?” Replied Plo, leaning more towards the direction of your cheek; the metallic contraption that obscured not only his eyes but the lower chambers of his face brushes along your skin. You could hear the antiox mask churn and sustain life as he hovers intimately close over your neck that the protrusions from his facial anatomy grazing your skin feels divine. 

And though that alone was enough to make your skin crawl with so much delight and your knees buckle at an instant, it’s the sound that always got you into a trance of complete surrender. 

The first time you heard Plo purr in his prime had you blushing so hard, he thought you were ill. You were such at a loss for words that you swore on Mother Dorin and Mother Celestia (your homeworld) that you were possessed by some sort of primal god, disposing you to unleash upon all things carnal onto your beloved Kel Dor friend with unabashed shame and dire need to appease through debauchery. That part of you pondered the soothing reverberation to that of a playful or a cordial greet akin to a warm embrace, but no — perhaps it didn’t help that you’ve had this inclination towards Kel Dors or maybe, just maybe, it had always been that love you have for Plo that borders friendship to something more?

That or the fact that you knew, he was packing a solid 13-inches. Tomatoe- tomato. 

Oh, the things you would do to have him take you right here, right now —

“And….?” Plo’s talons had now dug little love burrows onto your skin and by the gods, did that made you moan a soft whimper. A little more of that and you’d be pining for Plo and you weren’t about that life to get easily swayed by your charming someday-somewhen-future husband, in the guise of him not being able to attend your someday-somewhen-future father-in-law's party. No, sir — No, ma’am.

You took a deep breath and willed all you could muster against the enchanting dalliance of Plo being a certified, flirtatious dick instead of just saying ‘No’ because he knows you could always make up for his absence in alleviating Ziar’s sorrowful dramatics. 

You can’t really blame him. Having your father muse about grandkids fully knowing that it was a unanimous decision between the Koons and the Baran do Sages to send their precious son to become a Jedi was an admittance to celibacy and grandchildless-future. Ziar was fortunate enough that the chances had tipped the scale upon hearing that you and Plo are in a non-marital-marital betrothal; yes, in whatever context that would make sense, the answer is simply ‘yes’.

You moaned again, over the cold weight of the rebreather onto the side of your neck and the fact that your weight was completely on him. To which he responded with a much firmer grip on your waist, a lean of his head and an impatient look from the usually calm and collected Jedi. 

“You do realize that it is I who is in need of convincing to attend to my father’s call, yes?” 

“For a Jedi, you’ve always been so impatient with me, Plo.” You reply, placing your palm over his face and pushing yourself off the adhesive bond that is you and Plo Koon. Parting, finally, you adjusted your clothing and reached out to iron the ruffled robes on his person. “Daddy Z might have made a certain announcement on behalf of us, babylove.” Your face scrunches, clearly apologizing on behalf of Ziar’s overzealous impulses.

“Let me guess, another faux pregnancy?” Plo replies abruptly, sighing exasperatedly as dragged his hand over his mask briefly as if to reconsider not showing up. “Sending you off to some clinic for a miscarriage claim at the proper cycle to be less inconspicuous?” Frustration now evident as Plo held his arm in a motion for you to follow, turning to the next corner as you both entered the Den. 

“I simply cannot comprehend why you spoil him at every whim.” 

Plo marched on ahead of you towards his chambers while you offered a short wave at Warthog who was helping himself at the caf dispenser while holding a leash knotted around Comet’s waist. Boost rubbed the back of his neck anxiously with a smile as if to apologize on behalf of the chaos that is within the Den. Sinker, who also has a leash knotted around his waist tied to Boost’s wrist while both Comet and his ashen-haired comrade, pelted each other with what appears to be washable paint bombs inside GAR-approved “rubbers”.

“You’re not some pet he could parade with, little love. You’re welcome to say ‘No’.” 

In comes Wolffe perched at the sofa with his own datapad illuminating that delicious, silver-cybernetic eye of his that would, should they heed your warning, fall upon your merciless grasp as your new plaything. Your fascination towards Commander Wolffe’s eye replacement grows exponentially strong with each visit.

His gaze follows suit, studying the chase of a displeased Kel Dor Master Jedi ‘kindly’ storming ahead of you and his, to Wolffe’s own affectionate coin of endearment for you, unhinged-little-bitch-wife strutting along.

You trotted to bridge the distance between you and the agitated Plo Koon, pausing only to motion for a fist to roll alongside the other (fist) facing upward. And as you turn the imaginary knob that is your upright fist, your middle finger slowly ascends to full attention to match a very spirited and gratified smile.

All of which Wolffe, dignified Commander of the 104th Battalion known as the Wolfpack, slowly replied by holding his datapad over his chest and slowly turning it in your direction. With a tap on the darkened screen, the device lights up to show a very creatively made collage of middle fingers forming a shape of a heart, with your face at the center and poorly scribbled lines that were ambigrams of the words bestie and bitchie.

The both of you shared a silent chuckle before you ran off after Plo.

***

“Darling… This is a serious matter.” 

So he says, leaning further onto the armchair and pushing his hips forward to meet your touch, palms falling onto each arm of the single-seat sofa. You hear him chunter as the tip of your boot press lightly upon the affirmation of want and consent — you’ve ‘fooled’ around more than enough that you know Plo rarely instigates these ‘things’. He would never be so bold as to ask for a bit of respite from a disconcerting situation, but would never one to decline an offer either. Makes you wonder if these repressed Jedis indulge in nights of estranged passion in the underworld —  you say ‘repressed Jedis’, but your focus leans to whether Plo has been pandering to the needs of the flesh through other sentients; unfavorable, but… oh how, sinfully kinky. 

“Mhm.. Very serious indeed.” You reply, unable to contain a simper of sorts. “Very, very, serious indeed.” You add — both to your response and pressure upon his the emergent, true Blade of Dorin.

[ This one's for you bestie, may the Blade of Dorin smite you ♥ ]

You lean back with your weight supported by a palm firm on the bed, while the other had begun daintily traversing the now exposed sternum as fingers unclipped the buttons of your blouse. “Truly a para… mount of a conundrum, my hot, sexy, grumpy, old Kel Dor of a god — Ooof!”

Perhaps now would be the time to thank the Force and his Jedi training in spite of their No-Attachment rule because clearly, training has done well in keeping the vigor of Plo Koon’s inner-mischief in check only for the opportune moment. So yes, thank the Force and the Jedi training that this often reserved and proper Jedi sees  the situation fit for mischief.

“Claws, Plo! Claws! Cla— unf~!”

Stars, bless those claws of his that found your neck in such a swift motion, you were already drenched the moment those spurs of his burrowed a little too deep onto your skin and your breath cut for hot fucking minute. Flustered and gasping under touch as he dragged you to the center of the bed, mounting your hips before pinning your wrists over that beautiful crown of yours.

“Quite a consequential predicament indeed.” Plo replies, keeling to press the cold, stannic mask onto the side of your neck and once more peppering your senses with the susurrating tone of his voice and that dark musk of tea, cum, and war.

“Mm…” Came your weak, pathetic reply that no one should ever fault you for as you squirmed under the weight of this Master Jedi who has inculcated a most promising attempt to extract your truest intention as to why, of the many events hosted by Ziar Koon, you were quite insistent on having him attend.

Unsatisfactory as your answer was, you did no better than ‘Mmm..’ seeing as you’ve become no more than a babbling, groaning, gasp-stifling, mess with every feel of Plo’s hips gyrating wantonly upon yours that he could trace the clothed folds of your lingerie with the strained tent between his own.

He knew what he was doing. You also knew that he knew that you knew what he was doing. In fact, there’s so much knowing between the two of you, you were starting to doubt the knowledge of knowing that he knew that you knew that he knew what he was doing and whether it was going to work or not was up to him — his dick, yet again, but essentially him.

The power he has over you is beyond comprehension that there would be banter about Plo being low-key sith with the shameful number of times he would use himself as an advantage over you. That this manipulative tactician of a Kel Dor man under the guise of a Jedi would have no qualms touching you in places that would have your resolve crumble to an irreparable state and still have the audacity, the gull, the heaven-blessed balls, to ask you if you were ‘alright’. 

Another moan as the grip on your neck tightens and his motions were deliberately slow and sensual. His breath now heavy and devoid of the purpose of extrapolating ‘whatever’ it was that pertained to his father’s upcoming launch. His focus solely on you as you hear him asseverate a licentious need with an audible series of clicks, aka Kel Dor Sex Noises.

“A…Al… Alright Ap..hrodite…?”

You’ve never hated yourself with such fervor until now for denying the both of you what would have been a day of existentially altering, grand-dicking of your life because as much as you want every inch and ridge of Plo Koon, the fate of Dorin’s Egg Economy hangs in the balance. Simply because like any Baran Do Sage in Dorin, Papa Ziar is as equally dramatic and happens to have a wild tendency of being sour even at his own hosted gatherings. And knowing fully that you might have exaggerated saying ‘yes’ to Ziar the other day, the success of the launch and the face of Koons hangs in the balance.

“I’m sorry, baby… No ‘Alright Aphrodite’ today.” Came your morose return, meriting a counter of a sigh from Plo. You feel his weight shift heavier atop your smaller frame, lax and untensed as he keeps his face buried onto the side of your neck. Retracting his talon-clad hand and sliding then underneath your back in an engulfing embrace of a pre-repose Plo Koon, sensing the tranquil pattern of his breathing.

“If you come then maybe Yes ‘Alright Aphrodite’ ~”. Pitching the idea of sex — no, lovemaking, with Plo when you’re obviously the one constantly starved for him remains a refreshing thought. Though this would not have been the first of many instances of having to deny Plo, you were reaching the same count of him denying you pleasure because duty beckons him like the whore to a harem as much as you are to Ziar’s whims.

“Very well.” Plo replies and before you could put a word in, he adds. “But please refrain from indulging my father with the promise of grandchildren. I am yet to provide a compelling stand as to why I remain unmarried — not due to the Order’s denunciation over attachment as implications of marriage and childbearing, but simply because it is untimely.” He takes a deep breath before disentangling himself to lie beside you. “My father is stubborn… As I am, it seems.” A short yet warm chuckle escapes his masked visage at the memory of home.

“All the more reasons to come, babylove.” You muse, propping on your elbow to turn at him sideways. “Your father thinks we’re married because you drunkenly said we were when Sha was born. You went on about having clutches upon clutches to strengthen the Koon bloodline and for a moment that day, I thought I was seeing two Ziars.” With an assuring half smile, you roll onto your stomach pouting, turning his head with a delicate, pale finger over his jaw. “And you say I’m unhinged, hmm?” 

“You are, little love.” Plo snorted. “Because I recall after making such claims, you and my father were overzealously discussing measurements and term cycles of Kel Dor gestation and whether if you had taken me to bed that night or the morning after, you asked how soon you could start birthing the new sons and daughters of Dorin.” 

“Oh, right, right, right.” You nodded with brows furrowed, recollecting Sha’s Hatchling Party. “Well, I never got the answer because your father started making appointments to have me ‘checked’ for Kel Dor birthing compatibility and frankly…. It was assertively… sweet.”

“Assertively? My dearest, it was invasively saccharine even for my taste.” 

“Does that mean you won’t leave high and dry with Papa Ziar and come as my husband?”

“My love, we are not married.”

“Rude — ouch.” You glared at him, shaking your head and rolling your eyes while he chuckled knowing it was a jab and a jest in one; a true display of a Kel Dor’s morbid humor of sorts. “Obviously, we’re not married and we won’t seem as such if you say it like that.”

“Ah — my apologies, little love. And what words should befall my person?”

“You’re supposed to say; Duchess, ethereal goddess of my abysmal need of carnal release and unearthly pleasure that only your supple temple of a body can satiate, we are not married… YET.”

“‘Carnal release and unearthly pleasure that only your supple temple of a body can satiate’ is the response you wish for me to tell my father?” Plo chuckles, rubbing his forehead.

“Kinky, but no. I wouldn’t want to fall into Ziar’s 1000 questions of how I pleasure his son whenever I visit. Then again, I might ask for a couple of tips since he’s got Mama Koon give him a proper clutch of five.”

Plo groaned and sat up, giving your rear a very uncharacteristic squeeze and pat before rising to his feet. He takes heel and opens the door to a massive cabinet, inspecting the well-organized contents before pulling an acceptable size of luggage bag onto the bed.

“And what color would your dress be for the ball, my dearest wife?” Plo asks, folding a set of Jedi robes, Dorin tunics, and coats into the carry-on. 

“I love you so much, Plo. Thank you.” Came your melted reply, reaching to cup his cheek as he placed the items in the bag. “Papa Ziar would be so happy.” You add, pulling him close to plant a kiss on his cheek before you whisper tauntingly at him. “One of these days, dear husband, I’m gonna have to kiss those lips of yours and there’s nothing that could stop me from doing so.”

Your hand slides off to arrange the clothing for Plo to have more space. Refolding them in your fashion because Plo needs to fold the clothes ‘properly’ for reasons you’re sharing luggage with the full intention of treating yourself to a new formal wear.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Came his dismissive reply — and yet, part of you swore he was grinning behind that mask of his at the thought.

He was.

Special thanks to those who were genuinely interested and gave so much love for my OC, Duchess. I love you all and the madness that come with it ♥

@saengak @amorfista @starrrgazingbunny @eloquentmoon And @justalittletomato for the fab Kel Dor baby art!!! @sinisterexaggerator for really helping me with that one line that was weird for me earlier and @eyecandyeoz ♥♥♥

[flowerflamestars]

In Red & Gold snippet

“They’ve only broken one window,” Obi-Wan offered.   “Should’ve waited for Colt,” Kote said, flat and faintly forlorn. “Colt wouldn’t throw shit in my house.”   Obi-Wan wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, giving Fox a front row seat to the look of sheer, palpable adoration they shared before Kote decided to acknowledge that the room wasn’t empty.   “Vos’s,” He drawled, an asshole Fox loved so, so much, “The fuck did I say about not having sex in my kitchen?”   “Sex?” Bly asked, eyes half shut, stumbling into the space. “Ooo, tile.”   That he’d peeled himself off the floor at all made more sense when Bly followed the words with immediately laying down again, cheek to cool stone. “Wolffe’s being a goddamn dick.”   “Wolffe merely has a very…different perspective, on his former General.”   Wolffe was fervently pretending he thought clones and Jedi shouldn’t be romantically involved, rather than admit he possessed real, live, feelings. “He’s just pissed,” Fox said, leaning back but not- not for a second- letting go of Quinlan. “Kote didn’t invite him to his wedding.”   As though summoned by the name- equally likely following Bly to make sure he didn’t pass out somewhere dangerous, armed with water and a ferocious scowl, Wolffe said, “I’m not the one who committed treason, Foxy.”   The snap, automatic, to not fucking call him that, burned Fox’s mouth.   Turned acrid immediate, as Wolffe zeroed in on Ara, draped upright by an arm hooked around Fox’s neck. “Who the fuck are you?”   Bly, from the floor, muttered, “Wolf’ika, seriously”- If Fox hated natborns, the whole rotten core, Wolffe hated strangers just as much. More, if possible. The war had only made it worse- Wolffe, whose losses outnumbered even Fox’s, who seemed determined to tear apart anyone who could possibly threaten those that remained.   “And Vos,” Wolffe dragged out, making a judgmental face that almost, but failed, to rival Kote, “The fuck?”   Rolled facedown, Bly, unhelpfully, “Fox likes men too, you dick.”   Even less helpfully, Neyo, ease-dropping through the lovely arched space, voice raised to shout, “Fox likes people?” Right in Fox’s ear, a lifeline, a tiny breath of affection, Ara very quietly asked. “Neyo or Doom?”   “Neyo,” Quinlan said, before Fox could.   “Right,” Ara dropped a kiss to Fox’s neck and unwound from them both, springing lightly down onto her feet. “I’ll be back.”   Drink drained, she was still utterly steady. Quick and beautiful, stomp across the kitchen revealing what Fox had been too distracted to see. All along her spine, masked in the hyper-structural element of the jumpsuit she was wearing, lay a single, enormous, fuck-off of a knife, wide-across as Fox’s forearm.   Bly, who was not even pretending not to listen, groaned. “You’re a stupid fucking bitch, Neyo. Run, vod.” He rolled again, twisting to squint up at Quinlan. “Aayla would break someone in half for her husband.” “Aayla,” Quin said, with clear pity, “Doesn’t have a husband, Bly.”

[my-tin-can-mans]

She Knows Part 2, (Wolffe x Reader)

OH BOY. First I'm sorry this took me so long I've been busy with college. But! this is the longest fic or anything really I've written so wow. Hopefully you enjoy.

Warnings: angst, mentions of Alcohol, mentions of cheating slight smut (minors do not interact or read).

Note: italics are flashbacks

“So, what do you usually do during leave?” the question threw you a little of guard. You’d been stationed with the 501st for four months now, four months since you’d broke it off with Wolffe after… everything. You had been the head medic in the 104th battalion, but quickly put in a request for a transfer after the humiliation Wolffe had put you through. The only position available was with the 501st, working under their head medic, Kix. It was a demotion sure, but honestly it took a lot of stress of your shoulders and well, anything to get away from the situation you were in.

Working with Kix almost 24/7 forced you two to grow close and form a close relationship. It was more of a brotherly/sisterly love than anything else, though others saw how well you two had worked together and insisted you would make a good couple, you both were comfortable where you were, which you were grateful for, it was nice to have a friend as kind and understanding as Kix.

Tomorrow the whole battalion would be stationed on Coruscant, the general had some jedi duties to attends to and the war was at a standstill for the moment, giving the men time to relax instead of being thrown under another general for a while.

You had been checking bacta supplies when Kix happened to spring this question on you. Freezing your hand in motion as you had begun to type up an order to restock while planet side. You’d never actually had a leave without Wolffe. Most of the time on leave was spent in that dark corner of 79’s, the other half in a hotel bed.

“Mesh’la, come on, up. I promised the men we’d meet them tonight for a round.”

“But I don’t wanna go Wolffe can’t we just stay here? The sheets are so soft and I don’t feel like wearing clothes.” You’d whined.

“I already told them we would be there, now come up before I drag you out of bed.”

“you wouldn’t,” you peeked your head out from under the covers, narrowing you eyes at him, he stood at the foot of the bed, wearing his blacks sans shirt. He himself had just untangled from you and the sheets. How he had the willpower to do so you had no clue. He dawned his famous predatory smirk on his face

“Are you questioning my word Mesh’la, because you know I always keep my word.” He took a step forward, his thighs now touching the mattress.

“of course not Wolffe,” you gave him a sweet smile, “but I bet I could change your mind.”

“oh?” he raised an eyebrow. “do tell.” He placed his hand on either side of your feet, leaning over the bed

“why don’t you come up here and find out.”

With one swift move Wolffe was on top of you now and you brought your hands to his face pulling him in and kissing him, it was rough and passionate, you really didn’t want to leave and you wanted him to know that, hoping he would see how desperate you were and decide to stay. But after a few moments he pulled back, looking down at you with that damn smirk again, “that was quite convincing.”

Before you could retort anything Wolffe had left from his position on top of you, yanking you up to your feet in the process, “but unfortunately like a said before, I am a man of my word and I already gave it to my brothers, sorry mesh’la but you’ll have to show me your negotiating skills another time, I promise ill make up for it.”

“To be honest Kix I’ve never really done much with my leave time, ya know? I just kinda destress and go out every once in a while.”

“Oh? Well do you have any plans for our first night off then? Me and a couple of the boys are gonna be at 79’s if you’d like to join.”

The mention of 79’s made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t been back there since you’d found out about Wolffe. “I don’t know Kix,” you sighed, 79’s was a clone bar, and also a favorite hangout spot for the man you had been trying to forget about.

“oh come on, you think Jesse’s a horrible flirt now, just wait till you see him drunk, you’ll be laughing so hard your stomach will be sore in the morning.”

You snorted a laugh in response, Jesse and you were also pretty close, but he was notorious for always trying out stupid pick-up lines on you, he took every opportunity he could to flirt with you, even when he had gotten injured and you were stitching him up, “you look so pretty when your concentrated.” He had said.

But the issue at hand still itched in the back of your mind, what if Wolffe was there? Going back to your holopad, typing up the order you were previously working on to make yourself seem less concerned about your next question you asked him, “the 104th isn’t on leave right now are they?”

“no I don’t think so, why?” Kix had since turned around focusing on organizing medical supplies to help you order.

“Nothing, just, ya know making sure.” You’d told Kix about what happened between you and Wolffe. Just about every clone knew you two were dating, Wolffe always had to make it known you were his. So Obviously everyone was curious as to what had happened.

He turned and looked at you, realizing what you meant, “Oh Kriff, this is your first leave without him isn’t it?”

You nodded, too afraid, after months of finally getting yourself together you didn’t want to revert back to breaking down again.

“Hey listen, if you don’t want to be there I understand. But maybe it would help ya know? We’ll all be wasted you’ll totally forget about him I promise we’ll have a good time.”

It was very convincing, you’d seen the 501stparty and 79’s before, they went hard, unlike Wolffe who was usually more private and reserved. That didn’t mean you two still didn’t have fun in your own way on leave.

Much to your dismay you’d put on a dress and Wolffe had dragged you to 79’s anyways. The second you’d stepped into the place the music and dark lighting consumed you. It was loud tonight. The 501st was celebrating a successful occupy over a separatist world and you could tell. The blue armor was spread throughout the crowd, some at the bar hitting on the women already occupying it, and some on the dance floor.

You wished Wolffe danced more with you, you loved to dance but he only ever accompanied you once, and that was after a drinking competition with Thorne who was hard to beat. He didn’t even remember it in the morning.

Without a second glance to all the men, Wolffe grabbed your wrist and led you back to the booth he always sat at. Instead of the usual commanders, Sinker and Boost sat there awaiting their commanders arrival after being promised a drink with him. You slid into the booth and Wolffe sat right up against you.

He was broad so he took up most of the space, he always presented himself in such a way that he was always there, chest puffed out, shoulders broadened and head held high. When he got situated he spread his legs, taking up more space and knocked his with yours. The two of you practically sat in each other’s lap with how close you were to each other. he placed his hand on your thigh, resting just below the sundress you and reluctantly put on earlier.

It was a last resort to get him to stay in with you. It was his favorite. The first time he saw you in it he’d practically kneeled before you, although you were sure he was just trying to get a peak underneath.

Four shots were already at the table when you two had arrived and Sinker, who was sitting in front of you, had passed one your way while Wolffe grabbed his own downing it without even flinching.

As the night drove on, the men began to become tipsy and Wolffe’s hand grew higher and higher. It was when Boost was at the climax of telling you a story from before you had signed on with them that Wolffe finally breeched your center, rubbing his index finger over the already wet spot in your panties.

You jumped, not expecting him to be so bold as to touch you in front of his men. You turned to look at him but he was looking straight on at Boost, absolutely engrossed in the story he was telling. Without making eye contact he leaned over, giving you a small peck on your temple, while at the same time, he pushed you underwear over to the side and slipped a finger into you.

His face was flushed, from the alcohol or the devious act he was performing you couldn’t tell. It was probably a mix of both. Wolffe rarely showed PDA in public especially in front of him men. So you were practically in shock with what was happening right now.

You went to grab a sip of your drink while he slowly pumped his finger a few times before deciding to add another. You let out a chocking noise.

“Hey you okay?” Sinker seemed concerned at your reaction.

“Yeah, yeah just fine, drink must’ve gone down the wrong piper there” you tried to play it off.

He bought it just fine, resuming the conversation that had started up after Boost’s story. When you turned to look at Wolffe again he was wearing that shit eating grin he often dawned and maker you wanted to wipe it clean off.

When Sinker and Boost were distracted enough, Wolffe leaned into you, “come on now mesh’la, I did say I'd make it up to you, and as I recall we’ve already proved I’m a man of my words.”

“Well I guess a few drinks wouldn’t hurt.” You thought back to all the times you’d seen blue armor on the dance floor and envied the fact you hadn’t been there as well, “but I better get a couple of dances out of you guys”

Kix chuckled, “I can promise you, if you stop by for long enough those men will be fighting over who gets to dance with you next.”

You bellowed out a laugh at that. The thought of Jesse, tup and the rest fighting over you was quite the scenario. “Just comm me what time you boys are gonna be there at.”

He nodded his head in agreement, both of you chatting lightly about other topics as you finished the order.

****************************************************

The ship had landed a few hours ago, longing for a good night’s sleep you had left the barracks for the stay, packing up your necessities and checking into a hotel a few blocks out of the main traffic for some peace and quiet.

As you were getting ready for your night at 79’s Kix had sent you a comm message, letting you know they were on their way and would be arriving in 10 minutes. All you had left to do was dress yourself. You rummaged through the bag of clothes you had. It wasn’t much, mostly GAR issued scrubs and a few dresses. You heart stopped when you saw the dress though. The one that was always Wolffe’s favorite. You picked it out, holding it up so you could see the whole thing.

Kriff. This dress brought back so many memories. It almost hurt to look at it. if you were being completely honest with yourself though, you did look damn good in it. screw it you thought. Time to make better memories in it.

After you slipped the dress on you hailed an air taxi to 79’s once inside you scanned the bar, looking for the men who were going to take up your evening. You spotted them at the bar ordering drinks and from the looks of it Jesse was already on his shit and flirting with the bartender.

You walked up to them and their heads turned. Jesse let out a whistle, “Damn, look at you! If I didn’t know any better I'd say you were trying to entice me.”

Kix shook his head at that. Putting his face into his palm. Tup who happened to be standing beside Jesse elbowed him to which Jesse frowned at. “Could you not flirt with my favorite medic?” he turned to you, “you look nice by the way, but not in a creepy I want to get with you way like he meant.”

You let out a giggle. You were already having a great time and you hadn’t even been in the building for five minutes. You took a seat at the bar between Kix and Jesse, Tup to the other side of him.

As the night ticked by you happened to get pretty tipsy, never getting truly drunk for fear you couldn’t make it back to your hotel safely. The men held their alcohol well though and although they were drinking twice as much, they were probably the same level intoxicated as you were. You all stayed at the bar, cracking jokes and telling insane stories, often Jesse would flirt with you or the bartender but it wasn’t too much and you both welcomed the light heartedness attention he gave.

An hour in you heard a voice behind you, “Hope I didn’t miss too much.” You swiveled in the bar seat, turning around to be face to face with the captain of the 501st.

“Captain!” Kix exclaimed, “what took you so long?”

“Sorry boys had a few reports I needed to fill out before the night ended.”

“Well, were glad you here now.” You said.

You got up to give the captain a hug. Something you defiantly wouldn’t do sober, but the alcohol had given you a little confidence. Rex looked surprised by the affection but embraced you anyways. He leaned down and you put your chin over his shoulder patting him on the back staying like that for a second.

It was then that you wished you hadn’t hugged Rex, hadn’t drank as much to give you a confidence boost, and hadn’t stepped a foot in this maker forsaken bar again.

He sat there, in the seat he always sat in when he came here. Only this time he wasn’t with any of his troopers or the other commanders. This time he was with another girl. She was a purple Twi'lek and she was drop dead gorgeous. And the dress she was wearing, or lack thereof because of how tiny it was , made you look like you had just picked yours straight out of the garbage. And you couldn’t help but wonder.

Was that her?

“Kriff Wolffe, what the actual Kriff!” you screamed, you didn’t care about the other guests in the hotel, you were so mad you were practically seeing stars.

“I'm sorry mesh’la I'm sorry I'm so so sorry.”

“No. No! don’t you dare call me that right now. I can’t – I don’t even have words for you right now.”

“please, please let me explain,”

You whipped you head around to him, seeing a whole new layer of red. “Explain? What is there to explain Wolffe. You cheated on me then proceeded to not tell me while apparently everyone else knew and I found out through one of your brothers! Isn’t that enough of an explanation.”

You sat down on the bed, head in hands. He kneeled down in front of your feet. Placing his hands atop of your knees. “I'm sorry.” He whispered. You slapped his hands off you, the thought of him touching you after another woman practically revolted you.

“you already said that.”

“I know, and I mean it I am, it was a mistake, I- if I could take it back I would, Maker I- I hate myself for letting it happen.”

“you should hate yourself.”

“I do, I do. Please, tell me what I can do to make this better.”

For a man who was supposed to be well tactical he kept making all the wrong moves.

“Wolffe there is no making this better. What’s done is done and now it's time to move on.” you finally made your decision, after debating back and forth in the air cab on how to react.

“Yes of course let’s move on, it was in the past but I love you Mesh’la I want you that’s all.”

Kriff that’s not what you meant. “No Wolffe, I mean I’m moving on. from you. I- I can’t continue to be with someone who has done what you’ve done. It's- it's not fair to me.”

By this point tears were strolling down your face. You turned your head to wipe them, not wanting him to see how much he had broke you. “no, no please I- I love you please we can fix this we can work this out please just stay I- I need you.”

“I love you too Wolffe, but there is no fixing this. I loved you so much that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, I gave you everything thing, I gave you all of me and you took that and you stomped on it, you might as well of placed my heart in a dumpster and set it on fire.”

He put his head in your lap. A single tear rolling down his face. “please, please don’t go, I'm so sorry.”

“I know Wolffe. But I can’t accept your apology.”

Your head was pounding. He wasn’t supposed to be on Coruscant right now. Kix had said so himself. You pulled back from Rex. He placed his hands on your shoulders his face blocking the view of him. He smiled warmly but his expression quickly changed when he saw yours.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost” he joked.

But you facial expression didn’t lighten, in fact it only got worse. With every waking second, every harsh beat of whatever hit song was playing over the speakers you drew yourself inwards more and more.

“hey hey what wrong?” Kix had left his seat at the bar quickly coming to your side. Him and Rex both dawned a look of concern.

“You said he wouldn’t be here.” You turned to Kix, channeling you emotions onto him.

He looked confused at first, but the realization hit him and he turned his head to look over Rex’s shoulder. Rex followed his line of vision and they both saw him. Sitting there in the booth, while the woman clung to him, practically in his lap.

She was kissing his neck, which honestly surprised you, Wolffe was never one for public displays of affection. Or maybe that was just with you. Because he seemed to be enjoying this.

Rex turned around to face you again, a look of panic and empathy on his face, “Kriff I'm so sorry I- he was on a solo mission with General Koon and they’re stationed here for the night so I told him I’d be here. I'm so sorry, it was an honest mistake.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard that from a man in this room.

You felt like the whole room was spinning, be that the alcohol or the nervousness and upset that came with seeing him again you weren’t sure. All the men you had come here with were suddenly surrounding you with sympathetic looks and it felt like someone had placed a spotlight on you and you just wanted it to go away.

This night was meant to help you forget him, be happy and have fun with your new assigned battalion. Kriff was the so much to ask for!

“hey hey come on now,” Jesse finally broke the silence, “forget about him! If I remember correctly I promised you a dance earlier?”

This made you finally break out of your trance. You needed a distraction, and had been waiting for someone to dance with all night.

“actually I would love to Jesse.”

“right this way then”

He held out his hand for you and took you to the dance floor. The song that was playing was loud and upbeat, you and Jesse moved together to the beat, it was fun and you really enjoyed it, when the beat of the song dropped everyone on the dance floor was jumping to it, you and Jesse did the same

When the song stopped, you were practically out of breath, you let out a laugh of relief, actually feeling a little better. You looked up are Jesse and he was smiling at you.

“Feeling better, huh?” he asked.

“A little, thank you.”

A few second later another song had come on. This time it was more slow, the partners on the dance floor started to grab each other.

Jesse grabbed your waist. “Come on huh? let’s give that son of a blaster something to look at, plus this might be the only time I get to be this close to you, despite my attempts” he smirked at you.

You nodded your head, letting out a giggle at his lame excuse to flirt with you again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you in closer, your chest practically touching his. And finally you both started to sway to the beat.

A few seconds in Jesse started rubbing his thumbs on your hips, trying to calm your nerves, and it worked. Caught up in the music you started to lightly grind your hips into his, although it was soft guarded by his armor, he still took notice to it. smirking at you and grinding in time with you. His hands started to rise, growing closer and closer to under your breasts, but never reaching, knowing he would be crossing a line, and although Jesse was a flirt, his last intention was to make anyone uncomfortable.

He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. You could feel his breathe on your skin, and his nose rubbing up and down. He placed a soft his on your shoulder and the next thing you knew you were being turned around. His hand were back on your waits, but his cheat was now pressed up against your back. He gave you a harsh grind into your ass and you gasped. His arms now wrapping around you, pulling you impossibly tight into him. His head resumed its spot into your neck.

“is this okay,” he whispered into your ear.

“yeah.” You breathed. He kissed you neck this time. but it was just one short one, it was slow, and hot, you closed your eyes. he placed them all the way up your neck, all the way up to your jaw. All the way close to your mouth, and he whispered again, is this okay.

You nodded your head, eyes still closed and you turned you head towards him a little encouraging him. And his lips met yours.

You hadn’t kissed very many people. Wolffe giving you the majority of your experience. and although they were clones, they felt completely different. When Wolffe used to kiss you he practically stole your breath, he put everything he had into kissing you, and it was almost always hot and it made your insides flip, no matter how many times he kissed you, you always felt dizzy and perfectly happy, like his kissed could cure any problemed you had. To say Jesse was a bad kisser would be a lie, it was a good kiss, but it almost made you feel the opposite, all you could think about was Wolffe.

And when the song ended and you opened your eyes you were facing him again. Him. And he was sitting there with his lounge practically down the woman’s throat. And it hurt, hurt to know that he didn’t even acknowledge you. Hadn’t even cared that the person he once begged to stay with was with someone else now. Even though you weren’t actually. It hurt that he used to kiss you like that and now he was kissing someone else like that.

you weren’t sure if it was the beginning of the next song, or if your head was going fuzzy, but all you could hear was ringing in your ears. Jesse had unwrapped his hands from around you and the moment he did you sprang towards the doors of 79’s.

you heard the faint sounds of Jesse, rex and Kix calling out for you but you couldn’t be bothered to hear what any of them had to say. You left the building and walked a few blocks. Finally coming across an empty alley. You pressed you back against the cool metal of the building you were beside and let out a breathe. The air was cool and crisp against your skin, but it felt good.

After all the time you spent forgetting about him you were practically back at square one. And it pissed you off. How dare he have this effect on you.

You let out a sigh, gathering your emotions. And when you finally felt calm enough you went to comm Kix, letting him know you’d be going back to your hotel for the rest of the night, but you were interrupted.

“Mesh’la.”

ending notes: soooo, im not sure if im gonna do another part on this or not, i have some ideas for other fics but im kinda cramped on time at the moment so we shall see.

Tags

@fandom-garbage @dionysuskid21

[clonecest-bin-account]

Can I request a Wolffe/Rex/Cody NSFW, please?

(Of course you can, anon!)

It should be overwhelming being pressed between the two Commanders like this, but by now Rex’s gotten used to it.

Even though he likes being with them in any possible way, he would lie if he said being at the center of both their attention isn’t great, especially when Wolffe and Cody enter a competition to see who can bring him more pleasure, which always makes for some very interesting times.

 This time they’re lying on Cody’s bunk. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but it’s nothing that they’re not used to - actually, they’ve slept in even worse places.

Rex is on his back, with one leg slung over Wolffe and the other over Cody while they’re both on their side, kissing and biting whatever inch of Rex’s skin they can get their mouths to while they explore the rest of his body with their hands.

It’s already quite a lot - they’re both so intense when they want to - but when Wolffe grabs his cock without any sort of warning it punches a moan out of Rex’s chest.

“You’re such a brute,” Cody comments, though he does nothing to stop the other.

“Shut up, Rex loves it,” is the reply Wolffe gives him. “Besides, you’re not that better.”

“You’re right about that,” Cody mutters, and soon in fact Rex begins to feel a wet digit circling his entrance, just a second before it breaches through.

“Kriff,” he swears, body tensing against the others’. They’ve just begun and they’re already pushing him towards the orgasm.

“See? I told you,” Wolffe grunts, which makes Cody chuckle.

“Never said you were wrong.”

 After that, nobody speaks up again; the only sounds that can be heard are Rex’s whimpers and moans. Both Wolffe and Cody listen to him, rapt by how good his voice sounds. Rex is always so tight - figuratively and literally - so it’s good to see him letting go.

He’s already leaking precum, of which Wolffe smears some over his cock with his thumb to make his movements easier, while he lets the rest leak on Rex’s stomach.

Meanwhile Cody has found his prostate, which he keeps teasing mercilessly with the point of his finger, rubbing it but not enough, still more focused on opening Rex up. Only when he’s sure that he can fit in another additional finger, which he does immediately, he begins his true attack, rubbing against that oh-so-sensitive spot without any hesitation.

Between that and the fact that Wolffe has begun to jerk him off faster, Rex doesn’t know what to do with himself. His body almost wants to run away from how good it feels, but no matter how he moves, he’s still cornered.

 “Looks like our little pup wants to run away,” Wolffe chuckles, knowing exactly why Rex is acting like this: the closer he is, the more he’ll begin to agitate his body.

“Looks like it,” Cody comments, a smirk on his face.

He only needs to exchange a quick glance with Wolffe to know what to do: while the other picks up the pace even more, he stops, just enough to push another finger to join the other two, then he’s back to hammering them inside Rex, who tosses his head back, mind completely overtaken by pleasure.

He turns to his right, kissing Wolffe’s lips in order to muffle his own moans, pleasurably surprised when the other shoves his tongue between his lips, taking control of the kiss - control that he relinquishes more than gladly. When they pull away, Rex feels breathless, but that doesn’t stop him from turning to the left and doing the same to Cody, though Cody is way more gentle than Wolffe in his taking over.

Rex is so close, so incredibly close. He’s about to let go…

 Everything stops.

 At that, Rex can’t help but let a long, frustrated whine, trying to move to get back some friction, but there’s nothing he can do with the way the other two assholes hold him.

“What? You thought you’d get it that easily?” Wolffe teases him, fist tightly closed around the base of Rex’s cock, preventing him from coming.

Right then, Cody goes back to move his fingers, but there’s still nothing Rex can do if Wolffe doesn’t put away that kriffing hand.

“You know what we want, Rex’ika,” Cody says then, lavishing the other’s neck.

Rex bites his lower lip. Yes, he knows what they want, but begging isn’t his strong suit and it will never be, no matter how many times he has to resort to it - which is quite a lot because both Cody are Wolffe are a couple of sadistic bastards.

 “Please…” he tries, but nothing.

“Nuh-huh, you can do better than that and you know it,” Cody says.

“C’mon!”

“Rex…” This time it’s a warning. Rex knows that if he doesn’t say what they want to hear and in the way they want to hear it they will stop, they’ve done it once already.

To hell with it.

“Please, I beg you, I need to come! Please let me come! I need it, I need it I need--Ah!”

Apparently that’s enough for them, because Wolffe loosens his grip on Rex’s cock and begins to move it again up and down its length, all while Cody goes from some light pushes to deeper and faster ones, making Rex completely lose it.

 He comes at an embarrassing speed, though what really matters now is that he came.

The kisses on his body are a nice distraction, and Rex gets lost in them, at least for a while.

“Move,” he tells Cody, turning towards him. “I need a shower.”

“You’re already leaving the fun?” Wolffe asks. He really thought they’d get more time together.

“I have a debrief with the General in a few,” Rex explains.

They all know that if he could he would’ve stayed without hesitation, that’s why neither of them protests against it - duty is important to all of them.

Before actually getting up, however, Rex gives Wolffe a last kiss on his lips, then he gives one to Cody.

“Feel free to continue while I shower,” he says, even though he doesn’t really need to because they would’ve done it regardless, but he still felt like he should’ve made it clear.

 After they both nod he gets up and gathers his things, heading to Cody’s shower.

As soon as he turns on the water he begins hearing the others’ moans and grunts. He can’t help but to smile, shaking his head.

Ah, he loves them so much.

[cienie-isengardu]

Clones were bred for obedience

One of the most common things we are repeatedly told about clones is how  obedient they are:

Lama Su: They are totally obedient, taking any order without question. We modified their genetic structure to make them less independent than the original host. [Attack of the Clones]

or

These were clone troopers sitting around him now - bred to war, bred to discipline, bred to obey without question the orders of the powers that paid for their services. [Jedi Trial]

or

A weapon they are. Obey orders without question for good or ill. For now they fight for us. Who is to say what the future holds? [ Star Wars Tales 22: Honor Bound]

or

At first [Ahsoka]’d thought the Republic’s clone soldiers welcomed battle because they had no choice - because they’d been genetically programmed to fight and not question that duty. [Gambit: Stealth]

or

Jango looked back at Boba, one of his thousands of children, but the only one who was a perfect clone, an exact replica with no genetic manipulation to make him more obedient. And the only one who hadn’t been artificially aged. The group that had been created beside Boba had all reached maturity now, were adult warriors, in perfect health. [Attack of the Clones by R. Salvatore]

or

“Maze, what are you going to do now?” Ordo asked.

“I’ve never disobeyed an order,” said the ARC captain. Zey didn’t seem to have the strength to turn and look at his former aide, just shutting his eyes as if he was waiting for the coup de grace. “What am I supposed to do? Pick and choose? That’s the irony. The Jedi thought we were excellent troops because we’re so disciplined and we obey orders, but when we obey all orders - and they’re lawful orders, remember - then we’ve betrayed them. Can’t have it both ways, General.” [Republic Commando: Order 66]

or

“Our safety resides in the fact that clones do obey – and they are trained to obey the Jedi. They respect us.”  [Republic 81]

The “Obey without question” is repeated often. It’s point-blank common knowledge - for fans and characters in-universe. And here comes something that bother me since I digged seriously into Clone Wars era years ago:

Sources did not specify that clones were supposed to obey MILITARY orders, just that they were bred to obey -  implicitly all - orders from those that paid for their creation.

The lack of distinction between obeying legit orders (like those on battlefield) and satisfying someone's whims easily leads to abuse. Right now I’m not even talking about physical or sexual abuse (what sadly can’t be excluded, because believe me, Star Wars has its dark and scary corners too) but about ill-considered words and its effect on troopers. An effect that people with power over clones (Jedi, military officers, politicians) may ever be unaware of.

I wonder do clones even know the difference between orders that as soldiers they must obey and those things that never should be demanded from them? Is there even a line between those two types that clones can draw for themselves? Or were they taught all orders, regardless of their nature and morality must be obeyed?

To show what I mean, here are few examples that struck me as potential abuse of power over clones:

Remember Attack of the Clones? More precisely, the Battle of Geonosis, when Padme fell out of the gunship along with clone. The trooper went to check if she is alright and suggested what they should do - but Padme already made her mind about the course of the action:

Clone: Are you all right?

Padme: Uh-huh.

Clone: We'd better get back to the forward command center.

Padme: No. No. Gather what troops you can. We've got to get to that hangar. Get a transport. Hurry!

Clone: Right away.

This scene always irks me. For one, military operation is going on right now, so Padme - the non combatant - shouldn’t giving anyone orders. She is educated person, someone who once took part in battle, so she should have the basic knowledge what is going on. Of course, Padme is doing so, because she is used to command other people; she is used that people listen to her, because she is former queen and senator, but this is not Republic ground nor a peaceful time for political negotiations. This is military operation and like in all armies, there is a structure of command and she is getting in the way of that. Like, what her presence in that hangar was gonna change, really?

Like, I get that she was worry about Anakin and/or wanted to end the war before it spread foor good. But because of her selfishness and arrogance(?), she literally put clone lives in danger. She didn’t have an idea what Yoda (then the supreme commander) planned nor what orders he gave to troopers. For all she knew, she could countermanding him, or contribute to the loss of an important defensive point because of her demand to take as many as possible troopers and at least one gunship.

I dunno but I think if “normal” trooper refused to listen her and drag her back to the safe(r) place (command center), it would be seen as rational thing to do. Partially, because Padme is important political figure thus her safety is on priority list and partially so the troopers could focus at the fight instead of worrying for their own AND her safety during battle. Padme’s presence was a burden to the soldiers; there is reason why civilians / politicians aren’t welcome on battlefields. Beside, people died to save her and Jedi, so Padme forcing clone to take her back into combat zone seems to be annoying, if not downright ungrateful.

Padme isn’t military commander. Her demands comes from selfish reasons, the delusion she knows better. The presence of politicians on battlefront always put pressure on soldiers and complications are to be expected when they interfere with military activities. At least some “normal-born” troopers wouldn’t listen (especially if they already had their orders from high command) or would argue with her and maybe even convince Padme to act more logically. Clone trooper, after his suggestion of the next course of action was cut down, says only Right away and carry on Padme’s orders.

I’m willing to cut some slack there, because Padme did not have any knowledge about obedience of clone troopers - or about clones in general, so she most likely assumed she is talking (ordering) to “normal” trooper, not a person genetically modified for obedience. We don’t know what she would do, if the trooper refused comply or came up with arguments against her idea. But that doesn’t change a fact that clone obeyed someone who wasn’t a Jedi, the designated commanders for clone army.

The next example comes from Jedi: Shaak Ti.

During battle, Shaak Ti (and saved by her Quilan Vos who worked undercover) joined forces with rebelling prisoners - for their help, she promised them freedom. There was a clone under the Jedi command. Through the first part of the story, he only talked to give Shaak Ti important informations / observations or to acknowledge given to him orders. Nothing beyond that. No personal stuff about himself, no jokes, no rude comments (like Alpha A-17 did in other comics). Because of mission goal, the group separated ways.

“Try not talk so much” is sarcastic remark for sure. Yet we see clone to acknowledge it. Roger; your message has been received and understood.

The comics did not focus so much at clone trooper’s part of mission - when he is fighting agains enemy, there is no smart/cool one-lined dialogue so it’s hard if the “order” of ex-prisoner meant anything at all, but if not, why this scene was included?

The clone trooper spoke for the last time before his death, when heavily injured blew up himself with shield generator. Frankly, I suspect his talk was more for readers to understand what he is doing that clone’s need to speak

The third example comes from Republic: 82

General Vos did not like clones (x), and it wasn’t any secret for the troopers nor other Jedi. His second in command was commander Faie, one of the by-the-book type of troopers. Through the Hidden Enemy comics arc, both men “argued” quite often. Faie kept reminding his general about orders and procedures, what Vos did not take good. Vos even was sarcastic / rude (X).

When Faie learned that Wookie know about Hyperspace route unknown to Republic - something that Wookie didn’t want to share - he insisted to report it in accordance with applicable procedures. Vos gave the clone direct order:

“This a direct order, commander -- you will say nothing for the time being. As you yourself have told me -- clones don’t make policy. They just carry out orders. Carry out mine. Are we clear?”

Faie marched away in silence - the next time, Vos and Faie were seen together on another mission and the commander was shown as verbally acknowledging given military order(s). It’s hard to tell how much time passed between one and another scene or did Faie talk with anyone else out of Jedi’s sight When Order 66 comes, there is visible change in Faie’s behaviour toward Vos - now officially marked as traitor, thus an enemy who doesn’t have any power over the clone and the commander was determined to destroy Jedi, and even the Wookies.

Another example comes from TCW: In Service of the Republic,

The story showed in comics happened in first year of war. Jedi masters Kit Fisto and Ploo Koon went on mission, while Ozzel and clone commander Wolffe were supposed to wait for orders from Jedi. Except Ozzel decided to do things on his own what didn’t end to well for his squads. He and clones were captured by Asajj - to save his own life, he told Asajj about Jedi mission. After he and clones get transported to cell, the troopers started working on escape plan while Ozzel kept talking how he didn’t have a choice.

Wolffe: No. You did it to save your life. And now, thanks to you, the generals and our brothers are in greater danger. If their mission fails, this entire campaign was for nothing.

Ozzel: Mind your place, trooper.

The moment when clone trooper started openly criticizing his “natural born” commander, Ozzel cut down that with one sentence - mind your place, trooper.

Through the story, Wolffe had passive-agressive way to communicate with Ozzel but he dropped the subject after Ozzel’s remark. Of course, star wars have many scenes when officers are reminding troopers about their place - nothing new. Like Hondo with Poe in The Last Jedi. The difference is that clone troopers are much easier to silence - once told to shut up, they follow the “order” because what else they could do? In contrast to Poe, who decided to take situation under control to the point of mutiny against vice-admiral Hondo.

The next example is general Krell from The Clone Wars Umbara Arc, who treated badly the clones due to his own negative feelings about them. From the show we know that Krell fell to Dark Side and wanted to join Dooku, thus he was far away from what Jedi should be. He called Rex and clones by numbers only, he put them deliberately in dangerous situations, he forced clones to march without resting for 12 hours (and after that to fight), which most likely led the soldiers to extreme exhaustion and all he need to cut down Rex’s protest or caution was to say: That is my order. And you will follow it explicitly. [TCW s04e07]. Rex at some point refused to do as he was told during battle; since the same episode gave us clue that Rex was once more by-the-book type of clone (wound tight, like Dogma) I think the captain’s less strictly way to follow (bad) orders may partially comes from experiences gained while serving under Skywalker. And we all know that Anakin firmly believe in loyalty, the same as Rex ("As sure as it is my duty to remain loyal to your command, I also have another duty. To protect those men.”). I guess, under whom clones served had a big effect on their idea of (blind) obedience. Even Krell pointed out that Rex is used to serving Jedi (Skywalker) who commands in a different (less rigid, less formal) way - a command style that most likely affected to some degree all members of 501st Legion.

The moment when Krell turned out to be traitor to Republic, clone troopers did what they could to stop him. But up to this point, clones were dehumanized by him, insulted, pushed to physical and mental exhaustion and forced to obey, because it was their duty to follow orders.

The way clones were silenced by their not-willing to listen commanders is disturbing. I mean, in ANH even Darth Vader listened to his subordinate,  Commnader Daine Jir who not only questioned his plan but also refuse to shut up even after the Dark Lord explains himself. There is some heavy irony that Lord of the Sith was willing to listen arguments / complaints of his trooper(s) even when he was not going change his mind than some Jedi and Republic (”natural born”) officers ever bothered to do.

Since I already talked a bit how people in power who didn’t like clones could silent them or take away their right to names - the hard won humanity - on whim, if they feel like doing so. One order and clone troopers obeyed. In case of Krell, everyone knew how many clones died under his command, but his fall to Dark Side was unseen by other Jedi. What rises question, did anyone even bother to check is someone with power over clones is not abusing them?

Now, here comes another example:

Jusik stopped at a door at the end of the passage and turned to them."I wonder if I could ask the rest of you to remove your helmets."

Nobody asked why, and they all obeyed, even though it wasn't phrased as the unequivocal order they were expecting. The helmet seals made faint ssss sounds as they opened. [Republic Commando: Hard Contact]

The events of the book took place soon after Clone Wars begun. Padawan Jusik barely wondered if he could ask them to remove helmets. It wasn’t order, more like asking for permission, for assurance it’s okay to ask for that. Yet clones obeyed, because the Jedi wanted them to remove helmets, even if he didn’t phrase that as direct order. The clone commandos were expecting to hear orders, because they were bred to follow them. Jedi (Republic) paid for army to order, after all.

The clone troopers in the first stage of war may be pretty clueless about the difference between being asked and ordered. In “Triple Zero” there is another example to wonder about:

"Excellent," Ordo said aloud. The clone trooper jumped to his feet and saluted, even though it was technically a poor example of protocol to do so without his helmet in place. Ordo returned the salute anyway. "Problem with your helmet, trooper?" The man lowered his voice. "It makes the civilians edgy, sir. They prefer to see my eyes." Ordo bristled. He would never defer to civilians' whims.

Okay, so for clone troopers their helmets provide not only protection during battle but also psychological comfort. Being cut away from the world, with no one to see your emotions, to hear your complains or curse, the inside of helmet is like one of few really safe spaces for clones. Corr lost his hand on the line in duty, while waiting for proper prosthesis he was forced to work with civilians, as a help in office, or something like that. One clone between “normal” people. We don’t know if he voluntarily gave up wearing a helmet, if he was given subtle to understand that people are annoyed by the view of the faceless helmet or if he was just ordered to do so. Ordo, a Null class clone (similar to ARC) is less obedient than common troopers like Corr. The whole situation in which clone can’t wear his own helmet (and using the safe space at will) didn’t sit well with Ordo. In his mind, it’s civilians whim yet Corr either was forced due to direct order or took civilians “suggestion” as something he shouldn’t argue with regardless how Corr felt about that.

(This was just about helmet, something that civilians didn’t understand. Bbut what if someone was curious about sex with clones? Would clone obeyed, if the person - especially in position of power - actually told (ordered) trooper to comply to his/her/their wishes?)

I’m pretty sure there is more examples of scenes like that. I showed the obedience with dubious military orders, often with deliberately silencing or even abusing of clones and even the at first sight harmless “civilians whims” like putting pressure or straighly not allowing clones to use their own helmets. In some of cases, this is more ignorance of “natural born” people but clone troopers, in particular shortly after Battle of Geonosis were group at risk of abuse. From Jedi, from republic officers, from civilians. Especially when no one is interested in their well being, when they are seen just as equipment than human beings.

So, are clones aware that there are things no one should ask of them - especially anything going against their bodily invulnerability? Did anyone told them they could and should draw a line between military orders and someone’s selfish whim? I kinda doubt that, but then again, a lot may depends on who trained them or under whom they served.

I’m really disturbed by the obiedence of clones and how it was taken as granted not only by Jedi, but by everyone.

[thebrokenscript]

Not A Fallen Jedi - Part 3

and finally here it is: the last part of the wrong jedi arc from rex’s pov. this part is a rewrite of the wrong jedi and continues immediately after where it left off in part 2. it was a lot of fun doing this rewrite so i hope you guys like it!

@finish-the-clone-wars

don’t tag as rexsok/a

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Anakin and Ahsoka stepped out, snapping Rex and Wolffe back to attention. “Let’s go, Rex,” Anakin said, not stopping as he passed them. Grabbing his helmet and nodding slightly to Wolffe, Rex hurried to catch up to them.

The tension was palpable. Ahsoka wouldn’t meet Rex’s gaze and one look to Anakin sent unease trickling down his spine. “We’re going to the Chamber of Judgment,” Anakin said shortly. “You won’t be allowed in there, but I want you outside.”

Rex nodded, deciding not to question Anakin. He didn’t know much about Jedi trials. Nobody outside the Order did, really, but he assumed that the Jedi would be able to see that Ahsoka was innocent. Still- the fact that Anakin was more or less ordering him to stand outside the Chamber was slightly concerning. He hoped Anakin didn’t have anything in mind that would get them into trouble.

They turned down a hall that was eerily quiet. Temple guards stood motionless as they passed, staring dead ahead, their lightsabers not ignited, but ready in hand. Rex knew they were watching them. He took his emotions and thoughts and silenced them, fixing his gaze on the chamber ahead.

When they reached the chamber, the guards standing at the side broke their stances, moving to block the entrance.

“The clone must stay outside.”

Anakin flashed a glance at Rex. He nodded and stepped back. And then his gaze fell to Ahsoka. Her gaze was dull, fixed more on the floor than anything. She looked exhausted. Had they tended to her injuries? They couldn’t have fixed such serious injuries so quickly. Would they really send her to trial like that? As far as he knew she hadn’t gotten any rest in the past day. She had to be tired and hurting and that wasn’t even touching on how the accusation was affecting her.

“Ahsoka,” he said quietly. She finally looked to him.

Exhausted.

Scared.

And there was nothing he could do to comfort her but whisper, “Good luck.”

The idea of a smile ghosted across her face and she nodded slightly before Anakin guided her into the chamber, leaving Rex alone in the crushing silence of the hall.

He stood there for a moment after the door shut, staring at it as if it would open again and he would be permitted to enter. It didn’t. He flashed a glance at the guards, knowing both of them were watching him. Not liking the idea that they could see his face and he couldn’t see theirs, he put his helmet on, then turned and moved to stand off to the side.

He waited.

But he didn’t wait long. Not long enough to even begin to wonder what was going on in the Chamber, not long enough to begin to worry, not long enough at all.

The doors slid open and for a moment all he saw were guards. And then in the center of them-

Ahsoka. In restraints. Disbelief and fear and betrayal all playing out on her face. She caught Rex’s gaze as she passed and for a moment he was drowning in her fear. No- Rex took an unconscious step forward, not understanding. Why was she out so soon? Where were they taking her?

A guard was suddenly in front of him, blocking her from his view. “Stand down,” they ordered. Rex’s gaze snapped to them, heart tripping as adrenaline flooded through him.

“Where are they taking her?” he demanded.

The guard took a threatening step closer to him. Rex stepped back mechanically, before turning back to the chamber, searching for Anakin. Where was he? Surely he wouldn’t let them take her-

Anakin’s voice drifted into the hall from the chamber.

“You can’t do this to her! She dedicated her life to the Order- how can you just cast her aside?”

The world slowed around Rex. Cast her aside? What was he talking about? The chamber fell silent. Rex could only guess someone was trying to calm Anakin. They failed.

“If none of you will stand by her then I will! We know she’s innocent. You’re wrong! All of you!”

An inexplicable wave of cold suddenly flooded the hall as Anakin stalked out of the chamber. His gaze caught on Rex and the guard. A frown twisted across his face. “Rex.”

Rex sidestepped the guard and hurried to catch up to Anakin. “Sir what’s going on?” he asked urgently. “The trial was too short, what did they-”

“They had already made a decision,” Anakin growled. “They expelled her and sent her to have a Republic trial.”

Rex missed a step.

Expelled?

They cast her out?

Fury suddenly slammed through him, choking the shock out. How could they do that to her? She was a Jedi- she was one of them! How could they just turn on her like that?

“What are we going to do, sir?” he asked tightly.

“We need to get Padmé, she’s the best person to represent Ahsoka. And,” his voice dropped to a snarl. “I am going to find out who did this and bring them in.”

“Ventress,” Rex growled. “It had to be her. She was the only one with Ahsoka and she’s a Sith.”

“I know.”

Rex’s mood only darkened as they strode out of the Temple. They got in the speeder, Anakin taking off fast enough to give them both whiplash. Rex’s gaze fell back to the Temple. It gleamed magnificently in the sun, looking as majestic and awe inspiring as it always did. But Rex couldn’t see any of it. It was as if the Temple had been stained- blackened with corruption.

The Senate building quickly came into view. Anakin was talking quickly into his com. Rex caught something about Padmé and Ahsoka before he tuned out. Senator Amidala was an immensely capable lawyer. It helped as well that she was close to Anakin. Too close for a Jedi, but it didn’t matter now. What mattered was that it wouldn’t take anything but Anakin asking for her to agree to represent Ahsoka.

While Padmé fought for Ahsoka, he and Anakin would catch Ventress. Hate for the bogwitch boiled inside of him. He wanted to kill her more than he’d ever wanted to kill anyone. Noticing that his hands were shaking, he clenched them into fists to stop it.

The speeder came to a swooping halt in front of the Senate building and there was Senator Amidala, hurrying toward them. Rex moved to the back so Padmé could take the front seat and hear the explanation.

“They just cast her out?” Padmé asked, voice ringing with disbelief.

“They made their decision before they even called us down,” Anakin snapped. “The trial was just a formality. They expelled her and sent her to trial in the Republic court.”

Padmé’s jaw tightened. “What evidence is against her?”

“She was alone with Letta Turmond when she died and then she broke out of prison. They believe she killed clones in her escape, and then when she was on the run she was seen with Ventress and caught in the presence of nanodroids.”

Rex’s heart sank as he listened. The cards were completely stacked against Ahsoka. With how things looked- He ground his teeth together. Nothing short of a confession from Ventress would save her.

They came to a stop at the prison and jumped out, walking quickly toward the entrance.

Rex hung back as Anakin and Padmé entered the cell. Best not to overwhelm her with so many people.

Anakin came out after a moment, resolve hardening in his gaze. “Ahsoka thinks it was Ventress too.”

“Then we know who to catch,” Rex said. Anakin glanced away slightly, a movement that made Rex slow down. “What is it, sir?”

“You’re not coming, Rex.”

Anakin might as well have slapped him.

“What?”

“You’re not coming.”

“But- sir, why not?” he asked, struggling to keep the desperation out of his tone.

Anakin shook his head. “You won’t be able to keep up. Like it or not, you can’t use the Force. Ventress can.”

“I’ve faced her before, sir,” he snapped. “I’m still here.”

“I said no, Rex!”

Frustration and fury flooded Rex. He was not going to just stay back and twiddle his thumbs while Ventress was out there and Ahsoka was on trial for crimes she didn’t commit. He knew he was toeing a dangerous line, arguing with his General after being given an order twice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“All due respect, General, you can’t do this alone. You need help.”

Anakin ignored him, stalking quickly toward his speeder.

Rex only slowed for a heartbeat, then sped up and cut in front of Anakin, blocking him from the speeder with one hand pressed firmly against the Jedi’s chest. “Anakin, please,” he said harshly.

Anakin stopped, finally meeting Rex’s gaze. “Rex, I know you want to help. I understand. But I need to find Ventress. You can do a lot more here than you could trying to keep up with me,” he said, taking Rex’s hand off his chest. “I’m sorry, Rex. But that’s my final word. Stay here. You can relay me information about the trial and how things are going.”

He stepped past Rex and climbed into the speeder, leaving Rex wrestling with fury and a sense of abandonment. Before Anakin took off, however, he paused and looked back. “Rex- if I’m not back in time- if something happens, if they- if they charge her as guilty, you need to be there for her,” he said quietly.

Rex’s fury collapsed. If they charged her as guilty, it could very well be a death sentence. “I understand,” he murmured. “I will.” He then straightened, setting his jaw. “Catch Ventress.”

A bitter scoff escaped Anakin and his gaze darkened. “Oh believe me, Rex. I will,” he growled, then took off. Rex watched him go through narrowed eyes. Anakin would catch Ventress. Nobody could evade him when he was like that. But Rex had more pressing matters to worry him.

The trial. How would he get in? Could he even get in? Would they let him through? He was only a clone, after all, never mind being a captain. Hands clasping behind his back, he spun around and stalked back toward the building.

He made it to the entrance, nodding sharply to the clones guarding the door and made it past them without any trouble. But he still had serious doubts about getting into the trial. It wouldn’t be open for the public. He didn’t think they would let him in. Not that he wouldn’t try to convince them, but if they wouldn’t let him in he would have to sneak in. And risk his own imprisonment? He slowed fractionally.

If he was caught he could be arrested. He couldn’t help Ahsoka if he was imprisoned. Perhaps Senator Amidala could help him. They were both bound by their compassion for Anakin and Ahsoka. Surely she would help him. Stopping, he turned back, heading for the main hall from the prison.

--

Rex stood in the box with the Jedi, back in the corner. Padmé had managed to get him in only if he was unarmed and the Jedi were there to stop any... protest. Rex flashed a sideways glance at the Jedi. These Jedi, who had condemned one of their own. How could they? His gaze fell particularly on Obi-wan. 

How could you?

Everyone suddenly came to attention. Rex’s gaze fell down into the courtroom where Ahsoka was walking out.  She looked so tiny from where he stood. Distant. He couldn’t even see her face to gauge how she was doing.

“Ahsoka Tano.”

Rex straightened at the sound of the Chancellor’s voice. Anakin was close to the Chancellor. Perhaps that would help Ahsoka’s case.

“You have been charged with sedition against the Jedi Order and the Republic itself,” the Chancellor continued. “This court will decide your fate. Prosecution, you may begin your arguments.”

Rex glanced to the screen to see Admiral Tarkin stepping forward. He frowned only slightly. He remember the man from the disastrous Citadel escape. He’d expressed doubt in the Jedi and neither Anakin nor Ahsoka had seemed to care much for him.

“Former Padawan Tano, I shall prove that you were the mastermind behind the attack on the Jedi Temple and that once your accomplices carried out your orders, you eliminated them one by one.” A chill ran down Rex’s spine. “When you are found guilty, I ask that the full extent of the law be brought down upon you; including penalty of death.”

What?

Rex’s heart stopped, his eyes widening. Penalty of death? No- no surely he had heard wrong. He must have. He knew it had been an option but surely they wouldn’t go that far-

But looking at the grim faces of the Jedi, he knew that he had heard right. Nobody stepped forward. Nobody protested it. Were they fine with this? How could they do this to her? She was one of them!

Padmé then stepped forward. Rex forced himself to calm down. She was a very capable lawyer. She would successfully defend Ahsoka. Anakin was also out hunting Ventress. He would be able to clear Ahsoka beyond any doubt.

“Look at the facts,” Padmé began. “Letta Turmond summoned Ahsoka to her cell to reveal the name of the true mastermind behind the bombing of the Jedi Temple. Letta told Ahsoka she was afraid. She told her the mastermind was a Jedi and before she could reveal the Jedi’s name, Letta Turmond was strangled to death by way of the force. Why would Ahsoka kill Letta with a method that would so obviously tie the murder to her? A Jedi may be responsible for the murder, but that Jedi is not Ahsoka Tano. Members of the court, you are prosecuting the wrong Jedi!”

A wave of relief washed over Rex as Padmé spoke. She was right. Ahsoka was too smart to kill someone in a way that would lead directly to her, let alone do it where she would obviously be caught.

Clapping suddenly filled the courtroom. Tarkin stepped forward, a smug look on his face. “Well said, Senator Amidala. However, if she is innocent, then why was she seen conspiring with known Separatist terrorist Asajj Ventress?”

“Ventress set me up! My Master will prove that!” Ahsoka snapped.

“And where is your master?” Tarkin asked coldly.

“He’s trying to find the real murderer!”

“Then maybe he should be looking at you!”

Fury slammed through Rex, a snarl twisting his expression behind his helmet. How dare he? Ahsoka was innocent! They had to know she was innocent! They had the wrong person. It was so obvious, why couldn’t they see it?

“Ahsoka,” Padmé said. “Please explain to the Court why you were seen with Ventress.”

Forcing his fury down, Rex turned his attention to Ahsoka. He still hadn’t heard the whole story about why she had been with Ventress. He knew she hadn’t been working with her, but it would be a relief to hear the entire story.

“At first Ventress only caught me to turn me in for the bounty,” Ahsoka said. “But I couldn’t let her do that, so I told her that if she helped me I would speak to the Council about getting her a full pardon.”

Rex blinked. Surely Ahsoka had been lying when she told Ventress that. Ventress was a war criminal and a Sith. She deserved nothing less than to finally be caught and be brought to justice.

“We had a mutual understanding, or so I thought. When she brought me to the abandoned warehouse she attacked me.”

“And why, pray tell, would she have done that when offered a full pardon?” Tarkin asked, then waved a hand to cut Ahsoka off. “Besides, nobody reported seeing Ventress at the warehouse. How do we know she was even there?”

“When Ahsoka was found she was severely wounded,” Padmé said. “The Healers reported heavy bruising mostly on her back and fractured ribs. Where else would she have gotten these wounds if not in a fight?”

“A fight, perhaps, but with Ventress? How do we know these wounds were not inflicted in her clash with the clone troopers when they confronted her?”

Rex’s gaze drifted over to the Senate members. Doubt shadowed their expressions. Horror trickled down Rex’s spine. Surely they didn’t believe Tarkin? Rex loved his brothers and knew they were excellent fighters but he would also be the first to admit that it was beyond difficult to fight Force users. They would have had to get extremely lucky to hurt Ahsoka so badly.

“Rex?”

Rex snapped to attention as Anakin’s voice flooded the com. Quickly deafening his helmet so he could speak with disturbing the others, he said, “Yes sir?”

“How are things going?”

“Senator Amidala is defending her well.”

“...But?”

“But Admiral Tarkin is poking holes all through their defense, sir. I’m... concerned,” he said, watching the Senators. Tarkin was speaking again, and it was having a visible effect on them. “Did you find Ventress?”

“Ventress wasn’t the attacker.”

Shock crashed unpleasantly through him. “Sir?” His voice came out strained.

“She said someone attacked her and took her lightsabers.”

But that would mean- Rex’s mind was spinning. Nobody could just take lightsabers from Ventress. It would have to be another Force user. Another Jedi?

“Do you have any leads, sir?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his tone.

“One. I... don’t know how good it will be, though.” Anakin sounded tired and angry.

Rex’s gaze flickered back down to Ahsoka. “You’d better hurry,” he said. “I don’t know how much longer the trial will go on for.”

“I will. I’ll be in contact.”

“Yes sir. Good luck.”

The connection broke, leaving Rex staring blankly down into the courtroom. If it wasn’t Ventress then who? Who could have done this?

The courtroom was suddenly filled with a deafening silence. Everyone’s gaze turned expectantly to the Chancellor.

“I’m sure many of you look at this former Jedi and think surely she can’t be this murderer or saboteur that they speak of,” he said, looking around the courtroom. “And yet, think of all the times we have been fooled by the Separatists and how they have infiltrated the republic and ask yourselves is this another Separatist scheme? Another way to rip the Jedi, and subsequently all of us, apart?”

Rex stared at the Chancellor, horror rising far too quickly to contain. What was he doing? Why was he implying that Ahsoka was part of a Separatist scheme? Ahsoka was Anakin’s padawan and Anakin was so close to the Chancellor- shouldn’t he be leaning toward Ahsoka’s innocence? A vile taste rose in Rex’s mouth as the Senators rose and departed to make their decision.

How could the Chancellor do this? Was he that desperate to find someone guilty that he would sacrifice Ahsoka? Was this the Republic he was fighting for?

A darkness settled over him, not unlike the one that had shadowed him after Umbara. He knew that the Republic wasn’t perfect. He knew sometimes it was far from perfect. But he had done his best to make his peace with that knowledge. Even if the Republic was broken in places, it was still better than the Separatists.

But there was some things he could never shake, no matter how hard he tried. The enslavement of the clones, how disposable he and his brothers were, how they were viewed by others, and now possibly this. How could he possibly rationalize fighting for a Republic who condemned the innocent just to make a problem go away?

He didn’t think he could.

“Rex are you there?” Anakin.

“Yes sir,” Rex said. “Did you find anything?”

“Oh yes,” Anakin growled. “I found the person who did it all.”

Rex’s legs suddenly felt too weak to support him as relief seeped through him. “Oh thank the gods.”

“What’s going on right now?”

“The Senate is meeting right now. We’re waiting for their verdict.”

Anakin cursed quietly then gathered himself. “I’ll be there shortly. Don’t let them do anything to her.”

“Yes sir.”

The connection broke. Rex flashed a sharp glance at the door where the Senate had vanished into. How long would they take to decide? How long did court cases normally take to decide? He didn’t know. But he should tell the Chancellor about Anakin- Rex stopped mid thought.

The Chancellor was staring directly at him.

Unease crept through Rex. Why was he watching him? Did he know? No that was impossible- maybe Padmé simply hadn’t told him that he would be present. But that didn’t make sense, Padmé would have gone to the Chancellor first to clear it. So why?

Rex started sharply as the door to the courtroom opened, his fingers twitching toward guns that weren’t there. The Senators walked back to their seats and settled. One stood.

“The members of the court have reached a decision.” They pressed a button and the vote was sent to Mas Amedda. Rex watched him read it, then hand it to the Chancellor.

The Chancellor read it, then nodded and stood. Fear suddenly flooded Rex.

“Ahsoka Tano, by an overwhelming count of-”

“Chancellor!” Anakin’s voice flooded the courtroom. Everyone’s gaze snapped to him, the four Temple guards, and the dark figure in the center.

Ahsoka was saved.

Rex blinked quickly, trying to clear his burning vision so he could focus.

“I hope you have reason for bursting into our proceedings Master Skywalker,” the Chancellor said, sounding vaguely disapproving.

Anakin stalked forward, head raised high. “I am here with evidence and a confession from the person responsible for all the crimes Ahsoka has been accused of.” He and two of the guards stepped aside. “Barriss Offee! Member of the Jedi Order and traitor.” Venom bled from his voice.

A stunned silence filled the courtroom. Rex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Barriss Offee? Traitor? No- no that wasn’t possible either. She was a good Jedi- one of the best. She had healed and helped so many of his brothers. She was Ahsoka’s friend, surely she couldn’t have-

“Barriss?” Ahsoka’s tiny voice echoed deafeningly in the silence. “Is that true?” She was pleading, begging for Barriss to say it wasn’t.

“Tell them the truth,” Anakin snarled.

Barriss was silent for a moment, then stepped forward. The cameras all switched from Ahsoka to her.

“I did it.”

She sounded so quiet. Rex couldn’t understand. This padawan wasn’t- she couldn’t be-

Barriss continued, her voice suddenly gaining strength. “Because I’ve come to realize what many people in the Republic have come to realize. That the Jedi are the ones responsible for this war! That we’ve so lost our way that we have become villains in this conflict! That we are the ones that should be put on trial! ALL OF US! And my attack on the Temple was an attack on what the Jedi have become. An army fighting for the dark side, fallen from the light that we once held so dear. This Republic is failing! It’s only a matter of time.”

Rex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She had done it. She’d set Ahsoka up and been prepared to let her friend take the fall for her crimes. Fury and disgust boiling within him as he stared down at her. But even then he felt a tiny prick of understanding. The actions of the Jedi and the Republic had cast them into a new light for him.

“Take her away,” the Chancellor said. Rex watched as the guards surrounded Barriss again and led her out. Anakin stayed, turning to Ahsoka. He couldn’t see Anakin’s face, but he could imagine the relief on it.

“Ahsoka Tano,” the Chancellor’s voice boomed out again. Rex froze, turning to look at him. “In light of this new evidence, the Court finds you not guilty of all charges. You are free to go. Court dismissed.”

A breath Rex hadn’t realized he was holding escaped him. Ahsoka bowed slightly, then made her way to Anakin.

The Senators and Jedi rose, murmurs and whispers rising amongst them. Rex immediately headed for the door to meet Anakin and Ahsoka on their way out. Walking quickly, he pulled his helmet off, grateful for the fresh air. Catching sight of his Jedi with Padmé, he made his way over to them.

“Thank you for representing me, Padmé,” Ahsoka was saying. “It means a lot.”

“Of course Ahsoka,” Padmé said warmly, drawing Ahsoka into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re free now.”

Ahsoka smiled faintly and pulled away. Noticing Rex, she offered him a slight nod.

“Good to see you free, kid,” he said with a smile.

“Heh. Yeah,” she said, trying to return the smile but ultimately glancing away.

Obi-wan then approached. “Ahsoka,” he said with a warm nod. He then turned to address both Anakin and Ahsoka. “The Council would like to see both of you when we get back to the Temple.”

“Yes Master,” they said, bowing slightly. Obi-wan nodded and left.

Anakin turned to Padmé. “We have to go, but thank you again for being with Ahsoka on such short notice.”

“Of course,” Padmé said, then stopped, looking to Ahsoka. “Ahsoka, why don’t you stop by later?”

Ahsoka glanced up slightly. “Wh- oh. Sure.”

Concern flooded Rex. Something was wrong with Ahsoka. Was it Barriss? He wouldn’t be surprised. The two of them had been rather close. He imagined it would be like if Cody turned on him. A wave of empathy for her filled him. At least she was safe now.

The three of them walked out to the speeder and climbed in. The ride to the Temple was silent. When they landed, Anakin turned to Rex. “The 501st should be back soon. Why don’t you go meet with them? I’ll talk to you later.”

Rex nodded. “Alright sir.”

--

“She left.”

Rex started at the sudden words crackling through the comlink. “Sir?”

“She left the Jedi Order.”

Kix trailed off from his report, staring at Rex. Rex met his gaze, feeling frozen in place.

“I- don’t understand, sir,” he finally forced out.

“The Council betrayed her!” Anakin suddenly snarled, making both Rex and Kix start slightly. “They turned their back on her when she needed us most! And now she’s gone.”

Kix looked confused and startled. Rex hadn’t told the 501st about the trial yet. All they knew was that Ahsoka had gotten in a bit of trouble. He shook his head slightly at the medic. Later.

“Where did she go, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

Where would she go? She was a Jedi- former Jedi. She didn’t have any ties but the Temple. Friends? All Jedi that he knew of-  Padmé.

She would have gone to see Padmé.

Rex only hesitated for a second, then turned on his heel and swept out of the room.

--

He landed the speeder on the platform outside Padmé’s office. Technically he wasn’t doing anything wrong, but that didn’t make him feel any less like an intruder as he climbed out of the speeder and stood on the platform, waiting. He was done hunting her down. If she came to him, they would talk, if she didn’t, he would accept it and leave. He was done.

Eternities passed. He watched the sun sink lower and lower in the sky. And then the doors opened and she walked out. She walked toward him, stopping a good distance from him.

“I’m not going back.”

“I’m not here to take you back, Ahsoka.”

She looked at him hesitantly, confusion and something closed off crossing her face. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

Surprise and relief and sorrow all flooded her expression. Rex’s heart thudded dully in his chest. Would he ever see her again? There was no way to know. Tears burned at his eyes, but he forced them back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish I could say goodbye to everyone, but-” She shook her head again.

“It’s alright, kid,” he said gently. “I understand.”

She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “You’ll tell them for me, right? That it wasn’t their fault or anything?”

Rex nodded. “Of course I will.”

“Thank you.” Her voice came out in a near whisper, as if she was suffocating. She started to turn away, then stopped. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“Will you keep an eye on Anakin? I know- I know this is going to be hard for him and that he doesn’t understand.”

Rex’s heart sank. Anakin. He wouldn’t take it well. He already wasn’t. Rex knew things were already strained with Anakin and the rest of the Jedi. Anybody could see that. This was going to make it worse. Much worse.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. And then his gaze softened. “Ahsoka, if you need anything, you know you can contact me.”

“Rex...”

He shook his head, handing her a communicator. “Take it. You can pitch it into the underworld after I leave,” he said with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She rolled her eyes slightly, a glimpse of the Ahsoka he knew, then stepped forward to take the communicator. She stared at it for a moment, then put it on her belt and looked up to Rex.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

She nodded, then turned away and finally left. She didn’t look back, nor did he expect her to. He would miss her. They would all miss her. But he respected her choice.

“May the Force be with you,” he whispered to the empty air, then turned away and climbed back into the speeder.

Back to the war that had stolen yet another life.

[prongsisabadger]

TWP: Chapter 17

It is strange -feeling grief, true grief for the first time. Even more so for someone who had viewed death as a part of life for most of their life. It started out as a loss of hearing. The trooper who had given me that dreadful news was still talking, but there was nothing I could do to make myself concentrate on his words. I don't remember dismissing him, or even thanking me for passing on the information. I don't remember starting to walk, or even where I'd been headed. I don't remember bumping into Art, or him deciding to pull me aside and figure out what on the Force's name was wrong.

Nahdar was dead.

I stared into nothingness for a while as Art tried to make me speak, make me react, make me do something other than breathing and staring dumbly into space. He panicked, I think, because his next move was to grab me by the shoulders and shake me like he was trying to get rid of dust on a mantlepiece. This wasn't the right move to make apparently because of course troopers would notice a clone "assaulting" a commander. Art, poor thing, explained as best he could and someone had the brilliant idea to call the General. Something was wrong with the Commander, and no one knew what to do.

They escorted me to the medical bay and had someone look me over. There was nothing physically wrong with me, of course, so they decided to just let me sit on the cot until Master Plo arrived. They didn't have to wait long. Master Plo had sensed something was wrong, and had been on his way even before they decided to call for him.

"General, thank the Maker, I found the Commander like this and I don't-"

"Art, is it?" Interrupted Master Plo.

"Yes, sir. The medics couldn't find anything wrong with her…"

"That's because there is nothing wrong with the Commander," explained the general. "Your loyalty to Commander Foreas is commendable, Art, but rest assured she will be just fine. She is simply grieving."

The words seemed to burn me out of my stupor. As if hearing someone say it made it all the more real. I struggled not to cry in front of everyone present; not only would it have been embarrassing but also disrespectful. Jedi, just like clones, were simply life forms. One was not more precious than the other. If I hadn't cried for all the troopers we had already lost, what right did I have to cry over the life of a single Jedi? Granted, a close friend, but a single Jedi nonetheless. He had been fulfilling his duty, just as the fallen troopers had been.

"I need to pay my respects to Master Fisto." were the first words I felt I could say without breaking down. "I'm sorry I scared all of you, I overreacted."

Art put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

"No you didn't," He said. "I might not be a Jedi, Commander, but I know loss. We all handle it differently."

"Your friend is right, young one." added master Plo before patting my head. "You are allowed to have feelings, but what you must never do is let them consume you."

…

There was a simple memorial in the Jedi Temple for Nahdar. A recently knighted Jedi, a dutiful Padawan, and a treasured friend. There were only six of us. Master Yoda came to pay his respects as he did every time. Master Fisto was mourning the murder of his former Padawan just as I was that of a friend. Master Plo, Ahsoka, and her own master came to pay their respects and to support me. Murdered. Nahdar, the competitive little kid, my dueling partner for years, my close friend. It was hard to let myself feel grief but still power through. It was hard not to resent the war, to resent General Grievous. But Master Fisto had told me: Nahdar had died for his pride, for his fury, for his resentment. It was both a tragedy and a lesson on the mortality of Jedi, on how sometimes, even we were proud and made ourselves to be invincible. We were just life forms like any other, and our sensitivity to the force sometimes made us arrogant when we were no better than anyone else. We were simply different.

We had been taught not to make attachments in order not to let our feelings dictate our actions and lead us to the dark side. But I couldn't bring myself to not feel. It went against who I was, who I am. Emotions are a part of life but one's will and perseverance need to be strong in order to cope with them. To have the ability to reason through them, to know oneself enough to stop one from doing things out of sentiment.

I knew myself enough to realize I needed to meditate on the matter. To allow the Force to guide me through the pain, to let it light the path before me. A path where I could care for others and still remain on the light side of the Force. I sat by the altar Master Fisto had set up and stared into the flames of the candles around. I would need to rely on the Force, it's will, and it's wisdom to get through this war. And it all started here: at the very end.

…

Once again, death was all around me. The beautiful flora that had once decorated this planet was all but destroyed. I had lost so many men- so many. But we had orders, we had to take this position and hold it. I couldn't remember the name of the planet, or why the CIS had decided to invade such a remote system. All there was there and then was the will to survive and keep as many troops from dying as possible. We were outnumbered, but that was often the case and thus something the Pack and I had come to expect. Air support was busy with their own battle in the upper atmosphere, and Master Plo had taken a different squadron to outflank our enemy in the northern hemisphere. We were making good progress, pushing the enemy back with everything we had and outmaneuvering them at every turn. It was gruelling, relentless and it was almost an entire rotation of hard fighting before the enemy retreated. We didn't pursue it. Many troopers wanted to, but Commander Wollffe -who was put in charge of this battalion with me- and I thought it best to let the men rest and recoup before pressing the attack. We hadn't had too many casualties, but still the names on the data pad before me engraved themselves in my soul as I ate my rations.

Around me, Wolffe, Art, and Twitch all busied themselves. Wolffe was going over the holo maps of the area for the fifth time in an hour, and Art was tattooing Twitch's neck. The design looked like a flower they'd found in the area, and the fact that Twitch decided to remember the battles he'd fought by engraving them on his skin gave me an idea.

"Het, Art?" I asked as he put the finishing touches on the beautiful design. "Can you give me a few tattoos when we finish the mission?"

"I never pinned you like the type, Commander, but sure. I can start now if you'd like." He smiled.

"Oh, I don't want to tire you out even more th-"

"Keeping myself busy helps one not think, Commander."

I said nothing and simply nodded. I knew the feeling. Art took his laser gun and approached me as I started taking off the armour on my left arm. When he asked for the design, I simply gave him my data pad. The list I had been reading had the names of all the members of the Wolf Pack who had died in action since the incident with the Malevolence. It was a long list, and it would take several sessions to tackle.

"Commander…" He started when he realized just what he was looking at. He seemed to rethink what he was going to say and sucked a breath in before straightening up. "This will take a while."

"Then you better survive this, trooper. I wouldn't want to lose my tattoo artist, now would I?"

Both Wolffe and Twitch watched us silently, never asking a question, never saying what they thought on the matter. And I appreciated it. It wasn't nightfall yet, in fact it wasn't even dusk, so we still had time. None of us had guard duty that night, so for the next four hours we kept eachother company. We talked, and joked and planned all while Art continued to engrave the memory of lives lost onto my skin until it was time to turn in for the night.

…

"Come on, Boys! Let's show these tin cans who's boss around here!" Yelled Twitch beside me as we pushed the enemy back on the battlefield.

We had decided to ambush their position before they could make the first move. We had decided on a pincer maneuver, surrounding the enemy and pressing the attack on three different flanks. Wolffe suggested we have snipers positioned in the trees and dividing our troops into small, flexible teams to ensure maximum effectiveness. My knowledge of strategy was quite limited, but I trusted him to make the right choices for our sake and that of the mission.

The plan was working, and we had the upper hand. That is until the enemy started to get desperate.

"INCOMING!"

To my right an explosion went off where the enemy had pointed their tanks. But it wasn't the same kind that went off when plasma was fired, no. They were firing incendiary charges, which did more damage to the area around the target.

"Lay cover fire! Team alpha," I yelled before tapping the top of my head twice. "On me, we are taking out those tanks!"

The order must have been relayed over the comms, because the entire force started to move at once, pressing the attack and laying cover fire for our team to get to the tanks. It was a six man team and there were two three tanks. Headfirst and I took the center one while the others went for the ones on either flank. It felt rehearsed, really, how even without talking we still knew what to do. I worked as a shield for the both of us as we made the desperate sprint for the tanks. The blaster fire clashing with my saber, and Headfirst own blaster going off deafened me as we ran. I cleared a path for us, cutting down droid after droid and using the Force to push away those I couldn't.

"Headfirst, get up there, I'll cover you!" I said without looking.

Even when our troops had the clear advantage in the battle, it still felt like chaos. My senses were overloaded with stimuli, the Force was disturbed around the entire battlefield, the Troopers' stress, fear and fight for survival felt like my own. And then, I felt it. Headfirst's desperation and rising panic. I turned to see what happened as I deflected more blaster fire. His armour had got stuck on a broken piece of the tank's hull, and he didn't have a grenade in his hand. He had set the charge and thrown it into a tank full of incendiary charges and he couldn't get away.

My body moved before I even got to think about it. I jumped onto the tank and cut the piece of metal holding him down with my saber. I knew what was about to happen, so I grabbed him by the waist and turned from the tank before jumping. I didn't even get to use the force to get us further, the blast from the explosion did it for me, burning the entire back of my armour in the process. I felt something dripping down the side of my face and down my chin as I lay there, motionless, and face down on top of white and gray armour. My ears were ringing and my right shoulder blade felt as if it had been on fire. Underneath me, Headfirst was still breathing, and the Force around him was still very much there, which gave me the tiniest bit of comfort. My vision was quite blurred, but I could still see white bodies moving around us and shielding us from enemy fire as they continued to chase the enemy out of their positions.

Someone got me off Headfirst and onto the ground beside me, attempting to get me to sit so I wouldn't put pressure on my back.

"Medic," I said to the trooper checking on Headfirst. "Report."

The man who was at my back continued to clean what I deduced was some sort of burn.

"He's got a concussion, but it's not serious. One rib and a few fingers broken, Ma'am. He'll be just fine."

[courtneytincher]

Jew-baiting is part of the Trump playbook. It's a feature, not a bug

Donald Trump used an anti-semitic trope about disloyal Jews in a tweet about Democrats. Old habits die hard‘Religion and ethnicity were fair game for Trump from start to finish, and Jews were not off-limits.’ Photograph: Mandel Ngan/AFP/Getty ImagesOn Tuesday, Donald Trump announced that American Jews who voted Democratic were either stupid, disloyal or both. As Trump framed things: “I think any Jewish people that vote for a Democrat, I think it shows either a total lack of knowledge or great disloyalty.” Disloyal to Trump, the US or Israel, the president did not specify. But he didn’t have to, the message was clear enough: American Jews are now a cross between political props and piñatas.Almost on cue, Matt Brooks, the executive director of the Republican Jewish Coalition, eagerly whitewashed the president’s comments. According to Brooks, Trump’s goal was really about communal therapy, and what Trump actually meant was: “You’re being disloyal to yourself to say, ‘Hey, I support somebody who is known to espouse anti-Semitic comments.’”Realizing that he may have bitten off more than he wanted to chew, Brooks later enthusiastically retweeted: “I don’t think for a min he’s questioning our loyalty to America or country.” Sure, he isn’t.So once again, Jew-baiting will be part of the Trump playbook, just as it was in 2016 and 2018, even if Trump’s allies now proclaim that Jexodus is just around the corner. Old campaign habits die hard and sometimes not all.Three years ago, thinly veiled anti-Semitic messages from Team Trump were features not bugs. Pepe the Frog was a constant campaign meme. In July 2016, Trump tweeted out an image of the star of David, Hillary Clinton and piles of money. After the initial stir, the six-pointed star was replaced by Trump with a circle. Still, folks “got it”, on both sides, just like in Charlottesville.Then just days before the election, George Soros, Janet Yellen and Lloyd Blankfein took center stage in Trump’s closing ad. Back then Rashida Tlaib and Ilhan Omar were not on the stage, someone else would have to make do.Said differently, religion and ethnicity were fair game for Trump from start to finish, and Jews were not off-limits. As one of Trump’s lawyers told me, it was about expedience, that’s all; nothing personal, just look at Jared. Or as Steve Bannon confided to Michael Wolff, he couldn’t vouch that Trump wasn’t a racist, but Bannon could say that Trump “probably wasn’t an anti-Semite”.History not only rhymes, it can repeat itself. When last year’s midterms rolled around it was pretty much the same story, that is until the Shabbat morning massacre in Pittsburgh. No less than Kevin McCarthy, then the House majority leader, had tweeted and then deleted: “We cannot allow Soros, Steyer, and Bloomberg to BUY this election! Get out and vote Republican November 6th. MAGA”. The song had remained the same.The fact that Soros and Steyer had already been targeted by now convicted pipe bomber, Cesar Sayoc, made no difference to McCarthy. The specter of Nancy Pelosi as House speaker meant that mores could be disregarded, and if that line of attack was good enough for Trump, it was definitely fine for McCarthy. Unlike Paul Ryan, McCarthy was never thought by Trump to be a boy scout. In the congressional midterms, Jews cast between 72 and almost 80% of their votes for Democrats.Yet Trump has definitely gained traction with segments of America’s Jews. The latest Siena poll of New York’s voters show Trump’s approval among Jews in the Empire State at 57%, a figure higher than Trump’s standing among whites overall, Catholics, or Protestants. Likewise, a majority of New York’s Jews say they plan to vote for Trump. With the exception of Republicans and conservatives, Trump’s numbers are underwater with everyone else.By that measure, the breach within the American Jewish Community is not disappearing anytime soon. Instead, expect it to grow. Trump delivered on his promises to move the US embassy to Jerusalem, and in shredding the Iran Deal struck by Barack Obama. With New York’s large Orthodox Jewish population, these issues possess particular resonance.The reality also is that Trump has a difficult time putting distance between himself and white nationalists, and takes unvarnished pride in turning up the rhetorical heat. The Proud Boys are his latest love object, and Trump struggled to disavow David Duke, the former Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan.Even with low unemployment Trump feels compelled to scorch the social fabric. On the other hand, ethnic arson is a long-time Trump specialty. Can you say, “Obama’s birth certificate”?Like a Rorschach test, American Jews along with all Americans will see what they want to see, with 2020 looming as another flashpoint. In the midst of our not so-cold civil war, division is the operative coin of the realm. Expect the president to stomp on these deepening fissures daily without any hesitation or remorse. * Lloyd Green was opposition research counsel to George HW Bush’s 1988 campaign and served in the Department of Justice from 1990 to 1992

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines

Donald Trump used an anti-semitic trope about disloyal Jews in a tweet about Democrats. Old habits die hard‘Religion and ethnicity were fair game for Trump from start to finish, and Jews were not off-limits.’ Photograph: Mandel Ngan/AFP/Getty ImagesOn Tuesday, Donald Trump announced that American Jews who voted Democratic were either stupid, disloyal or both. As Trump framed things: “I think any Jewish people that vote for a Democrat, I think it shows either a total lack of knowledge or great disloyalty.” Disloyal to Trump, the US or Israel, the president did not specify. But he didn’t have to, the message was clear enough: American Jews are now a cross between political props and piñatas.Almost on cue, Matt Brooks, the executive director of the Republican Jewish Coalition, eagerly whitewashed the president’s comments. According to Brooks, Trump’s goal was really about communal therapy, and what Trump actually meant was: “You’re being disloyal to yourself to say, ‘Hey, I support somebody who is known to espouse anti-Semitic comments.’”Realizing that he may have bitten off more than he wanted to chew, Brooks later enthusiastically retweeted: “I don’t think for a min he’s questioning our loyalty to America or country.” Sure, he isn’t.So once again, Jew-baiting will be part of the Trump playbook, just as it was in 2016 and 2018, even if Trump’s allies now proclaim that Jexodus is just around the corner. Old campaign habits die hard and sometimes not all.Three years ago, thinly veiled anti-Semitic messages from Team Trump were features not bugs. Pepe the Frog was a constant campaign meme. In July 2016, Trump tweeted out an image of the star of David, Hillary Clinton and piles of money. After the initial stir, the six-pointed star was replaced by Trump with a circle. Still, folks “got it”, on both sides, just like in Charlottesville.Then just days before the election, George Soros, Janet Yellen and Lloyd Blankfein took center stage in Trump’s closing ad. Back then Rashida Tlaib and Ilhan Omar were not on the stage, someone else would have to make do.Said differently, religion and ethnicity were fair game for Trump from start to finish, and Jews were not off-limits. As one of Trump’s lawyers told me, it was about expedience, that’s all; nothing personal, just look at Jared. Or as Steve Bannon confided to Michael Wolff, he couldn’t vouch that Trump wasn’t a racist, but Bannon could say that Trump “probably wasn’t an anti-Semite”.History not only rhymes, it can repeat itself. When last year’s midterms rolled around it was pretty much the same story, that is until the Shabbat morning massacre in Pittsburgh. No less than Kevin McCarthy, then the House majority leader, had tweeted and then deleted: “We cannot allow Soros, Steyer, and Bloomberg to BUY this election! Get out and vote Republican November 6th. MAGA”. The song had remained the same.The fact that Soros and Steyer had already been targeted by now convicted pipe bomber, Cesar Sayoc, made no difference to McCarthy. The specter of Nancy Pelosi as House speaker meant that mores could be disregarded, and if that line of attack was good enough for Trump, it was definitely fine for McCarthy. Unlike Paul Ryan, McCarthy was never thought by Trump to be a boy scout. In the congressional midterms, Jews cast between 72 and almost 80% of their votes for Democrats.Yet Trump has definitely gained traction with segments of America’s Jews. The latest Siena poll of New York’s voters show Trump’s approval among Jews in the Empire State at 57%, a figure higher than Trump’s standing among whites overall, Catholics, or Protestants. Likewise, a majority of New York’s Jews say they plan to vote for Trump. With the exception of Republicans and conservatives, Trump’s numbers are underwater with everyone else.By that measure, the breach within the American Jewish Community is not disappearing anytime soon. Instead, expect it to grow. Trump delivered on his promises to move the US embassy to Jerusalem, and in shredding the Iran Deal struck by Barack Obama. With New York’s large Orthodox Jewish population, these issues possess particular resonance.The reality also is that Trump has a difficult time putting distance between himself and white nationalists, and takes unvarnished pride in turning up the rhetorical heat. The Proud Boys are his latest love object, and Trump struggled to disavow David Duke, the former Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan.Even with low unemployment Trump feels compelled to scorch the social fabric. On the other hand, ethnic arson is a long-time Trump specialty. Can you say, “Obama’s birth certificate”?Like a Rorschach test, American Jews along with all Americans will see what they want to see, with 2020 looming as another flashpoint. In the midst of our not so-cold civil war, division is the operative coin of the realm. Expect the president to stomp on these deepening fissures daily without any hesitation or remorse. * Lloyd Green was opposition research counsel to George HW Bush’s 1988 campaign and served in the Department of Justice from 1990 to 1992

August 21, 2019 at 02:47PM via IFTTT

[raggywaltz1954]

The appearance of an original Blue Note record has caused a stir in the Raggy Waltz office.  The excitement coupled with the all-around greatness of the album made a write-up necessary.  To the music we go!

The Music

https://raggywaltz.files.wordpress.com/2018/06/scrapple-from-the-apple.wav

The Tune:  Scrapple From The Apple

Recorded: 23 May, 1963 in Paris, France

Personnel:

Dexter Gordon-  Tenor Sax

Bud Powell-  Piano

Pierre Michelot-  Bass

Kenny Clarke-  Drums

This is one of those albums where it’s hard to single out one track as a favorite.  Unsurprisingly, this is one of those albums where you can listen to the entire thing through without skipping a single song.  Each track is strong and is a great example of Dexter Gordon’s muscular and ebullient sax work simultaneously showcasing the rhythm section as well.  The track list is straight from the bebop glory days of the 1940’s, which makes sense considering the fellas on the record.  With the exception of French bassist Pierre Michelot, everyone in the group came of age during the bebop era.  Bud Powell was the great pianist that successfully transferred the rapid lines of Charlie Parker’s alto sax into the piano idiom, while Kenny Clarke was one of the pioneering bop drummers.  And then there’s Dexter Gordon, a giant on the tenor sax, figuratively and literally (the man was well over 6 feet tall).

This album was recorded shortly after Dexter Gordon had relocated to Europe, one of many black jazz musicians to do so in the 1950’s and 60’s.  The more tolerant and respectful climate of Europe was much more attractive to black musicians than the unrelenting racism and stress of America, and this group was made up mostly of such expatriates.  Apparently, pianist Kenny Drew was supposed to be on piano and the album was going to be full of originals from Gordon, but Bud Powell ended up being in the studio instead, and since he could’t play the originals, some jazz standards were called.  The results are a free-wheeling, happy session of jazz.  Gordon sounds particularly invigorated on the first track, Charlie Parker’s original “Scrapple from the Apple”.  He blows chorus after chorus, inserting a few bars of the ‘First Call’ bugle call and then a quote from “This Can’t Be Love”.  He occasionally seems to be on the verge of leaving the confines of the tune for the more avant garde sounds beginning to be in vogue in the early 60’s, but always comes right back, swinging firmly and joyfully.

Bud Powell’s playing on this track and on the album in general is fantastic.  I’ve read that his playing declined during the 1950’s and that by the 1960’s, due to numerous factors, his playing was a shadow of what it used to be.  To my ears, uneducated in Powell, he sounds fine, both his piano and his voice.  In the great tradition of pianists such as Erroll Garner and Oscar Peterson, Bud Powell sings his piano lines, which adds to the whimsical nature of the album.

The main reason why I chose to feature this track over the others (“Night In Tunisia” was an extremely close second) was because of the catchy melody and the infectious “Tea For Two” tag Gordon plays after Powell’s solo during the fours with drummer Kenny Clarke.  After listening to the album through twice, this tag and the melody were stuck in my head for the rest of the day…and the next.  And then, to cement the fact that this is indeed a real bebop album, Powell comes in on Clarke’s drum solo in what seems like an accident.  If at least one person doesn’t accidentally barge in during the drum solo, is it really bebop?  Nope.

This album was a critical success, with many modern critics and fans having designated it “core collection” status, or as the high-faluting jazz snobs call it, “if you don’t own this album, do you even LIKE jazz?”  The general consensus is that “Night In Tunisia” is the clear highlight of the album.  Like I said earlier, it was hard for me to come up with a favorite, but “Tunisia” barely lost out to “Scrapple” on account of the latter’s rash-like infectious nature.  However, since I didn’t include that version here, I thought I’d instead include a hip version of “Tunisia” from a live-ish setting.  It’s Dexter Gordon as a lucky club patron in Europe would have seen him during the time of this recording.  Tunisia.  Tunisia!

The Cover Art

Raggy Waltz Rating:  A+

This is quite possibly the hippest, suavest album art I have in my record collection.  In fact, this is part of the reason why I always liked and wanted this album.  Dexter Gordon was a cool dude.  He dressed like a GQ model during the 1960’s, had a rich voice that he used to great effect by introducing ballads by reciting their lyrics, and was a native Californian- all factors that made him one of the hippest and smoothest jazz musicians of his time.  This album cover exudes all of that.  Looking like an Ivy League disciple with his club collar, pinned together with a safety pin collar pin, and glen plaid coat, Gordon definitely looked the part of a jazz musician.  The side profile catching him deep in thought adds to the serious nature of the photograph, and it being in black and white makes it all the more arresting.  The playful, tasteful pop of color and arrangement of the album title keeps things from getting TOO serious.  After all, jazz isn’t just about being serious.  It’s about having fun expressing one’s self!  Francis Wolff and Reid Miles strike again.  The artwork on this album doesn’t just invite attention; it demands it.

The Back

You know you’re in for a treat when Nat Hentoff is in the writer’s chair.  You also know you’ll need a dictionary when Nat Hentoff is in the writer’s chair, and he starts off with a beautiful word in the first sentence with ‘sanguine’.  What a great word.  The liner notes are informative, insightful, and interesting.  Thanks to Mr. Hentoff, there’s nothing much to add, other than that the album jacket is in relatively great condition considering its age.  The back is still relatively white, with barely any tearing, all good news on a fifty-plus year old album from the banner year of 1963 (at least in America).

The Vinyl

Rudy Van Gelder may not have been in the recording booth during the making of this album (shoutout to the French engineer Claude Ermelin), but his mastering skills still grace this album, and as a result his name is stamped in the runnout.  By 1963, most vinyl was stamped with the fancy new presses that left no deep-groove, and this album is an example of that.  The labels are beautifully crisp in their classic white and blue.  Absolutely gorgeous.  This is a mono recording, but the music is still front and center and full of life.  On a good system, the music leaps right off the record and comes not just to you, but AT you.  It’s as if Dex and the band are right in the room with me.  Each time I play this album, I’m blown away with the fantastic quality of the record and the sound of the recording.  Another round of applause to Mr. Claude Ermelin.  The vinyl plays remarkably quiet, with not a crackle, pop, or snap.  In fact, it sounds brand new to my ears, as close to 1963 as I’ll ever get (then again, I am in the American South…).  The presence of the Plastylite ‘ear’ in the runnout combined with the medium-heavy vinyl make me think that this is a first-pressing.  Of course, it could be a fourth pressing for all I know, and I truly don’t care.  It was made before the Liberty acquisition of ’66, so it’s alright with me.  Speaking of acquisition, how did a newly graduated guy like myself come to be adding this album to my library?

The Acquisition

One of the coolest aspects of running this blog has been correspondence I’ve had with the readers.  Some are a few states away, others a border away, and still others an ocean away.  Two weeks ago, a reader all the way in Belgium contacted me and after saying a lot of nice things that made me blush (a hard thing to do for somebody that looks like me), told me he wanted to send a gift.  This being 2018, I was highly suspicious, but decided to trust him.  A week later, a package arrived in the mail.  I opened it, and began to weep.  It looked absolutely beautiful.  Then I took the vinyl out and began to weep even harder; it looked pristine.  Doing my best to clear my eyes, I put the record on my turntable and carefully dropped the needle on the first track.  There was the delicious quiet swish as the needle slipped into the opening grooves, then the crisp sounds of piano, bass and drums sounded.  As I weeped even more, I decided to check what a good condition copy of this album goes for these days.  The results made me cry so loud, I had to replay the album so I could actually hear it.  “Willow Weep For Me” has a new meaning for me.  Amen and amen.

There have been many highlights and high points during my blogging experience, but this is certainly the highlightingest and high pointingest.  A beautiful album, one that I’ve always wanted to eventually own, now mine.  For the absolute best college collector price in the world.  To my Belgian reader and friend, if you are reading this, thank you again for this graduation gift/birthday gift/Christmas gift/Kwanzaa gift.  It will forever have a special place in my record collection.

Our Man In Paris // Dexter Gordon (Blue Note BLP 4146) The appearance of an original Blue Note record has caused a stir in the Raggy Waltz office. 

[sherrinumbers1-blog]

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[jerryadler-blog]

In Trump’s White House, flattery will get you anywhere

President Donald J. Trump celebrates the passage of the Tax Cuts Act with Vice President Mike Pence, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, and Speaker of the House Paul Ryan | December 20, 2017 (Official White House Photo by Joyce N. Boghosian)

Among the many services George Washington did his country, we can be grateful he chose to be called “President of the United States,” because if then-Vice President John Adams had had his way, we might have to address Donald Trump as “His Elective Majesty.”  Sycophancy is part of the job description of a vice president, of course, but Adams surely had nothing on Mike Pence, who at a celebratory Cabinet meeting last month delivered a three-minute homage to His Elective Majesty that, by the Washington Post’s count, paid tribute to Trump’s leadership, abilities and accomplishments, on average, every 12 seconds.

Modesty isn’t a trait often ascribed to presidents, or to Trump personally, but watching him lap up this Niagara of praise, I couldn’t help wonder, Doesn’t he see through this BS?

It was with that question in mind that I picked up Michael Wolff’s account of the early months of the Trump presidency, “Fire and Fury,” and having read it I can say with confidence that no, he doesn’t see through it at all.

Questions have been raised about some of Wolff’s reporting, but the big picture merely confirms what we’ve always suspected about Trump (who, come to think of it, might actually prefer another from the list of Adams’ suggested honorifics, “His Mightiness”). “It was obvious to everyone that if he had a North Star, it was just to be liked,” Wolff writes. During the campaign, Trump himself explained his obvious affection for Russian President Vladimir Putin in the simplest and most personal terms: “He said, ‘Trump is a genius, OK?” Actually, it appears that the word Putin used (яркий, pronounced “yarkii”) more accurately translates to “bright,” in the metaphoric sense of “eye-catching” or “colorful” — not “smart” and certainly not “genius.” But one hears what one chooses, and since “genius” happens to coincide with Trump’s own self-assessment, it’s easy to see why it appealed to him.

And, indeed, Trump’s susceptibility to flattery is one of the running themes of Wolff’s book, along with his ignorance, laziness and emotional volatility. The people around Trump quickly learned that praising him was both a requirement of their positions and a much preferable way to push a point of view than logic or facts. Wolff describes an existential struggle among three competing power centers: chief strategist Steve Bannon with his agenda of overthrowing the Republican establishment in favor of his tea party revolutionaries; chief of staff Reince Priebus, channeling the priorities of House Speaker Paul Ryan and the congressional leadership; and the Jared Kushner-Ivanka Trump nexus, representing relatively centrist Wall Street interests and values. This hugely consequential competition was essentially settled, according to Wolff, quoting an unnamed senior White House aide, at a meeting between Trump and Ryan in which the House speaker rose “to a movie-version level of flattery and sucking up painful to witness.” Wolff writes: “In an example of the odd and unpredictable effects of personal chemistry on Trump – of how easy it can be to sell the salesman – Trump would now eagerly back Ryan’s agenda instead of the other way around.”

This predilection of Trump’s even explains one of the most perplexing questions about his presidency, how he chose as communications director Anthony Scaramucci, a volatile and profane money manager whose idea of burnishing the president’s image was to call up a New Yorker reporter to accuse his White House rival Bannon of performing fellatio on himself. When Scaramucci was being pushed for the job, reportedly by Ivanka Trump, Wolff writes “it was the president who was won over by the Mooch’s cringeworthy Wall Street hortatory flattery. ‘I can only hope to realize a small part of your genius as a communicator, but you are my example and model,’ was one report of the gist of the Scaramucci supplication.”

And flattery in the Trump administration didn’t just flow up to the president — it imbued the entire operation, enveloping the entire staff in a soothing, or occasionally unnerving, bath of praise, functioning as a unifying concept, like “family connections” in the White House of John F. Kennedy or “paranoia” in Richard Nixon’s.  Economic adviser Gary Cohn, “once [Bannon’s] killer enemy, was now desperate to be named Fed chairman and currying favor with Bannon—‘licking my balls,’ Bannon said with quite a cackle.” For Trump and the people around him, flattery was transactional: “That was the nature of Trump’s particular salesmanship. His strategic belief was that there was no reason not heap excessive puffery on a prospect. But if the prospect was ruled out as a buyer, there was no reason not to heap scorn and lawsuits on him or her.” It worked on retired general Michael Flynn: “Intoxicated by Trump’s flattery during the campaign … Flynn had become quite the maniacal partisan,” Wolff writes, adding that Trump, with his reciprocal weakness for adulation, had even flirted with the idea of making Flynn — who has subsequently pleaded guilty to lying to the FBI — his running mate. At the time, Flynn called it an “unbelievable honor” to be in the mix to be Trump’s No. 2.

I realize that, as a layman whose personal acquaintance with Trump is limited to one meeting 35 years ago, I am in no way qualified to opine on his psychology. But still. Maybe I flatter myself, but I like to think that I, or any normal person, would have seen through the Mooch — Scaramucci’s nickname for himself — for the BS artist he was. Of course, Trump himself is both the Michelangelo and the Cosimo de Medici of BS.

But then I was reminded of an aphorism by the columnist Michael Kinsley, sometimes called “Kinsley’s law”: “Insincere flattery is even more flattering than sincere flattery.” The content of flattery, or its accuracy, is mostly irrelevant to the person on the receiving end; “what really flatters a man,” said George Bernard Shaw, “is that you think him worth flattering.” Scaramucci might have gotten just as far by praising Trump for his golf game, or his command of French.

In Trump’s defense, he is a product of his life experiences, as we all are. He spent much of the last decade as a star in an industry, show business, where exaggerated fawning is regarded as a normal employee perk, like free coffee in newsrooms. Many people have wondered why Trump, who claims to hate the “failing New York Times,” nevertheless seems so eager to speak to its reporters. My own theory is that he never quite got over the first time he was profiled in the paper, as a young up-and-comer in the real-estate industry, in an article that began “He is tall, lean and blond, with dazzling white teeth, and he looks ever so much like Robert Redford.” The same story also appears to be the source of the long-standing misapprehension that he graduated at the top of his class from the University of Pennsylvania’s business school. (The article reports his putative academic record without attribution, but reading between the lines you can almost hear Trump dropping that tidbit into the interview, but modestly asking not to be quoted on it.) Who wouldn’t want to pick up the paper and read that about himself?

Nor is Trump unique for his love of flattery. Powerful figures all through history, from God to Billy Crystal, have sought and used flattery to achieve their purposes and feel good about themselves, as Richard Stengel, an editor and former undersecretary of state, wrote in “You’re Too Kind: A Brief History of Flattery.”

Since we began this essay by comparing Trump unfavorably to George Washington, it seems only fair to crib from Stengel’s book Washington’s Mooch-worthy letter to his commander in chief when he was seeking a promotion from his rank of colonel in the Virginia militia: “Do not think, My Lord, that I am going to flatter; notwithstanding, I have exalted sentiments of your Lorship’s character and respect your rank, it is not my intention to adulate.”

Stengel — who by the way is one of the world’s greatest journalists, incredibly good-looking and an amazing gourmet cook, or at least, he was when he was managing editor of Time and I was a writer at Newsweek — adds that he got the promotion.

And one more footnote: as of Sunday, Bannon, who was quoted extensively, and devastatingly, in Wolff’s book, was in full apology mode, a process that actually began on Wednesday as excerpts of the book began circulating. “The president of the United States is a great man,” Bannon said. By Thursday morning, Trump was advertising his readiness to be stroked by the man who had all but  accused Trump’s own son and namesake of treason. “He called me a great man last night,” Trump told reporters. “So, you know, he obviously changed his tune pretty quick.”

_____

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