#so true. the senate house is blushing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lesbiannancytruther · 4 months

Note

Ronance but they got a poly/fwb thing with Chrissy/Heather 👀

as the ogs know this account was founded on my adoration for sapphic senate i love poly ronance

just the idea that both of them are magnets for attention, nancy is a hurricane of a woman and has a case of pretty face disorder (after all she pulled the whole friend group like!!) and robin is so charming and genuine and witty they both literally can’t help but pull

i don’t see either of them seeing other people separate of each other, like it would definitely be a both of them thing and i don’t think either would get superrrr romantically attached to anyone else but i can absolutely picture fun hookups.

this is all thought of under the pretense that both nancy and robin are more experienced and comfortable in their sexualities and expectations after spending time together and in queer spaces so keep that in mind

ALSO NSFW KINDA

for heather

heather cornering nancy at a house party after making eyes at each other all night, gauging her interest, and all nancy says is “as long as you’re cool with my girlfriend watching” before leading her off to a bedroom that robin is already in, who’d met nancy’s eyes from across the room and read her expression (being together for a few years makes you good at that).

it starts with robin watching, smothering a smirk as heather takes nancy apart, giving heather pointers that always result in higher pitched whines from a breathless nancy, but eventually it devolves into a free for all after heather asks if robin wants a turn, supported by pleading whimpers from nancy, and robin takes turns with both, and they both take turns with her until its a mess of lips, teeth, slick, and sweat that ends with all of them breathless and boneless, piled up on the bed.

robin and nancy wake up alone the next morning with a slip of paper and a number, with a coy “lets do that again sometime” written in a slanted hand, signed with an h.

for chrissy

i imagine chrissy frequents the family video store really often, she loves sticky romcoms and has a bit of the thing for the scattered but snarky cashier who’s rings brush her fingers every time she hands over the small fee for that weekend’s movie.

she knows robin buckley, knows she was in band in high school, knows the rumors, knows they’re true. knows that nancy wheeler wears her distinctive jackets to house parties to cover up the vivid marks on her neck. and with that knowledge she keeps a respectful distance, because in friendlier corners of town it was well known that nancy and robin owned each other in every way that matters.

she subdues herself to light blushes as she leaves the store and smiling to herself at the rasp of robin’s voice when one day, none other than nancy wheeler is perched on the counter of family video, smiling at something robin said when she turns her attention to chrissy. her look turns thoughtful, like she’s considering something, before offering chrissy the half-hearted wave of seeing someone you’re acquainted with in public.

nancy is striking in her own way, and when chrissy walks up to the counter with her latest pick, dirty dancing, she finds herself a little overwhelmed with both of them looking at her, and it takes her a moment to register robin talking to her, asking her if she wants to hang out with them when robin’s shift ends, and all she can do is stutter out a startled yes.

it starts off really casual, the three of them lounging in a diner, chrissy in one booth and nancy and robin in the other, talking about nothing. both robin and nancy are not-so-subtley flirting with each other, not surprising, but they also direct that energy towards chrissy, and when the bill is paid, they both ask with sharp smiles if she wants to hang out more at nancy’s place (her family is out of town for the weekend, not that that should matter)

things get a little crazy when they take her down to the basement, and robin and nancy are getting a little handsy with each other, and chrissy stands to excuse herself. its one thing, watching their affection for each other, its another to watch them get more physical, every touch sending a flash of heat through her, and its going to be an actual problem much too fast.

both robin and nancy look sheepish and nancy steps forward, admitting that they’d thought she’d be into joining them, and apologizing for assuming that.

chrissy: floored

because?? what?? they both?? wanted?? to do something like that?? with her?? she could tell they were flirting but this was more than she imagined for their FIRST hangout!

(she says yes)

(they ask her if she can bring her cheerleading uniform next time)

(she does)

#ronance #stranger things #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #i have #no idea what these ship names would be?#heather holloway x nancy wheeler x robin buckley #hollowheeley #lol #chrissy cunningham x nancy wheeler x robin buckley #cunningwheeley #teehee #chrissy cunningham #heather holloway

21 notes · View notes

therealnuclearplatypus · 1 year

Text

the vzblr gods gon hate me for this one 😭

FROM THE DIARIES OF ONE PRAETOR F.Z.

untitled entry

i don't know i don't know i don't know what to do anymore

i love hazel i definitely loved hazel

l o v e d

i don't know what to feel anymore

untitled entry

she says we're better off as friends and there's this weight off my chest oh my gods it's okay she doesn't hate me we're gonna be fine

she smiled at me when i told her i'd been scared of telling her that. then she wacked me upside the head.

i definitely love her. but i understand that love better now.

untitled entry

it's been weeks. being a praetor is honestly so hard but so rewarding. like, that's my legion! but also, holy shit, i've gotta lead a legion.

apollo told me mine was the fastest rise through ranks since caesar. since caesar was stabbed to death in the senate house, i find that comparison worrying. he laughed and told me that everyone dies. he's a charmer, that one.

hazel and lavinia have been making eyes at each other. i'm happy for them. for her. i ship it already.

untitled entry

oh my gods it's official they're lesbians i'm honestly so happy for them. it's true, we're better off friends. i feel like pieces are slotting into place: hazel and lavinia, me and ...

oh well

untitled entry

i'm gonna shove a stick up valdez's ass i swear to jupiter

untitled entry

re last entry: i actually tried and now he keeps making lewd faces at me. bastard

untitled entry

i've got used to the sudden unexpected changes in life. oop, your mom's dead, have a medal! oop, you're the son of a roman god, slay! (literally.) oop, you're going on a quest so you're a centurion now, congrats! oop, have a battlefield promotion, bibbity bobbity boo you're praetor!

but now. oop, you're crushing on a guy who definitely doesn't like you back! say sike! no one's saying sike!!!!!!!

what's worse, we've only ever been sort of friends at best. we're closer now, but he still seems ... hesitant. like he's holding back. like something about me makes him want to stay away.

which hurts.

why oh why did i have to fall for leo

untitled entry

yep that's it i'm in love with him. fuck

entry: unrequited

he's so pretty i can't even. concentration out the window whenever he's near so much that hazel keeps asking me if i'm okay. his hair curls like fine silk and it's black like the sky at midnight. when the light falls on it it's like stars. he's his own little universe, a microcosm of sorts. he's so beautiful.

entry: pining

he made eye contact with me for a few seconds too long today. his eyes look like melted chocolate, like the fondue grandmother used to make when she was in a good mood.

(lactose-free. yeah. whatever.)

then he grinned and it was like. i don't know, like the clouds parting after a prolonged storm. like clearing skies and pure waters. i don't know, i don't know.

he blushed, too, and i don't know why he did that. maybe i fucked up somehow. i always seem to be doing that.

entry: screamingcrying

we were mucking around today, just me and him. it was heaven. then he started joking about crushes (he has been doing that a lot since calypso broke up with him) and asked me if i have one. i said, a crush is a very simple term for it isn't it? he smiled an annoyingly knowing smile and said, oh, 'crush' is too basic for you? too childish? oh, zhang's feelings go oh-so-much deeper than a mere 'crush'! i went red and shoved him but he persisted as only he knows how to.

are you in looove? he asked, poking me in the stomach. and my dumb fucking ass nODDED. i NODDED. i admitted having a 'crush' to my cRUSH.

i've always been a dumbfuck.

i asked him if he has one, and he said. he said.

he said no.

i'll say that squashed my feelings a bit.

entry: possibility?

maybe maybe maybe maybe

hope has always been my greatest weakness. that, and marshmallows.

but maybe. he held my hand today and leant his head on my shoulder and smiled a lot whenever i talked.

maybe maybe maybe

entry: winning

oh my gods oh my fuck oh mY LORD

we were on my bed. we were playing i spy. a stupid game, really, but he said he liked stupid things. then winked at me. i gave him the finger.

we played a few rounds. he's really good, he's very observant. he also made his super difficult, the jerk. anyways, it was his turn and he said i spy with my little eye something that starts with h and i looked around and said hair tie? no. hair? no. hippo plushie? not that either. after a while i gave up and he winked me and nudged me and said you wanna know what it was? i sighed and said yeah and he rubbed his hands together and whispered it right in my ear, giving me shivers and tingles all over my body.

hunk, he said. i said where the hell do you see one and he smirked and pointed at me. i'm pretty sure i turned into a tomato or a beetroot or some shit and told him to fuck off and he went no but seriously, you are.

my heart was doing all these funny acrobatics in my chest and i dared to say, you're not too bad yourself. he shook his head and i kept saying yeah you are and then at one point my big fat mouth said yes you are you idiot you're so pretty you have no idea and he stared at me like i was a weirdo and i regretted it i regretted it so much and

and he kissed me. all of a sudden, in a rush, no warning. like he was scared i'd back away if he didn't do it fast enough, if i saw it coming. which i didn't. one minute i was sweating over saying too much and suddenly he was kissing me and it was heaven on earth purest paradise

i found my wits and kissed him back. i kISSED HIM BACK HE SAID HE LIKES ME TOO WE'RE DATING HOW DID ALL THAT HAPPEN

i am. winning

entry: pfft bahaha you keep a diary L bozo mwa ily

NO WAY FRANK YOU KEEP A DIARY? YOU LITERALLY CANNOT GET ANY CUTER.

leo btw. i found it, i didn't read anything. i wouldn't do that. i'm curious but i respect you more than that. so.

here's this for when you write in here next. a lil note from me. mwahaha.

i say a lot of things and i only mean half of them. i mean all the i love yous, though. and the compliments. you are the only man ever. i love you i love you i love you.

you mean the absolute world to me. i suck with words, you know that. but i'll try, because you're worth every effort. forgive the cringe.

with cal it was like. ooh first girlfriend first reciprocated feelings first heteronormative anything slay slay slay. but then you happened and it was like. explosion. you fucked up all the gears and reprogrammed everything. for the better. it was like an update. leo 2.0, new and improved, now with 100000% more genuineness because his boyfriend makes him a better version of himself. and you do, fai. you really do.

i never ever ever wanna let you go. what we have. i wanna grow old with you. i wanna see you le

naw naw okay that's enough sappiness there'll be many more years to come for you to hear all that. i hope. no, fuck. i know.

love ya bbg, xxx

@shittygaypornmagazinedotcom 👀

#oops what did i just write #valzhang #frank zhang #leo valdez #pjo #hoo #toa #rick riordan

37 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months

Text

Trump déjà vu: It's always about him

January 31, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Remember that time—during Trump's presidency—when every proposed action by the US government was evaluated by a single criterion: Does the action advance Trump's personal interests? Although Trump is not president, House Republicans are giving us a reminder of what it was like when Trump was president. The text of the proposed immigration bill has yet to be released, but House Speaker Mike Johnson reportedly told his GOP colleagues on Tuesday that the bill is “dead on arrival” in the House. Why? Because Trump told him so—in order to advance Trump’s election prospects.

The situation is even more maddening than it appears at first blush. The House will likely vote on vague impeachment articles against Homeland Security Secretary Mayorkas. One of the grounds for impeachment is that Mayorkas has lost “operational control of the border”—a fact that is unassailably true because Texas is blocking federal access to portions of the border!

There are other stories that deserve attention, but immigration is the lead issue. We should know by Friday if Trump will kill an immigration compromise that has been months in the making and whether the House will impeach a Cabinet secretary for the first time in 150 years.

[...]

The House GOP prepares to impeach Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas

It appears that the House will issue articles of impeachment against Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas this week. Here is what you need to know: The impeachment is a sham designed to distract from the GOP’s abject failure to address immigration reform in decades. For a lengthier and more detailed explanation, see WaPo, The Republican effort to impeach Mayorkas, explained. (Accessible to all.)

WaPo interviewed an expert on immigration policy, Frank O. Bowman III, a professor at the University of Missouri School of Law, who summarized the proposed articles of impeachment as follows:

The first article is essentially a claim that the various policy decisions of the secretary, with which they happen to disagree, are ‘violations of law,’ which have produced, in their view, a whole bunch of bad consequences,” Bowman said. “Their claims that he has violated the law [are] wrong because virtually every one of them is an argument about the way in which the secretary has interpreted the frankly contradictory provisions of the Immigration and Nationality Act and other immigration legislation.”

Moreover, even if Mayorkas were convicted and removed by the Senate (which won’t happen), President Biden could simply appoint another Homeland Security Secretary to implement the same policies that are angering Republicans. In other words, the entire proceeding is pointless and ineffectual.

Meanwhile, Congress is not acting to pass an immigration bill. And, by the way, Mike Johnson, how much progress have you made on eleven budget bills that must pass to avoid a government shutdown in March? Wasting time on a show-trial impeachment is the last thing that Republicans should be doing.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

#Robert B. Hubbell #Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter #Mayorkas #immigration

5 notes · View notes

schraubd · 2 years

Text

Why Is Ron DeSantis Such a Marco Rubio?

Following his apparent 59/40 romp to reelection over Charlie Crist, Eugene Volokh wants descriptive answers to the question of why Ron DeSantis did so well, particularly in contrast to his razor-thin 2018 victory (where he won by less than half a point). What's the secret of his political success?

I'm not going to fully venture an answer to that question. But there's an important data point that I want to flag which is I think easily overlooked in the coming DeSantis mania, namely: that Marco Rubio had almost the exact same result as did DeSantis. He prevailed in his Senate race over Val Demings 57/41. This also represents a significant improvement over Rubio's margin in his last race (which was in 2016, not 2018, so not apples-to-apples, but still pertinent)

I mention this because it suggests that a consilient explanation for DeSantis' strong performance probably should be one that also explains Rubio's near-identical performance. The similarity in results is especially notable given that Rubio and DeSantis don't seem like especially similar political figures or cut similar profiles beyond both being conservative Republicans -- it'd be hard to come up with personal attributes that both share that represent plausible explanations for explaining their respective performance. That DeSantis and Rubio seem quite different (we're talking about DeSantis, not Rubio, as a potential 2024 contender) makes it all the more noteworthy that they basically had identical margins this election. That suggests that the factors driving the results had less to do with DeSantis' personal political genius (unless that genius is something he somehow shares with Rubio), and more on broader structural considerations that have little to do with DeSantis-qua-DeSantis.

So, to move towards an answer to Volokh's question of why DeSantis did so much better in 2022 than 2018, some plausible factors (none of which naturally demonstrate particular "political brilliance" by DeSantis) include:

The general "reddening" of Florida.

2018 being a worse year for Republicans than 2022.*

Incumbency advantage.

Now, of course, all of these could be unpacked further, and potentially in a fashion that gives more individualized credit to DeSantis. For example, maybe Florida is "reddening" in part because of DeSantis' policies or personal popularity (though the trend seems to predate him -- there hasn't been a Democratic Governor in Florida since 2000, hasn't been a Democratic Senator since 2018, and by 2018 Democrats were already down to a single statewide elected official). Or maybe Rubio's performance this time around is attributable to good coattails from running with DeSantis.

But to a large extent, I think we're overstating DeSantis' political acumen based on this election. I understand the first-blush appeal -- he did far better than many of his Republican colleagues in the 2022 cycle. But he didn't do materially better than his other Florida Republican colleagues, which suggests that the explanation for his success might be Florida-specific, but probably isn't DeSantis-specific. Contrast that to, say, Marcy Kaptur in Ohio, who seemed to dramatically outperform other Ohio Democrats -- that suggests that she might have some personally unique mojo worth looking into. Ditto Chris Sununu in New Hampshire, who easily won reelection in a swing state where Democrats won three tightly contested Senate and House races. Compared to Kaptur and Sununu, DeSantis looks pretty well ordinary -- no more impressive than Marco Rubio.

* This is obviously true, though it's a bit obscured because Democrats probably overperformed expectations more in 2022 compared to 2018. But the actual results of the 2018 midterm were far better for the Democrats than was the case in 2022.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/HauGiUw

#Florida #Marco Rubio #Ron DeSantis

1 note · View note

tiny-maus-boots · 3 years

Text

Queen of Hearts pt 13

A/N: Always and first thank you to my bestie @chloes-yellow-cup for always doing the thing. and to @kimmania who always gives each chapter a thoughtful review.

13.

“Oh, my dear it’s so lovely of you to come to brunch. I was starting to feel a little put off you know. All those invitations you so politely refused. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

Stacie smiled and sipped her cool iced tea to give herself a moment. It was true, she had ignored all of Edith’s requests to have lunch. And yes, she had been avoiding the older woman. It was a matter of self-preservation really. Keeping up the appearance of normality around someone as observant as Edith Roussard-Ford was never easy. She had a keen eye and open ear to everything that happened to the biggest families in society.

“Well…I suppose I can be frank with you. Now…that things are…resolved.”

The old woman across from her nodded encouragement and leaned forward eager for any tidbit she could glean from Stacie. It was necessary even she’d rather not talk about life with Weston. When dealing with Edith you had to give some to get some.

“Of course, my dear. Dreadful business…”

“It was hard to get away…often times my only haven was my work. Weston was…” Stacie trailed off and cleared her throat. It wasn’t acting, the rush of anxiety she experienced just thinking about that time robbed her of speech. “Weston Whitman was a very controlling man. Controlling and more often than not…violent.”

It never got any easier admitting the truth of things but she raised her chin defiantly. Edith’s eyes widened slightly but her surprise was more about Stacie admitting it than the confirmation itself. She waited a beat for the other woman to ask what she knew was coming.

“Oh, dreadful. Just dreadful. And still…you never knew? There wasn’t a hint of suspicion about his true character?”

“Of his character, yes. Of his actual coming and goings and affairs…no. I had no knowledge of those terrible things. I shudder to think of him, under my roof, sleeping next to me self-satisfied with the blood of innocent women on his hands. What a joke I must have been to him with my work at the shelter, helping him keep up the façade unknowingly.”

“To think nothing of the scandal about the money.”

Of course, the money was far more important a topic than her public humiliation and shame. Stacie let her gaze drop demurely. Money was everything in this world, who had it, who needed it, and who stole it…

“I’ll admit Edith, I had some concerns about Weston’s business. He seemed edgy and evasive and he asked me to empty my personal safe…spending cash. Some jewelry. It was nothing that would ever pay back his investors.”

“I heard the federal agents seized everything. It’s a wonder you have a roof over your head, my dear.”

Stacie’s smile was brief and coy. “Much like oil and water, money and love simply do not mix. When you’re a Conrad you learn that at quite a young age.”

Edith leaned back to watch her carefully. Weighing all that she had learned and the earnestness in which Stacie had conveyed it. She could see the respect dawn in Edith’s gaze and when the woman leaned forward again it was with eager confidence.

“You may be a Conrad in name but you are Helene’s daughter in more than appearance. Your father barely had a nickel to his name when she ran off with him. Now there’s a scandal for you!”

It was surprising and Edith laughed gleefully when it showed on her face. She’d been raised her whole life on the presumption that her mother hand done what she had been expected to do. Money marries into money.

“Didn’t know that did you? She might have run off with August but she was no fool. Van der Berg family lawyers ensured he couldn’t take a dime of it.” Interesting. Stacie made a soft thoughtful sound and Edith continued unprompted. “You have to hand it to August. He made a name for himself. All that money is his by right…I suppose.”

Stacie’s brows came up and she tipped her head to the side. “You sound doubtful of that Edith.”

“I wouldn’t dream of speaking ill of your father, dear. I know you’re not close but there are some bonds that can’t be broken. Family bonds. You understand. I wouldn’t want you to have different opinions of your father. He’s done well by your mother.”

It was there, below the surface, begging to brought into the open. Stacie could feel it between them, brewing like a great storm. One little flicker of interest and it would come out. And then things would change forever between Stacie and August Conrad. And with that she was sure the tentative and fragile bridge she and her mother were building.

But if she were really like her mother, Helene would understand why she was doing this. At least that is what she hoped if this all ever came to light. Stacie let out a soft sigh and leaned back. She couldn’t out right ask about it, it had to be done delicately. Edith watched her work through the knowledge that there was something going on that she hadn’t been aware of. It was a careful dance baiting the woman to reveal more than what Stacie herself had given.

“Well, whatever my father is or is not doing, it’s nothing I know about. He and Weston shared that in common.”

“Ah yes. Thick as thieves those two…”

There it was. The hook Edith thought she was dropping in the water. Stacie batted her eyes in mild confusion, ignoring the slightly predatory smile on the old woman’s face. Her lip pouted out just enough to give the impression that she wasn’t making the leap entirely. Stacie smiled inwardly as Edith swallowed her own lure.

“Mind you, I’m not saying August is a thief, he’s merely an opportunist you see. He’s very good at knowing who to know. It’s how he made his fortune through the years. Nothing illegal in it exactly. Most would say it’s a shrewd bit of business.”

“But I don’t see how that could help him benefit from Weston’s…activities. Of course, he knows everyone, he’s a politician.”

“Hm indeed, indeed. Of course, he wouldn’t be involved in any such thing. Strike it from your thoughts, my dear.” The woman brushed a hand over her knuckles, and not for the first time during the conversation. Aubrey probably would have called the tell earlier but Stacie was proud of herself for picking it up now. “In any case I am quite sure Senator Grant and Warren Randall would lean very heavily on your father if they felt he was in any way responsible for Weston stealing their money.”

Stacie’s heart beat double time but she rolled her shoulders casually in a shrug. Jackson Grant and Warren Randall were her father’s closest confidants, present at every family function since as far back as she could remember. Uncle Jack had even gifted her the first horse she had ever owned. They were, in a fashion, family.

“I haven’t seen Uncle Jack in a few years. Not since his son Kodie and I went to Senior Prom together.”

It hadn’t been her choice of date, and the argument that had raged in the Conrad home had lasted three intolerable days, she and her mother butting heads on everything from the color of her dress to the way she wore her hair. Kodie wasn’t a bad guy and truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to go the dance with her any more than she had with them. But it had been arranged years before the event was even due to take place. In the end they both dutifully took their places next to each other for pictures in the foyer before escaping to the limo to get happily drunk on the well-stocked wet bar.

“I had almost forgotten about the blush of young love. I was worried about that boy for a while. You heard they caught him awhile back in a house full of street whores and enough cocaine to give that Tony Montana character a seizure.”

Her brows came up at that. It seemed unlike the boy she had known but people changed and it took more strength to keep from breaking under the family pressure than perhaps Kodie had. She let her curiosity at the topic glimmer to the surface.

“A house full of…he was the perfect gentleman at prom. I can hardly imagine that scene.”

“Who can say what’s gotten into that young man. If Jackson hadn’t gotten him a job at the Port of Los Angeles, he’d probably be in an out of rehab facilities I imagine.”

She could tell by the way Edith waved a hand dismissively that Kodie wasn’t worth the energy to think on. Stacie lifted a shoulder casually giving it the appropriate gesture of disinterest that was expected. There wasn’t much more to gain from digging further. Eventually Edith would wonder why she was so eager to gossip about the families. It was better to go on to something everyone knew.

“Speaking of rehab, did you know Tristaan has a new line coming out now that he’s clean and sober? He plans to call it Clarity. I saw a sneak peek of some of the pieces and they are just gorgeous. You’d just adore the mother of pearl pin collection…”

The conversation shifted easily and she spent another hour enjoying the afternoon with Edith. She kept the tone of their topics light but her mind was turning over the information she’d gleaned. Stacie was willing to bet even money that Uncle Jack and Warren Randall were in on whatever Weston was into. Whatever business they had together scared Weston, enough to demand she empty her safe, liquidate assets…it was big. Big enough to ignore Weston’s predilection to torturing and murdering women. Stacie knew there was a bigger play on the table, she could feel it even if she couldn’t see it yet. They needed more information and she knew just which card to play. She waved one last time to Edith as she slid into the backseat of the SUV.

“Home?”

She gave Happy a distracted nod that the blonde smiled at before turning to put the car in gear. “Who do we know in drugs?”

Happy’s bright eyes cut to her quickly in the rearview mirror with curiosity. She was weighing the request to see if Stacie was joking or not. After a second she gave a delicate grunt and focused on the road.

“Depends on how much of what you’re looking for.”

“Enough cocaine to make Tony Montana have a seizure.”

This time the eyes panned up in a slow disbelieving arc. Stacie smiled widely and gestured to the street to remind the other woman to keep her focus where it needed to be.

“We might know a guy…”

“Good. Aubrey’s going to want to talk to him.”

“I’ll make it happen, boss.”

#pp au #queen of hearts #staubrey #stacie conrad

20 notes · View notes

zelenacat · 3 years

Text

When We Were Young- Chapter 24- An Obitine Story

Lunch was served in the main hall, but Satine did not attend. Instead, she sent Korkie, Khaami, Parna, and Hera in her place. Parna had returned with multiple copies of the audio, which were hidden all over the palace. Tristan and Tyra were engaged in espionage activities, so Satine ate her lunch in silence and then slept. Her night up with the twins had suddenly hit her and in the moment she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Your Grace?”

The Duchess groaned.

“Please, Lady Mother,” Tyra whispered, “I have news from the Council.”

Satine rolled over to find Khaami and Parna preparing a new outfit.

“What-”

“Almost dinner,” Tyra pulled her mother up, “and we have much to discuss.”

The Duchess was wearing one of her favorite gowns, the one she wore to meet Padme all those years ago when she was Queen of Naboo. It was blue and purple ombre with the Mandalorian star system embroidered on it.

“You look glorious, Lady Mother.” Tyra clapped.

Satine snorted, “Thank you, darling, but this girdle feels less than glorious.”

Parna laughed.

Khaami raised an eyebrow but couldn’t stop herself from smiling, “The news, Tyra.”

“Right,” Satine noticed her daughter was already dressed, “there was an ancient Sith who is believed to hide a powerful relic here, they say it’s on Concordia.”

The Duchess huffed.

“There’s more,” Tyra frowned sympathetically, “the Jedi believe he wanted to frame you for the creation of Death Watch to turn the people against you.”

Satine shook her head, “I hate those same old tricks.”

“Finally,” Tyra continued, “Mara and Boba have captured a couple criminals and are holding them in the cellar.”

The Duchess’ eyes went wide, “All this happened while I was asleep?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Khaami answered, fastening a ring of pearls around the Duchess’ neck, “Tristan is currently dressed as a regular servant and has been delivering the Count’s necessities.”

“Oh, poor Tristan.” Satine frowned.

“He’s doing well,” Parna assured, “we hope he’ll overhear something.”

Satine nodded, picking up her pearl-drop tiara.

“I want to see these vagrants before lunch,” she turned to Tyra, “please take me.”

The dungeon was a place Satine rarely was, and the last time had been because she was betrayed once again, so she was not looking forward to it. Fortunately, Mara and Boba clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“Mara,” Tyra gasped at the scene before them, “what is this!”

Sheepish, Mara extracted herself from Boba’s grip, “Hi, Tyra.”

“We’re dating,” Boba grinned, giving the Duchess a polite nod, “took Mara long enough.”

Satine raised an eyebrow, Tyra squealed.

“The criminals?” the Duchess prodded.

“Yes,” Mara blushed, “I’ll take you, Tyra must have special duties to attend to.”

Tyra turned to her mother, who nodded.

“We shall discuss this, Mara.” Tyra warned, wagging her finger before leaving.

Boba gave Mara a look, and she giggled.

“The criminals?” Satine asked again.

“Down the hall,” Mara pointed, “we’ll take you.”

As they approached the cells, Boba warned them not to get too close to the shields, but when Satine saw who was in jail, she took a step closer.

“Viceroy Gunray?”

The man’s head snapped up.

“Duchess Satine,” his voice made her skin curdle, “there clearly has been a mistake.”

“Certainly,” the Duchess agreed, “you were most certainly not invited, unless of course, you happen to be allied with the Separatists and are here to stir up trouble among the Mandalorian people?”

“I assure you, Your Grace-”

“Are you aware of what I am accusing you of, Viceroy,” Satine asked, a harsh edge to her voice, “will you answer my questions?”

Gunray sneered, “The Mandalorians are a peaceful people.”

“But we do not take kindly to nefarious acts that brew discord in our system,” Satine countered, “you can be sure Mandalore’s heritage is still dear to many of us.”

“You would not risk war.” the Viceroy stated.

“With who,” Satine questioned, “the Trading Federation? You have no army of your own.”

“No,” Gunray narrowed his eyes, “but Count Dooku-”

“Is courting me,” the Duchess interjected, “so, you see, I have nothing to lose if you’re threatening me with people whom I curry favor.”

Boba Fett cracked his knuckles.

The Viceroy frowned, “You can’t keep me here.”

“I can keep you as long as I want,” Satine raised an eyebrow, “but if you are friendly with the Separatists, perhaps you would like to explain that to the Republic Senate?”

“You couldn’t-”

Satine pressed her comm and a small form of Padme appeared.

“Senator Amidala?”

Padme turned.

“I hate to bother you, Padme, you do look quite busy,” Satine began, “but Viceroy Gunray has been sneaking around Mandalore on the word and protection of Separatists, and I think you’d like to talk to him.”

Padme frowned and turned to face the Viceroy, “Yes, I most certainly would, although perhaps this should be done with more Senators present.”

The Duchess nodded, “I will schedule a meeting.”

Satine turned to Mara and nodded, she curtsied and went off.

“Friends with criminals,” Gunray observed, “your reputation clearly needs revisiting, Duchess.”

“Apparently,” Satine countered, “so does yours.”

With that, she beckoned to Boba Fett and left.

“Any other important ones?” Satine asked.

“A few,” the bounty Hunter nodded, “your guards and I will question them.”

“Thank you,” the Duchess nodded, “and do look after Mara for me.”

Boba Fett’s eyes narrowed, “She has a pin, you know, with your house colors on it.”

Satine only nodded.

“I work with your sister-in-law,” Boba added, “she’d love to meet you.”

The Duchess smirked, “Tell her to learn some manners first.”

Parna met Satine at the entrance to the dungeons.

“The meeting is scheduled,” she stated, bending to clean off the Duchess’ dress, “and the Count is waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Parna.”

“Also,” the lady stood and lowered her voice, “the Jedi are sending an expedition team to Concordia.”

“Thank you,” the Duchess repeated, “I shall keep that in mind.”

Satine met the Count at the breakfast table, her full retinue already there to entertain him.

“Ah, Duchess,” Dooku smiled, “you look lovely.”

“Your Excellency is most kind,” Satine replied coolly.

The Count raised an eyebrow, “Still tired I imagine?”

It took everything Satine had in her not to reveal what she knew of his deceit.

“You make for a very trying guest, Your Excellency.”

A couple noblewomen around the table laughed. At that moment, Tyra and Hera entered, bearing platters of traditional Mandalorian cuisine along with other servants. Dooku’s eyes lingered on Tyra too long for her liking.

“I don’t believe I’ve met these ladies.” the Count observed.

“My maids,” Satine gestured, “Tyra and Hera.”

Both curtsied.

“So young.” Dooku added.

“Certainly you wouldn’t object to training the young early?” Satine asked, bitterness in her tone.

Count Dooku smiled, “I most certainly would not.”

And so, breakfast began. The older Countesses, Bralor, Eldar, and Saxon, made a point of judging Dooku openly.

“And what makes you think you are worthy of Mandalore, Your Excellency.” Countess Saxon had the audacity to ask.

Satine grinned.

The Count shrugged, “An ancient empire needs a modern one to ally with.”

Ursa Wren ground her teeth. Currently, she wasn’t talking to Satine since Sabine had been discovered as a spy and sent to a special school for rebellious children. The Duchess wasn’t pleased with the Count’s answer either, however, and decided to go on the offensive.

“At least the Republic’s army is alive.”

“Yes,” Dooku smirked into his soup, “alive.”

Satine made a mental note to ask Obi-Wan about that statement.

“I didn’t know you were friendly with the Master Jedi.”

The Duchess practically growled, “It is impolite to intrude on personal boundaries, Count, I suppose as you weren’t born nobility you wouldn’t know that.”

Dooku’s frown set deeper.

“Yara,” Satine smiled politely, “what do you think of my new sister-in-law?”

Countess Eldar grinned, “I should’ve known you’d heard.”

The Duchess gave a pleasant giggle, “Oh, I hear everything.”

“I think it’s quite like your sister to match herself like that.” Ursa commented.

“Very true,” Satine turned to the Count, “tell me of your former apprentice, Your Excellency, do you think we should invite her and my sister to court?”

Now it was the Count’s turn to grind his teeth, “I think that decision is best left up to Your Grace.”

Satine nodded, pretending like she didn’t already know this.

Lunch was finished, and the Duchess invited the Count on a stroll through the gardens, he accepted.

“Parna, Khaami,” she announced, “you will trail us.”

Satine made a point to focus on specifically Mandalorian details of the garden, then, seemingly out of nowhere, asked if it would be seen as a traditional alignment to support enemies of the Jedi.

Dooku actually smiled, “I think many would view it that way, yes.”

“But my people must choose,” Satine’s face darkened, “Padme and I agreed on that.”

“You did, did you?” the Count tilted his head.

Satine nodded, hoping he couldn’t hear her heartbeat. Was that a force user power?

“Well, I suppose you can be friends,” he sighed, “until we marry.”

“You presume to know me.” Satine snapped.

“I know you don’t care for me.”

The Duchess turned to look at the Count.

“Our union, however,” Dooku began, carefully choosing his words, “would be very beneficial.”

“You seem to think so.”

Count Dooku grabbed Satine’s arm, “I’ve seen them, no one has to know about your bastards that smell like Master Kenobi.”

The Duchess froze, her limbs cold.

“Ah yes, I know.”

Satine began to shake.

“Marry me and no one will know.” the Count offered.

“I’ll play my part,” Satine told Dooku, gritting her teeth, “but expect a long courtship.”

Count Dooku left early, he said it was business. It did, however, kiss Satine’s cheek upon departing, which caused quite the stir on Mandalore. Now, it was evening.

“He seems awful.” Korkie mused as the Duchess and her children waited.

“Terribly,” Mara agreed, “but he knows about our father.”

As she said this, Satine noticed a ship wading through the dark sky.

“What do you know, Tristan?” the Duchess asked, sensing his unease.

“Many of my classmates are slightly horrified, or aggressive.”

“He will have to prove himself ‘worthy of Mandalore’.” Tyra added.

The ship got closer, and Satine told Mara and Tristan to wait in her personal parlor.

“Lady Mother,” Korkie whispered, “I’m worried for you.”

“So am I.” Tyra agreed.

“Thank you, children,” Satine squeezed her children’s hands, “I appreciate your concern.”

Master Aayla Secura got off the ship and Satine counted herself surprised, then Ahsoka disembarked and the Duchess was put at ease.

“I wasn’t aware I would be having such distinguished guests.” Satine told Master Secura.

“After such a famous visitor you mean?” the Jedi questioned.

“I’m just glad he’s gone.” Satine replied honestly.

“Hey, Kork, whaddup?”

“The sky, Ahsoka,” Korkie smirked, “not that you would know that.”

The Padawan feigned offense, “Dear me, what a burn.”

Tyra snorted.

“Padawan Tyra,” Master Secura nodded, “you have been very helpful.”

“Wow really? That’s a first!”

Master Secura smirked, “I hope the Duchess appreciated your enthusiasm.”

“This Padawan is certainly a handful.”

“Master Vos would agree.”

Satine gave Obi-Wan a smile resplendent of the sun.

“And did he tell you as such?”

“I know her well enough.”

Aayla cleared her throat.

“Korkie, Tyra,” Satine turned, “be a good host and show our guests to their rooms.”

The Duchess watched happily as her children moved through the palace with ease, and she grinned to herself.

“Dead!”

Satine jumped. Out of the shadows slithered Asajj Ventress, with Bo-Katan behind her. The Duchess frowned.

“Interesting,” Ventress grinned, “I didn’t know you were Mrs. Kenobi.”

The Duchess opened her mouth to defend herself.

“Everybody knows now, Satine,” Bo-Katan waved dismissively, “after a moment like that I’m surprised there aren’t riots.”

Trying to suppress her blush, the Duchess asked if they planned to stay.

“We didn’t get a chance to capture the Count,” Ventress frowned, “he left early.”

“There was no time to-”

Ventress reached out and shoved Satine, who stumbled backwards onto the pavement.

“Excuses are useless with me,” the witch warned, “do not use them.”

Shocked, Satine remained on the floor.

“Get up, sister,” Bo-Katan huffed, “you look like a fish.”

“Satine!”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan was beside her.

“How-”

Reaching out with the force, Obi-Wan threw Ventress into a mass of sculpted hedges.

“Are you well, darling?” the Jedi asked, picking her up.

“Ben,” Satine blushed, “how heroic.”

“Ugh,” Bo-Katan spat on the ground, “spare me.”

“Your manners have worsened, Obi-Wan.” Ventress called.

“They may have,” Obi-Wan admitted, “but I thought matrilineal cultures praised women who just gave birth.”

A beat of silence.

“Satine,” Bo-Katan sighed, “no.”

“You’ll never see them, Bo,” Satine promised, “they won’t bother you.”

Ventress smirked, “A family man, Obi-Wan, how interesting.”

“I could say the same about you,” the Jedi countered, “you’re married.”

Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow, “And you’re not?”

Satine looked down and blushed.

“Oh, sister,” Bo-Katan clapped, “you have bastards!”

“That’s not true,” Satine huffed, face still red, “my children are royalty.”

“How many children do you have?” Ventress asked after a pause.

Satine bit her lip.

“Six.” Obi-Wan answered.

Ventress’ jaw dropped.

“Oh, Satine,” Bo-Katan whined, “I thought you were better than that.”

The Duchess was about to answer when Tristan called down from above.

“The Jedi are asking for you, Lady Mother!”

Bo-Katan blanched, “Is that Tristan Wren?”

“I’ll be right up, Tristan!” Satine called.

Ventress clicked her tongue and shook her head.

Satine fluttered her eyelashes, “Carry me, Obi?”

“Of course, my angel.”

Bo-Katan groaned, but Satine paid her sister no mind. Instead, she squealed and grabbed onto Obi-Wan as he jumped impossibly high and landed on Satine’s balcony.

“Wow, Dad,” Mara snorted, “be more chivalrous will you?”

“That’s a big word, Mara.” Tristan teased.

“I learned it from Lady Mother’s library.”

Obi-Wan placed Satine down.

“Ben, this is Tristan, and this is Mara,” she gestured, “our second set of twins.”

The Jedi’s eyes glowed as he hugged both his children.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Sixteen now,” Tristan answered, “and I’m older than Mara.”

Mara huffed.

“Your Grace,” Jaym’s voice accompanied a knock, “the Jedi are asking for you.”

“I’ll be right out.” Satine promised.

The Duchess turned to her children.

“Behave yourselves.”

The twins looked at each other, then giggled. After an exaggerated sigh, Satine left to find Master Secura and Ahsoka.

The Padawan saw her first, “Momdalore!”

Satine smiled, “You all asked to see me.”

Master Secura shot Ahsoka a look.

“Remember your manners, Padawan.” Aayla frowned.

Ahsoka grinned, “Of course, Master Secura.”

“Duchess,” the Jedi Master turned, “we’re here to search for spyware or anything the Count might’ve left behind.”

“I’ll take you to where his quarters were,” Satine gestured, “although I don’t know what you’ll find.”

Satine sent Tyra and Korkie to her personal parlor while she allowed Aayla and Ahsoka to search.

“Be polite to your father.” the Duchess whispered.

Tyra winked.

“Momdalore,” Ahsoka piped up, crawling on the floor, “why didn’t you let Death Watch capture Count Dooku?”

“He left early,” Satine responded, “there was no time to warn my sister and have it not be suspicious.”

“He kissed your cheek.” Aayla pointed out.

“I was there,” Satine nodded, “I remember.”

Ahsoka snorted.

“Duchess Satine,” Master Secura, sighed, “the Council needs your assistance with a secret.”

The Duchess raised an eyebrow.

“Master Anakin Skywalker is married to Senator Padme Amidala.”

Satine laughed, she certainly wasn’t expecting to hear that. Even Ahsoka joined in.

“You knew?”

The Duchess hesitated, “Yes.”

“Your Grace,” Master Secura frowned, “this is a great offense against the Jedi code.”

“Senator Amidala is my friend, Master Jedi.” Satine countered.

Aayla nodded, “I understand, but I tell you this to warn you.”

The Duchess frowned, “Warm me?”

“Master Kenobi wants to leave the Jedi Order after the war,” Master Secura stated, “he confessed it was because he loved you.”

Ahsoka gasped, Satine had forgotten she was there. In a burst of emotion, the Duchess collapsed onto a chaise lounge with a sob and let tears of joy roll down her face.

“Oh, Momdalore,” Ahsoka stroked Satine’s head, “it’s alright.”

“Are you pleased?”

Trying to collect herself, Satine nodded.

“I advise Your Grace to be careful then,” Master Secura’s face softened, “it seems you’ve already picked your side.”

“Thank you,” Satine dabbed at her eyes, “Master Jedi.”

“Please,” the Jedi helped her up, “call me Aayla.”

Satine thanked Aayla and excused herself, when she arrived in her personal parlor, her children and their father were happily chatting, exchanging jokes and funny stories. Satine paused for a moment to admire the beauty of the scene, it was really all she’d ever wanted.

“Satine,” Obi-Wan smiled, “come in.”

The Duchess tripped as she made her way to Obi-Wan, who caught her in his arms.

“I knew you loved me.”

“If six children didn’t tell you that,” Satine grinned, lifting her head, “I don’t know what will.”

Obi-Wan scooped up the Duchess and placed her in his lap.

“Now, tell me children-”

At that moment, Bo-Katan and Ventress appeared on the balcony. Obi-Wan growled, Satine put a hand to his chest to hush him. Bo-Katan gaped.

“Wow, Obi-Wan,” Ventress remarked, “you have quite a large amount of offspring, but there only seems to be four of six.”

Bo-Katan recovered her senses, “Satine, are you out of your mind!”

“Bo-”

“A Jedi,” her sister asked, “I mean, I knew you hated tradition, but really?”

“Bo-”

“I’m not done,” Bo-Katan announced, “what would our parents say?”

“To be fair,” Obi-Wan interjected, “your parents were the ones who requested Jedi protection all those years ago.”

Bo-Katan blinked, “Oh, as if that’s an excuse.”

“I didn’t know the Duke of Sundari was yours though, Obi-Wan,” Ventress grinned, “a real fan of monarchies are you?”

Satine flinched.

“You lied,” Bo-Katan frowned, “you created a false brother and sullied our father’s name to hide your own transgressions, you lied?”

“Bo,” Satine held up her hands, “I can explain.”

“What is there to explain-”

“Bo-”

The door burst open and Gorg ran in with Jaym. Satine clamored out of her Jedi’s arms.

“Escort them out,” Satine ordered.

Bo-Katan snarled, “We’re not done here.”

Mara stood, “How dare you speak to my mother like that.”

Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow.

“It’s awfully rude of you.” Tyra agreed, assuming a fighting stance.

Ventress tensed.

“The Duchess of Mandalore should be treated with respect.” Tristan added.

Bo-Katan turned to Korkie.

“I’m sorry, Auntie Bo,” he stood, “but what my Lady Mother did was right.”

At this time, Ahsoka and Aayla appeared in the doorway with Jaym,

“Ventress,” Obi-Wan stood, hands out, “I suggest you follow the Duchess’ orders.”

Bo-Katan was fuming.

“Come on, Babe,” Ventress growled, “we should teach these self entitled brats a lesson.”

“It’s a foolish fight,” Bo-Katan glared at Satine, “you can’t fight someone who cheats, we’ll get them later.”

“Bo,” the Duchess begged, “you will get a chance to capture him.”

“You lie.” her sister spat.

“No,” Ventress stated, everyone paused, “he’s proposed to you.”

Obi-Wan turned to her, Satine swallowed.

“I’ve accepted.”

Pandemonium erupted. Bo-Katan lunged at Satine, but Tyra threw her out of the way. Ventress then ignited her lightsaber, but so did Obi-Wan.

“What is this?”

Satine, who had stumbled backward, stood to face Master Secura.

“There is much to discuss,” the Duchess stated, “but my sister and her wife decided to pay us a visit.”

Ventress snarled.

“We were just leaving,” Bo-Katan announced, “tell us when the wedding is.”

#obitine #Duchess Satine #satine kryze #satine x obiwan #obi wan kenobi #obiwan #korkie kenobi #korkie kryze #Bo-Katan Kryze #asajj ventress

20 notes · View notes

zargsnake · 3 years

Photo

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

Word Count: 2309 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

* * *

Two Years Ago

Shmi sits at a desk by the windowsill in Watto’s shop, composing fake documentation for a shipment to a more legitimate planet. She used to do this kind of thing all the time for Gardulla on Nal Hutta, and she's very good at it. Forging and faking are probably her best skills. She knows legal-speak and formatting; she has a knack for coming up with random numbers and convincing names. When she has a sample of handwriting or writing style from a real person, she can imitate it flawlessly, which she has done for business leaders, crime lords, and even Senators. When she doesn't have anything from anyone real, she invents someone. She has no honest idea what the closest Senator's name really is, but she's invented a self-serious personality and a squiggly autograph that has tricked docking-receivers as far away as Rodia.

Watto has little use of this power of hers for his day-to-day needs, but he sometimes comes up with plots to trick his neighbors using Shmi’s forgeries. And, sometimes, like now, he needs her tricks to get rid of stuff, like these ten tons of toxic waste he ended up with from a bad bet, and that he now wants to pass off as fertilizer and sell to a gullible offworld farmer who won't be able to trace it back to him.

Writing isn't bad work. It’s challenging, and, malicious as it is, she knows she could enjoy it, if she let herself: getting into people's heads, living other lives, for just a short while. It is like solving a puzzle, to figure out how to make other people believe something that isn’t true. The cruel intention of the trickery is not her own, it never is, so she doesn't let that aspect of her work bother her, not anymore.

The only bad part, from her point of view, is the knowledge that her words get to go somewhere that she does not.

And the only good part, really, is that she gets to look at her little boy as she writes. He sits on the desk, next to her cobbled-together, whirring word-processor. He is carefully cleaning a fragile hyper-carburetor with a rag, putrid green gear-soap, and a very serious expression.

Suddenly Crix Spartak pokes head through the window: “Skywalkers!”

“Crix!!” Anakin nearly drops the carb, but of course his reflexes are too fast. He spins around on the desk and grins at the gladiator.

Crix leans on the windowsill -- then lifts his arm quickly from the heated clay, and leans just one calloused elbow on the sill. “Good morning, Ani.” He reaches across and tussles his hair. The boy nearly glows with happiness.

Shmi raises her eyebrows at the man her son admires so much. “Good morning, Crix. Can we help you?”

“D’you wanna go for a spin on the old speeder?”

“YES,” answers Anakin.

“We have a lot of work to do. Not all of us have 6 free days out of 7,” answers Shmi.

“I don't have any work, Mom!”

“I can think of one or two things for you,” she tells him.

“Just a loop round the block, Shmi? You'll be back in a minute.” Crix rests his head on his hand and smiles at her, looking just like a puppy.

She looks at him with a very deliberate expression. “I can't.”

“Take me!” says Anakin, heedlessly.

“Ani! You need to stay with me while I work. I don't want you zooming around, testing the limit on your tracker-bomb.”

“I've calculated for that,” says Crix. “Your tracker-bombs are the same as mine. The loop I planned wouldn't go anywhere near the limit.”

“Please, Mom? I'll work twice as hard.”

“No need for that.”

“I'll bring him back in ten minutes.” Shmi does not look convinced. “Five minutes.”

“Please?” Anakin begs again.

“Ten minutes,” she concedes.

Anakin sets the half-cleaned carb down, crawls off the desk, moves the carb onto a shelf, and climbs back onto the desk and over the word-processor into Crix’s arms.

“I'll bring him right back to you,” says Crix.

“If you don't, I will kill you,” says Shmi.

“I'm more afraid of you than any gladiator alive!” he tells her, laughing.

“Good! You should be!”

“Is that YOUR speeder?!” Anakin interrupts them.

“Yup! -- Well. Not really. But I won it, anyway.”

“It's BEAUTIFUL!”

“Ani!” Her son looks at her. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry!”

“Have fun.”

“I will!”

Crix grins at her, drops a big yellow flower on her desk, and points at it. She rolls her eyes and he blushes and carries Anakin to the speeder to drive him around. Shmi can't compose at all without her little muse at her side. She sits there, worrying, as they drive somewhere out of sight. A minute passes, and she picks up the flower. She doesn't recognize it. It must be an import. He must have won this, too.

They return in just eight minutes.

* * *

One Year Ago

Anakin is not supposed to be in the audience of the death match. No one wants him here, not his master, not his mother, not even Crix himself.

But he just had to come. Everyone is talking about it. He’s never known anyone so talked-about, so famous. He feels so proud. Crix is like family. And everyone, all over town, is raving about him, how unstoppable he is, what a bloody, powerful killer he is. And now Crix’s master has rounded up a spectacular squad from faraway worlds, incredible people who are paying huge amounts for the chance to fight him, to fight Crix, to fight his mom’s cool boyfriend.

They say there’s monster-men, like Wookiees, and there’s even a Mando, whatever that means. Everyone is saying they’re crazy. Everyone is saying all his opponents are gonna die, shot by Crix’s bespoke mega-blaster or crushed in Crix’s bare fists. Anakin can picture it, but he can’t really believe it; he has only ever seen those hands used for good. It'll be Crix’s grandest fight yet, maybe even the grandest fight that's ever happened in the universe. No one can keep Anakin away from such a prospect!

He has an average amount of chores, but he sets his droids on them. His newest and, by far, most ambitious droid, C-3PO, isn't much for cleaning or repairing, yet, but he can speak, a little, and write, a little more. His mom bought Anakin a fairy-tale book and assigned him to copy out the letters to improve his handwriting. Anakin sets Threepio on the task instead, and hopes that his mom won't be able to tell.

He does feel guilty, but he's too excited to feel that guilty. He sneaks out without telling her. There was a sandstorm this morning; fortunately it has passed, but the leftover wind keeps kicking sand into the air.

The arena is in a different neighborhood than the slave houses. Anakin lifts up the tarp of a delivery truck and hides in there to hitch a ride. To his surprise, the truck is full of gross little creatures called gizka. They crowd around him and rub their big faces on his legs. He pulls one onto his lap and pets its soft horns and noses.

“I wonder why they're taking you to the arena? ... Oh, I bet the gladiators are gonna slaughter you.”

He finds it kind of funny, in a sad way, that these little animals are so cheerful; that their doom is close, and they have no idea. He pretends his hand is a sword and chops it on their heads, making them coo and squawk. He laughs.

Once he hears a crowd outside, he sneaks out of the truck and hides among the people. He is far from the only urchin running around, but he does not pick pockets. His mom forbids it, and they wouldn't be allowed to keep the money, anyway.

He follows the other children and soon finds the hole in the arena’s wall which they use to sneak in and out. He fits inside the thin crack without too much difficulty, and flits around the dirty, dark area behind the stadium seating. He finds a spot with a good view, between the legs of some pink-skinned person. He leans on the bench and rests his head on his arms, and watches the battles with wide eyes.

He almost doesn't recognize Crix, in a ridiculous helmet with a big feather, but the nasty red scar across his shirtless torso gives his identity away. He's touched that scar; it feels rough and scratchy.

Crix is more than just a killer; he is a performer. He yells and growls and taunts; he makes obscene gestures and even takes bites out of his opponents, both animals and people. Anakin feels shocked and uncomfortable to see him this way, but it does not lessen his affection for him. It only increases his amazement, that one person could contain two such different personalities.

Just as the pilots and farmers had predicted, Crix wins every battle with ease. His main strategy involves shooting to stun, weaken, and disarm his opponents, and then taking them down with glamorous, bloodthirsty wrestling moves. Anakin has never seen such gratuitous and extended violence before, though he has seen plenty of people die, from podrace explosions to mechanical accidents. Until today, the bloodiest thing he ever saw was someone's tracker-bomb explode their head, but some of these deaths far surpass that one. When he starts to feel dizzy, he looks away and takes deep breaths, but he is too invested to look away for long.

Something about all this murder makes him feel cold. But it isn't a real cold. And it isn't nearly as bothersome as this heat or this wind. He rests his sweaty forehead on his arms and swallows his own spit, but it is a weak comfort. The bench shakes under his arms as the audience bangs their feet on it. Anakin marvels at their energy. He wishes he was having as much fun as they are. He really is trying to enjoy himself, and he sort of is. The thrill of it all is similar to podracing, and the triumphs are satisfying. He supposes he will grow into liking it.

After forty minutes of this action, the host announces the next opponent -- the Mando, Chahlee Tiango. Anakin watches the helmeted warrior posture and pose as the audience frantically cheers and boos.

The little boy is starting to feel bored. This would be much more exciting if they were flying around on fast ships, not shooting and punching each other. The only real difference anymore is the color of the blood. But Chahlee looks like a human, meaning he'll just bleed red, which isn't anything new.

Anakin looks at Crix, whose helmet cracked in half in the last battle. Now that his face is visible, Anakin can enjoy his confident smile. He wishes his mom were here to see her boyfriend winning so much. He supposes she would hate it.

As Anakin's thoughts wander, the audience jumps to its feet and screams uproariously. Anakin fastens his eyes back on the battle.

Crix was shot right in the chest. He crumples. A wave of sand lifts from the ground and nearly covers him, like a blanket, hiding him, as if he were never there. Tiango takes a gleeful lap around the arena.

The audience is screaming far too loudly to hear anything from the announcer. The bench is shaking too much to remain a suitable armrest. Anakin stands up straight and stares ahead.

The pink legs that had framed Anakin's view now jump and move around with everyone else, obscuring the arena with cloaks and pants and boots. The other children in this hideaway start moving around, their own views also disrupted, trying to find better spots. Some of them move in front of Anakin. He lets them. He backs off further into the shade.

“Crix…” His initial shock starts to wear away, and he feels tears cross his parched face. “You were supposed to win! They all said you would!”

He had to lose eventually. No one can win every time. Mom told me he would lose, sooner or later. Everyone dies. It's okay.

It really doesn't feel okay. But this feels like podracing, too. Failing. Losing the game. He has been close to death himself a few times, especially when Sebulba is in the match.

He wipes his eyes and holds his fingers in his ears, which are popping from the terrifying decibel level of this audience. He squints his eyes and waits for the volume to settle and the people to sit back down.

What am I waiting for, though? They'll just continue with Tiango as the new champion. I don't want to watch that.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to get another good view, but one of the other children accidentally brushes up against him, and the feeling of being touched makes him deeply angry. He doesn’t trust these other kids. He doesn’t like them. They can’t understand. That wasn’t their friend who just died. It’s too loud here. And it isn’t going to get quiet. Not for a long time.

He worms out the crack in the arena wall and sees a truck that looks similar to the one he used to get here. He hides under the tarp again -- it is now empty inside. The truck jostles along, though it doesn't take exactly the same route back. It takes Anakin a little closer to home, but then it makes a turn he did not expect. He wonders if the truck will eventually come back around to the slave houses. He has no way of knowing. He fears it will wander out of range of his tracker-bomb. He jumps off the cart and walks the rest of the way home.

Chapter 10: Gafia Chumpi

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #shmi skywalker #anakin skywalker #crix spartak #chahlee tiango #scifi #action #cw violence #cw gore

5 notes · View notes

thesoobfiles · 4 years

Text

one stubborn senator – a. skywalker

Words: 2.1k

Summary: Senator (L/N) of Kyoi knows what she wants and she wants Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker; however, she’s also very stubborn and refuses to acknowledge her feelings for the prophesized Chosen One. Will her false front crumble when a certain Skywalker is assigned to be her escort?

A/N: this story is inspired by write-i-do’s drabble, ‘The Senator’. i suggest reading it because it’s great and maybe you’ll have a better grasp on this one. i might have used some of it (i hope that’s ok) in order to keep true to the drabble… also, Kyoi is not a real Star War planet. anyways, i really hope you guys like it, especially @write-i-do. since it’s based off your drabble and i don’t want to disgrace it with this madness… enjoy!

Anakin thought he was a generally lucky person; however, his luck seemed to change whenever you were involved. Whenever he wished to talk to you, you were always whisked away by another; whether it be Senator, clone or Jedi. He thought he had finally caught a break when he was assigned to be your Jedi escort.

Anakin waltzed up to me and began his introduction, “Senator (L/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m-“ He was quickly cut off with my snippy remark.

“Anakin Skywalker. Yes, I’m aware; I’ve seen the holo-net before...” I said, unimpressed, “Decorated General, poster boy of the Republic as well as close, personal friend of the Chancellor.”

“What kind of Senator would I be if I didn’t know who you were?” I asked, a bit coldly; however, Anakin couldn’t help the blush that bloomed across his cheeks.

He cleared his throat, trying his best to hold some semblance of professionalism, “With the pleasantries out of the way, shall we get going?” I looked downwards at his extended hand and turned away with a huff.

“Why did the Council send you anyways?” I asked, making my way to the door, “It’s not like I can’t take care of myself; plus, I think you’re much more useful on the battlefield.” I said as I finally exited the room and left behind a much frazzled Jedi.

Little did he know, your distant behavior didn’t express how you truly felt; it was a front to hide your adoration for him.

I hope my cold demeanor wasn’t too much... Just wait until my Senator friends hear about this one! How lucky I am to have the Anakin Skywalker assigned to me! I thought with excitement as I made my way onto my ship, Anakin not far behind me.

He walks on the ship and heads for the cockpit, throwing a glance your way. You’re sitting on the bench attached to the wall with your legs crossed one over the other and your eyes closed; a mix between a scowl and a blank expression over taking your features. He continues his trek to the pilot’s seat and sits down, defeated.

Even with her face in a scowl, she is the most beautiful creature I’ve had the pleasure of casting my gaze upon. He thought while preparing for take-off.

I wonder the purpose of her prickly exterior… Anakin began to ponder, whenever I see her conversing with others, she always has a magnificent smile on her face and her eyes twinkle with joy… Perhaps the next time we engage in conversation, I can try and sense what the issue is… Anakin decided as he notes the ship is approaching the Kyoi system.

He puts the ship on autopilot as he heads to where you’re seated. Your face is still contorted into the blank expression from earlier as you appear to be… meditating? Your hands rest on your knees and you rest crisscrossed on the floor.

Has she been sitting this way for the entirety of the trip?

“Senator, we-“

“We’ve entered the Kyoi system, I know.” I respond with my eyes still closed, “Did you know it’s considered rude to interrupt meditation, Master Jedi?” I say as I open my eyes and tilt my head up, Anakin’s face coming into view.

“I apologize, I’ll-“

“No, it’s fine. The aura has dissipated anyways…” I reason as I leave my spot on the floor to walk up to Anakin, “and yes, I have.”

He furrows his brows in confusion, “You have what?”

“I have been sitting that way for the entirety of our journey.” I reply coolly as I make my way to the cockpit, sitting in the co-pilot seat and overseeing the rest of the trip to Kyoi.

“I didn’t say that out loud… How did you know?” Anakin asks curiously as he reclaims the seat of the pilot.

“The ability of telepathy is rare among my people. Many years ago, telepaths were hunted and killed for being… different.” I say, looking out the large window that separates the cockpit from the vast, emptiness of space, “Our ways have changed since then; however, there are still those who hold strong grudges against telepaths.”

“Do you wish to expose me, Master Skywalker?” I ask, turning in his direction. His mouth hangs open before he quickly closes it.

“No! Of course not!” He rambles out, “I was just unaware of this part in your history…” He trails off.

“Not many are; consider yourself lucky…” I say as I flip the switch that opens the door of my ship and leave him with his thoughts.

He does not remain there long as he hurriedly joins my side.

We exit the ship and head for my residence near the crystal caves.

The walk is filled with silence and Skywalker’s mind runs like a faucet; thought after thought entering his mind.

I wonder how much longer the walk to her home is... I’m not complaining, just curious…

The terrain here is wonderful… This is truly an amazing place to live, unlike Tatooine… I wonder if the crystal caves are anything like Ilum…

I wonder what I could do to change her attitude towards me…

Oh, an interesting thought indeed; but, in order to hide my affection, I’m afraid my attitude won’t be changing anytime soon, darling.

-like? Wait, I forgot she was a telepath… what if she’s listening?!

Anakin’s eyes glance over at me and my eyes are trained on the path in front of us. His gaze returns to the front and his thoughts continue. However, I’ve decided I shouldn’t abuse this power; I wouldn’t want anyone listening in on my thoughts…

While (Y/N) has left Anakin to his thoughts, Anakin has not left (Y/N) to hers.

Almost home, a little longer on this path and we’re there. Wait. We. Anakin and I… Oh my stars, I never took into consideration that he’d be in my house... THE Anakin Skywalker, in my house; how unnerving…

I wonder how much longer I can really keep this up… Why waste time hiding my adoration when I can just say, ‘Anakin Skywalker, I love you.’…

WHAT?!

Actually, that might come off a bit high strong and this is only our first meeting… But, he’s so amazing… It’s honestly hard NOT to adore him… He fights selflessly for the Republic and his compassion knows no end; not to mention he’s crazy good-looking.

Anakin raises his eyebrow and smirks in the Senator’s direction; however, she is none the wiser and is completely lost in her thoughts.

I mean, wow. His shoulder-length hair looks so soft and lush I just want to run my fingers through it all night… Seriously, what kind of hair products is he using?

Anakin holds back the urge to laugh.

He also smells amazing. I have no idea how, but he does. He spends his days fighting, probably sweating buckets, and he still smells great. Do all Jedi’s smell this good?

Probably not; Padmé actually insisted I try this new body wash because ‘It’s better than the cheap crap the Jedi make you use.’

And his skin is practically flawless… I have no idea how, but I’ll have to ask what his skincare routine is…

Also thanks to Padmé; she’s vowed to provide me with all of my toiletries from now on because she despises how much chemicals are in the ones the Jedi give us…

He looks up to see that they are within a 10 foot radius of Senator (L/N)’s home.

I’m impressed. She does a really good job of making it seems like she hates my guts. It’s crazy how she can keep such a straight face when her thoughts run rampant like this…

It’s a shame the Jedi are so conservative…

She walks up to the door and places her palm on a rock next to the door; it’s flat and embedded into the structure as if nothing was there.

Those robes probably cover up the most delicious muscles and no one would ever know…

I’m dragged out of my thoughts and stop walking in when Anakin bursts out laughing. I furrow my eyebrows and look at him with confusion as he doubles over with laughter. An unexpected noise, but a pleasant one. Who knew Anakin Skywalker’s laugh was such as blessing to hear?

“You, Senator, are a master of deception.” Anakin manages between laughs as he tries to catch his breath.

“How so, Master Skywalker?” I ask curiously, walking the rest of the way in my house with Anakin right behind me.

“How can you look so stern yet think such thoughts?” He asks with a smirk as he shuts the door behind him.

My eyes widen at the accusation and I swallow the lump in my throat, “What thoughts?”

“Shall I repeat them for you?” He asks with that glorious smirk on his face.

He holds up one finger, “My compassion knows no end,” My eyes widen once again.

He lifts another finger, “You wish to run your fingers through my hair all night,” I can feel the heat beginning to form in my face as he slowly walks towards me.

Another finger joins his other two, “and my personal favorite, how these horrid Jedi robes could possibly be covering up the most delicious muscles and no one would ever know.” He finishes with a triumphant grin. By the time he’s finished, my entire face is flushed and my heart is beating out of my chest. I collapse on my couch and bury my face in my hands.

“How embarrassing! Having such thoughts about a man who is forbidden from forming attachments…” I mutter from within my hands. I feel the couch cushion on my right sink and an arm wrap around my shoulders.

“If it’s any consolation Senator, I think you’re compassionate as well. Fighting for your people not on the battlefield, but in the Senate chamber.”

“And your hair looks as soft as it is feels.” He says as he takes a piece and twirls it around his fingers.

“And fortunately, your people are not as conservative as the Jedi.” He finishes as his fingers stroke the skin of my upper arm. I remove my hands from my face, sit up and look in his direction, “Are you flirting with me, Master Skywalker?”

His signature smirk returns as his beautiful blue eyes look straight at my (E/C) ones, “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Oh no, quite the opposite in fact; however, what about the Jedi code?” I ask, concerned.

He looks thoughtful, facing forwards and he stops stroking my arm.

I would leave the Jedi Order for you.

“What?!” I exclaim and push him away, his hand dropping from my arm, “No, you can’t do that.” I say, crossing my arms.

“You’ve probably trained your whole life to be a Jedi! You can’t give that up; especially not for me!” I say, surprised by his words.

“I’m only 21, Senator. My whole life only consists of 21 years and 12 of those years were dedicated to becoming a Jedi.”

“That’s more than half of your life!”

“So far…” He counters, “I’ll hopefully live many more years and I wish for those years to be by your side.” Anakin looks over at me and grabs my hands.

I look him; I look into his captivating blue orbs and really think about how he’d give up everything to be with me and we’ve only just met.

“2 years.” I say. He raises his eyebrow in return and I elaborate further, “If you still love me in 2 years, you can leave the Jedi Order and I’ll accept what I assume is your proposal.”

“Deal.” He replies with a toothy grin.

#anakin skywalker #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #senator reader #anakin skywalker x senator reader #star wars x reader #anakin

88 notes · View notes

baseballlibertarian · 3 years

Text

Los Angeles Debate

Before I begin, please let me ask a favor. And the request comes in the form of a demand, maybe even an order.

Take a moment to ponder and savor the majestic historical break-through this debate represents. Longer. Longer. Let it soak in. Just take a moment longer.

OK.

Now, ask yourself this question: when you first became politically aware did you ever imagine a presidential debate of this magnitude and importance involving a woman and an African-American man?

I was born in 1962 and can tell you I first became politically aware when Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. were assassinated. I didn’t know what it all meant, but I knew it was serious and sad. Like everyone, I was afraid our country had been changed forever and for the worse. I can’t help tonight but think back to the vague sense of dread I had about politics then and reflect tonight so many years later on the true nature of persistence and possibility.

I’ve watched politics as a journalist, I have come to understand the power of symbols and how symbols often obscure agendas. But sometimes symbols shatter old notions, accepted truths, and calcified conventions.

Tonight’s debate — whether you are a liberal, a conservative, or an independent — stands as a landmark in a nation that justifiably commands the attention and fascination of the world.

With Sen. Hillary Clinton and Sen. Barack Obama as the two remaining Democratic candidates for the presidency, the world sees the embodiment of core American traits of freedom, tolerance, diversity, grit and, yes, audacity.

This is not an endorsement of either candidate. It’s an acknowledgment that their rise to dominance in the Democratic Party breaks the mold in ways few could have imagined as recently as two years ago. When America, the most imaginative nation on Earth, surprises itself we must catch our breath, marvel at ourselves and indulge in a small blush of pride.

I can tell you the reason I am rhapsodizing about this moment. Here in the press room outside the Kodak Theater in Los Angeles, many in press row are bored. On a typical debate scale, this encounter is not an edge-of-your-seat affair. The debate is certainly calmer and more substantive than the Myrtle Beach knife fight. That’s to be expected, because politicians are normatively cautious and any two politicians taking part in something THAT’S NEVER BEEN SEEN BEFORE are even more prone to proceed with care.

And so Clinton and Obama did.

And yet, the debate was not without its high points.

I won’t grade the debate or the performances because tonight the larger issue is the event itself and what it represents. History will record the tableau, not the transcript.

Clinton and Obama dissected each other’s health care plans carefully and fairly. Clinton knows, because she believes in it and the polls reflect it, that pushing hard for universal health care is the way to appeal bedrock Democratic values and voters. When she said anything less will be “picked apart” she not only issued a warning but rallied party foot-soldiers who don’t want to fight for a concept, but an absolute.

This is not to say that Obama lost the health care debate. The voters will decide which approach is better. Whn Obama argues the first priority is to lower costs, he raises an important but politically less-resonant point. His formula takes longer to explain and exposes him to criticism that his plan is built on a fragile foundation where an estimated 15 million adults would still lack health insurance coverage. Based on conversations I’ve had with voters, however, it seems that if Obama loses ground on substance he makes it up on style. Obama voters and those on the fence tend to believe that a larger political coalition is required before universal health care or something close to it can be achieved. They also tend to believe Obama can create that coalition and Clinton cannot.

On Iraq, it’s hard for The Bourbon Room to detect a tectonic shift tonight (hey, I was born in San Diego and can indulge in one earthquake metaphor without penalty). Most Democratic voters understand Clinton and Obama will end the Iraq war more rapidly than any Republican nominee, especially if the nominee is, as appears more and more likely, Arizona Sen. John McCain. Obama supporters were drawn to him first because he opposed the war from the start. When Clinton declined again to say her vote for the Iraq war authorization was a “mistake” she re-enforced why many Obama supporters are where they are. In Super Tuesday states where some voters may be tuning into the campaign for the first time, this could reintroduce the central weakness in Clinton’s “experience” argument. Clinton strategists, however, believe she’s already lost all the votes she’s going to lose on this issue.

On the economy, differences were substantive but not remotely combative. Obama could have used his stump speech lines about Clinton’s original stimulus plan failing to demand tax rebates or credits. Clinton could have said she was warning about a recession long before Obama and put together the first substantive stimulus plan of any major candidate. Both left that ammunition under the table.

On immigration, the most important point is that both were far more willing to talk freely about comprehensive solutions. The reason? The rise of McCain. On driver’s licenses, the differences were gently highlighted and both scored a key point — Obama that Clinton flip-flopped; Clinton that a week after the Philadelphia debate Obama couldn’t authoritatively state his position. More important was how they enthusiastically spoke of a comprehensive solution and how readily they condemned the “anti-amnesty” politics that killed immigration reform (and nearly McCain’s candidacy) earlier this year. The change in tone and temperament matches McCain’s own improbable comeback. Clinton and Obama have begun to conclude that the immigration monster either will die because will be the GOP nominee or that it will be relegated to angry third-party splinter movement (a plus for the Democrats either way).

On the running-mate issue, both turned it away easily and for good reason. At the end of this campaign Clinton and Obama will stand as enormous figures — not only in their party but in American political history. If Clinton prevails, she will seek a vice president with complementary skills, temperament and, most importantly, a keen understanding of the lesser role the vice president must play in her White House. The same is true of Obama.

Why?

Because if either is elected president, all of the old measurements will disappear. Every move Clinton or Obama makes will be historic. The focus on their presidencies will be, if possible, even more intense, personal and urgent. Under these circumstances, the centrality of the office will require a vice president eager to accept a secondary role in a new march of history. Any whiff of competition or hidden agenda will not only rankle the president, the president’s senior staff and cabinet, but the party hierarchy and the rank-and-file. It’s The Bourbon Room’s hunch that a large swath of the public will live vicariously through a Clinton or Obama presidency. Hopes will be high. The stakes will be high. The next vice president must be devoted as perhaps no vice president has been before to the task of making history work for the new president and the many things he or she will represent. Also, an Obama and Clinton presidency will also require massive legislative support on Capitol Hill. That will require skills in the cloakroom and the ability to hit the road and rally the public on behalf of the new president’s agenda. For this reason, a president Clinton will need a Senator Obama far more than a Vice President Obama. And a President Obama will need a Senator Clinton far more than a Vice President Clinton.

Lastly, for those who wonder if Obama or Clinton would need each other to defeat the Republican nominee (probably McCain), I can only say that most top Democratic strategists (those in both campaigns and those who remain neutral) tell me because Clinton and Obama break the mold, each will win or lose ENTIRELY on their own merits. The vice presidential pick, these strategists agree, will matter even less than before — which is next to not at all.

3 notes · View notes

duxhess-kryzewan · 4 years

Note

i'm dropping prompts for you but i'm very creative today so... Satine has an aquarium, so maybe Obi-Wan bought her some fish which he thought she may like "i looked at her and she reminded me od you" 🤭

- Swimmingly -

Now that the war had ended, Satine found herself visiting Coruscant and the galactic Senate more than ever, so much so that her council thought it best to secure a housing unit for her when she was there for more than a days time.

They had required her assistance in drafting a galactic peace treaty, among other things, and being the head of the neutral systems proved that she was a more than valuable asset to the Senate, which required a substantial amount of her time. Not that she would ever complain, peace treaties were what she thrived in.

Her apartment was simple, a far cry away from the extravagant décor of her Mandalorian palace, but it was comfortable all the same. Her council - bless them - had seen to that.

She had been at the Senate building for the better part of the day and it wasn't until after sundown that she had been able to make it home. It had all looked the same as it had last month, save for the new addition of a much more up to date holo, with the pristine couch and crystalline windows.

She carefully removes her headdress as she makes her way through the room, stopping briefly to survey the fish tank that had been placed in the corner. It's light illuminated the mostly dark apartment and she momentarily wonders who her council had been sending to take care of them. She certainly hadn't been around enough to do so.

A small but brightly colored fish swims out from behind the coral formation and it causes her to pause. Certainly it hadn't been there when she last left?

The rest of them, while beautiful in their own regard, were much more simplified than the one she's currently staring at; with it long blue and purple fins and golden body. It certainly stood out amongst its peers.

It's too late and she's much too tired to dwell on it though, and so she decides its a question for the morning and begins to head back towards her bedroom.

Or she was before the beeping of a keypad stopped her.

There was only other person who had the code that would come over this late in the evening, and despite her exhausted state she perked up at the thought of seeing him.

"A bit late for you to be stopping by, is it not?" She notes when he steps into the room.

"Displeased to see me?" He jokes.

She smiles warmly at him and heads his way, "Never, I just didn't expect to see you until at least tomorrow."

He drapes his robe gently over the back of the couch - a true testament to just how comfortable he felt there - and took a few steps forward until they were face to face.

"And leave the Duchess alone for the evening? That wouldn't be very hospitable, would it?"

She kisses him lazily, because she's just a tad too exhausted to do anything but, and takes his hand in her own.

"Are you planning on spending the night here, or do you have to dash off to save the galaxy?" She asks.

He laughs and presses a kiss to her forehead, "I'm yours for the evening, as long as you'll have me."

She tugs lightly on his hand and heads off towards her (their) bedroom, but stops when she catches sight of the newfound fish swimming through the tank again.

"Do you know who all has access to here, Obi-Wan?" She asks.

He looks momentarily confused, "No one but me and Padme, I should think. You council made it clear that it wasn't necessary to have any sort of housekeepers come in."

She glances back to the fish tank before settling his gaze on him again, "How often do you come around?"

He shrugs, "Every few days if I can, just to check on things and make sure your fish haven't all died. If I can't then Padme stops by on her way to her home."

"Well then," she says, unable to hide the amusement in her voice, "Which one of you added a fish to my collection?"

He's silent for a moment, which is all of answer she really would ever need, but eventually he gives her a sheepish look, "That would be me."

if she was being truthful, she actually would have guessed it was Padme. She had much more of a taste for that sort of thing, but Obi-Wan was nothing if not surprising.

"Any particular reason?" She asks with a laugh.

When he sees her smile he finally begins to relax, "Well, Anakin had dragged me along to the market with him - you know how he gets about gifts for Padme - and while I find the entire ordeal of the market place a tad overwhelming, there was a lovely Togruta salesman selling aquatic creatures."

She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing at just how awkward his telling of the events sounded, "And you decided to buy me a fish?"

A blush spreads across its cheeks, "Well there certainly was a assortment of creatures there, some downright deadly. Why he would sell those, I'll never know. But I saw that one in one of the containers, and I knew I was coming by here tonight to feed them, and it reminded me of you."

She raises an eyebrow, "Do I remind you of fish, dear?"

The flustered expression on his face is all the entertainment she would ever need.

"No! The other way around. I mean, it's fins are the Kryze family colors, and the gold sort of reminded me of your hair I suppose. I just thought it would be a nice addition to the rest of them and," he pauses, “And I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

The amusement she felt was suddenly mixed with adoration. She supposed she never considered that he would think about her that much when she was away. Certainly not enough to considering buying her a gift, much less something that reminded him of her. But there he stood, a slightly embarrassed blush tinging his cheeks and a wobbly smile on his lips and, yes, she has probably never loved him more.

"Should I not have done that?" He asks slowly.

Instead of granting that with an actual response, she throws her arms around him and kisses him soundly on the lips, suddenly full of a new burst of energy.

"You are so wonderful to me." She says between her onslaught of kisses, "And I love you dearly."

He smiles against her, "I love you more than I could have ever imagined, Satine."

The fish tank was certainly a good idea.

#obitine #obi wan x satine #obitine fluff #obitine fanfiction #who knew obitine and some fish would be so cute?#the anon knew

33 notes · View notes

colehasapen · 4 years

Text

(ONE SHOT) hettyc STAR WARS

When Bruck closes his eyes, he dreams of fire. Of smoke invading his lungs until he can’t breath, of it burning in his eyes until he can’t see past the cloud of acidic grey that surrounds him. He sees the red flames every time he tries to sleep, feels the burning heat on his skin and hears the Temple groaning around him. The Force is screaming, wailing in distress, and Bruck regrets listening to his father, he hates himself for following his orders to befriend Lord Xanatos for the good of their House.

He never could have known that this was what Xanatos had been planning; he had thought the older man had simply missed the Temple when he had asked all those questions. He had thought that he had wanted to be his friend - Bruck had too few friends nowadays. None of his creche mates wanted to be around him, not after Kenobi disappeared, and Xanatos had become a sympathetic ear. His clan siblings blame him for Obi-Wan having been sent away, and Bruck doesn’t hold it against them. If he hadn’t taunted him, hadn’t lied, then Obi-Wan wouldn’t have been sent away. He wouldn’t have been stolen. Even Aalto avoids him, unwilling to go against the tide, and Xanatos was the only one who listened.

But Xanatos had betrayed him.

Bant’s limp body is heavier in his dreams than she had been in real life, but he continues to drag her, because her life depends on it. The flames get hotter, the smoke thicker, and he hears laughter, dark and sadistically amused, in the darkness around him. It echoes in the smoke, vibrates in his bones, and while it had been nearly three years since the attack on the Temple, the fear is still fresh.

As always, Bruck wakes up the moment Xanatos pushes him into the fire. He doesn’t scream, not anymore, because Master Qui-Gon needs his sleep, so instead Bruck stays in his small bunk, wraps his blanket around his shaking shoulders, and tries to center himself.

Xanatos isn’t here. He isn’t at the Temple; he’s on Jaster’s Legacy, surrounded by Mandalorians. It should scare him - Mandalorians used to hunt Jedi for sport, and had been one of their oldest enemies - but instead it makes him feel safer. He’s seen the way the Fetts treat the younger Kryze and… Ben. He’s seen the way they act around Bruck compared to how they do around his Master, they’re even warm enough to Duchess Satine, who has been nothing but patronizing and arrogant, and who is legally an adult, but only barely.

Mandalorians are widely known as powerful warriors, but they’re also known for their love of children. Bruck is fifteen, still a child in the eyes of the law, so he’s confident that the Mandalorians won’t attack him; the Council had counted on it when they picked Bruck and his Master for the mission. He’s young enough to be a child in the eyes of the Mandalorians, but skilled enough to hold his own in battle if it needed to come to it.

The Fetts weren’t like Xanatos. They wouldn’t hurt him to get at Master Qui-Gon, no matter how much they hated the Jedi Master.

“Quiet your thoughts, Padawan.” His Master says gruffly from his own cot, and Bruck winces guiltily - he hadn’t meant to wake up the older Jedi with his stewing. “Release your emotions into the Force and focus on the here and now.”

“Yes Master.” Bruck murmurs, “Sorry, Master.”

But he can’t get Xanatos’ voice out of his head, mocking him as he holds his face against the flames, telling him about all the terrible things he did to Obi-Wan and what he’d do to Bruck. He doesn’t want Master Qui-Gon to see the memory again, not after everything he had put him through with his nightmares when their bond had still been new, he doesn’t want his Master to have to deal with that pain again. He needs to get control of himself. Master Qui-Gon needs his sleep, and Bruck needs to get a hold on his emotions so that he can prove that he’ll be a good Jedi.

Master Qui-Gon grumbles something under his breath, rolling over to put his back to where Bruck sits. “If you can’t get back to sleep, perhaps you should go meditate, and work to strengthen your connection to the Living Force.” He orders, and Bruck bows his head, unable to face his Master’s disappointment again.

“Yes Master.” He gathers his tunics quickly, pauses as he considers the new tears in the fabric, then grabs his sewing kit as well. He may be on the run, and his tunics may be falling apart, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to look his best. Besides, it had always been easier to concentrate when he could do things with his hands.

He ducks out of the room he shares with his Master as the older man’s breath evens out again, and he hurries down the hall as quietly as he could, intent on heading towards the rec room. The ship is quiet in it’s night cycle, and the halls are empty. Jaster’s Legacy is a ship designed to hold more people than just seven, it leaves the ship feeling abandoned, and Bruck had read enough on the history of the True Mandalorians to know why.

The Jedi had been a part of a massacre. They had been the weapons turned on a group of innocent people and used to kill them. To add insult to injury, the Senate wouldn’t allow for any reparations to be payed to their victims, claiming the Civil War as the cause without acknowledging that be sending the Jedi on an ill-researched mission that would end in a battle that murdered the majority of the most popular Mandalorian political party, they had made the fighting worse . Bruck had done his research. He’d looked into the modern history of Mandalore and written a report for his Master to read, as was expected of a Padawan, but Bruck suspects his Master hadn’t even looked at it, considering the way he had been acting. But Master Qui-Gon was enamoured with the Mandalore Kryze wants to build, and didn’t want to hear of any other possible choice.

If it were up to Bruck, the True Mandalorians would be in charge; he had enjoyed the historical and political articles the Reformer, Mand’alor Jaster Mereel, had written, and logically he could believe that Fett shared the same ideals as his adoptive father. But it’s not, and Bruck needs to follow orders. The Senate wants Satine Kryze on the Throne, so that’s what Bruck has to do.

He steps into the rec room, and falters. Ben Fett is kneeling on a small cushion, meditating , and stripped down to a too-large sleep shirt that slips down his shoulder, revealing a twisted scar over his shoulder blade. Bruck knows immediately what it is, and it makes him feel sick.

A brand.

Bruck stutters, and the youngest Fett twitches, head lifting.

“Good evening, Padawan Chun.” The redhead greets politely, peering at the Padawan over his shoulder, and Bruck shifts awkwardly, feeling guilty for staring.

Ben is odd. Bruck may have grown up with Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Ben Fett is completely different from the boy he had known. Ben is calmer, quieter, and a lot more dangerous, and Bruck doesn’t know how to act around him. Bruck himself is no longer the boy he had been either, and for the last three years he had thought his childhood rival was dead.

“Sorry.” He mutters quickly, “I can go somewhere else.”

“No, it’s fine.” Fett says easily, shifting out of his meditation pose to stretch out his legs, and he adjusts the sleeve of his old shirt to slide it back over the twisted, melted skin on his back. “You can stay.” He offers Bruck a slightly awkward smile that has the other teenager blushing, “I don’t mind.”

Bruck shifts again, considering the offer, before he moves into the rec room, moving towards the couch. “Thanks.” The moment he’s sitting, he starts pulling out the needle and thread he needs to patch up the tears in his tunic. They sit in silence for a long moment, Bruck tending to his clothes and Ben methodically taking apart his sniper rifle, before Bruck speaks again. “I’m sorry.” Ben’s hands pause on the barrel of his blaster, glancing up at Bruck from under his shaggy bangs, and the pale-haired boy swallows nervously.

He had imagined apologizing to his former creche mate for years, since the moment he and the rest of their clan had been told that their clan-brother was gone. Bant and Reeft had cried for months, Garen had stopped paying attention in piloting classes, Aalto had stopped talking for nearly a year, and Bruck? Bruck had imagined finding Obi-Wan, of going and saving him, of being the hero and showing everyone how good a Jedi he was. He had gotten everything he had ever wanted; he had been chosen as a Padawan, he was the best in every class, but as more time passed, it started to feel rotten.

He had gotten everything, but Obi-Wan had only suffered.

“Whatever for?”

“I’m sorry.” Bruck says again, voice wobbling, and he ducks his head in shame. “I was horrible to you -” he thinks back to the brand that had been burned into Ben’s shoulder, and feels like the worst sort of being, “- it’s my fault you were taken.”

“No, it’s not.” Ben states firmly, voice a lot closer than it had been before, and the cushion next to him dips as the young Mandalorian sits beside him. “It was no one’s fault but Xanatos’, and my own.”

Bruck scoffs, “That’s ridiculous.”

Ben shrugs, “I’m the one who slipped away from the farm, and Xanatos was the one who sold me.”

“And it’s my fault you were there!” Bruck says sharply, closing his eyes against the burning tears, and his hands clench in the fabric of his tunic. “I was the one who lied! I was the one who treated you horribly and taunted you so that I could get you in trouble.”

“But I was the one who rose to the attack.” Ben states simply, “Anger isn’t the way of the Jedi, but I just kept getting angry - I would have made a terrible Jedi.”

Bruck bristles, “You would have been an amazing Jedi.” Ben just chuckles, and Bruck twitches faintly when a light hand rests on his arm. “I’m sorry that I ever told you otherwise.”

“I don’t blame you, Bruck.” Ben tells him gently, “Maybe I did, once, but not anymore.” Bruck hiccups. “I forgive you. I forgave you years ago.” The hand moves to press against his burned cheek, and Bruck opens his eyes to stare at the other boy in shock.

Ben smiles at him, and Bruck’s heart flutters in his chest, cheeks warming. It had been a long time since this had happened, but Bruck is older now, more mature, and he’s learned how to deal with confusing emotions in ways that don't lead to him lashing out.

“We were little kids, Bruck - what happened wasn’t your fault.”

Overwhelmed and close to tears, Bruck leans forward and presses their lips together.

#star wars #fanfiction #cole writes #whumptober 2020 #no.14 is something burning?#bruck chun #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #Mandobi-verse

12 notes · View notes

the-officefanfics · 4 years

Conversation

The Campaign Date (Oscar Martinez x Male! Reader)

You sighed as you entered the office. Today was the day. You weren’t sure what you were gonna do, but, you were gonna do it!

“Morning Stanley!” You say, chipper as ever. Stanley just rolled his eyes as you smiled. Oscar walked into the office. Your smile grew even bigger as he sat at his desk. “Hi Oscar!”

*”Yes, i like Oscar. I mean, what am i supposed to do with a super hot accountant sitting next to me?” You say into the camera*

“Good morning, Y/N” he smiled just as big as you as he looked down at you.

“I got you coffee” you say. “Just the way you like it” you hand it to him. Oscar accidentally brushed your hand, making you and him blush deep shades of red.

*”Yes, I like him too.” Oscar smiled*

“Hey so, Oscar, I’m heading to go see the senator campaign today at 6:00. My friends say bring a date... you’re the only hot guy i could think of” you wink. Oscar nearly spit out all the coffee in his mouth.

“You think I’m hot?” He asked you wide eyed.

"Uh, s-sorry. Th-that came out r-really weird." You began to stutter out. Oscar smirked at your silly attempts to patch up what you had said. He suddenly rushed forward and kissed you forcefully. You nearly falling out of your chair. "Or-or-or not." You chuckled breathlessly.

"So, tonight at 6:00?" Oscar asked. You nodded vigorously.

Timeskip~

You walked through the double doors to your group of friends. Oscar was still no where to be seen.

"Where's your date, Y/N?" Your friend asked. You stuttered out an answer as Oscar appeared with some flowers. You half leapt into his arms and kisses him, smashing your lips onto his.

"Well, hello to you, too, Y/N" Oscar said as he wrapped his arms around you waist. He pulled away from your lips and started talking to your friends. An announcement told you all to find a seat and get ready to watch the campaign speech.

"Alright. Alright! Jeez louise" you say as you fell into Oscars lap as your friends pushed forward. " Hey there" you say as he helped pushed you back into your feet. As you say Oscars hand grasped onto yours, leaving a smile on your face.

Timeskip~

"So, were we gonna do dinner?” You asked the gang. You heard multiple no’s. “Alright, see you guys later then.” You all said goodbye leaving you and Oscar alone. “So... dinner, or are you ready to go home?” You asked.

“Now, why would i miss dinner with you?” Oscar smiled. You grabbed onto his hand and left to go eat. Finally, getting a table in the corner, you both sat in sweet conversation in the outdoors under the sunset.

“Hey, uh, did you see Angela?” You asked through laughter at a previous joke. The waiter returned with your plates of sushi.

“Yeah, she kept giving us flares and all.” Oscar replies through their arms.

“I think he’s gay” you mumble.

“What?” Oscar shoves a roll into his mouth.

“I think Robert Lipton is gay” you say again.

“Exactly! Ex-act-ly” Oscar seemed to light up. “It’s undeniable”

“Totally” you nodded. You began to eat making more conversation about the senator as you ate. The sunset turned from a beautiful array of colours to one solid colour or a dark blue, dotted with stars.

“Waiter! I’ll take the check please” Oscar called out.

“I was gonna pay the check.” You pout. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak.

“No. I’ll pay”

“I asked you out. I pay for tonight.” As the waiter came back you jumped up practically threw the cash at him. “I paid the check!”

“Petty” Oscar laughed. You stuck your tongue out at him. You picked up his hand and got him out of his seat.

“Aww poor baby. You can get the tip” you laugh.

Timeskip~

You stopped in front his house, jumping out to get the door for him. He held your hand and walked you up to the door.

“Well, this concludes our night.” You say scratching the back of your head.

“Yes. I’m afraid so. Well, at least we can say that we’re dating.” Oscar says.

“This is true.” You reply. “Too fast?”

“Never for you” You leaned forward and kissed him softly. You parted from him.

“Well then, three kisses from Oscar Martinez in one day... boy, am i a lucky one!” You say awkwardly. Going down a few steps, you looked back at Oscar who winked at you, and left inside the house. You waited until you heard a lock click before you jumped around like an idiot.

“It’s 9:45 pm. Y/N.” Oscars voice came through the opened door, causing you to jump high in the air.

“Hehehe, yeah. I, uh, totally forgot we had work tomorrow.” You say again. “Well, goodnight, Oscar!” You call and walk away.

Timeskip~

You walked into the office the next day. To only be met with cheers and boots and hollers from your coworkers.

“Oscar...” you said in a warning tone.

“I didn’t say a word.” He threw his hands up. You both looked at Angela who purses her lips.

“Oscar and Y/N sitting in a tree” Michael began.

“K- I- S- S- I- N- G” the rest of the office joined in. You and Oscars lips met in pure embarrassment. The office cheered.

#The office #Oscar Nunez #Pam beesley #Pam Halpert #Meredith Palmer #Angela Martin #Robert Lipton #Gay #Male reader #Michael Scott #dunder mifflin #the office imagines #Oscar Martinez #Jim Halpert #hard to find #theofficeimagines #x reader

35 notes · View notes

sunflowergirl522 · 4 years

Text

Legally Blonde 1: Omigosh You Guys

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Just a Legally Blonde AU with you starring as Elle. Based on both the movie and the musical.

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1536

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You can hear your sorority sisters partying downstairs as you get ready for the day. A card slides under the door and your chihuahua scoops it up in his mouth and trots over to your feet.

“Rocket, what’s this?” Taking it from him you see the pink envelope decorated with your name in pink glitter. The card inside reads Good Luck Tonight Y/n & Steve Forever with yours and Steve's name in a heart outlined with gold glitter. “Oh, that’s so cute!” You let out a happy sigh and blow a kiss to the picture of Steve on your night stand before you leave to find Hope and Jane. You loved that your friends were as excited as you were about the big date tonight.

The barbecue that the Delta Nu house was holding was in full swing when you head down the steps. It’s going to take a bit to find them in the sea of people but you’re too happy to get annoyed with it. You hurry to them once you spot them in the patio area.

“Oh my gosh! You guys are so sweet!” You wrap an arm around each of their shoulders. “But I’m not positive it’s gonna happen tonight.”

“Hello! He just had lunch with his grandmother.” Jane fixes your hair while reassuring you. “You know he got the rock.” You all interlock your arms and begin walking towards the house.

“Why else would she have flown in from Newport? It’s not like she’d FedEx a 6-carat diamond.” Hope had a point with that and you couldn’t help but smile at her. ”Not to mention that every time he looks at you it’s totally proposal eyes.”

“Do you really think?” Hearing your friends encouraging words immediately makes you excited.

“I can’t believe you’re getting engaged!” You all squeal about the fact that your boyfriend of two years is finally going to propose tonight. You’ve been nervous all week for this date. He was taking you to The Ivy to have a candlelit dinner.

“Oh my gosh, you guys have to help me pick out the perfect outfit. Come on!”

***

In the shop you stand in front of a mirror looking at yourself in the sparkly blue dress.

“I think you should go with the red.” Hope holds the red dress you had tried on before this one. “It’s the color of confidence.”

“I can’t look like I’m desperate or like I’m waiting for it.”

“I don’t understand why you’re completely disregarding your signature color.” Jane holds a pink slip dress that she’s been trying to get you to try on.

“He’s proposing! I can’t look like I would on any other date. This is the date. The night I’ll always remember. I want to look special but the dress can’t come right out and say bride.”

Across from the store a saleswoman has been watching as you try on dresses. She turns to her coworker and grabs a red dress off of the clearance rack next to her. “There’s nothing I love more than a dumb blonde with Daddy’s plastic. They make commision so easy.” She turns away and walks up to the group of girls. “Did you see this one? We just got it in yesterday.”

You turn your attention to the saleswoman and take the dress into your arms. “Is this a low-viscosity rayon?”

“Uh, yes. Of course.” She stumbles for a bit, answering, not expecting a question like that.

“With a half-loop top-stitching on the hem?” You ask with fake excitement in your voice.

“Absolutely. It’s one of a kind. And perfect for a blonde.”

“Hmm.” You make it seem like you’re thinking about buying it. “It’s impossible to use a half-loop top-stitching on a low viscosity rayon. It would snag the fabric. And you didn’t just get this in because I saw it in last May’s vogue. I am not about to buy last year's dress at this year's price. It may be perfect for a blonde but I’m not that blonde.” She scoffs and walks away embarrassed, taking the dress with her. “Girls, this is it. In a few hours, I’ll be the future Mrs. Steve Rogers.” All three of you squeal and clap your hands together in excitement.

***

You had decided on a light pink dress with dark stripes. And you smooth it out when Carol, a new sister tells you that he’s here. You walk down the stairs once you see that Steve is standing in the foyer. You can’t stop smiling, you're so excited and when you see him your heart flutters.

“Wow. You look so beautiful.” He smiles down at you and you blush at his statement even though you should be used to his compliments.

“So do you.” You both share a passionate kiss and after a moment Steve breaks away from you.

“Let’s get out of here.” You watch him begin to walk away, looking completely smitten. You grab your purse from Hope and have Jane spray you with perfume before you follow him out the door to the car.

The car ride is silent which is unusual but you just brush it off that he’s nervous. The valet helps you out of the car when you pull up to the restaurant and takes the keys out of Steve’s hand. Steve then grabs your hand and leads you inside to the hostess.

“Rogers, party of two.” She checks the list for a reservation and smiles at the two of you while grabbing menus.

“Right this way Mr. Rogers.” She leads you both to a table in the back. “Enjoy!”

“Oh Steve, tonights just perfect. You’re perfect.”

“God, you’re so wonderful Y/n, thank you.” Steve takes a long sip from his drink before looking at you again. “One of the reasons I wanted to come here tonight was to discuss our future.”

“And I am fully amenable to that.”

“We’re having a lot of fun now but when I’m in Harvard it’s gonna be completely different. Law school is a completely different world, and I need to be serious. So it’s time to get serious with you. My family expects a lot from me. I expect a lot from me. You know that since I was two or three my future has been planned out neat.”

“Of course.”

“I would get a law degree and then win a senate seat. And if I’m gonna be a senator by the time I’m thirty, I need to stop dicking around.”

“Steve, I completely agree.” You sit on the edge of your seat.

“So that’s why I think it’s time for us, Y/n, Boobear…”

“Yes?”

“I think we should-”

“I do.”

“-break up.” Steve chuckles a bit at the awkward situation.

“What?!” The confusion overwhelms you and you’re not sure what’s going on anymore.

“I’ve been thinking about it and I think it’s the right thing.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” The shock still hasn’t left your body and you haven’t completely come to terms with it yet. “I thought you were proposing.”

“Proposing?” Steve has the audacity to chuckle at the thought of it. “Y/n, if I’m gonna be a senator, I need to marry someone who’s less of a Marilyn and more of a Jackie.”

“You’re breaking up with me because I’m too blonde?” The tears are beginning to form in your eyes.

“No that’s not entirely true.”

“So when you said that you would always love me, you were just dicking around?” Steve begins to feel uncomfortable with the scene you’re causing. While you sob into your hand he tries to calm you down.

“Y/n, I do love you, I just can’t marry you. You’re just not serious enough Boobear.”

“Just shut up! I’m not serious? But I am seriously in love with you.” With an angry look in his direction you start to storm out.

“It’s not like I have a choice here sweetheart!” You hear him say those last words before you leave the restaurant and start walking back home. The walk is when you really start to break down.

“Come on, let me take you home.” Steve pulls up next to you in his car.

“No.”

“Y/n, believe me. I never expected to do this. But I think it’s the right thing.”

“How can it be the right thing when we’re not together?” You haven’t spared him a glance the whole time you talk.

“Well, I have to think of my future and what my family expects of me.” You just keep walking not wanting to listen to this anymore. “Boobear, just get in the car.”

“No.”

“You’re gonna ruin your shoes.” This makes you stop and hop in the car not ready to ruin your shoes over some stupid guy. Even if he ripped your heart in half.

The whole ride is filled with your silent sobs and whimpers. You get back to the Delta Nu house in no time and after you get out of the car you turn to say something else to Steve but he drives off before you can even turn around fully. So you just trudge your way to the front door ready to cry in bed.

#bucky barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #legally blonde #legally blonde au

38 notes · View notes

sapphossidechick · 3 years

Note

here’s the next chapter (i haven’t edited this since i finished it so there are definitely tons of mistakes sorry)

Chapter 2: I don’t like latin

When I woke up, I found a pinecone in my bed.

“What the…?”

I held it up. Where had this thing come from? A kid, I think his name was Dakota, saw it and snickered as he passed by.

“Have you got a new teddy bear, Jason?” he asked as he drank some of his seriously sugary Kool-Aid.

“No!” I snapped. “I just found it here.”

He shrugged and walked away. Sunlight streamed through the room and lit it up. I could see Reyna was still sleeping. I knew she would have to wake up soon, but I felt bad about it. If she was tired, why shouldn’t I let her sleep? Then I remembered. I could let her sleep if she wanted to. I was praetor now. When I looked back at her, though, she was already waking up.

“Morning, Reyna,” I called.

She smiled at me. “Morning, Jason.”

As we headed over to our activities, me to monster class, Reyna to Latin, she started to strike up a conversation.

“So… what’s for lunch?” she asked.

“Whatever you want to be for lunch,” I told her.

I still couldn’t get it in my head that this was her third year. We’d been fighting so long. She probably still didn’t understand much about this place. I know that sentence sounded funny, because to you regular people, three years is a long time to not be used to something. But imagine that you’re fighting almost nonstop for three years. It’s hard to get used to normalities like that. Especially with all the blood death and gore. Yuck.

“The things that serve lunch… what are they, Jason?” she asked as we passed the dining hall.

“They’re aurae. Invisible wind spirits.”

A small wind blew by, and a small, pixie-like girl appeared for just a millisecond. Her hair was a wispy bob that didn’t even reach her shoulders. Her eyes reminded me of a sunny day. Her dress reached her knees, and in her hands was a bowl of soup. I could see that she was completely transparent, minus the bowl. The bowl was not transparent. She winked at me and disappeared.

“They’re not always invisible,” Reyna pointed out.

“True,” I said, but I wasn’t really paying attention.

I thought I had just seen someone staring at me, but I shook my head. It must have been one of the Lares. Maybe I imagined it, but it seemed to be like some hostile source was watching me, like a Darth Vader kind of thing, but also not really. You’d understand it better if you’d felt it.

“Hey, Jason? Is this your monster class here?” asked Reyna, bringing me back from my thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. Bye, Reyna,” I told her, then ran towards the building. If you’ve never seen Roman architecture, you’re missing out. By the way, for everyone who’s been to Washington D.C. and seen the White House, that was influenced by Roman architecture. The monster class building was shaped like the Pantheon, but in a bit better shape, and a bit more modern. The outside was a sleek cream color, and the inside was actually set up like a classroom. I ran inside.

Thankfully, my class hadn’t started yet. The mahogany wood seats were lined up in rows, and the chalkboard looked freshly cleaned. All the other students had already taken their seats. They started whispering when I entered. Thankfully, Jayni taught this class with one of the Lares. As I took my seat, some sarcastic someone whispered to me,

“Good job, praetor. You’re late.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

Then I focused again. Jayni had started to take roll call. When she finally finished, she brushed off her shorts. I saw some flecks of paint come off of them.

“Okay, guys. Since this is the first time we've had a class in about three years, I’ll let you guys choose what you want to study for the next quarter, praying that there’s no more battle.”

She passed out some textbooks to each desk that someone sat at, gave us a pen and paper, and told us to write the top ten monsters on a bulleted list. While she did this, the Lar followed behind her, muttering about how she did way better when she was disguised as man, killed in battle, never discovered as a woman until after death, and how when they learned about monsters, instead of sitting in some classroom, they just fought them. Each of us made a list, and unanimously voted on learning about Scythian Dracanae. Y’know, those… never mind.

Once class had ended, I headed over to find Reyna. She was sitting by herself on the steps in front of the Latin building. Her head was in her hands. It appeared that she was crying, but I’ve never been good with emotions. I honestly wouldn’t be able to tell anger from fear, or hatred from love. I just know myself. Hopefully I would be able to get that under control eventually.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t belong here.”

She looked up. Now I could tell she’d been crying. I was pretty sure, but now I was positive. I have this weird thing that whenever I see someone else crying, I cry too. I think it’s called sympathy crying. I tried to keep my tears under control.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, sniffling.

“None of them are like me. They hate me,” she said, and then burst into tears again.

“Reyna… it’s okay,” I told her, trying really hard not to bawl.

She stamped her foot. “You don’t understand, Jason. You know what? I bet you’re on his side, aren’t you? You’re just crying because you find this oh so funny. Well, quit it, Jason. I don’t need your sympathy, or your stupid face. Whichever it is, I don’t want it.” She shoved me backwards and ran away. She’ll come around, I thought. I pray she’ll come around.

But I didn’t see her at lunch, or at dinner. As I walked back to my bunk, I took the pinecone out of my pocket. It smelled like sap. Where had it come from? I wondered. Then I remembered last night’s dream. A gift from your sister will be with you when you wake… was this it? Such a… nice, I guess, gift. I entered the bunk room, and looked for Reyna. She still wasn’t here. Something had to be wrong. Maybe I’ll find her in the morning, I thought as I climbed into my bed. How wrong I was.

The next morning, I woke with a start. I looked around for Reyna. She still wasn’t here. What had happened to her? I reported my fears to Jayni.

“I don’t know, Jason. I haven’t seen her at all since yesterday,” she told me. She sounded sarcastic, a little bit, but I decided I was imagining it. I’d known Jayni too long for her to be sarcastic about something so serious.

“Jayni, we need to look for her. Ask the boys protecting the entrance if they’ve seen her.”

The boys were called in.

“I think I saw a little girl, but she told me to leave her be, so I did,” said the first boy.

“I told him he was an absolute idiot doing it,” the second one offered.

I wanted to break something. I was so angry. But I just took a deep breath. The boys looked a bit nervous, and I didn’t want to scare them further.

“Okay. Jayni, we need a quest,” I said, managing my temper.

She nodded. “Okay, but we need to call everyone into the Senate House by tonight, with no further warning. How on earth are we going to do that?”

I smiled. “Leave that to me.”

Later, we met at the Senate House. Jayni and I stood before the semicircle of seats. As everyone entered, Jayni learned over and whispered, “How did you do it?”

I spread my hands. “I’m magic like that.”

She glared at me. “Okay, fine. I got some of the aurae to gather everyone.”

She seemed satisfied with that answer, and we turned to the crowd.

“Senatus Populusque Romanus!” we yelled together.

Before us, the centurions echoed the chant and took their seats.

“Jason, it’s all you,” Jayni told me.

“Okay, guys,” I said. “A camper of ours, Reyna, has gone missing. We need a quest to go find her. I will be leading the quest. I need two volunteers.”

A girl, I think her name was Phoenix Randall, raised her hand. She looked determined, like a live Rosie the Riveter. She kind of scared me. Her hair was pulled back with a blood red bandanna, and I hoped that that was just the color, not actual blood. She fixed me with dark brown eyes, almost so dark, they looked black.

“Okay, great. Anyone else?” called Jayni. She sounded a bit nervous as well.

“Wait,” Octavian called out. “We’re not even gonna do a proper vote?”

I shook my head. “Too urgent.”

A shaky hand rose from the crowd.

“Cool. What’s your name?” I asked.

The person stood up. She was a tall, thin girl with dark blue hair. She had her hair in a sloppy bun, and I watched as her hair spilled out of it and the rubber band landed on the floor. A couple campers laughed. She bent down to pick it up, and straightened up, blushing. She was wearing the standard toga, though she looked a bit uncomfortable, and she was also wearing it wrong.

“I-I’m Livia Turner,” she stammered.

“Welcome to the crew,” I told her. “Thanks for coming guys. You’re dismissed.”

As everyone left, I pulled over the two girls. I could hear some people grumbling about the selection for the quest.

“Give me a second,” I told the girls. I marched over to a group who was complaining particularly loudly.

“Hey guys,” I said casually. They all jumped. “If you guys didn’t like the quest selection, why didn’t you apply yourselves?”

They tittered nervously. One of the kids pointed his finger at another one. “He told me not to do it.”

“Did not! Amirah told me not to.”

“No, it wasn’t me, it was Petunia.”

“No! I did not! It was Georgia!”

They started to argue amongst themselves. I walked back to the girls and cleared my throat, scaring them half out of their wits.

“Do you know who Reyna is?” I asked.

They nodded.

“She’s in my Latin class,” said Phoenix.

I remembered that that was the class she attended yesterday, the same one in which she got mad at me and was upset with “them” after.

“What happened yesterday, just before she left?” I asked.

Phoenix and Livia shared a grimace.

“Well, during class, um, the instructor told her that she didn’t belong here,” Livia confessed.

“Who was the instructor?” I asked.

“Well, he was a substitute for our real one. But I think his name was Octavian,” supplied Phoenix.

I groaned. Was Octavian trying to mess everything up?

“Okay. First of all, how did Octavian even become a substitute? He has been here shorter than Reyna has— had been.”

I felt guilty about having to correct myself, but it was true. What if she got attacked and— no I couldn’t think about it.

“Well, he does have family in New Rome. They’re probably the oldest family. And Octavian has this way with words. He could probably convince the most hard headed, stubborn person that they were actually smooth and easy to confer with. Plus, he didn’t straight up say she didn’t belong, he found a way to get the message out,” Livia explained.

“Can I go now?” she asked. “I have to pack up.”

I was startled. Normally, people didn’t get up and leave during something so important. But I wasn’t someone to deny anyone anything.

“Sure,” I told her.

She stood and brushed off her overalls. I couldn’t tell if they were red, or green, or blue, or purple, because there was paint splattered all over them. She tied her hair into a bun.

“I’ll see you guys later,” she said.

Then she ran out of the Senate House. Phoenix turned towards me.

“We need to see Octavian.”

We searched camp to find Octavian.

“There he is!” Phoenix exclaimed. She pointed to the scarecrow of a boy. “Octavian,” I said as we approached. “What did you tell Reyna?”

He looked at me and spread his hands.

“Only the truth,” he said, innocently.

I glared at him. “What did you really say, Octavian? Spit it out already.”

“I am older than you, Jason Grace. You have no authority over me,” he said. Phoenix started to laugh, but quickly turned it to a cough.

“Only the fact that you’re praetor,” she muttered to me.

Octavian frowned.

“Wait. Octavian, how old are you? I thought you were around fifteen,” I said.

He looked at me. I could tell he just wanted to escape this conversation as fast as possible.

“I’m seventeen. Thanks for the chat. Bye.”

Then he walked off. I looked at Phoenix. She just shrugged.

“I don’t know, man. I was thinking the same thing. He might be lying.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t think he’s lying. I just want to know why he said such rude stuff to Reyna, and how terribly bad it was for Reyna to make her run away.”

Phoenix stared at the ground. “If I’d been the receiver of that, I’d have run away, too. He said some pretty mean things, concerning the fact that he’s been here shorter than anyone at camp. He’s only on Probatio.”

I nodded. “Exactly. So if he’s only on Probatio, how come he was a substitute? Does he even know how to teach Latin? I don’t care what kind of family he has, I just want to know how on earth he was able to get the substitute job.”

Phoenix ran to stand in front of me, and put her hands on my chest. “Chill, bro. Chiiiiilllll.”

I made a face at her. “Are...you okay?”

She shrugged. “I’m just weird. If anyone calls me weird, I’ll take it as a compliment. Anyways, don’t we have more important things to do than hate on Octavian?”

I nodded. Phoenix was like the best friend I’d never had, even though I’d only known her for about ten minutes. That was probably because I didn’t really have any friends. You might be thinking, Awww, poor Jason. He’s got no friends, or I honestly couldn’t care less about whether or not this loser has any friends. If you’re thinking the first one, I don’t need your sympathy. If you really met me, and I told you that, I bet you maybe at first you’d continue thinking that, but you’d move in with your life, not caring. Whatever. I couldn’t care less. If you’re thinking the second one, that’s how most everyone feels. I don’t care. Think whatever you want, people. Anyways, we went to find Livia. We found her packing her bags outside the Senate House.

“Why are you out here?” I asked, scaring her half out of her wits.

She twiddled her fingers. “When I rose my hand to go on this quest… well, um, my cohorts other, leader, I guess you would say, was one of those people you were antagonizing, and they sort of...kicked me out. I apologize, by the way, for my un-Latin like terms.”

I shrugged. I honestly couldn’t care less. Plus, she had just been kicked out of her sleeping quarters. I wasn’t gonna push it.

“How bout you stay with the fifth cohort for tonight. You can keep packing in the morning.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more relieved than her. “You’ve got a deal.”

the plot thickens!!! ooh i’m really excited to see how phoenix and livia are on the quest, and where reyna went to!

1 note · View note

thor-tony · 5 years

Text

Consider this: Thor/Tony high school pining idiots AU

The Avengers are in their senior year and part of student government which includes a senate committee. Their positions are as follows: Rhodey- Presiding Officer; Pepper - Treasurer; Bruce - Secretary; Sam - Senator of Discipline; Thor - of Athletics; Nat - of PR; Tony - of Student Life, Clint - of Service, Steve - of Academics)

The committee members are all good friends with each other but they also have their own close-knit group of friends outside of the committee that they moan to about their crushes

Thor and Steve are also in the football team (duh)

Tony likes to watch them practice after AP Physics and likes dragging Rhodey with him. He always claims that he’s just there to support Happy as well as his friends from student gov. Rhodey knows better and teases him and urges him to stop acting like some teenage girl in an anime watching senpai practices on the side hoping senpai would notice him.

Tony doesn’t know if he should be concerned how Rhodey knows all those anime references or if he should be really doing some self-reflection. But as far as he’s concerned Thor and Val are an item, or at least have something going on. Val is a year below them, she’s highly competitive with Thor but they also have this tension between them which Tony thinks would be really hot if he wasn’t pining for Thor. And she’s going to be the Senator of Athletics next year for sure. The two are just so close and they’re always laughing and hugging and they’re so perfect and excuse Tony for a sec, he’s wallowing in his sorrow again.

When Tony’s not feeling sorry for himself, he’s offering the football team based some strategic plays on his observations. The team of guys who are mostly 6′2″ all respect this tiny compact 5′9″ genius, and some would say adore, which is especially true for a certain linebacker with a thunderous laugh. Tony’s presence always motivates him to put in extra effort at practice. So maybe he’s a bit of a show off but he wants Tony’s attention. Tony’s smart, funny and attentive, and offered to get him greasy breakfast food and a hangover cure when Thor came to school after a wild house party one day. Thor’s never forgotten that act of kindness and care.

Then one day before practice, Steve, who’s also captain of the football team, runs up to Tony before practice begins, to express his thanks for Tony’s input and support as they'd won their game the night before, which was against their biggest rival Hydra High. Tony’s taken aback by the genuine gratitude being expressed towards him, and from Steve, of all people, who always challenges/disagrees with him during their senate meetings. He’s not used to this and he blushes from the praise.

School gossip circulates the next day on the Daily Bugle section of their school’s smartphone app. Everyone in the comments section is wondering if the Captain has captured The Tony Stark’s heart because someone has snapped a picture of that moment with the two yesterday. Tony doesn’t pay much attention to the rumours because he’s used to being the topic of people’s conversation -- it kind of comes with the price being a Stark -- and it will soon be yesterday’s news anyway.

But now Thor is really bummed by the rumours, and it’s all making sense now why Tony watches their practice all the time. And it also explains the whole Tony and Steve glaring staring-at-each-other-until-someone-clears-their-throat thing at their meetings. And it doesn’t help overhearing what Tony’s been saying to Rhodey over lunch. (Yes he’s pathetic, as his brother has kindly reminded him, choosing a table so ‘causally and coincidentally’ next to Tony’s so he can be closer to him in hopes of getting a smile from him)

At the table a couple metres over, Tony’s been saying to Rhodey something about luscious blond locks and a golden smile that warms the whole galaxy, a spirit so vigorous yet gentle like the morning sun, and, “he’s so kindhearted and funny and those muscles !! Rhodey!! I’ll admit it’s shallow of me but it’s a work of art, I’m only human, and we all strive for beauty and art.”

When Tony and Rhodey turn to leave, they notice Thor’s been sitting right next to them this whole time and oh shit, he’s not supposed to hear that oh no! He must think I’m shallow only lusting after him, and he’s gonna avoid me now congrats for blowing it Tony! Great!

Tony gives them a tight smile turns on his heels, and Thor is even sadder now. Not only has he lost Tony to the Captain, but now Tony’s mad at him for eavesdropping. Even Loki can’t tell who’s Tony is talking about and he wouldn’t be surprised if the rumours turn out to be true. He can only pat his brother’s slumped shoulder and offer him his ice cream as consolation.

Now in comes Steve, who may be a bit of a disaster when it comes to his own love life but he’s observant and he can tell when his friends are into each other. He knows about the rumours going on and he uses them to his advantage, teams up with Rhodey so they can work together to get their friends’ heads out of their asses and admit their crushes on each other. Thor and Tony are being dumb, okay, and the rest of their friends are really tired watching them blush and stammer at each other or moaning about each other at lunch when they can just be making out under the bleachers instead and their friends can finally eat in peace.

So Steve decides to rile Thor up a bit, play up the rumours and make them seem true. In the locker rooms before practice he’ll be singing Tony’s praises, saying, “Tony really had an incredible idea for our next charity event, don’t you think, Thor? He’s got such a great business sense. With Nat’s help I’m sure they’re going to get a lot of sponsors. He’s so great.”

Thor, through gritted teeth, says, “Yes, he’s wonderful. You know I think he’s amazing.”

Steve: “He sure is! We had lunch together today --”

“I noticed.”

“-- and he was so cute when he had trouble opening his jar of chia pudding -- apparently he’s trying to eat healthy at least once a week. Anyway, I got it open for him and he was really sweet. He went on and on about how much he’s appreciative of big muscles paired with shiny blond hair, and how he loves watching football practice because of the way our pants fit. Isn’t he the best? He’s outside now waiting for us to go out and start practice and man, I’m just so glad to provide him with a nice view when he’s sitting on those bleachers watching us.”

And if Thor had bothered parsing out those words, he’d realize that everything Steve had described was vague enough that he could totally be referring to himself and insinuating that he and Tony are an item (or close to being one) OR he could be talking about Thor and how Tony loves watching him.

But Thor’s seething, okay, he’s annoyed because Steve KNOWS how much he’d always liked Tony. He doesn’t need to rub it in like this. Thor’s frustrated af because hello???? He has all those qualities that Steve described too??? Why can’t Tony look at him instead of stupid perfect Steve???

Thor’s a dumbass.

A week later, Thor, Steve, Nat, and Rhodey are sitting at lunch together so they can discuss their group project for their environmental science class. Of course, things get off topic and Homecoming is brought up. Nat mentions she’s going to be sending out another email to the student body about nominations for Homecoming king and queen, and reminds the guys that they need to send Pepper daily updates on how many tickets they’ve sold. Steve nudges Rhodey a bit and nods at Thor, which prompts Rhodey to go, “You know, Tony’s been waiting for a certain blond football player to ask him to the dance. And if said football player doesn’t do so soon then Tony might think the worst of himself and wallow for the rest of the month. I’m probably gonna have to give up my homecoming plans to console him for that entire weekend. Bring him ice cream, watch Star Trek with him until he forgets about aforementioned football player.” He says that last part very, very pointedly.

Thor’s glaring at Steve when he hears this. He thinks, what the fuck dude? He’s your boyfriend and you haven’t even asked him to the dance yet? You don’t know how to appreciate him, ugh, I could do so much better.

At the same time, Steve turns to Thor, cheeky shit-eating smile on his face and says, “You heard him. When the hell are you going to get your act together and ask Tony out, huh? If you wait any longer someone else is going to snatch him off the market.”

And Thor’s so confused because wait, Steve isn’t dating Tony??? He wants to smack himself because what the FUCK, he’s an idiot. Tony likes him back and they could have been dating and sharing milkshakes and sitting together at lunch this whole time if Thor had just asked Tony out for a coffee in junior year when Tony offered him that hangover cure.

So Thor gets up, marches over to Tony’s table with half his lunch -- an uneaten cheeseburger (he ran out to Burger King and bought two that day -- he gets hungry, okay?) -- and the thermos of coffee he keeps in his bag and presents it to the school’s resident genius.

Tony, who’d been alternating between complaining to Pepper and Happy about not having a date to the dance and gazing longingly at Thor, is completely surprised by his crush’s sudden appearance by his side.

The blond cuts to the chase. “I know this isn’t the fanciest way to ask, but I didn’t want to waste any more time,” he tells Tony. He pushes the food over to Tony, knowing that he’s weak for junk food and caffeine, and, apparently, Thor. “Would you accept this greasy burger and unfortunately lukewarm coffee, and, perhaps, go to homecoming with me?”

Clint, who’d been watching and lazily shoving waffle fries in his mouth, goes, “fuckin’ finally, god.”

“Shut up, birdbrain,” Tony says without even looking at Clint, because he’s too busy staring at Thor with heart eyes and wow, is that a flush of red creeping up Thor’s neck? He’s adorable.

Of course, Tony says yes. And just for the record, that was the best way anyone has ever asked him out.

#thortony #thunderiron #ironthunder #tonythor #tony stark #thor odinson #fics #au #*#cherie*#kay*

495 notes · View notes

writer-rochelle · 4 years

Text

Statesman:Ablaze Ch.1: Rules

(a/n: i’m not sure what happened to my original post, so here it is again. i’m having to use my phone’s hotspot and it’s not the most reliable thing so i apologize for all the mixups) ft ocs by: @sunshinepascal @harrytags @pomelloe-me & myself

“Huh, what’d you say?”

“Have you seriously not heard a word I just said, Pomegranate?” Alicia King said, sighing. Stakeouts were the worst, and usually being paired up with her good friend Pom Graham, they could be a lot of fun. But it seemed that the young southern woman’s mind wasn’t in the mint green bug they had been in for the past 5 hours.

“I said I haven’t heard you talk about Whiskey lately...everything okay with y’all?” Alicia asked her friend. Pom had until very recently jabbered on and on about the older Agent Whiskey taking her under his wing. It wasn’t often that the veteran agents took much interest in the new recruits, but Pom was a family friend and as he affectionately called her, “his little pomegranate”.

“No, the stupid cunt has been too fuckin’ busy doing shit in New York to reply to my messages,” Pom said, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t want to admit the sense of abandonment she was starting to feel. She was 24 years old, for fuck's sake, not 4. She was usually one to share anything that was bothering her, and she knew Alicia would understand, but this was something that she wanted to keep reserved. Maybe she was just overthinking.

“Absinthe! Come in Agent Absinthe!”

Alicia reached up and lightly placed a finger on the left leg of her green aviators. Instantly she could see into the Statesman meeting room. A quick glance showed that Champagne was seated at the head of the table, and from where she (or rather her hologram) sat she could tell she was at the opposite end. Next to him was Agent Cognac and across from her was Agent Whiskey’s hologram. It still never ceased to amaze her how incredibly talented Ginger Ale was. Every weapon, every piece of equipment, hell even every fiber of clothing the agents were given all had Ginger's magic touch.

“Is Agent Rum still there with you?” Champagne asked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth square in the front pocket of his jacket, before placing them back onto his face. He gestured towards Ginger, who walked forward from where she had been standing off to the side with her clipboard. As soon as the other Agent was present they could continue their debrief.

“The old man is asking for you” Alicia laughed, nudging Pom who had once again turned her attention to the view out her window. Pom rolled her eyes, pushing her tortoise framed glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

“You rang?” she said, making her voice deep and gravelly like Lurch, the Franken-butler from the Addams Family. The girls erupted into a fit of giggles, as Champagne shook his head in disappointment.

“She gets that tomfoolery from watching you!” He said, pointing an accusatory finger at Agent Whiskey’s hologram, the man in question shrugging with a smirk on his face. Champagne turned his attention back to the girls.

“ When y’all are finished, I’d like to carry on with this debrief .” Alicia silently shook with the aftermath of the giggle fit she and Pom had pitched themselves into, but quickly grew serious. If Agent Whiskey was on the call it had to be of grave importance.

“Well I’ve got some good news, and some bad news,” Champagne said, regarding the two holograms at the end of the table. Agent Cognac shifted in her seat next to her boss and grandfather, she was familiar with the temperament of her two friends and braced herself for the fit they were about to throw.

“Well, the good news is we found out where those rascals are keeping the Senator's daughter hostage. The bad news is that it's not in that warehouse y’all have been staking out all evenin’.” He pulled a fat cigar out of his jacket pocket, passing it under his nose, sucking the smell of it into his nostrils.

“What the fuck, Champ?!!! You could have told us sooner!!” Pom shouted, she was seething. The color of her face turned red from anger. Not only had she already missed the weekly update of the Mandalorian on Disney+, but she had been stuck in a cramped car with a mix of Alicia’s perfume, her own deodorant, and the leftover stench of the KFC they had eaten. She was on the verge of a headache, and more importantly on the verge of beating the old man with her bat.

“I told you she was gonna be pissed.” Whiskey muttered. Champ glared at his hologram before continuing his spiel.

“As I was sayin’, Tequila was wrong; it turns out she's being held in the basement of her own house. Ginger Ale, if you’ll please?” Champ said, watching as the resident tech wiz pulled up security footage on a screen on the wall of the conference room. The Agents watched as Molly Dubois was dragged out of her house and shoved into an unmarked car, only to be returned hours later (still bound with her head in a sack) back to the mansion.

“As it turns out, with the elections coming up soon, the Senator is looking to boost his image with the voters to ensure he’s re-elected. We were able to intercept some phone calls, I’ll be sending you all the audio recordings to listen to on your own time.” Ginger said, tapping around on her clipboard. Alicia looked over at Pom, the two agents seemingly on the same brain wave. They both knew that Senator Xavier Dubois was a ruthless, greasy, piece of crap. He would do anything to keep the state of Kentucky under his control.

“What do you need us to do, Champ?” Alicia said, revving her green bug to life and buckling her seat belt. No need for discretion when it wasn’t the right location. “Pom, I know your ass is not wearing a seatbelt, bitch,” Alicia said quietly, stepping on the brake, cackling when Pom lurched forward in her seat colliding with the dashboard.

“AAARGH! Fuck you!! You didn’t have to fucking brake check me!” Pom yelled, hitting Alicia’s arm before buckling her seatbelt and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alright kids, that’s enough! Y’all should know better than to be acting a fool and havin' an attitude during debriefs and y’all are just goofing off, actin’ like y’all ain’t got no good sense.” Champagne said harshly, watching as their holograms faded out. “Whiskey, I want you flying out to HQ asap!”

“Sure thing boss, I’m on my way.” Whiskey said, winking at Agent Cognac before his hologram also faded out.

Other agents sitting at the table began to remove their glasses, mirroring the actions of Whiskey, their respective holograms also disappearing. Champ and Agent Cognac were the only ones remaining in the room. Ginger, having slipped out quietly to return to her lab. Cognac turned, realizing her grandpa was staring at her closely. She blushed as she slipped her glasses into the pocket of her jacket.

“What?” She said, sheepishly pouring herself a glass of water. Champagne glared knowingly at her, putting an end to any other words about to come out of her cherry-red lips. After the tragic death of her parents (both statesman alum), he made it a point to take her in and continue to raise her as his own. He'd be damned if he let his granddaughter fall off onto the wrong side of the law.

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, young lady. I may be old, but I haven’t lost my sight yet!” The elder agent said with great discipline, shaking his finger at her like she was five again. He rose from his seat, moving to stand in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Why are you doing this to me, Carey? You know the rules! No-“

“No fraternizing with fellow Agents! I know, Grandpa,” she said, moving to stand next to him. She felt guilty; Champ had put his neck out for her countless times, hell, he was the sole reason she was still alive. The same people who had killed her parents were set out to kill her too. If he hadn't stepped in when he had….the thought of it made her shudder.

“First of all, don’t interrupt your old man, Carey Ann. Secondly, if you know you shouldn’t, why do it?! Whiskey is a highly skilled agent; but when he’s off the clock? Jack Daniels is not the kind of man I’d want dating my granddaughter.” Champagne said. Carey sighed, knowing that he was only looking out for her. But if he knew the true extent of the relationship she had with Whiskey, he would grow even more furious.

“It’s nothing, I promise! I just assist him with things around the New York offices from time to time...” She said innocently, turning to grab her jacket and head for the door.

“Well those ‘things’,” Champagne made air quotes around the words ‘things’, following the young woman with his cold gaze, “Those things better not be in his pants, missy! I’ll tan both of your hides; I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re 30 years old, damn it!” His words falling on deaf ears, his granddaughter having already disappeared out the door. He sighed in defeat. Wrangling these kids was starting to get harder and harder.

“Lord help me.”

a/n: i’m real upset, i have no clue what happened to the original post. I apologize for the mess. Thanks for reading <3 roach

Statesman: Ablaze is a multi-part fic that is a collaboration between myself and the ladies tagged. After throwing our ideas around late one night, this baby was born. We are very excited to share this with y’all, and hope you like reading it as much as @pomelloe-me and I do writing it.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x oc #agent tequila x reader #agent tequila x oc #agent whiskey fic #oc fic #jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #kingsman golden circle #Statesman:Ablaze #statesman

18 notes · View notes