#‘I’ll be damned as a senator I do not get this’

[bruciemilf]

if I had any kind of artistic prowess, I’d draw Clark with a mild ‘I’m about to wreck shop’ smile, grabbing at his hair, glasses halfway down his nose while helping Jon and Damian with their math homework.

“Pa, they want us to do it THIS way-“

“BUDDY. MATH IS M A T H.”

#calling Bruce like ‘ they invented a math that isn’t MATHING’ #Superman’s one weakness? 4th grade algebra #dc #dc comics #clark kent #damian wayne #jon kent #I feel like dami and Jon invent formulas on the spot bc Clark cusses in like. extremely funny ways #‘who the hecking hell invented this darn numbers’ #‘I’ll be damned as a senator I do not get this’ #text

[fuckmyskywalker]

"Frustration!" — Anakin Skywalker.

— CW: 18+, smut. Hate sex, dirty talk, cunnilingus. | Word count: 1.2k!

— Taglist! | List of films!

“Anakin, fucking let go of me!” The leather of his glove digs into your skin, as he drags you harshly into the cockpit.

He locks the door behind him, not even bothering to give you the reason why he’s so upset about… well, something. Only Anakin knows what’s going on inside his mind— although, sometimes you wonder if he even knows what’s going on. You try to stay calm, but your heart is racing. Anakin's face is contorted into something unreadable and his eyes are wide. He turns away from you, seemingly out of anger or fear— or both.

“Do you like him?” He asks out of the blue, increasing your confused state. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for your answer. 

With no clue what he is talking about, you stare at him rather annoyed. The lack of answer makes him scoff, he thinks you’re playing dumb. Anakin thinks everyone should know what he is thinking about and to some extent, it’s frustrating. The lack of communication on his part when it comes to literally any ambit is potentially a red flag— but who would dare to question the Chosen One?

Anakin knows he can be as cocky as he wants. He is demanding and irritating— his ego is as big as Yavin Prime, if not bigger. But, you always find a way to put a stop to him, and that frustrates him even more. He hates that you are the only person who can say “no” to him, not even Obi-Wan can stop him when he has his mind set on something. Plus, it doesn’t help at all that he’s been fucking with you for a while now.

“I asked you a question, fucking answer it,” Anakin’s tone is beyond demanding. With what right is he talking to you as if you were one of his soldiers? 

You finally talk, “Anakin, I have no clue who are you talking about.”

“Don’t play stupid, I saw you. You were flirting with Senator Cadaman,” his body language is aggressive, something you are more than accustomed to. 

«Oh Maker, he is jealous,» you think. That was unexpected. 

“Anakin,” taking a step closer, you mirror his position, crossing your arms as well. In an ideal situation, you would calm him down, and let him know that nothing is going on between you and Cadaman… but this will never be the ideal situation— not when Anakin Skywalker is involved. “I wasn’t flirting with him. It’s called being polite, is it suddenly my fault you mistake simple manners with flirting, just because no one is nice to you?”

Perhaps you were being harsh on him, but you weren’t in the mood to deal with Anakin’s jealousy— not now, not never. Boundaries were never set to start with; it’s not formal, it’s not a relationship.

It’s just sex.

“People are nice to me.”

“Only because they are afraid of you.”

“No, it is because they respect me!” His voice raises. Deep down he knows that maybe, just maybe, you're right— but Anakin would rather die than admit when he’s wrong.

“Get out of your damn bubble, Anakin. It has nothing to do with respect; when people respect you they admire you,” closing the distance between your bodies, you raise your hand, digging your index finger into his chest. “People fear what may happen to them if they don’t agree with you, or follow your orders, or deny you something.”

His flesh hand grabs your own, yanking you towards him and pressing you against his chest. His gloved hand reaches for your jaw, forcing you to raise your head to look at him— it hurts. He is being rough. He is mad.

“Fear?” He looks down at you with lust and sentiment, barely covered by a thin veil of disgust. Only you can say no to him. Only you have the courage to treat him as an equal— and that makes his dick so, so hard. “I’ll fucking show you what fear is.”

You fight against him, but it’s pretty much pointless. Anakin spins you and presses your chest over the ship panel, the different buttons and levers painfully digging into your skin. He struggles to take your pants off but in the end, he manages to yank them below your knees— adding a hint of humiliation to the situation. His gloved hand slaps your ass harshly, causing you to moan. 

“Do you want to be a bitch and talk back?” He says after another slap. “Do you want to act like a slut?”

“Anakin!” You wail. He smiles, this is how he wants you. This is where he thinks you belong. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Another slap. The dynamic between you two has always been the same, fighting, arguing, and calling each other names… until you grew up enough to blow the steam off in more… carnal ways. “Tell me to fucking stop, and I will.”

But you don’t. You find yourself unable to speak. 

You hate how he breaks your will, you hate how you only find pleasure in his rough treatment, and you especially hate feeding his ego.

“See? I know you. I know the real you,” his voice is pure spite, despite the lewd undertones. “I know you are nothing more than a slut, you enjoy the attention.”

The skin of your ass is burning, and it hurts, but the words that could make him stop his assault never leave your lips. You feel powerless, like you are nothing more than a toy that he can play with at his leisure. You hate the feeling of not being in control of your own body, and you curse yourself for not being able to break free from his grip. Is that same power play that keeps you tied to him— and what keeps Anakin always coming back to you?

“See how fucking wet you are?” 

He is disgusting. You despise him— but you push your hips towards his face when he kneels right behind you to plunge his tongue inside your pussy. He laps at you without shame, as if he doesn’t even know the definition of it. Anakin eats you out relentlessly, groaning at the taste. 

“I fucking hate you and your perfect fucking cunt,” he spits right on you, mixing your arousal with his saliva. The act makes you squirm, stretching your arm behind you and yanking his messy hair bringing back his face to where you need him the most. 

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” you breathe, closing your eyes. “W–Why can’t you just be quiet for five damn minutes!”

Anakin moans against your core, closing his eyes and fucking you with his tongue until your knees go weak. Sneaking his hand in between your legs he rubs tight, quick circles over your clit which triggers your orgasm— perhaps faster than on any other occasion. Biting your lower lip, refusing to let his name escape from the deepest corners of your mind, you close your eyes to focus on the lewd noises of the man behind you— practically slurping everything you have to offer. 

In an instant, he is standing next to you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and crashing his lips against yours. Smearing the wetness all over his mouth over your face, the kiss is messy, borderline savage— and you love it.

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you whisper.

“I know.”

🌊Taglist!: @anisbaby | @vadersslut | @alixwriter | @bimbo-baggins86 | @lovrsm | @pockcock | @haydensgirlaela | @zemoslittlemonster | @captain-satan

— 🐚 if you wish you be added to my taglist there's a google forms in the beginning of the post! There you can select which days you would like to be tagged in (or choose the option: all the above!). If you send me a DM or an ask I will tag you on every day! | some tags might not work due to your settings, so let me know!

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes! #𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 kinktober 2023! #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin x reader smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n

[hanafubukki]

I know damn well if the Senate learned that Malleus is in love with Yuu, they'll do anything to persuade him into marrying a noble fae. Only for Malleus to threaten to burn them if they even try to touch a hair on Yuu's head.

Hello Anonie 🌷🌻🌺

Oh you are speaking my language Anonie, the senate are just asking to be destroyed in the most brutal way possible. You think they would have learned from Meleanor Draconia, but thought Malleus would be easier since they kept him in “control” for so long.

But for them to go after MC?? To dare try and make him marry a Noble fae he has no feelings for?

Oh, the Senate is going to have flashbacks to Queen Meleanor Draconia when she refused those offers.

The only difference is, Malleus won’t let them live.

They dare try to touch his mate, and he will bring each and every one of them down.

Plus, you would think they would want the Draconia line to continue? But they have to be idiots.

I hope we can see them get their comeuppance because wtf? How dare you take Malleus away from Lilia? Okay, I’ll stop before I go on my tirade 🤣🤣

#answered #anonie ask #malleus draconia x reader

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug's interpretations on various 'Bad Batch' characters: Side Character Edition!

I'm chuffed that everyone thinks my neighbor Doug is funny: he really is a gem. I had no idea we'd bond over Star Wars and crappy weather, but here we are.

Naturally, I had to bother him about other characters that showed up on The Bad Batch, so, here we go!

Phee Genoa: Ah-ha, that there’s Church Lady. You know her, she’s got a big square in her pocketbook and you don’t know if it’s pound cake or a brick, because the Lord saves but He can’t help you in the alley when you’re in Treme and the streetlights just turned on. She has two ex-husbands who are both preachers and they turned to Jesus because they are so scared of Church Lady in court. 

(So I guess he’s saying Phee has raw WHO DAT energy, for my Saints fans out there)

Cid: Looking at this fat lizard bitch makes me hungry. I call that one Houma-BBQ because I’m guessing we could feed a whole parish fire station based on the size of her tail. I wish she’d shut up, she reminds me of my mother-in-law. 

Cad Bane: Homeboy looks like a Sesame Street character who teaches Big Bird about concealed carry laws. I call him Gun Safety Muppet. I don’t like him because he shot my Wife and I’s Boyfriend on the other show and his robot needs to be tossed into a wood chipper. 

(“I’m not gay, but Jenny and I…well, we would make an exception to that man. You ever see ‘Deadwood’? Man is fine. I’m not GAY.”)

Fennec Shand: That’s The Chick that’s in Everything. She was on ER and Boba Fett and I think a Marvel show too? I like her. Hope she kills Gun Safety Muppet and hurls his blue ass into a dumpster. 

Howzer: That’s my niece’s boyfriend, Jorge. We all love Jorge, nice guy, owns an auto repair shop and always remembers plates and napkins for the cookouts after church.

Gregor: Jorge’s cousin, Manny. Met him once at Christmas in Miami, nice guy, only drinks brown liquor and insists everyone arm wrestle him. But he’s got a good job as a PE teacher, we respect education, come on now. 

The Martez Sisters: Aw, man, it’s Jorge’s Unemployed Sisters. I hate it when they show up for Christmas and get into fights with my momma. 

(“Doug, you know they’re not related to the clones at all, right?” “Says who?” “The PLOT?” “Eh, they’ll change it, just watch.”)

Mayday: Aw, I liked this guy so much! That’s Sassy Park Ranger, he’s the type that gives you your camping permits, warns you about the bears, and then is all disappointed when you don’t properly stow your food and the bears destroy the campsite. I need to go back to Little River Canyon, that place was pretty. 

Lt. Nolan: THAT STUPID BLOND JACKASS. (Doug was so enraged by the guy he had nothing else to add. Damn.)

Senator Chuchi: Why does this lady make me want a blue slushie? I’ll call her the Sonic Special. They need more Sonics here in the north, they really do. 

Cody: That’s Obi-Wan’s Boyfriend, he’s sad all the time. We know why. (Confirmed that Doug is a Codywan shipper and I don’t know what to do about that)

Royce Hemlock: Is that Jimmy Neutron after he grew up and became one of those guys that’s on the internet all the time writing creepy things? It’s Jimmy-the-Scientist. He looks like the type of person dogs get weird around.

Rex: That's Rex. He's a king. Respect him.

#cloneforce99 #thebadbatch #tbb #doug talks star wars #star wars #the bad batch #clone troopers #red neck #cad bane #riyo church #mayday the bad batch #the martez sisters #cody tcw #royce hemlock #phee genoa #codywan #lt nolan #cid the bad batch #the clone wars #gregor the clone wars #my neighbor #the bad batch howzer #fennec shand

[lostloveletters]

Damn Yankees (Bucky Egan x OFC)

Summary: The Great American Pastime puts Sergeant Holly Dean and Major Bucky Egan’s friendship to the test when her struggling Nationals play yet another game against his beloved Yankees.

Note: I introduce you to Miss Thing herself. By the way, the Yankees and the Nationals (also interchangeably referred to as The Senators back then) played 8 or so games against each other in mid-to-late June 1943, which I don’t think is a point of accuracy anyone cares that much about. Anyway, do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Internalized thoughts about death and loss. Holly and Bucky are extremely annoying about baseball so if that’s not your thing…

Holly didn’t flinch when the door to the Air Exec office abruptly opened, and she didn’t have to look up from her typewriter to see who pulled up a chair in front of her desk and made himself comfortable.

“Morning, Bucky,” she said.

“It’s a good morning to be a Yankees fan, Holly.”

The first time Major John Egan walked through the office door, restlessness radiated off of him. Holly didn’t understand why he was assigned to Air Exec in the first place. He didn’t seem to either, but he gravitated toward her, initially amazed at how quickly she could type. When the novelty of that wore off, her feverish devotion to the Washington Nationals made him hang around anyway. 

“You’re not even from New York."

“Sure, but who doesn’t love a team that wins?”

She bristled at his gloating. “Being a Nats fan builds character.”

“You know what they say about Washington, first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League.” 

“We’re second this year,” she reminded him. 

Mostly because all of the good baseball players enlisted, including Bucky’s hero Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, who had enlisted the USAAF earlier that spring. Bucky hoped he’d get assigned to Thorpe Abbotts at some point. Holly figured he’d stay stateside as a fitness instructor.

“Behind the Yankees,” he said.

“We’ll see after tonight’s game.”

“We’ve been wiping the floor with you.”

She scoffed. “Wiping the floor? It’s been pretty even wins.”

“You tell yourself that.”

“Well, we’re gonna win tonight.”

“Wanna bet?” he asked.

The incessant clicking from her typewriter stopped as she lifted her gaze to him. “When the Nationals win tonight, you have to do all of my filing tomorrow.”

“Alright.” He rapped his knuckles against the top of her desk as he considered his wager. “When the Yankees win tonight, you’ll do as much of my paperwork as I can get away with giving you tomorrow.”

Holly stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

Bucky gave it a firm shake. “Looking forward to my day off.”

“I’ll bring a radio to the hardstand tonight. Woody’s gonna be working late on Brady’s fort, so you can eat your words when no one else is around.”

“More like you’ll want Woody to tell you a joke to cheer you up when the Nationals lose again.”

Easy-going Woody was the perfect chaperone. Otherwise unnecessary, considering Holly and Bucky were both adults, but Holly quickly learned that just about everyone at Thorpe Abbotts had an opinion as to what constituted acceptable behavior between a man and a woman. She already had enough people talking about her, anyway.

Colonel Huglin approached, making a beeline for Bucky.

Holly resumed her typing without missing a beat, keys clicking along with the others in the room. “Good morning, Colonel,” Holly greeted.

“Good morning, Sergeant Dean,” he said, kindly enough. “Major Egan, I need to speak with you in my office.”

“‘Course, Colonel.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Major,” Holly said.

Bucky smiled, giving her a nod. “Sure will, Sarge.”

The game was technically at one in the afternoon on the East Coast, but the time difference made it a night game for those listening across the ocean. Unless Bucky got held up by Huglin, she knew he’d be there. He practically had the Yankees’ schedule memorized. 

——

The summer sun wasn’t close to setting by the time the game crept up and Holly made her way to the hardstand. She kept the portable radio tucked securely under her arm while she walked. Silently prayed she wouldn’t somehow trip on the way and smash the radio to pieces just because she wanted to listen to a baseball game.

Woody waved at her in the distance, arm sweeping excitedly through the air. 

“I haven’t seen you all day!” Holly shouted.

“Too long to go without seeing the likes of you!” Woody yelled back.

Woody, of course, being Private Kate Woodward, part of Ken Lemmons’ ground crew and her best friend on base, probably in general, the more she thought about it. Blonde hair in twin braids, green eyes that glistened with determination, grease smudged on her face, and a wrench in hand, Woody was practically the poster girl for the fearless wartime woman, in Holly’s biased opinion.

“What brings you to my humble hardstand?”

“Bucky and I are gonna listen to the Nationals-Yankees game. He has to do my filing tomorrow if the Nats win,” Holly said. 

Woody laughed. “Good luck.” She scratched her forehead, marking her face with another streak of grease. “Just so you know, Brady might be coming out here later.”

“Checking on his fort?”

“I think he doesn’t trust me or something. He’s been coming around almost every day to see how the repairs are going,” Woody said. “I’m certainly not complaining about his company, though.”

“I’m sure.”

“Maybe one of these days he’ll give me a personal tour of his cockpit.”

Holly choked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand. “Woody!”

“Get your head out of the gutter. I’m strictly talking planes here.” Woody grinned. “Your Yankee’s pulling up.”

Bucky parked the jeep next to the women, raising an eyebrow at Holly’s attempts to stifle her giggles. She handed him the radio as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hey Woody, how’s it going?” Bucky asked.

“It’s going, Major.”

He nodded toward the plane in question. “Everything coming along okay?”

“Just like Kenny said, it looks a lot worse than it is. It’ll be back in the air in no time.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less from you guys.”

She shook her head, an amused smile on her face. “I oughta get back to it. You have fun doing Holly’s filing tomorrow.”

“Hey, I thought we were friends!” Bucky shouted as Woody jogged away, leaving them to listen to the game. 

Holly took the radio from Bucky, setting it on her lap. “I’ve used this one before,” she said. “It should pick up the station well enough.”

“How’d you get that out here?”

“Said it was your orders.” She smiled, tuning the radio until the boisterous announcer’s voice emerged from the speaker and nearly drowned out Bucky’s laughter. 

“It’s a beautiful afternoon here in the nation’s capital folks! We’ve got the New York Yankees in DC up against the Nationals at Griffith Stadium. Now, the Nats have been down the past two games, but we’re hoping they’ll be able to rally this time around—”

“Is Early the starting catcher?”

“Yeah, pretty sure he is.”

“There’s a National I like.”

“‘Cause he’s the only person who might be chattier than you.”

“It’s one hell of a distraction strategy.”

“You’d know,” she joked, lightly elbowing him in the side.

Jake Early was one of Holly’s favorite players on the Nationals. Not a great hitter, but one hell of a catcher who took to imitating radio announcers and auctioneers or even singing to throw off opposing batters. It was one of the highlights of watching a Nats game in person, in her opinion.

“Have you ever been to a Yankees game?” she asked.

He nodded. “A couple. Listening on the radio is one thing, but seeing them in action? I felt like I got struck by lightning. How about you?”

“I went to a few Nats games every season growing up, but Stan and I went on a lot of dates to home games. One time he nearly broke his hand catching a ball that got hit into our section.”

Bucky shook his head. “What a souvenir, though.”

He knew about Stan. Everyone did. Bucky had the sense to not walk on eggshells if she brought him up. Holly had taken the news better than most people expected. She and Stan had a long discussion about it before he shipped out. Allowed herself to cry at night for a week or so afterward, but pulled herself together and pushed forward. At least, she tried to.

Every now and then, her sailor’s bloated corpse would inevitably be dredged up for curious newcomers to Thorpe Abbotts. Her ears rang with the whispers, always some variation of, ‘Her fiance—Navy, I think—yeah, at Midway—I know—poor girl.’ Stanley Conway’s ghost did little more than serve as an explanation to strangers as to why his former fiance could be…weird was the nicest way someone put it, though a plethora of less than complimentary adjectives had been applied to her and her odd behavior over the past year.

But Bucky liked her. Hung around her even when he wasn’t working in the office. Sometimes her melancholy made him do more of the heavy lifting conversationally. If he minded, he never told her. His friendship made it tough for her to remember to refer to him as Major Egan and not just Bucky, sometimes. Stan would be proud of this Holly, though, the one who made stupid bets on baseball games with an officer. 

Bucky took out his flask, taking a swig before offering it to her. She regretted how quickly she accepted, her throat burning as she shoved it back in his hands.

“What is that?” she hissed.

“Whiskey.”

“That’s not whiskey.” She coughed. “You could put that in the gas tank and drive into town with it.”

“You’ve got the taste of a sailor, that’s what the issue here is. Should’ve joined the WAVES if you wanted rum.”

“I was going to. Stan said he didn’t think it’d be a good idea for us to be in the same branch and all that,” she said. “I kinda wish I had. The Service League is almost better than the Majors right now, especially the Navy league since they got Ted Williams.”

He balked. “You sound just like Crank! And DiMaggio’s in the Army league—he’s one of us!”

“So what? If it’s about who’s the best, Crank’s got a point, Williams can bat 400 no sweat.”

“DiMaggio did during his ‘41 streak.”

“Yeah, during his streak. Williams ended the whole ‘41 season with 406.”

“I was gonna be nice and drive you back after the Nats lose. You can walk, toots,” he half-joked.

“Woody can drive me,” she said, turning to glance behind her. Between the dusk and distance, she couldn’t tell if Brady had made his way out there yet. “I’m staying out here with her, anyway.”

“Want me to hang around?”

“If you want.”

“I’m asking what you want.”

She hummed, slouching back in her seat, a far away expression on her face. “I want the Nats to win.”

Bucky slouched against her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Glanced between her face and the radio a few times, hoping the Nationals would pull off something big for her.

He didn’t pry for details. Wasn’t quite sure how to ask her about it. Part of him was too afraid to know. He was afraid of a lot of things he’d never admit, but the place Holly drifted off to terrified him. So he took it upon himself to get her out of there. He talked about the game. And how he won the bicycles for Buck. And that he was just kidding when he said he wouldn’t drive her back to the womens’ barracks—couldn’t leave her and Woody out by themselves, after all.

Bucky didn't know how much time had passed before Holly finally spoke again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

He blinked. “For what?”

“You know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I mean, the Yankees are down bad, and I’m having a ball,” he said. “So you’re apologizing for nothing, doll.” 

He felt like someone poured club soda over his brain when she smiled, brown eyes glimmering gold. His gaze fell to her lips, his tongue darting out between his own for a moment. His shadow fell over her like a blanket as he leaned closer.

“And it’s strike three, you’re out for the Yankees in the top of the ninth!” The announcer’s voice blared through the radio, nearly making him jump in his seat. “That’s the game folks! The Washington Nationals win on their home turf against the New York Yankees—“

“We won! Oh my god, we won!” Holly sat up, nearly knocking the radio off of her lap in her excitement. She landed a few playful punches on his arm. “Take that, Egan!”

He rolled his eyes, smiling nevertheless. “It’s a good thing the Nats don’t win more often, because you’re the sorest winner I’ve ever met.”

“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Hey, I’m a man of my word. I’ll do your filing tomorrow,” he said, bringing his flask to his lips. “Damn Yankees.”

#bucky egan x oc #bucky egan x ofc #bucky egan #john egan #john egan x oc #john egan x ofc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air x ofc #mota x oc #mota x ofc #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #hbo war #ch: holly

[fatecantstopme]

I Can't Lose You

PART TWO

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: The BAU team is hunting a sadistic murderer and you go undercover to reveal his identity and catch him in the act. Things don’t go according to plan and so much is revealed about you, your team, and your boss…things that will change all of your lives forever.

Warnings: Descriptions of rape and torture. Cursing. Death. Lots of angst.

A/N: Series should be read in order or it won't make sense. This part also jumps between different characters' POVs.

Part One, Part Three

~On the road~

They’d wrapped you in a blanket, blindfolded you, and thrown you in the trunk of a car. Your hands and feet were bound and you couldn’t move. You had no idea where you were going. The fear was eating at you and you tried to swallow the rising panic. You prayed that the team would find you, but you knew the odds were slim.

Thirty minutes later, the car stopped and you were dragged from the trunk. You were taken inside and thrown into a cold, dark room. Your hands were tied above your head and chained to the wall. You were facedown, completely naked, still blindfolded, and utterly alone. 

“Welcome to my dungeon of pleasure, Agent Heywood,” Senator Jacobs said as he entered the room. 

You struggled in vain against your bindings. “You’re not very good at hospitality,” you said.

Jacobs laughed. “This is me being hospitable.”

“No wonder you don’t throw many parties.” 

“Oh my dear, this is a party.”

“Well it’s pretty damn lame, so I think I’ll leave early, if you don’t mind.”

He laughed again. “I like you! You’re feisty.”

You struggled again as he ran his hand down your body. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

“Get your hands off me,” you growled.

“You’re in no position to make demands, Isabelle.” He smiled at you and your blood ran cold. “We’re going to have quite a bit of fun, you and I.” 

“I think that’s highly unlikely,” you retorted.

“Aww, do you think your fellow agents are going to save you?” His tone was mocking and it made you angry. 

“My team will find me.”

“They have no idea where you are or who’s taken you.”

“You underestimate them.” You’re glad he does; it’ll be the reason he gets caught. 

“That’s very sweet, but they won’t be able to save you from this.” His hands caressed your body in a clearly sexual manner and your blood ran cold. “You’re so soft, Isabelle.”

Fear flickered across your face as you realized just how bad this situation was. Jacobs was right…your team might not even realize you’re gone yet. You couldn’t be sure the call went through. You just had to hope Jacobs was holding you at that warehouse…if not, then you would likely die here.

His breathing was heavy as he leaned over you, hands still glued to your skin. You could feel his body pressed up against your own. You struggled with everything you had and he laughed loudly. “It’s futile, Isabelle. You can’t escape me.”

You inhaled sharply, terror settling into your bones despite your best efforts to remain calm. You knew exactly what was coming, but the worst part was that you knew you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

With a grunt, Jacobs thrust his erection inside of you, giving you no prep or time to adjust. You cried out in pain despite your best efforts to remain silent. You began to beg him to stop, hating yourself for doing it, but the pain was horrific…the violation unspeakable. 

He continued to thrust, ignoring your pleas and the tears streaming down your face. Every thrust was more painful than the one before, your blood the only lubrication he had. 

It felt like an eternity before he began to grunt loudly, indicating his release was impending. By this time, you’d fallen silent, the only sounds you made were the soft, involuntarily whimpers that escaped your mouth. 

He yelled your name as he came inside of you, adding more horror to the hell you were in. He finally pulled out of you and left the room, leaving you to sob completely alone.

After some time, two men came to get you. You were taken to a different area and strapped down to a cold metal table, causing you to shiver. Someone took off the blindfold and you blinked rapidly to adjust to the sudden bright lights.

The first face you saw when your eyes adjusted was Jacobs’. It made you feel nauseous, but you did your best not to show it. 

“Are you ready for more, Isabelle?” he asked with a smirk. 

“Born ready,” you said snarkily, determined not to let him win.

He smiled again and gestured to someone behind you. You heard something rolling across the ground, but you couldn’t see what it was. The sound stopped and Jacobs stepped forward. You heard more sounds, just out of your line of sight.

Jacobs looked down at you and said, “My tools,” in a low voice.

You fought back the terror that was threatening to overwhelm you. You knew Jacobs was a sadist…he got off on fear and pain. You couldn’t control the pain, but you could control your fear. You pictured the faces of your team, the people you loved most in this world. They gave you strength. 

When you opened your eyes, Jacobs was standing over you, holding a small knife. You stared back at him, gaze unwavering.

A look of annoyance passed over his face. You weren’t giving him what he wanted and he didn’t appreciate it. 

“This is my favorite knife,” he began, “It’s small, but incredibly sharp. It can inflict quite a lot of pain with minimal damage.” He paused. “Which is good because I want to make this last a while.”

You said nothing and your face remained expressionless. 

A look of anger played across his features and looked up at someone. “Brady!” he demanded.

Brady stepped forward into the light. “Sir?”

“The analyst you were telling be about in the car, do you think we could stream video to her?”

“Yes, sir. I could send her a file that would link her to the stream.”

“How long would it take?”

“Maybe 10 minutes?”

Jacobs nodded. “Get the equipment in here and start rolling.”

Brady disappeared and quickly returned with a video camera and a laptop.

“What are you doing?” you demanded.

“We’re going to send a gift to your team,” Jacobs answered.

“No…” you began to struggle with all your strength, but it didn’t do any good. It dawned on you that you were giving him the reaction he craved. You forced yourself to stop struggling. Tears welled in your eyes and you tried to fight them off. You couldn’t help but think about your team…watching you be tortured would torture them. 

You desperately searched for a way to stall…you couldn’t let them film you. “Why would they watch this?” you asked.

“What?”

“What makes you think my team would even watch this? Garcia will probably recognize this as an outside hack. She’ll never open it.” 

“Actually, I’ll be sending it via the department’s services,” Brady said. “It’ll look like it’s coming from the police station.”

Your eyes widened.

“Nice try though,” Jacobs mocked.

You couldn’t think of any way to get out of this. Your heart was breaking at the thought of your family seeing you like this. 

The minutes slowly ticked by until finally Brady announced he was ready. 

“Will you know when she clicks on it?” Jacobs asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect.” Jacobs put on a mask to cover his face. “Better safe than sorry,” he said with a smile. 

A few minutes passed before Brady said, “We’re in.”

~Garcia’s office~

Penelope clicked on the link the police just sent her. It took her to a video live stream. The room was dark, except for the center. There was a woman strapped to a metal table and a tall man wearing a mask stood beside her. It took her a moment to realize that the woman was you. 

“Oh my god,” she said as her hand shot up to cover her mouth. “Isabelle…”

“Hello, Ms. Garcia,” the man said with a wave. “I’ll give you a moment to patch in the rest of your team.”

Garcia quickly called Hotch. “Sir, you need to open the link I just sent you.”

“What is it, Garcia?” he asked.

“It’s a live stream video…of Isabelle.”

She heard the screeching of tires as the van pulled over. Hotch and Morgan got into the back with the girls to see what Garcia sent. 

Emily opened the link and the feed began.

All four of them gasped. 

Hotch’s face was white as a sheet as he stared at your bound body. “Isabelle…” he whispered.

The back doors of the van open and Rossi and Reid entered.

“What’s going on?” Rossi asked. “Why’d you stop?” His attention turned to the screen and his jaw droped. 

“Reid, don’t—” Morgan started, but it was too late. 

“Izzy…” he said softly. 

The man on the video began to speak again. “Hopefully the gang’s all here. Let me tell you, you’re all in for a treat.” He touched your face and you pulled away. “Isabelle and I were just getting to know each other. She’s quite a beautiful woman…there are so many things that I’d like to do to her.”

Hotch’s fists were balled up so tightly his knuckles were white. Morgan looked like he was ready to punch something. Rossi looked heartbroken, and JJ, Reid, and Emily looked like they were going to be sick. Garcia was crying softly. 

“I was trying to think of the best way to ensure tonight would be memorable and I thought having all of you witness this would be perfect,” the man said gleefully. 

You had been through a lot in your life. This wasn’t the first time you’d been held hostage or tortured, but this was the first time you’d had an audience. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He slid the knife down your arm, blood dripping from the wound. 

You managed not to cry out, but the same could not be said of your team. 

“That’s Senator Jacobs,” Reid said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Garcia, can you find out exactly where the feed is coming from?” Hotch asked.

“I’m trying sir, but this guy is very good. He’s bouncing it off hundreds of servers worldwide.”

Jacobs continued to slice into your skin. You couldn’t contain it anymore, a cry of pain erupting from your lips. The sound broke the hearts of your team. Your screams continued and Hotch pushed past everyone to get out of the van.

He paced outside. They’d already checked the warehouse…it had been empty. They had no idea where you were. Hotch felt like his world was collapsing. After Haley’s death, he didn’t think he would ever fall in love again. Now that he’d finally admitted how he felt about you, he was on the brink of losing you. He was terrified and he had no idea what to do or how to find you. He was always the level-headed one, but right now he could barely see straight. 

He heard your scream again and he covered his ears, but he couldn’t erase the sound from his mind. Tears filled his eyes and he blinked rapidly. 

“Hotch?” Morgan’s voice was tentative as he stepped towards his boss.

Hotch turned to look at him and Morgan was surprised by how broken he looked. In all the years Morgan had known him, Hotch had never been the kind of person who showed emotion. Seeing the desperation, the fear, and sheer agony on his face now, nearly broke Morgan’s heart.

“We’re going to find her,” Morgan insisted.

“How?”

“Garcia will find something.”

“It’s hopeless,” Hotch whispered.

“Don’t do that. Don’t give up hope. The moment you do, then Isabelle’s dead.”

Hotch’s head snapped up and he stared at Morgan.

“She needs you to be strong,” Morgan continued. “We all do.”

Hotch closed his eyes and when he opened them, he looked like the man that Morgan had always known. He nodded at Morgan and got back into the van. 

The video was still playing, but the whole team had gotten to work. Garcia was still trying to pinpoint a location. Reid was digging through Jacobs’ financials, desperately trying to find other real estate that he owned. Emily and JJ were on the phone trying to find a lead of any kind, and Rossi was glued to the screen. 

Hotch went and sat beside Rossi. The older man didn’t even react to Hotch’s presence. “Rossi,” he said softly. 

On the screen, you let out another blood-curdling scream and both Rossi and Hotch winced.

“I promised her we would protect her,” Rossi said softly. 

“So did I.”

“She’s not your daughter,” Rossi countered.

“No, but I do love her,” Hotch said softly.

The pain in his voice got Rossi’s attention. He turned to look at Hotch and was surprised to see tears in the other man’s eyes. “I didn’t know,” he said gently. 

“No one knew,” Hotch replied, never taking his eyes off the screen.

~Your POV~

You were out of breath and in excruciating pain. You could hardly move and you’d lost a fair amount of blood by this point, but you managed to keep yourself from passing out. However, you weren’t sure how long that was gonna last. 

Jacobs had switched ‘tools’ a couple times. Currently, he was electrocuting you with a cattle prod. Every time the pain threatened to overwhelm you, you pictured Aaron’s face. The face you’d come to love so much over the years. Memories of him were all that kept you going.

You pictured the look on his face when he told you he loved you… “I can’t die now,” you thought to yourself. “Not when I finally have what I’ve always wanted.”

You forced yourself to focus on what was happening around you. You looked for anything that could give you a clue as to where you were being held, but there was nothing identifiable about the space. It was very non-descript industrial. 

Jacobs hit you again with the cattle prod and you cried out as your body jerked off the table. “Please…” you whimpered.

“What was that?” Jacobs asked mockingly.

“Please…stop,” you said softly, pain lacing your voice.

“Not yet, Izzy. We’re having too much fun,” he said with a laugh. 

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.

*zap* “What’d you say?”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” you said through gritted teeth. 

*zap* “I’ll call you,” *zap* ��whatever” *zap* “I want.” *zap*

His words were partially drowned out by your screams and your focus was waning as the pain seized every nerve in your body. You were absolutely certain you were going to die. 

Tears filled your eyes and only one thought entered your mind, a thought you said aloud. “Aaron…” Your breathing was ragged and labored, barely able to form a coherent sentence, but you managed one last line, “I’m so sorry.”

~Hotch’s POV~

The station was a hub of activity. Morgan had driven the van back there to get more hands to help find Isabelle. The team was in the conference room, doing their best to find any possible lead. So far, we’d come up with nothing. 

The raid on Jacobs’ warehouse told us he had definitely used that as his killing site previously, which meant we had no idea where he’d taken Isabelle. The live feed of her torture was playing in the background, giving us the motivation to keep trying.

I was having a hard time focusing on anything. When I closed my eyes, I pictured her lying on that table…I could hear her screams echoing inside my head. I would give anything to find her. 

Another scream brought my attention to the screen. I heard her say something, but I couldn’t tell what it was over the voices in the room.

“Guys!” I yelled. “She’s talking.”

Silence fell as we all focused on the screen. 

“What was that?” Jacobs’ tone was mocking and it made me want to break his nose.

Isabelle’s voice was soft and pleading, “Please…stop.” 

I closed my eyes and a small piece of my heart broke. 

“Not yet, Izzy. We’re having too much fun.” The sound of her nickname on Jacobs’ lips made my blood run cold.

Her voice was a little more powerful when she said, “Don’t call me that.”

He shocked her again and said, “What’d you say?”

My heart threatened to beat right out of my chest. Her defiance had clearly angered him and I was terrified of what he would do to her if she continued. 

I could hear the pain in her voice as she ground out four words, “Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

I should have known…Isabelle has a fiery soul. She’s not the kind of woman who would back down. No matter what. 

But my fears came true as I watched him shock her repeatedly; her screams drowning out his words. “Isabelle,” I gasped.

Moments passed and all I could hear were her wheezing breaths. They seemed to be slowing down and terror gripped my body as I thought about what that would mean. 

“Aaron…”

Did she just say my name? I took a step closer. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Tears streamed down my face and I struggled to breathe. Isabelle’s eyes were closed and her head tilted to the side. I watched as her body relaxed and I felt my heart shatter. 

“She’s finished.” Jacobs’ words were the last I heard before the screen went black and I punched the wall beside me.

~Morgan’s POV~

Shock gripped my body as I watched the scene unfolding in front of me. My best friend in the entire world was dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it. What was I supposed to do if I couldn’t save her? Her screams were permanently seared into my mind and I would have given anything to make them stop. Then, suddenly, they did.

“Aaron…” I could hear the pain and sadness in her voice. I also heard all of the things she left unsaid…all within that single word. She never told me how she felt about Hotch, but I saw the way she looked at him. 

“I’m so sorry.” She sounded so broken and it was enough to nearly break me. 

Hotch was the closest to the screen, so he noticed it first. I could tell by his body language that it was bad, but I didn’t want to believe it. The screen went black and Hotch slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall. 

He didn’t seem to notice, and he let out a gasping sob as he slid down the wall and onto the floor. This outpouring of emotion from a man normally devoid of it, was what shocked me back to reality. 

“Isabelle…” I said softly. “No…”

I pulled out my phone and called Garcia. “Get it back,” I demanded as soon as she answered.

“Morgan…I can’t. They stopped streaming,” she paused. “Tell me she’s not dead.”

I closed my eyes. “She can’t be,” I whispered. 

I looked up at Hotch and saw the tears streaming down his face. He looked utterly defeated. Rossi was crouched down beside him, trying to talk to him, but he didn’t seem to hear a single word.

I looked around the room and found that everyone was in a similar state of shock and disbelief. 

Reid was looking down at his hands and muttering, “It’s all my fault,” over and over again. 

Emily looked shell-shocked. She stared in silence at the blank screen, completely frozen in place. 

JJ was crying silently, her knees pulled up to her chest.

I could hear Garcia’s tears over the phone and I could feel my own threatening to pour out. But no, crying would mean acceptance and I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t give up hope when there was still a chance she was alive. 

“We can’t give up,” I said aloud. Everyone looked up at me, even Hotch. “We can’t give up on her. If it were any one of us on that table, she’d never stop looking. She would never give up hope.”

I could see I was getting through to some of them, so I continued. “Isabelle is the strongest person I know. If anyone can survive that level of torture, it’s her.” I directed my gaze at Hotch. “She has something to live for; someone to fight for. She’s not going to give up easily.”

Hotch stared at me in silence as my words sunk in. Finally, he got to his feet and said, “Let’s bring our girl home.”

~Rossi’s POV~

Hotch’s words spurred all of us to action, but it was Morgan’s words that inspired us. He was right, Isabelle was a warrior. I had to believe she was still alive or I was liable to sit down and cry for days on end. 

Isabelle was so incredibly important to me. She was family, and to an Italian, family was everything. I would give anything to switch places with her. She was so young, vibrant, and full of life. “She’ll be okay,” I told myself. “She has to be.”

~Spencer’s POV~

This is all my fault. –It’s the mantra that repeats itself over and over in my head. I’m doing my best to focus on finding Isabelle, but the guilt always manages to push its way forward. 

I couldn’t even look at my teammates. I know they’re judging me; blaming me. And now they’re all expecting me to solve the mess I created. 

“What if she’s dead?” that voice in the back of mind asked. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. I refused to even think that. She had to be okay. She had to be.

“Reid?” Morgan’s voice jarred me from my thoughts. “Anything?”

I shook my head. “I’ll find something,” I insisted.

15 minutes had passed since they’d stopped streaming. The longer this took, the more likely it became that we wouldn’t find Izzy in time.

Morgan’s phone rang. “Give me good news, Garcia.”

“I think I found something.” The entire room fell silent and everyone paid attention to Garcia’s voice. “Jacobs has a shell corporation that has been paying money to a Georgia-based company. This company rents out warehouses in the Atlanta area.”

“How did we miss that?” Hotch asked.

“The shell corp. is in his wife’s name.”

I balled my hands into fists and prayed Garcia had an address.

“Please tell me you have an address,” Morgan said, voicing my own hopes. 

“I have multiple. I need to narrow it down.” 

“It would be in the comfort zone,” I said.

“Okay, that narrows it down to three.”

“Tell me the locations,” I said.

“One is in the northern section of the city, one is near Main Street, and the other is on the river.”

“The one on the river!” Everyone looked at me warily, but I was certain. “I knew I could hear water in the video. It has to be the one by the river.”

“We don’t have time to be wrong,” Morgan said gently.

“I’m positive,” I insisted. 

“If you’re wrong…” Morgan started. 

Hotch silenced us both. “I trust your judgment, Reid. Gear up, we don’t have much time.” 

~Your POV~

You came to to the sound of men arguing. It took a few moments for you to remember where you were and what had happened. You kept still, eyes glued shut. You listened closely, trying to determine what they were arguing about. You were able to make out two voices: Jacobs and Brady. 

“I’m not going to risk getting caught just so you stay out of trouble!” Brady yelled. 

“If you wanna keep your job, I suggest you do what I tell you to,” Jacobs countered.

You wished that you’d heard the beginning of the argument so you’d know what they were arguing about. 

The arguing continued and it was becoming increasingly difficult for you to remain still. The pain from your injuries radiated throughout your body. It was almost too difficult to focus on both their conversation and remaining motionless. 

You heard movement close to you and you focused all your energy on not moving. You felt a cold hand against your neck and it took all you had not to flinch. 

“Boss…she’s got a pulse.”

“Does she now?” You felt Jacobs come up beside you. “And?”

“It’s racing,” Brady replied. 

You silently cursed your racing heart.

“Stop faking, Isabelle,” Jacobs said as he touched your face. “Open your eyes.”

You opened your eyes and blinked rapidly as the light shined directly into your eyes. Once you could see clearly, you turned your glare on Jacobs. “You’ll never get away with this,” you said hoarsely. 

“Oh, but I already have. There’s no one here to save you.”

“Even if I die, you’ll still go down. Not just for my murder, but for all of those girls you brutalized and killed.” 

Jacobs laughed. “That’s very unlikely, Isabelle. Your team doesn’t even know where you are. What makes you think they’ll be able to find me?”

“You’re too arrogant,” you said. “You’ll make a mistake.”

His face turned red, the anger obvious in his features, but you didn’t back down.

You stared at him without flinching. You weren’t afraid to die and he knew it. “You don’t scare me, Mark Jacobs.” You stared him down. “You’re nothing but a coward who thinks he’s something special. But you’re not special…and you won’t be remembered.” 

His anger got the best of him and he plunged the small blade in his hand into your abdomen. You gasped in pain and prayed silently for it to be over quickly. Jacobs pulled the knife out and put it against your throat. 

Suddenly, you heard the most beautiful sound in the entire world, the sound of Aaron Hotchner’s voice. “FBI! Drop the knife!”

You flicked your eyes in the direction of his voice. You saw Morgan standing beside him, with Reid not far behind. Seeing them made you want to cry. You knew they would find you…you were just afraid they were a little too late. 

“Drop the knife, Senator,” Hotch said again.

“I don’t think so.”

“I will shoot you.”

“Better make it a headshot or I’m taking Isabelle here with me.”

You made eye contact with Hotch and silently pled with him to just do it. But Hotch shook his head and slowly lowered his gun. 

“What are you doing, Hotch?” Morgan asked loudly.

Hotch held up his hands. “You’re a smart man, Senator.” He took a step forward. “Look around you. There are five people with guns pointed at you.” He took another step. “You hurt her and you’ll never make it out of here alive.” Another step.

“What do you propose?”

“A trade.” Another step. “Your life for Isabelle’s.” And another.

Jacobs’ grip on the knife tightened. You winced and sucked in a breath. 

Hotch froze a couple feet away from you. “I can help you,” he said. “if you let me.”

Jacobs laughed. “Help me? By what, locking me up? Putting a needle in my arm? No. No, I don’t think I need your help.”

“Then what’s your plan?”

“I’m gonna take as many of you down with me as I can.” 

Before Jacobs could slice your throat, a single shot was fired. You looked up to see blood dripping from a wound in his forehead. Jacobs dropped the knife and crumpled to the floor. 

Rossi was standing off to the side, his gun still raised.

Hotch rushed forward. “Isabelle?” 

You looked up at him. “You came…”

“Of course I did.” He looked back at Morgan, “We need a medic in here now.” 

Morgan ran off to get one inside and Hotch started to unstrap your bindings. Your eyes began to close and you started to feel very tired. 

Hotch noticed and stopped what he was doing. “Stay with me, Izzy.”

You nodded. Reid came over and started working on the bindings on your other side.

“Spence…” you smiled at him tiredly. 

“Hotch, she’s bleeding pretty badly,” he said. 

Hotch reached across your stomach and put pressure on your deepest wound, but you barely felt it. “Open your eyes, beautiful. That’s it. Stay with me.”

“Where are the damn medics?” Rossi yelled.

You could hear a lot of commotion, but your vision was beginning to fade. All you could see was Hotch. “Aaron…”

“I’m right here, Iz.”

You could see the tears in his eyes and it broke your heart. “Don’t be sad,” you whispered softly. 

Morgan came running in with two medics trailing him. They rushed up to you and Hotch moved out of their way. 

“Aaron?” you called out.

“I’m right beside you.” 

You relaxed when you felt his hand on yours. You grasped it with what little strength you had left. 

You heard a voice you didn’t recognize ask, “What’s her name?” It was one of the medics. “Isabelle, can you hear me?”

You nodded. 

“Okay, good. I need you to focus on my voice, okay? We’re going to move you.”

You gasped in pain as you were relocated to the gurney. They started moving quickly and you began to lose consciousness. 

“Hey now, stay with me Isabelle,” the medic said.

They got you outside and up into the ambulance. “Aaron…”

“I’m coming with her,” you heard him insist. The medic nodded and let him in.

“We’ll meet you there, Hotch,” Morgan yelled.

The doors closed and the driver floored it. You reached for Hotch and he grabbed your hand. “I’m right here, Izzy.”

“I love you,” you whispered softly.

Tears streamed down his face. “Don’t you do that…don’t you dare say goodbye.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. You tried to speak, but you began coughing instead.

“Save your strength,” he murmured. 

“Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault.”

You nodded and began to slip towards unconsciousness. 

“Stay awake, Izzy.” 

Your eyes slid closed.

“Baby, stay with me.” You felt his hand squeeze yours. “Baby, please.” 

Silence.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #criminal minds fic #I can't lose you series

[woahpip]

rebelcaptain and 20 for the writing prompts? ✍🏼

20: "I can't save you if you don't want to be saved."

They’ve shared a room for months, but today they feel further apart than ever. Jyn leans against the wall, Cassian against the closed door. Staring at each other. Looking for something in each other’s eyes.

“I can’t save you if you don’t want to be saved,” Cassian said. He clenched his jaw after saying it, like he knew it was wrong.

“No one asked you to fucking save me from Wobani or the reach of Draven and Mothma. If they want to damn me, fuck them. I’m here for the Rebellion.”

“They are the Rebellion right now, Jyn.”

She pulled herself off the wall and walked to him, almost close enough to touch.

“They aren’t the Rebellion. We are. When Scarif needed doing we risked our lives to do it. Our friends died. You almost died.” She paused, pulling herself together before breathing and continuing. “If the dirty work helps us win, I will dirty my hands, but if it’s to get money in some ex-Senator’s pocket or to give her daughter a dowry, I will stay clean. I will refuse.”

Cassian nodded. He knew this, as much as he hoped they could play along. Isn’t this what Jyn had taught him since they met? That you’re the only person who controls your fate. Sometimes you look down, but they’re done doing that now. 

Now, they’re looking up.

“Okay. I’ll help you say no. We’ll refuse, and so will the people we know. They can’t afford to lose us all.”

----

prompt me from this list!

#featuring vague draven/mothma kind of evil back story i don't know <3 #rebelcaptain #drabbles #my fanfic #thank you for the prompt!!!

[badpancakelol]

“Have a nice day!”

Eddie doesn’t hope he has a nice day. The guy was a dick and tried to short him on credits, despite being so obviously well off. Like, c’mon, man. Not even trying to hide the Nabooian silk robes? Or the Coruscanti accent? Offhandedly mentioning that his girlfriend was a senator? Just because he works in the middle of a shit ship-port on Tatooine doesn’t mean he’s thick. He wipes the grease off his hands onto the already-dirty rag, but there’s no use in using precious water on a midday clean. Instead, Eddie dabs the sweat from his brow, and contemplates buzzing his hair short again.

Nabooian. Silk. Thousand threaded, cool-to-the-touch, Eddie’s-favourite-colour, Nabooian silk. The guy had to be taunting him. Had to be. In this heat? In Eddie’s port? With his favourite colour?

(Does it matter that it wasn’t his favourite colour until a certain someone had shown him in-colour holos of the fields? No. No it does not).

And then he had some wannabe bounty hunter from his block try and threaten him to fix his ship, which? Hello? Does Mr Blonde Mullet really think that threatening Eddie is gonna make him want to fix his shit faster? I’ll break your hand if you so much as put a scratch on her. It’s not like he can even do anything to hurt Eddie. A broken hand slows down the work, as does a fractured leg, or a black eye, or a concussion, or a blaster burn, or a vibro-wound, or a—

Ah. You get the point. All bark and no bite, and, dank farrik did he have a stupid amount of bark. Enough bark to fill the entire four hours it took to fix his hunk of junk. 

So, really, you can’t blame him for the mood that he’s been in all day (or, you could try, but if your engine takes a little bit longer to retune, or your fuel is a little more expensive than normal, well. Have fun trying to trek your way into the shitshow of the other side of town), when he turns to find the stupidly shiny Naboo royal starship spluttering its way in. Because, seriously? What the hell has he done to the people of Naboo to deserve this?

Eddie thumps his head against the makeshift table, shouts before the ramp has even extended to let whoever-the-fuck out of the rich ship, “We’re closed!”

The sharp click of heeled boots grate on Eddie’s brain, and is only dulled when he watches the way they sink slightly into the ground through his curtain of hair. 

“I don’t need any work done.” Rich Naboo Man says, and— 

He knows that voice.

“I just need a place to park for a little while — I’m visiting a friend around here, actually.”

Eddie lifts his head, peeks up at the person in front of him. The person who is very much Naboo royalty, who is wearing those stupid bright red robes, and the stupid headpiece that he said was too heavy and impractical, with makeup that he said highlighted his broken nose too much, is shuffling out of the starship. His head is held high, and there’s a crease in his brow that’s been the same since they were stupid foundlings with Eddie reading out the aurebesh on the flimsi that their teachers handed them.

No. Fucking. Way. 

“Steve?” 

“Eddie?” His head moves so fast that the jewels dangling from the headpiece almost whip him in the face. And then Steve is shuffling forwards, back straight and face smoothed to a soothing smile, before he’s already apologising. “I’m sorry that I didn’t make it on time. There were duties that I had to attend to, and they ran longer than—”

He bolts from his seat, taking long strides in his ratty grey jumpsuit before he’s caught Steve around the middle twirling them around, because he’s waiting fifty-seven rotations for this. Fifty-seven. If Steve says one more damned apology Eddie is quite literally going to explode. The laugh that Steve lets out is so hearty and so full — warmer than both of Tattoooine’s suns — and, Force, if Eddie has to go another almost-two-months without seeing him, he is quite literally going to overthrow Naboo.

“Hey! It’s okay, Hop. You can put the blaster down.” Steve places his hands onto Eddie’s shoulders and— did he hear that right?

“King Harrington—”

“—Please, Hop, not while I’m off-duty—”

“Steve, the guy ran at you and hauled you up.”

Steve turns around, and Eddie feels like, then. His royal robes create a silhouette of patience and strength, and tower over Eddie, if you count in the headpiece. There is a part of Eddie that whispers how he should very much be letting go of Steve, because his guard still has his blaster aimed at the only bits of him that stick out from behind Steve’s ornate dress. But it’s been so long, and there’s a larger part of his soul that says that he never wants to let go.

“Hopper,” Steve says, and Eddie can just feel the commanding tone of voice bleed through his usual casualness. “This is who I was meeting.”

Eddie lifts his head over Steve’s shoulder, and ignores the small huff he gets in return for the grease he undoubtedly just smeared across Steve’s very expensive, thousand thread Nabooian silk robes. Maybe it’ll finally give him a reason to change out of them. Hopper lowers his blaster, shoves it into the holster with too much and too little force without-a-capital-F all at once. If Eddie was a lesser man he would have snorted. Or, if Eddie was a lesser man he would have let the guard hear his snort.

“This is the guy you’re courting?” “Force, you make us sound old.” Eddie sighs at the same time Steve full-heartedly responds “Yes.”

The guard — Hopper — just pinches his brow and adjusts the hat on his head. “Well, I can’t say anything for your taste in men, but at least he has a respectable job. And he gets paid.”

“Stevie’s still dealing with the Naboo’s Royal Pocket Money?”

“Don’t remind me.” Steve says, moving a swift motion so that he holds Eddie’s hand underneath one of the long red sleeves of his gown.

When Eddie turns to look at Steve, he’s already turned. There’s a mellowed out look on his face that Eddie reads as is your work finished? Let’s clean up and lie around and do nothing but be near each other. And who is Eddie to deny such a request?

“Well,” Eddie says, in all the hospitality that a man from Tatooine can muster, “We best not keep you any longer.”

Hop hums in the way that Wayne used to when he knew that Eddie was just trying to weasel his way out of things. Maybe it was just one of those sixth senses that fathers-who-aren’t-biologically-fathers gain when their children start dating. Or maybe Eddie’s just obvious.

“I can give you a rundown of your ship in the morning. I think you’ve dislodged something in your engine — I could hear it rattling before you even landed.”

Steve tugs on Eddie’s arm, lip quirked up at the corners, and crows feet showing through ornate red and white makeup. “Eds, there’s nothing wrong—”

“Stevie, I love you, but you’re terrible at lying.”

#stranger things april aus #pov the only thing i take from the 1st april tradesperson au prompt is that eddie is a mechanic #welcome to the start of my star wars steddie miniseries that follows @designatedgrape 's april aus #yes. steve is basically padme. #no eddie is not anakin #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie x steve #steveddie #stranger things #if you saw me accidentally post this three times no you didnt

[creationsofthepenguin]

Fox hc

One thing i love about the cw fandom is that everyone unanimously agreed that Fox had greying hair, so I’ll bring forth a bit of an angsty headcanon in honor of that.

Despite popular belief, Fox didn’t go grey because of the Chancellor and all the insufferable Senators on Coruscant. Instead, he drew the short stick and ended up with a minor mutation that resulted with him going grey earlier than the other clones. However, that particular trait made itself known a bit too early.

Fox is a year away from graduating out of Kamino when a sliver of grey catches his eye in the bathroom. He has to search for it a bit, but after a few moments he finds it. A silver hair sprouting from his right temple. He stares at it for a long time, as if in doing so it would magically disappear, but it doesn’t. When he hears footsteps down the hall he quickly plucks it out and gets dressed.

He notices more after a while, three on his right temple and two in his left. This time, his hands shake slightly as he pulled them out and throws them to the ground as if he’s been burnt. You see, out on the battlefield, no one would care for a couple of grey hairs. When they’re getting shot at, the generals have better things to worry about than a mutated clone. On Kamino though, there was no telling what the longnecks would do to him. He’s heard of brothers being decommissioned for less. So for the next month, he checks his hair every day and pulls them out whenever he can.

His routine, however, is broken when he gets called by Priest to fight. He’s happy to have made it out alive since Priest is known to have vode fight to the death, but he still lands in the med bay for a week. When he’s out of the bacta tube, the only thing Fox wants to do is hug his brothers and sleep for another week. Things, sadly, don’t go as planned.

“Ey Fox, what’s that on your hair?” Bly asks innocently when he breaks their hug.

At that, Fox freezes. His body is as tense as a bowstring as he makes his way to the tiny private bathroom of the barracks and locks himself inside. His reflection in the mirror is unforgiving.

Peppering both sides of his head are dozens of grey hairs, almost too many to count. Looking at them, Fox feels his heart pick up as his hands grip the sink tightly. He runs his shaking hands through his hair, trying to pluck out as many traitorous hairs as he could, but it was no use. His hands shake too much and he can hardly see through his blurry eyes and someone’s pounding on the door and-

“KRIFF!” He yells, ripping at his hair and sinking to the floor. This was bad. The Kaminoans will notice, hell maybe they already have. They’ll come for him and take him away from his batch and to the decommissioning wing where no one ever made it out and then-

“FOX open the damn door!” A voice shoutes, dragging him out of his spiral. It was his own voice, except a bit harsher and lower. Wolffe, then.

Would Wolffe try to stop the Kaminoans when they came for him? Would he fight them, or would he let them take him away to through the sterile hallways of their hell.

“Fox this is the last time I’m asking. Open the kriffing door or I’ll blow it off it’s hinges.”

Wolffe would do good on that promise, Fox knew. So, with a thick and shaking voice, he said, “I will, just, give me a second.”

The pounding subsided, so at least Fox knew they heard him. Slowly, painfully so, he got up, trying to even his breathing though he knew that it was no use. He hesitated for a moment when he put his hand on the lock, but ultimately flicked it open.

Immediately, the door flew open as five brothers rushed into the room, crowding him.

“Fox, what the kriff was that all about?” Cody asks, holding his arm tightly. Similar questions pour from his other brothers, but Bacara notices first. He always had been observant.

“His hair is greying.” He says. To his credit, his voice doesn’t shake that much.

Immediately, Fox has five pairs of eyes on him, taking in his red rimmed eyes, thick tears and bleeding scalp.

“Fox… you- how long?” Ponds asks from behind Wolffe and Cody.

“About a month.” He whispers, trying to his his face in Wolffe’s shoulder. His brother doesn’t let him though, instead holding him firmly by the shoulders at arm’s length.

“You know we’d never let the longnecks take you, right?” Bly says softly, looking like he wanted to crush Fox in a hug.

“It’s not like you could stop them!” Fox snaps, suddenly filled with rage. No, it was fear, but he’d found out from a young age that it was better to turn those emotions into rage and use them affectively.

Bly flinches slightly and Pond’s looks similarly hurt. It was unfair of Fox to snap at them, but they all knew he was right. If the Kaminoans wanted to get to him, his batch wouldn’t stand a chance against them.

They waited in tense silence until Wolffe spoke up. He’d been eerily silent the whole time, probably plotting knowing him. “Look, we’ll figure something out. You can dye your hair, I’m sure 99 or Alpha-17 can get us something and- they- Rex is blond and nothing happened to him, right? He’s also got a minor mutation and he’s just fine.”

“They took Rex away three times to take his blood and analyze him.” Fox shot back.

“And they didn’t find anything.” Bacara quipped in.

“Well what if they find something for me, huh? What if they see that I’m aging faster, or that it’s affecting me mentally or-”

“Fox, calm down. They won’t find anything because they won’t figure anything out. We’ll dye your hair and keep you out of trouble. It’s gonna be fine, you hear me?” Wolffe said, pulling him close until Fox couldn’t look away.

After a tense fee seconds filled with a dozen flying thoughts, Fox took a deep breath and nodded. He was immediately crushed by Wolffe in a hug, and Cody and Bly quickly joined them.

When Fox got his breathing under control and finally managed to loosen up, they practically dragged him to their beds. They held him for a long time before they fell asleep.

In the morning, they ran over to 99 who, after a bit of rummaging, gave them a sack filled with brown sludge. It smelled disgusting which made sense when 99 told them it was waste from one of the Kaminoan’s machines, but according to him it would dye his hair just fine.

In the end, Fox made it through graduation without the Kaminoans of the trainers finding out about his little mutation. It was one of the rare times Ka’ra smiled upon him and made his life easire.

#clone wars #commander fox #commander wolffe #bacara #commander ponds #commander bly #cody #commander cody #kamino #clone cadets #angst with a happy ending #angst #fox angst #star wars text post #my writing

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Juvenile

Dan Eagan x Reader

errr so this is pretty shit but I promised a post so uhhh I’m sorry I promise it’ll get better just let me het into writing veep style I’d love to take requests 🙏🏽

pls don’t cringe too hard have fun I love you dan pls kiss me dan

Word Count: 1.452k

“Oh, fuck off,” you repeat for what you feel like is the thousandth time. Working for the VEEP is obviously a dream come true- you’d worked your entire life for this, and you’re damn good at your job too.

But of course, a man has to fuck it up for you.

Some jerk has come up from some senator’s office to talk with Selina, and unfortunately for you, he’s snagged right onto you on his way there.

“You kiss the VEEP with that mouth?” he asks, depositing himself on your desk, fuck-ass grin plastered on his face. You suck on your teeth, trying not to lose your shit. You make a weak attempt at ignoring the interloper, instead waving at Ed after he smiles at you shuffles into Selina’s office. “What’s Mr. Dry Spaghetti doing in there before me?”

“Madame Vice President has her priorities,” you reply simply, starting on some paperwork.

Instead of fucking off to wait his turn, like you’d hoped he would, his ass stays firmly on top of the pretty wood of your desk. A shame, you think, the wood is being desecrated.

“More time for the two of us, then?”

“I’d prefer not to.” You don’t look up from your work.

“Oh, come on.”

“I have work to do.” You abruptly stand from your desk chair, crossing the room to pretend like you’re doing something. Mike thankfully gives you a brief respite from what’s about to turn into a living hell, asking you about the difference between matcha and green tea. “What’d Selina ask for?”

“She asked for green tea, but I can’t tell if she means like the ones in the Arizona cans or like tea that’s green, which would be matcha, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, matcha isn’t tea,” you say back, a smile finally gracing your face. “So I’m assuming she meant green tea.”

“Do I just say that? I want some green tea?”

“That’s typically how you order things from places, yes. Where’s Gary? Isn’t this his job?”

“Probably having an anxious breakdown in a bathroom,” Mike mutters.

“Sounds more like you.”

“Where’s Dan?” he asks, changing the subject. “He’s supposed to have a statement for me…” He trails off, walking away from you and the conversation.

To your disappointment, your happiness is short lived. You feel a hand ghost on the small of your back, and it seems that Senate boy hasn’t gotten the hint.

“Do you need any help? I can make quick work of whatever it is you’re doing.”

“No, I’m fine,” you say harshly.

He takes you by the hip this time, turning you to face him. “How about we go out, then? Brunch? Lunch? Anything.” Your face flushes, your lips begin to form a scowl. Before you can yell at him, cuss him out, anything, Ed shuffles his way back out of Selina’s office and beelines it to you. He awkwardly pushes himself in between you and Senate boy, swatting his hand off of you.

Ed shoos the Senate boy into Selina’s office, giving you a pat on the shoulder on his way out. You murmur your thanks and goodbyes before wandering back to your desk to work in peace.

You manage to get a bit of work done, but your focus begins to waver as you hear Selina’s voice rising. Mike rushes back in, doing that goofy run of his, and pushes one of Selina’s office doors open. He barely gets to speak before he’s interrupted.

“Ma’am, I have that green tea you wa-”

“If you don’t have the fucking draft by tomorrow, ma’am, you’re in a WHOLE new black hole of shit-”

“You really think you can talk to me like that? I’ll have you know-”

Mike backs away from the doors, letting them click shut. He places the cup on your desk. “Your problem now. Where the fuck is Dan?”

Senate boy follows Mike closely out the door, practically screaming obscenities, and the ink on one of your documents suddenly becomes the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. “And don’t think I’ll forget how the Vice President treated me as a honored guest,” he shouts, voice tripping in venom. “And for the record, I never wanted to go out with and ugly fucking bitch like you, anyway.” You blink, barely registering the words spat in your direction. “Fuck off, Eagan, so I can come for your job so shit can actually get done here.”

He shoves past Dan, who’s standing in the doorway with his jaw ticking. “Oh, eat shit,” he mutters back. “Was he talking you you?” He comes over to you, setting the statement Mike’s been running after all morning gently on your desk.

“He’s just butthurt,” you manage, face heated. While you hadn’t taken anything he’d said personally, because Senate boy looked like an ingrown toenail and had the maturity of a spring onion, he’d made a scene in front of the entire office. And your ego wasn’t small enough to not be a bit bruised. You take Selina’s forgotten green tea and quickly run it to her. Dan follows, hands stuffed In his pockets.

“That’s Dale? From Senator Warrith’s office?” he asks, watching Selina pinch the bridge of her nose, wordlessly accepting her drink and demanding you and Dan piss off from her office.

He follows you back to your desk, his eyes staying on you. “I don’t know his name,” you say exasperatedly. You tap at the documents Dan’d set on your desk moments earlier. “Mike’s been looking for these.”

He leans against your desk as you sit down. “I know. That’s why I gave them to you.” You can’t help but smile, properly filing the papers away to be put on Selina’s desk. “What, are you just going to let him talk to you like that?”

“What can I do? File a complaint?” You scoff. “There’d be more use in me sending letters to Santa.”

“I’m not going to let him talk to you like that.” He cards a hand through his hair. “You’re on the Jonad drive.”

“You’re going to bully him?” you ask, laughing.

“Of course I’m going to bully him. It always works.” He raps once on your desk with his knuckles before he straightens out. “I’m going to go visit Shrimp Dick.”

“Shrimp Dick? That’s the best you can do?”

“Shrimp Dick is the least of what’s going to happen to him. It’s factual, too.”

“Can we stop saying shrimp dick? I’m on the phone,” Sue states, expression sharp.

“Point is,” Dan continues, keeping his focus on you, “you will be avenged.”

You make a face. “What are we, twelve? This is all so juvenile, Dan.”

He shrugs. “Just making sure you know.” He adjusts his tie, taking a few steps in the direction of the exit, before turning right back to you. “You’re not ugly. Or a bitch,” he says too loudly. His face pinkens. “Just making sure you know.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Later that day, you’re running between buildings, trying to get ready for a prep release, when you hear your name murmured in conversation.

“I don’t give a shit if he’s that goose that fucking lays golden eggs, Senator Warrith. He harassed a close colleague of mine, and I can’t even begin on his attitude towards Madame Vice President.” You can recognize Dan’s voice. You’ve been hearing it for long enough. “I mean, he walked in like he owned the place, disrespected everyone, shouted at Madame VEEP, and threatened me, so by proxy, her. I really don’t see how you can tolerate anything of the sort.”

You try to make it past them unnoticed, but the two finish their conversation as soon as you’re near. Dan peels away from the senator, falling into step beside you. The two of you stay in a comfortable silence for a bit before he speaks. “I’m sorry if anything I did made you uncomfortable.”

“What, you? You didn’t do anything wrong.” You both stop before the press room, stealing moments for yourselves. “You hit your head? I’ve never heard you apologize to anyone before.”

He smiles at you before ducking his head down to inspect his dress shoes. “Dale won’t be around anymore.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal, Dan.”

“Naw, nobody liked him, anyway.” He brushes an imaginary speck of dust off of your shoulder. “They also found evidence of fraud. Which I might’ve pointed them in the direction of. They also all call him Shrimp Dick now.”

You reach out, pulling his blazer shut and straightening his tie. “Well, thank you for caring.” You even out his collar. “In your own little neurotic way.”

“I like caring about you. It’s… nice.”

#dan eagan #dan eagan x reader #dan eagan oneshot #veep #veep x reader #veep fic #veep hbo #cries I’ve lost my writing power

[nicomundthered]

Dead Of Night- A Bodyguard AU

chapter one: Incomplete and Insecure

summary: Din gets hired to be your bodyguard and you absolutely hate it. Until you don’t.

paring: Din Djarin x fem!reader

tags/warnings: alternate universe, not so loving family, no space-we on earth, sucky home life.

word count: 5k | ao3

a/n: figured I’d give this a try. I’ll be happy to continue if people seem into the idea.

masterlist

“I don’t want a bodyguard.”

The mere thought of it was ridiculous. You were an adult and you didn’t need some random man following you around. The concept was, you can’t stress this enough- ridiculous.

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like he’ll be watching you sleep.”

“But mother…”

“Really, you get this from your father,” her tone was flat.

“What? What do I get from dad?” You were getting annoyed, she was deflecting.

“This- this whole woe is me attitude. You live in a mansion. You have the car of your dreams,” she applied her lipstick in the mirror. “Any clothes or jewelry,” she smacked her lips, “and still you find something to complain about.”

“Oh here we go again,” you rolled your eyes. “Why do you hold all of this above my head? It’s like every nice thing you do for me is written on some checklist, and everytime we fight you use it to throw your ‘kindness’ back in my face.” You took a calming breath and stopped yourself before you said something you couldn’t take back. “You do this every time you know…”

“Do tell me again what a bad mother I am. Tell me how difficult your life is. Please, I implore you to tell me how horrible I am for caring about your safety,” she stood from her makeup chair and walked over to her jewelry closet. “Senator Taylor’s family was threatened, and you know Senator McCarthy’s pool house was broken into — something is going on. I can feel it in my bones and I’ll be damned if something sinister happens to mydaughter.”

“All of that was probably coincidental. I mean people trying to rob the rich isn't exactly a new concept,” you attempted to argue but she had moved on.

She placed an elegant necklace around her neck, “Fasten it dear.”

You walked over to her, fastened the necklace, and then made eye contact with her through the mirror.

She sighed and then said your name, “I know it seems like some big ordeal, but it’s not. You see the way my security team interacts with me, I hardly even notice them. And really I should have assigned you your own before you went to college…times were different then I suppose,” she smiled at you wistfully. “Really, he will just—”

“I have enough people following me around as it is! Between the news and the paparazzi, I just- I feel like I don’t ever just…get to exist. If I pick my nose it will be all over the internet...It’s- it’s claustrophobic.”

She cringed in slight disgust, but then her eyes grew kinder. Eyes that were so charismatic and engaging- they made you feel like the center of her world. You were convinced that that's how she's won every election she's run in.

“Just for a few months, ok? For our peace of mind. And then when all of this blows over, we will discuss the subject again.”

You turned around and put some distance between the two of you. You didn’t like it, you knew she was lying, but you’ve never won an argument with your mother in your entire life. “Only if you promise me, just a few months.”

“You have my word,” she captured your hand, placed it between both of hers, and softly shook up and down. When she dropped it, only her expensive creams remained.

She slid on her high heels, stood quickly, and walked to the door purposefully, “Tell you father he has two hours before he has to meet me for brunch.” She turned back suddenly, “And make sure he doesn’t wear red. It makes him look like he has high blood pressure.”

And with that she was gone. The hurried clicking of her heels echoed throughout the house.

You made your way to your dad’s studio. Which happened to be on the opposite end of the house from your mother’s dressing room. For a long time you assumed that she had planned it that way, but the more you’ve thought about it, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was by your dad’s design.

In fact you’d almost bet on it.

The nostalgic smell of paint wafted out onto the halls. It made you think of a simpler time before both of your parents found their respective successes. In a much smaller home in the suburbs. When you had a dog, and could play on the playground without being stalked and questioned.

“Dad?” you knocked loudly.

The last time you had forgotten to, you walked in, and he was standing on a stool completely naked. Thankfully with his back turned to you. He was working on a prospective piece and claimed that he needed to see his penis from a different angle. Thankfully you couldn’t see the mirror that was beneath him.

He apologized after, saying that he smoked too much and the piece wouldn’t work anyhow. He would need a model to capture what he was going for and that your mother would never allow that kind of scandal.

Which was a perfect example of why they married. Your mother’s feet were so far in the ground they burned, and your dad’s head was so high in the clouds you often wondered if he could see the ground at all.

At one time they were the perfect balance. They helped each other find that happy medium. It helped her become a respected Senator, and it helped him become a world renowned painter.

“Come in sunshine.”

You opened the door and the sounds of smooth jazz caressed you pleasantly. There was always a moment of relief when you heard peaceful music. If he was listening to anything experimental or avant- garde…you never quite knew what you were walking into.

You walked over to his balcony where he was painting something that looked like a pile of mud on the canvas. You knew that it would turn into something beautiful or endearingly wacko, but either way brilliant and captivating.

“She said you are meeting her for brunch in two hours.”

He looked over at you, “Oh…I completely forgot about that.” He scraped some paint off of the canvas and then slapped it back on. He stepped back and decided that he liked what he had done. “I would have tried to get some sleep last night if I had known—”

You laughed, “You are such a liar.”

He chuckled in return then he looked up at you, “Sunshine, why do you look so troubled?” He put his paintbrush down and in three long strides was standing in front of you. He lovingly grabbed your shoulders and brought you into a hug.

He smelled a little strong but that was to be expected. When inspiration hit him he’d sometimes spend days locked away. It had only been two, but you could definitely tell.

“The bodyguard…”

“What bodyguard?” He stepped back in a moment of confusion. It always took him some time to turn off his creative mind and get back to reality.

“The one mom hired for me.”

“Oh! Oh yes, that bodyguard, of course.”

You laughed, “Is there another?”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “Sometimes it takes me a second to get my head on straight.”

“It’s ok. It’s probably the lack of sleep and all of these fumes.” You waved your hand through the air dramatically.

“Ha ha ha, very funny,” he said sarcastically. “You get used to it though,” he winced, “not that you should.”

He turned off his music and sat at his desk. There were papers stacked high and all sorts of small sculptures scattered across. He moved the vine of an overgrown plant out of his way. When he sat a small cloud of dust poofed out from his seat. It was obvious he didn’t sit there frequently.

“So tell me, how is he?”

“The bodyguard?”

He shook his head yes.

“He’s not here yet.”

“Oh? I just thought—” he nervously sat back.

“It’s fine, no I just don’t want one,” you sat in one of the chairs facing his desk – from back when he used to have buyers come over. Now he sells out entire galleries in New York, Toronto, Paris, Madrid, you name it.

“Well I am sorry, but you aren't going to care for my response,” he said with a look of regret.

“Maybe I should just move out. It's way past time and I've been thinking about it lately.”

“I know you've stayed for your mother and I. Sometimes I think you're scared of what would happen to us when you left. That's not a fair thing to ask of your child.”

“You- you, That’s not, I don't know what—”

“You don't have to admit it. I know you,” he smiled and leaned forward onto his messy desk. “I was like you once, believe it or not. I put everything on hold for your mother, which at the time was probably the right thing to do. After all, I made zero dollars a month and she was an up and coming politician. It was the right thing to do and I have no regrets. I listened to my heart and my heart was her, but Sunshine, life is passing you by.”

He was right but he was also wrong. True, you did help keep your parents from killing each other, but the real reason you haven't left yet was you weren't exactly sure who you were. Like literally, everyone (your mother) dictated every facet of your life – your degree, who you dated, how you dressed, even things like which concerts you could attend, and the clothes you wore. And so you were left with something that felt like an empty shell sometimes.

Too passive, too submissive, too ready to please everyone. You just cared too much about people who didn't care what it was doing to you in return. As long as they were happy, your feelings didn't matter. Which scared you because without all of this who even were you. What did you want with your life? You had no clue.

“Dad,” you sniffled.

“No listen. I know I'm not a very serious person and you've caught me doing some…interesting things, but take me seriously just for a moment please.”

You nodded.

“I appreciate everything you've done for us. All of the arguments, all of the angry hateful things that we've said to each other – you were there for most of them. You somehow always managed to help us get through them.”

His shoulders tensed and his voice slightly shook, “We should have been better for you, you deserved better. But- but things are changing. In a week I’m starting my European tour with my exhibit. And your mother is about to begin her campaign. We won't be here very much and it's a shame that you will be.”

He got up and moved to the front of his desk. He moved something that slightly resembles a whale out of the way, and half leaned- half sat in front of you, “I know you sneak out sometimes. I wish it wasn't necessary but if your mother caught you – I understand. It's just- you're plenty old enough to do whatever you want. You shouldn't feel like you have to hide and sneak around, it's not healthy.”

“I don't do anything crazy, I just don’t want to hear her go on and on about it,” you interjected defensively.

You went to some parties, and occasionally though not often, you went to a few nightclubs. You always went at night and wore your hair and makeup completely different, it was amazing the cameras hadn't captured pictures of you yet. But you were as cautious as you could be- never drank too much, never went home with random guys.

“I know- I know I trust you,” he smiled, “But I’m rambling and I want to say two things to you. First of all I want you to live your life and stop worrying about us.” You opened your mouth to finally tell him how you felt, but he raised his hand, stopping you, and continued, “Freedom is an important thing, however, what happened to the Tucker’s and the Montgomery’s…”

“Taylor’s and McCarthy’s.”

“That’s who I said. Regardless, it's serious stuff.” His eyes always shimmered with mischief, they did not currently. “I can't believe I’m going to say this, but I couldn't agree with your mother more. Even if you moved out — if they wanted a senator's daughter it would be easy to get you. I am not ok with that.”

“Well what if the bodyguard is the bad guy? That happens in lots of movies.” He didn't move a muscle and you felt your fight leave you, if your dad was worried it was serious.

He sighed, “The head of your mother’s security team recommended him. He has some kind of really extensive training…background or something like that, or at least I think that's right.”

“That's all you know about him? Or think you know about him.” you scoffed. That was all he knew about the man now in charge of your life.

“Look- despite our differences, I trust your mother. And if she trusts her team, then so do I.”

He picked up an old paintbrush from his desk, oh there you are, he said to himself. And then walked back over to his painting, done with the conversation, done with you.

His art would always come first. As he looked back at his painting the worry lines left his face, and you could almost see his head float high above his shoulders.

You stood huffing loudly, whipping your body around and walked to the door. Just as you had your hand on the handle, the music resumed.

“Oh and hey,” he looked at you almost in a daze, “she said to wear that red shirt you love.” And with that, you smiled, feeling quite satisfied with yourself, and went to talk to Frank.

Frank was the head of your mother’s security team, you weren’t even positive your dad knew his name if you were being honest.

He was in his early fifties, attractive, with gray hair and a trimmed beard. He was tall, though not as tall as your dad, which for some reason amused you, and very fit. He worked out twice a day and ate an extremely clean diet. If your mother wasn't so worried about her image you knew that she would flirt with him- but you had never seen any evidence of that.

You didn't really know much about him admittedly, just that he was a good man, and a father. True you had never had your own personal security, but Frank had taken you to school more than a few times when you were younger – your parents often forgot or were too busy.

He had also gotten you out of some tricky situations.

Once, when you were eleven, you were at the beach with your mother and a couple of her politician friends and their kids. Basically, for you, it was a playdate with extraordinarily boring kids. You dared them to swim in the ocean, and they said crap like their mother forbade them, and whined about the water being shark infested.

So for some reason unbeknownst to you at the time, you took it as a challenge and dove into the oncoming waves. Your mother called out to you quicker than you'd like, but out of sheer spite you swam out deeper and deeper.

As it turns out, sharks weren't the reason for the adults' strict rules- riptides were.

And just when you were certain of your impending doom, Frank came swimming to the rescue. You trusted him implicitly after that.

The only other time you care to mention was when you were at your best friend's seventeenth birthday party. You got too drunk and didn't know what to do. So you called Frank. He took care of you and didn’t even care that you vomited in his personal car. And maybe most importantly he kept it a secret.

He had a daughter a couple of years younger than you. And you always got her a gift for her birthday. You tried a couple of times to buy him something nice, but he rejected it like it insulted him. So instead, you buy her things.

So yeah you knew Frank. In some ways he was more of a parent to you than either of biological parents.

“Frank?”

He said your name with delight as he turned to you with a steaming cup of black coffee in his hand. “It's been awhile since you've visited the dungeon.” That was what you had named the 'observation room’. The room was in the basement, with a desk that faced loads of screens, a mini fridge, a coffee maker, and a long silver couch. There were no lights but the computer screens softly lit the room. When you were younger you were frightened to go inside. You had said that it looked like a dungeon and the name had stuck.

And yes you didn't visit the dungeon frequently, but you often hid from everyone in the empty bedroom next door. It was your favorite place to read and take naps.

“I have a question for you.”

“I wonder…what it could possibly be about,” he smirked and sipped on his coffee.

“Funny. Real funny.”

He laughed into his mug, spilling a little on his crisp black shirt. You winced but he didn't even flinch as the hot liquid touched his chest.

“No but seriously, who is this random dude you have hired to protect me?”

“Random dude,” he muttered and shook his head. “If you knew how many people I’ve looked into and interviewed, you wouldn’t ask me that.”

“Frank…it’s not that I don’t trust you. I know nothing about him, and if I have to have him following me around- I’d just like it to not be a complete stranger if that makes sense.”

“Of course it makes sense.” He looked back to the monitors and when he was satisfied that nothing was amiss he sat his mug down and faced you. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh gee I don’t know, his credentials, what was his last job, why did he start doing this, just- everything…”

“I won’t tell you his life story if that’s what you're asking of me. That’s his to tell and I don't know very much.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed the spill on his shirt. “And I’ll be honest with you, he will be around you constantly, but he's not doing this to make friends with you. Your mother only speaks to me when there's an update to her schedule or she needs me to do something.”

“Right I know that, and I- I wasn’t asking for anything that personal—”

“I will give you a little something that might ease your mind, maybe make you not so scared of him.”

“I’m not scared of him!” you raised your voice a little too loud. You grimaced, “Sorry, I just- its weird to have someone following me around is all, no offense.”

“None taken. But I promise, you lucked out- he's a Mandalorian.”

“Ok? And that's good because..what is that exactly?”

He chuckled, “It means he's an absolute badass.” You looked at him with a look that said aaand?

“He was a student of the Mandalor.” You raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“I sometimes forget that you're not into all this stuff. It's old, ancient even. He was one of the last ones if not the last.”

“Last?”

“Well he was, until he took off his mask and began all of his work with the special forces.”

“Mask? You really aren't making much sense right now.”

“I’m sorry but you won’t trick me into saying much else about him, but…” You swore that his eyes lit up. “If I had to compare it to something it's kinda like a martial art. I'm not even sure if that does it justice. I’ll just say If you think shaolin monks are extreme…I don’t even know much if I’m being honest with you. I’m hoping he’ll talk to me about it eventually.”

He looked excited talking about it, almost nerdy, “But honor is their main part of their creed. They don’t take it lightly and—”

“I’m not trying to be rude, but all because this ex-Mandalorian once followed a creed that focused on honor - we just trust him?”

“It’s much more- extreme than that. You should look into it or if you really insist, you could ask him yourself.” He looked at his watch, “He should be here in an hour.”

“Wait, what? I didn’t think he was coming today.”

“He was wanting to get to work as soon as I hired him.”

“Wow, ok – a warning might have been nice.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m serious, you won’t even know he’s there unless you want to.”

What a strange thing for him to say. You smiled and quickly excused yourself. The last thing you needed to do was fuss at Frank.

Though, you did need to get out of the house. You were sweating and suddenly felt very anxious. Just like with anything in life, you thought that you had more time to somehow weasel your way out of this. But now you felt that your time was precious. What do you do with your last moments as a free woman?

You decided that you’d just go for a long walk. Boring, you know but not much made you feel as free as a walk did. And it would be your last one without a Michael Myers trailing behind you.

Din was excited for this job.

He had been out of work for six months now recovering from his injuries.

After fifteen years in the special forces, his last bout of injuries forced him to retire. No Purple Heart or medal of honor, the work he did was silent, only top government officials even knew of it. Though Din never did anything for the accolades, so they could keep their medals it didn't bother him in the slightest.

His life was full of training. That's all he's really ever known, and once his body had recovered he was for the first time in his life bored. He didn't have much- very few possessions, an old car, a shitty apartment, he suddenly felt like he had nothing.

Nothing until this job.

Apparently it's a common thing for ex-military personnel, veterans, to find work in private security. Or at least that's what his minimal research told him. So that's what he quickly decided on.

Because most of his file ‘resume’, if not all of it was classified- instead of looking bare it looked impressive to the right eyes. Large black lines covered page after page after page. If he were trying to get a job at a bank, no way would he be hired, but depending on the person reading it- he appeared quite the hero.

He applied to twenty different positions and all twenty got back immediately wanting to hire him.

Choosing the right fit for him was admittedly easy. He didn't want to guard any elderly. He feared that that would be just as boring as doing nothing, and that condensed the list to just six. Then he realized that kids were probably also a nightmare but for the opposite reasons, and so that left two.

Then for the final decision, he did something very unprofessional – he flipped a coin.

He pulled his old silver corolla into the gates of a stunning residence. Bright flowers were blooming and he had never seen such a well manicured lawn.

He drove past the fountain on the circular driveway to the motor court. Or at least to what he assumed was the motor court. And since there were cars parked there, he felt fairly confident.

Din didn’t really get nervous. Since he was a boy he’d been put in extremely stressful situations and as an adult he was one of the few that didn’t sweat under pressure. But this had him…out of his element.

His car was a piece of junk, he wouldn’t lie. He had to tinker with it every other weekend. The air conditioning hadn’t worked in over a year. In his defense, this is the longest time he’s ever been stationary. And in the past he didn’t often even need his car. But as he passed all of the luxury vehicles with their fresh coat of wax, it made him a little self conscious.

A man in a black suit directed him to his parking spot, which was conveniently behind the garage where no one could see it. He honestly didn’t even blame them.

He was led to the front of the home and all of the sculptures and columns seemed somehow even more massive up close.

When he entered the home Din felt a trickle of sweat roll down his back as he looked around. There were chandeliers of crystal, floors of marble, and two grand staircases. It was impressive.

He had been in mansions before. His assignments had him go to many different locations but it was his first time standing in one without an urgent objective. He could just look around and admire his surroundings.

“Ah there he is.” Frank came in and offered his hand, “Frank Stevenson.”

“Din Djarin,” Din shook his hand firmly.

“It’s impressive isn’t it?” He looked around the grand foyer.

“Yes it is.”

“Don’t worry, a detailed floor plan is in your room.”

“My room?” Din questioned.

“Yes, surely I mention it?”

“Um, no sir you didn’t.” He stayed calm as usual, but he didn’t like being misled. He hadn’t planned on living here. He hadn’t even brought a change of clothes.

“Well if a pay raise is in order I’m sure the senator won’t mind—”

“That won’t be necessary. I just wasn’t expecting to live here.”

“Just while her parents are away. You see we work for the senator, we go where she goes and soon she’ll be hitting the campaign trail. You are the only one in charge of her daughter so it’s non negotiable. You have to stay here when we are gone. I hope that’s not a dealbreaker for you. It would be an honor to have you.”

“Her father?”

“He’ll be in Europe with his art.”

Din looked around, considering for a moment, “I suppose there are worse places to have to live.”

Frank laughed, “Very true. I’m glad to have you on. Follow me.”

He showed him around and made comfortable small talk, then said, “We will need a code name for you.”

“Mando is the code name I normally go by.”

“Mando it is. Highly impressive.”

“Thanks.” Din turned his head away, not interested in talking about his past, and continued walking.

When they finally made it to Din’s room he opened the door and showed him in.

The room felt larger than his whole apartment. Strangely enough the first thing he noticed was how tall the ceiling was, and that he loved how it was lit. Then his eyes slowly scanned downward and looked at the rest of the room.

Almost everything was a shade of gray except for three orange pillows on the bed. Speaking of, the bed was probably a king but he couldn’t tell the difference, with two bedside tables on either side. Both had a couple of books on them, one he noticed had been bookmarked. There was a large mirror on the wall facing the bed. It also had a private bathroom and massive walk-in closet.

“Sorry, no window. But you are next door to the dungeon so that'll be convenient.”

“Dungeon?” His eyes slightly widened as he looked at Frank.

“Oh-” he almost bent over laughing, he said your name “when she was younger that’s what she called it. It’s the observation room.”

“I see,” Din almost smirked.

You got back from your walk later than anticipated. You were sweaty because your anxiety made your pace quicker than normal- at a few points it may or may not have turned into a full on sprint.

You were still tense and pissed but it was much more manageable.

Looking at the time you realized he’d be here any minute. You moved quickly, turning the corner without looking, and ran straight into a brick wall.

It took you far too long to regain your composure, you knew you looked like a deer in the headlights. You looked him up and down. Your eyes roamed without your consent. You were just taken by surprise, he was very handsome. “Oh excuse me.”

He said your name in question and quickly glanced at your sweat covered body.

“Yes?” You were getting pretty embarrassed now. You wished he’d give you at least thirty minutes to shower, put on flattering clothes, and maybe apply some mascara and then give this a redo.

“I’m your bodyguard,” he smiled.

“Oh shit, no.”

----------

#not for you rae 💖 #din djarin x reader #my fics

[denimbex1986]

'Scientific grunt work doesn’t render very well on the silver screen. But neither do most jobs, or for that matter, most people. When it comes to theoretical physicists and aesthetic appeal, it’s best to channel quantum mechanics and suspend your disbelief.

Enter Oppenheimer, where Brigadier General Matt Damon says things like, “This is the most important thing to ever happen in the history of the world!” And, “We’ve given them an ace. It’s up to them to play the hand.” No doubt these sentiments were actually delivered as 700-page memorandums, Pendaflex-foldered and date-stamped. But this is Hollywood we’re talking about. You’ll find little in the way of stationery here, at least not on screen. And when the occasional differential equation rolls into frame, writer/director Christopher Nolan cuts smartly away before the audience might nod off.

To Nolan’s credit, Oppenheimer is a terrifically researched film. But it’s a film nonetheless, and translating sprawling, decades-long military sagas via camera necessitates shortcuts. I’m not a vetted expert on nuclear history but I’ve dabbled, having acted as research assistant for a 2020 treatise on plutonium production. This is to say that I’m familiar with the players.

I know, for example, that Matt Damon is far too cuddly, good-looking, and agreeable to portray the irascible Leslie Groves, nicknamed “Greasy” by his fellow West Point cadets. I know that Niels Bohr, the Danish physicist with a famously soft, nigh-unintelligible voice, is misrepresented by Shakespearean enunciator Kenneth Branagh. Nolan’s rolodex runs deeper than Wes Anderson’s these days, and if there’s a gripe to be had with Oppenheimer, it’s that everyone involved is just too damned sexy.

But, again, this is Hollywood, and where Nolan leaves the beaten path of record he generally does so to sate our dopamine addiction. Come to think of it, I haven’t been inside an actual physics department in a while. Maybe the professors really are incredibly gorgeous.

Luckily for Nolan, the subject of his cinematic obsession was a high-cheeked academic anomaly. The poet Edith Jenkins, who overlapped with J. Robert Oppenheimer in leftwing circles, describes his “precocity and brilliance… his jerky walk, feet turned out, a Jewish Pan with his blue eyes and his wild Einstein hair.” Manhattan Project scientist Robert Wilson agrees, admitting that he was “caught up by the Oppenheimer charisma,” “his style, the poetic vision of what we were doing.”

No, Oppy’s jawline never approached the artful chisel of Cillian Murphy’s, but there are unmistakable parallels—a bit elfin, a bit skeletal—to be drawn. Certainly Oppenheimer availed himself of more mistresses than your average mid-century physicist. Nolan spends perhaps too much time focusing on one of them (Jean Tatlock, played by Florence Pugh) and mentions a second in passing (Ruth Tolman, a bit part Louise Lombard), while avoiding speculation of yet others, such as when Berkeley cops found grad student Melba Phillips sleeping in Oppy’s car somewhere in the Coastal Range, the professor himself suspiciously absent.

Oppenheimer’s messy personal life makes him an ideal candidate for exposé—look no further than Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s bestselling American Prometheus, Nolan’s source material. But here I’ll return to Hollywoodization, for it’s one thing to get wind of Oppenheimer’s foibles and quite another to see Florence Pugh writhing hallucinatorily on his lap during the 1954 AEC security hearings.

If Nolan goes too far in this film, if he stretches the Oppenheimer envelope past its roomy Pendaflex accommodations, it’s in the context of Oppy outside the Manhattan Project. Despite magnificent wartime subject matter—not all of which is touched upon—Nolan can’t quit his blockbuster tropes. Monochrome senate hearings, petty political twists (how is RDJ’s aide still employed?), Oppy’s fingers gracing Emily Blunt’s as she asks for a cocktail science primer.

Maybe audiences require such touchstones to contextualize the rest of the film. Nolan seems to think so. But as the string section swelled during a trite turn in the relatively forgettable career of Lewis Strauss, I found myself wishing we could’ve stayed put in New Mexico, on the high mesa that forms this film’s heart.

Nolan’s feat comes in recreating Los Alamos, a critical American moment with more than enough narrative to forgo some of the politico-romantic schlock that drags this thing to a three-hour runtime. Fascinated by character, by gray morality, Nolan found Oppy such an attractive case study that it nearly steered his magnum opus (I do think this film qualifies) off track. Each of the factual and immensely complicated bomb-related obstacles—for example, thunderstorms the morning of the Trinity Test—holds a world-changing thrall entirely separate from the whims of one man, no matter how chiseled his jaw.

Speaking of moralistic study, there’s one character who escapes Oppenheimer scot-free: Matt Damon’s overly fit and preposterously understated Leslie Groves. “I’ve known General Groves since I was 2nd lieutenant,” said the real-world David Nichols (cast as Dane DeHaan) in a 1965 interview. “To start off with, I would say he is the biggest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met, bar none.”

“Impatient, brusque, intolerant,” writes Robert S. Norris in his comprehensive Groves biography Racing for the Bomb. “He had few close friends, and others generally kept their distance.”

“When you looked at Captain Groves, a little alarm bell rang ‘Caution’ in your brain,” said a colleague.

Damon bulked up, lumped up—whatever—for his role as Nike executive Sonny Vaccaro in this year’s Air. But it’s a serious leap from office park Vaccaro to Army taskmaster Groves, who even in his 1970 New York Times obituary suffered the redundant label of, “a chunky, heavyset man, with a tendency toward paunchiness.” More unfounded than Damon’s weight, however, is a good guy nature cultivated over decades of Good Will Hunting television marathons, Invictus advertisements, and so on.

Cillian Murphy’s shell-shocked victory speech presents a nice commentary on the ethical morass of atomic weaponry. But Damon/Groves makes for an even juicier moralistic target, and he’s let off the hook with that aforementioned one-liner: “We’ve given them an ace, it’s up to them to play the hand.” If anyone bore responsibility for detonating two atomic bombs over civilian populations, it was General Leslie R. Groves, the only person playing said poker game in the first place.

Racing for the Bomb explains, “Groves, sitting atop his security pyramid, was the only person who knew everything about the bomb project—more than the chief of staff, more than the secretary of war, more than the president.” He was therefore “singularly concerned with the bomb, with getting it finished, tested, and used, and his superiors deferred to him time and again to make the choices that would make this happen.”

Nolan illustrates how the bomb haunted Oppenheimer. Groves, cinematically absent after Trinity, showed no such regret. Critiquing the general’s 1962 autobiography Now It Can Be Told, the Saturday Review wrote, “Groves is motivated by a simple and all-sufficing patriotism that is untroubled by what others see in the atom. He does not probe for any new vision of national interest in the age he helped create.”

Simple and all-sufficing patriotism—sounds familiar. Make of it what you will.

The only Oppenheimer character who comes across as legitimately malevolent is Benny Safdie’s terrific Ed Teller. Maybe I fell for Teller because Safdie, a director by trade, looks more like a physicist than a cologne model. Still, I get the sense that Safdie studied his source material. When he pipes up about the “Super”—the hydrogen bomb—his eyes hold nary a flicker of regret. And he keeps doing so despite repeated disdain from his colleagues.

Look, I get it, I really do, on the attractiveness quotient. This is a movie, and if scientists and bureaucrats don’t suffice for a visual study then we’ll goddamn pretend. It’s only sensible that Ernest Lawrence— who, per physicist Jeremy Bernstein, “looked a bit like a country bumpkin”—becomes Josh Hartnett. That Lewis Strauss, a crooked-toothed self-made paper pusher, turns into silver fox Robert Downey Jr. I guess I even understand why Olivia Thirlby got thrown in out of absolutely nowhere, probably as Lilli Hornig, though I can’t recall her name being said aloud.

Nolan had to beautify this stuff because the big screen is a beautiful place. He gets most of the issues absolutely right, and I’ll be pulling for him come Oscar season. I doubt I’ll wind up remembering Emily Blunt’s Kitty Oppenheimer, Matthew Modine’s Vannevar Bush, or whoever the hell Rami Malek was supposed to be. But I’ll surely remember the Trinity Test, fingers trembling over that big red button, “10-9-8” and the towering explosion and the pressure wave—even if, no shade at Nolan, David Lynch already did it better on television.'

#Oppenheimer #Christopher Nolan #Emily Blunt #Kitty Oppenheimer #Rami Malek #Matthew Modine #Vannevar Bush #David Lynch #Lewis Strauss #Robert Downey Jr. #Ernest Lawrence #Josh Hartnett #Olivia Thirlby #Lilli Hornig #Benny Safdie #Edward Teller #Matt Damon #Leslie Groves #Now It Can Be Told #Racing for the Bomb #Air #Good Will Hunting #David Nichols #Dane DeHaan #Kenneth Branagh #Niels Bohr #Edith Jenkins #Cillian Murphy #Kai Bird #Martin J. Sherwin

[winniethewife]

Jewels made of stardust  

(Poe Dameron x OC! Rhoswen Jewelace.)

Chapter 2: We were young and so inspired

Last chapter ~ Next chapter

Words: 922

~Three years before.~

Poe and Rhoswen sat on the cliff side looking out on the ocean and into the stars. They sat almost close enough to touch but they weren’t. He looked over at her, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail, her Emerald eyes sparkling in the moon light, her lips parted ever so slightly in awe of it all. She was so damn pretty, but she was his new generals adopted daughter and somehow that felt off limits.

“Do you ever think about what you’ll do when this is done?” Rhoswen asks as she continues to look out at the stars.

“Uh…no, not really… I’m a here and now kinda guy.” He admits as he looks away from her and out on the water. She laughs at his response.

“Yeah, I get that…I donno, I know my mom wants me to lead, do something maybe with politics, y’know become a senator or something.” She runs her fingers along her arm as she speaks

“But what do you want to do?”  Poe asks with curiosity in his voice, He looks back at her. He would never understand what it’s like to carry the burden of being part of a family with a heritage and lineage like hers, even if she was adopted into the family, it was a pretty big deal to be the child of heroes, probably a lot of pressure.

“Me? I just…I want to see everything the galaxy has to offer, I want to see it all…” She looks over at him surprised to see him watching her, a smirk appears on her face.

“That sounds…perfect.” Poe says quietly

“Well, I could use a co-pilot…”

~current day~

Poe sat with Finn in the mess hall as he pushes his food around.

“You’ve gotta eat.” Finn chided Him as he looked at his food like a sad little mastiff

“I’m not a child Finn…I can figure it out.”

“figure out how to eat? I donno how you’re alive if you haven’t figured that out.”

“Oh ha-ha very funny Finn.” Poe glares at his friend.

“What? I’m just trying to help.” Finn says defensively. Poe sighed and set his fork down.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not you. I just…” His sentence trails off as he sees a red haired woman walk by…its not her and he doesn’t hide his disappointment.

“Its like you want her to walk in here and keep fighting.” Finn chuckles as he sees where Poe was looking.

“Look if we’re fighting we’re talking and that’s better than nothing.” Poe remembers when she wouldn’t even look at him after their big blow out, he felt like he was drowning, at least if they fight, he feels like there’s a chance to survive. Finn shakes his head at his friend and focuses back on his food. Poe knows he doesn’t get it. No one does. Poe gives up on food and leaves the mess hall to try and clear his head. He knows he’ll probably fall back into his normal routine, the only thing that keeps his mind off…everything… Do his reports, go to the cantina, pick up some girl or guy, sleep with them, leave by morning. The Dameron special.

~

Rhoswen sat on her bed her head in her hands, she was so done with today. So done with everything. Nothing made sense anymore. Every damn day in the galaxy made less and less sense. Her father was dead, her brother killed him, and since then she pushed everyone as far away as possible. She couldn’t lose anyone else. It was too much a risk. Then hearing a light knock on the doorframe she looks up. General Leia Organa, Or as Rhoswen knew her…

“Mom… I’m really not in the headspace for another lecture.”

“I’m not here to lecture. This time.” Leia says as she comes to sit by her daughter.

“I’m not sure I’m in the mood for motherly advice either…” She mutters. Leia laughs.

“Well, which would you rather get, a lecture or motherly advice?” Leia asks with her signature smile on her face. Rhoswen sighs.

“I guess I’ll take the motherly advice, Just don’t count on me putting it to use.” she replied with a grimace as she looked at the woman who had taken her in at a young age, and had become her mother.

“I wasn’t counting on it. You were always stubborn, you learned from the best.” Leia says as she put a hand on her thigh. “You don’t have to fight him every step of the way you know? You two used to be close, you practically begged to be on Black Squadron-” Leia was trying her best before she was interrupted

“That was before Starkilller…”

“I understand that…”

“Look Mom, I understand your concern, but I just… after that big fight we had, we both said things that we can’t take back… I don’t think Poe and I will ever recover from that, but that’s for the best, I’m much more Solo than Organa, I do better alone.” She says as she gives Leia a sad smile.

“That’s the thing, Solo’s were never actually very good at being alone, they were just very good at pretending they were.” Leia squeezes her thigh slightly as she returns the smile.

“Well, I’m gonna keep pretending for now…but thanks.”

“Any time…” Leia stands up and starts to walk to the door before turning to her daughter. “Poe…he reminds you of him doesn’t he?”

“With every breath.” She admits

“Me too.”

~

Masterlist

Tag: @femmeanonymelives

#star wars #poe dameron #poe dameron x oc #solo oc #star wars fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars sequel trilogy #Rhoswen Jewelace #Rhoswen #oscar isaac fic #Spotify #Poevember

[starilicious]

mere haath mein (echo x gn!reader)

》 summary: reader and echo's love story from strangers to friends to lovers throughout the clone wars (a 4+1 type of story)

》 series masterlist: (please read the masterlist before continuing on!)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 📍 (you are here!) | part 4 | part 4.5.1 | part 4.5.2 | part +1

click here to read on AO3

》 part 3 word count: ~2k

》 part 3 warnings: none

》 part 3 spoilers: none

》 a/n: a bit of a longer part! reader and echo meet again and reader is a lil bit confused, poor thing.

i really took some creative liberty with this chapter and it probably (definitely) does not really reflect what it's like to be fighting in a war in any manner but oh well!!!!! that's the fun of fiction, you get to make up your own world <33

hope u folks like the chapter!

३ (3)

The third time you see him, you’re back on Coruscant, and technically supposed to be on leave. You requested a few days off, much to Fives’ delight and Anakin’s dismay. (“Aw, come on Astro! Your opinion is the only one I can trust on this entire ship when it comes to engineering.” “Oh please Anakin, spare me your whining. You know just as well as I do that you’ll be perfectly fine. But I’ll miss you too.”)

Despite both being part of the 501st, Fives and Echo had very different schedules, and more often than not, Fives’ rotations lined up with yours, leaving you to suffer through his insufferable pick-up lines. You have no idea how you haven’t smacked the banthashit out of him yet. (Fives’ knowing smile always ends up stopping you)

In all seriousness though, he had been pestering you to take a break from your work after quickly seeing the toll it began to take on you. The responsibilities kept piling up and more and more often, you were sacrificing sleep in order to continue making improvements, even despite having your team’s help. In your mind, time couldn’t be wasted when good soldiers were losing their lives, and you would be damned if you didn’t take every opportunity to make sure they lived another day.

But Fives eventually wore you down. (You have a sneaking suspicion he was relaying everything to Echo who then in turn made sure Fives turned his “charm” up to the highest notch to get you to take a break.)

(It worked.)

If anything, you were shocked when you received the message that not only was your leave accepted, but you were encouraged to take a sabbatical for a few weeks.

You weren’t planning on doing so, but after Fives, Prauf, Sonia, and even Rex of all people ganged up on you, you didn’t think you had a choice.

Even now, you’re still not sure what to make of it. Granted, the extra time means you can reach out to family and dust off former projects, but you kind of miss the hustle and bustle of your job. It simply isn’t the same without your friends always nagging you and cracking jokes. You would never tell Fives, but you even miss his terribly endearing flirting.

After the glamour of the sabbatical wore off, you decided to dive headlong into the numerous ideas collected in your engineering notebook over the years. It’s an old gift given to you by your parents, made out of paper and bound by string, encased in a decorated hard-shell cover to protect the inside. Such rarities are difficult to come by these days since datapads are so prevalent, but you always liked the smooth glide of an inkpen against scratchy paper better.

You turn to a new, precious page and meticulously begin fleshing out a prototype. Each line is drawn precisely, every mark exact. As you design, you keep a datapad open with the list of items you need to get. You have a makerspace where you can engineer to your heart’s desire, but there are some select objects you require you doubt you’ll be able to find in the marketplace.

So you head for the makerspace in the engineering garage in the basement of the Senate building on Coruscant. Your office is still there, and you still have your holoid with you–you’ll be in and out in no time.

Or so you thought.

“Astro! It’s good to see you,” a voice calls out. You turn around to find both Ahsoka and Padme side by side, R2-D2 trailing behind Padme’s lovely gown.

“Padme! Ahsoka! I haven’t seen you both in so long,” you greet kindly, eyes curving into crescent moons. R2-D2 beeps indignantly as they stop in front of you and you laugh, bending down to pet the droid’s head affectionately.

“And hello to you too, R2. Anakin making sure that capacitor is working smoothly?” R2 whumps and warbles and you nod in satisfaction.

“For once, he’s actually taking my advice.”

All of you laugh, knowing just how headstrong Anakin is when it comes to technology–or anything, really.

“Why are you here? I thought you were taking some time off?” Ahsoka pipes up, her confusion as clear as day. You shrug in slight embarrassment at getting caught so quickly.

“I wanted to pick up a few things from my office downstairs. Thought I could do something useful to help the war effort even though I’m not here,” you explain and Padme raises an eyebrow.

“Astro, I believe the point of taking leave is to not do work?” she points out and you rub the back of your neck sheepishly.

“Yes, well, this...this is more of a personal project than a work project. I like to keep busy,” you say, hands gripping your bag tightly.

Ahsoka opens her mouth to speak, but Padme places a hand on the Padawan’s shoulder. “In that case, we won’t stop you. But please do take some time for yourself, hm? And you’re always free to stop by anytime,” she says instead, and you nod in agreement, not sure what else to say.

“Take care Astro! See you later!” Ahsoka fills the silence as the three of them begin walking away and you wave back in response.

Once they turn the corner, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, too focused on not slipping up in the conversation. At least that’s over.

You make your way to the makerspace swiftly, not keen on meeting anyone else. You love your friends, but you doubt you can handle any more guilt-tripping. Besides, you’re still taking a break–you don’t really see what the problem is here.

The sharp scent of oil and grease fills your nostrils as you step into the engineering garage, saws and cutters whirring throughout the spacious area. Lights spark here and there and you relax, feeling at home. Before you can make it any farther, your best friend seemingly materializes out of nowhere.

“What the hell are you doing here? Go home,” Prauf exclaims, already trying to push you back out the door. You roll your eyes as you easily duck under his outstretched arm.

“I am, I am! I just came by to pick up a few things–please, for the love of the Maker above, do not tell Sonia. She’s going to rip me apart to shreds if she finds out,” you please, clasping your hands in front of you as Prauf folds his arms over his chest.

He relents, though, sighing out your name in resignation, and you whoop in joy.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I promise I’ll make it up to you,” you say as you throw your arms around him and he pats your back gently.

“Yeah, yeah, you owe me,” Prauf agrees. “You should use your time to go on a date with your boyfriend though.”

He darts away back to his work before you can smack his forearm in retaliation because you do not have a boyfriend, thank you very much. Your heart beats faster at the thought anyway.

Instead of following him, you accept defeat retreat to your office to grab the materials you need. You end up needing a cart to tow everything back to your makerspace back home. Realizing you can’t walk back without the high chance of one of your parts being stolen, you opt for grabbing a speeder taxi up at the ship docking bay.

You make your way back upstairs, dodging busygoers this way and that before finally making it to the bay. So close…

But of course, the universe is against you when you see his telltale armor standing near a ship. Oh kriff.

You saw both Ahsoka and R2-D2 today, meaning Anakin and the 501st were probably here too. You can’t believe it didn’t connect the dots in your head sooner. For someone whose life's work is putting things together, it’s ironic you didn’t realize.

In an attempt to make sure he can’t see you, you turn at an angle and try heading for the far end of the hanger as fast as possible, pulling your hat down lower over your eyes to obscure your face.

It doesn’t work.

“Astro?” Echo’s voice calls. You close your eyes in defeat, posture softening into a sag. Damnit. But despite your reluctance at being caught, you can’t help the spark of warmth that shoots through your body at the sound of his warm acknowledgment.

“In the flesh.”

You turn around and Echo jogs up to you, a look on his face you can’t quite decipher. He gazes at you when he ends up in front of you, a small, disarming smile. It seems as if he knows something you don’t.

“Need help?” he gestures to your heavy cart and you look down, momentarily forgetting about it. You don’t comment on your surprise.

“Oh, uh–yeah. Thanks,” you say instead. You step back, but it’s not far enough. Echo bumps into you when he tries sliding into your space to take over. It knocks a breathless laugh out of him and your stomach flips. Whether it’s out of embarrassment or something else entirely, you don’t know.

“I–sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Echo waves you off nonchalantly. “Don’t apologize, happens all the time. You should have seen Fives yesterday at 79’s. Tup accidentally tripped him and he went careening straight into a commander. And boy did they give him a piece of their mind. All of us were losing it when he came back to our table,” he laughs effortlessly.

You’re suddenly jealous of how natural he is, how easily he smooths over awkward bumps and cumbersome smalltalk. Your hands curl at your sides, unsure of where to place them.

Echo guides you both across the large docking bay, filling the silence gracefully with one story after another, each as funny as the last. You stay quiet most of the time, appropriately laughing at this point and that, inserting a comment here or there. He doesn’t seem to mind though, instead building off of your reactions. It’s almost… relieving.

“And we’re here!” You’re shaken out of your reverie by the exclamation, and you look around to confirm that you indeed have arrived. Wait… how did he even know this is where I wanted to go?

You choose not to dwell too long on the thought.

Echo lets go of his grip on the cart, making space for you to push it. He waves down a driver and instructs them to load your parts into a crate to take on the back of a speeder before turning to you.

“Thanks, Echo. It was nice to see you again,” you remark, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. He smiles in acknowledgment and something about him pushes you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment before opening your mouth again. “Would… would you like to accompany me back? I’m working on a prototype and I wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands…” you trail off. The offer hangs in the air, uncertain–a lingering question.

Echo’s comm answers for him. He steps back and you feel the same urge as you felt in the cantina all those days ago to pull him back to you, pull him close to you. You stay stuck by the cart.

“As much as I would like to, duty calls,” he says apologetically, echoing your statement from when you first met him. As he walks backwards, he gives you a lazy salute accompanied with a lopsided smile.

“Until we meet again, Astro!”

And with that, he runs off, leaving you alone with the grouchy driver, mumbling about how he doesn’t get paid enough.

It’s only until you get home and unload the equipment that you realize Echo was the only one who didn’t ask why you were there.

---

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 📍 (you are here!) | part 4 | part 4.5.1 | part 4.5.2 | part +1

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

#echo #star wars #tbb #the bad batch #bad batch #echo x reader #arc trooper echo #arc trooper echo x reader #arc trooper echo x you #clone trooper echo #the bad batch x you #the bad batch echo #the bad batch x reader #tbb echo #echo x you #star wars tcw #star wars clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #sw fic #star wars fic

[unleashthegoats]

DELETED SCENES: MOD NATCH'S PREQUEL FILM SUMMARIES (with emphasis and notes by mods Sugar and Angela)

So originally for Episode 2: The Jedi Were Always Right, Mod Natch was going to rewatch the Prequels and then summarize the entire trilogy as quickly as she could, but it turned out to be a little longer than anticipated and we wanted to get to the fun nitty gritty analysis stuff a little quicker and we decided not to include this section in the final draft of the episode. However, there are some really fun pieces in Natch's notes for the section, so we've decided to release them to the world of Tumblr for everyone to enjoy.

EPISODE ONE: THE PHANTOM MENACE

The Trade Federation (evil twins) have a blockade of Naboo. Qui Gon and Obi Wan show up to negotiate (they do not negotiate, they get attacked)

QG and OW sneak onto droid ships to get to the surface of Naboo and meet Jar Jar, who takes them to his city and force manipulates the Boss to give them transport so they can get to the city of Naboo. Also QG convinces the Boss to let Jar Jar join them 

The evil twins capture the “queen” and tell her to sign a treaty, she says nah bitches. The J crew (the Jedi and Jar Jar) show up at the palace and rescue her and her squad. They get onto ships with the goal of going to Coruscant 

Their ship is super damaged (but not destroyed, thanks R2D2) so they can’t make it to Coruscant, so they go to Tatooine, bc the Hutts control it and not the Trade Federation 

The twins tell Lord Sidious the queen escaped and he sends Maul to find her 

Jar Jar, Qui Gon, R2, and Padme go to the city in Tatooine and meet Watto and baby Anakin. Watto can’t be mind manipulated into selling them things for credits. They get caught in a sandstorm and meet Shmi 

Anakin offers to podrace for QG and crew so they can win the prize money and buy the parts for their ship 

QG takes a blood sample and has OW analyze it, they discover he has OFF THE CHARTS midichlorian counts

Jabba the Hutt is at the race with his little gay cousin or whatever from the clone wars (note from mod Sugar: it turned out to be Gardulla the Hutt, NOT Ziro the Hutt)

Anakin is very competent in this podrace and wins, which means bc of a bet QG made he gets to take Anakin 

Conveniently Maul does not catch up with them until they’re at the ship, but QG fights him off

Anakin gives Padme a carved kind of bead thingy 

They make it to coruscant, Palpatine becomes the new supreme chancellor 

Qui Gon tells the Jedi Council about the Sith Lord and also Anakin. They don’t want to test him, Qui Gon convinces them, they test him and they’re like he’s too old to be trained. Qui Gon says fuck it! I’ll train him! Obi Wan is ready and Obi Wan is like YES I SUPER AM READY FOR THE TRIALS

Jedi council say go to Naboo with Padme who refuses to stay put and draw out the Sith

When they get to Naboo, Jar Jar brings them to the Gungan’s sacred place and Padme (real Padme) begs them for help

They have the Gungans draw the droids away from the palace so they can go capture the viceroy, and they’ll send pilots to knock out the droid’s control ship 

Fights: Gungans vs droids, Anakin and R2 as pilots, Maul vs QG and OW. Gungans barely win. Anakin accidentally blows up a reactor (convenient), flies away as the ship explodes.

Maul kills QG but OW kills Maul. QG’s dying wish is for OW to train Anakin

Mace says that was for sure a sith and yoda says damn that means there are 2. There are always 2 

ABRUPT cut to huge Naboo celebrations where Padme gives the Gungan leader a plasma ball thingy 

EPISODE TWO: ATTACK OF THE CLONES 

Intro: several thousand systems under Count Dooku have said they’re leaving the republic (these are the separatists)

The Jedi are overwhelmed, so the Senate is voting on creating an army of the republic 

Padme gets to coruscant and her double gets blown up 

The Jedi Council meets with Palpatine and Padme and the Loyalists (Jar Jar and other people) enter. The Jedi don’t believe Padme’s theory that Dooku tried to kill her bc he was a Jedi once, so he CAN’T be a murderer. Palpatine says what if Jedi protect Padme, but specifically Obi Wan 

Enter Anakin and Obi Wan. Anakin is immediately weird around Padme

Enter bounty hunter Zam and her bottle of centipedes. Big chase after they get into Padme’s room, OW jumps out the fucking window, they have like a car chase, they catch up to her in a club, OW cuts off her hand but someone in a jetpack shoots her with a dart before she can name the person who hired her

The Jedi Council send OW to track down the bounty hunter who killed Zam, and send Anakin to protect Padme back in Naboo. 

Anakin throws a tantrum in front of Padme

Obi Wan’s journey: 

Obi Wan has a great scene at Dex’s diner and finds out his goal is Kamino

He does MAKE it to Kamino even though someone erased it from the Jedi archive. When he shows up they’re like the prime minister is expecting you! Your clone army is going great! 

We meet boba, who is a very cute young child, and jango, who is a very cute adult man. Jango says I was hired by Tyranus (it’s NOT subtle)

Obi Wan calls the council and is like I think Jango Fett is the bounty hunter we’re looking for! Also did we order a clone army? And they’re like ??? No? Pls grab Jango for us

Obi Wan vs Jango in the rain on Kamino, then pt 2: asteroid field 

OW finds the droid factory and the separatists talking about having a droid army 

Anakin’s journey:

Padme and Anakin arrive at the lake house and have an awkward bad kiss and some conversations where Anakin is jealous of her first crush or first kiss from model UN or whatever and also fundamentally disagree about how the world should work

Anakin and Padme have the weird fireplace scene 

Anakin has a nightmare about Shmi and says he has to leave, Padme goes with him 

On Tatooine Anakin finds Watto and finds out his mom has been freed and also married a farmer. We meet Anakin’s stepbrother and his girlfriend and Shmi’s husband, find out Shmi was kidnapped by Tusken raiders 

IMPORTANT NOTE: HE SAYS 26 PEOPLE DIED TRYING TO RESCUE HER ALREADY

Anakin goes to find Shmi, she dies, he does lots of murder

Anakin throws another tantrum with Padme

OW gets a message to Anakin which they forward to the council and he gets captured on film lol. Padme is like we are closer to Geonosis, we should go after him ourselves

Also meanwhile Jar Jar is manipulated into proposing the senate give the chancellor immediate emergency powers and they CHANT “palpatine” which is very culty 

palpatine says I’m gonna create an army. Yoda says I’ll go see the cloners. Mace says I’ll go rescue obi wan

Padme and Anakin go in the droid factory and get captured and also Padme admits her love for him that exists I guess

Big fight on Geonosis against the beasts and also the droids

Lots of jedi die. Clones show up. Also Jango dies and there’s that devastating shot of Boba with his dad’s head/helmet

We see the separatists freaking out about the jedi having an army and Dooku takes the plans for the death star to his master on coruscant 

Dooku vs OW and Anakin: anakin loses an arm. Yoda shows up, we see Dooku’s lightning powers, Dooku escapes while Yoda saves OW and Anakin from being crushed to death 

Clone wars begin. Anakin and Padme get married.

EPISODE THREE: REVENGE OF THE SITH 

We are at war, General Grievous the droid leader has kidnapped Palpatine 

Strong start with another space plane fight. Also Anakin has the scar now (note from mod Angela: he slipped in the shower)

They rescue Palpatine, Anakin kills Dooku, Grievous escapes pretty quickly. They crash land

They have the line about him being shorter than expected that made tcw so hard to write 

Anakin is in Coruscant? I guess? And Padme is pregnant. She wants to have her baby in Naboo

She’s wearing the charm baby Anakin made for her

Anakin has nightmares about her dying in childbirth. He goes to Yoda for help

Palpatine says you’re going to be my representative on the Council. The Council don’t like that but they say fine, but you’re not a Master yet 

Obi Wan asks Anakin on behalf of the council to spy on Palpatine for them

Palpatine says we found grievous and also plants this Sith legend of a sith lord who could keep people from dying

The Council sends Obi Wan after Grievous. It’s excellent. We meet Cody. He kills Grievous it’s great (note from mod Sugar: OBI-WAN kills Grievous, not Cody, although it should be noted that Cody absolutely COULD'VE killed Grievous if he'd had the opportunity)

Anakin reports back to Palpatine that OW found Grievous and the clones are attacking, and Palpatine reveals himself as the Sith Lord

Anakin tells Mace that he’s discovered that Palpatine is the Sith Lord, Mace goes after him, Anakin follows bc Palpatine promised that only he could teach him how to keep Padme from dying. Anakin arrives and assists Palpatine in killing Mace, and then becomes Palp’s apprentice. 

Anakin is crowned as Darth Vader and ordered to kill all the Jedi in the Jedi Temple, then go kill the Separatists on Mustafar (which is where he told them to go lmao)

Anakin and a bunch of clones kill everyone in the Jedi temple, including the Younglings 

Order 66 is executed, Obi Wan survives but we see a LOT of scenes of Jedi being killed by clones across the galaxy

Yoda on the Wookee planet is feeling the loss of all the Jedi, but he does eventually escape. Thanks Chewbacca for the assist!

Bail Organa sees thousands of clones attack the Jedi temple and goes to intercept/save some Jedi, so he gets together with Yoda and Obi Wan. 

Anakin tells Padme that he’s going to Mustafar and that the Jedi tried to overthrow the Republic 

Obi Wan and Yoda go back to the Jedi temple to change the signal that’s calling all the Jedi to fall back there. They kill a lot of clones. Obi Wan finds the security recordings of Anakin doing more murder

In the Senate, Palpatine reorganizes the republic into the Galactic Empire

Obi Wan tries to get Padme to tell him where Anakin is and she doesn’t. He guesses that Anakin is the father. She and C3P0 fly to Mustafar, and Obi Wan sneaks on board 

On Mustafar, Anakin killed all the Separatists - yellow eyes

Padme shows up and desperately wants Anakin to not have fallen to the dark side but he super has. He force chokes her because he thinks she intentionally brought Obi Wan to kill him. 

Obi Wan and Anakin battle on Mustafar while Yoda and Palpatine battle on the Senate floor

Yoda doesn’t succeed in killing Palpatine, but he safely escapes with Bail’s help 

Obi Wan cuts Anakin’s legs off and leaves him burning in the lava (note from mod Sugar: he also cuts off Anakin's remaining arm)

Padme gives birth to Luke and Leia and dies

Palpatine finds Anakin and they build him his Darth Vader suit. Palpatine tells Anakin that he was the one who killed Padme 

Bail takes Leia. Obi Wan says he’ll take Luke to Tatooine and watch over him. Yoda says he wants to teach him how to commune with Qui Gon’s force ghost. 

We see Padme’s funeral, it’s beautiful and so sad and she has the bead Anakin carved in her hand

Vader and Sidious are on a ship looking out at the beginnings of the Death Star being built

We end the movie with Luke’s new parents looking out at the Tatooine sunset (note from mod Sugar: it's technically Luke's aunt and uncle, but you know what, they're effectively acting as parents so it's not inaccurate)

#star wars #the phantom menace #attack of the clones #revenge of the sith #prequel trilogy #star wars prequel trilogy #star wars prequels #prequels #tpm #aotc #rots #long post #podcast deleted scenes

[amberskyyking]

Disillusioned Bonus Chapter: Butter Makes Everything Better

Milo knows better than to let his guard down around a nat-born… But the food really is delicious.

Milo snatched up his blaster and bucket, burst out of his room and bolted into the galley, taking up a position with partial cover around a wall in only half his armor. He shouldn’t have even waited that long, now he was caught halfway unprepared! The threat could be anywhere, from a hostile stowaway to a mechanical failure to being discovered-

“Ah kriff, sorry Trooper,” Luz said casually over the music from just beyond the wall. “Didn’t meant to wake you, I just tripped over the damn step stool and knocked a bowl off the counter, this galley is NOT made for short people!” 

Milo tightened his grip on his blaster, Fox’s warnings all ringing in his head as he peered cautiously around the corner, but Luz met his eyes with an embarrassed little sigh as she sat in a heap on the floor. A sticky blue substance was splattered across her face and arms, dripping from the colorful cabinets she had painted herself.

“I’ll have to re-make that batter for the Felucia toast,” she muttered, wincing just a little as she pulled herself to her feet. “At least it wasn’t gravy this time.” 

Milo exhaled. This wasn’t a direct threat after all, at least, not to him. She was a bit of a danger to herself though, wasn’t she? He would have to keep an eye on that. If Fox did want to use her again, he would probably need her back in one piece. He stowed his blaster and stepped into the room with a shake of his head.

“You mind giving me a hand with the cinnamon?” Luz asked, pulling open a cabinet door with some Mon Calamari musician painted on the front and gesturing to a little glass jar full of brown powder towards the top. “I haven’t made this in a while and Nox put it away too high for me last time.”

Milo blinked at her a couple of times in confusion. “Nox… cooks?” 

“Yeah! He helps me sometimes, found the Felucia Toast recipe himself before our last trip…” 

She trailed off, but he furrowed his brow with a frown. Luz had talked a lot about that particular trooper, a reckless, too-trusting type from the GAR, but the bit about him cooking was new. That hadn’t occurred to Milo. He and his men had been planning to subsist on rations for the trip, but when Luz started offering her own food to them, well… They tried to hold out at first, but her cooking smelled like everything they’d ever had to watch Senators gorge themselves on while their own stomachs ached with hunger, and besides, the Guard knew better than to waste food.

It was still nat-born food, though. Getting to try it at all was practically unheard of, but he knew it wasn’t really meant for them. He knew better than to pry, nat-borns got upset when you asked too many questions, so he didn’t ask about all the jars of colorful powders she shook into the stew, he didn’t ask what the thick brown liquid with such a strong flavor was that she slathered over a hunk of nerf chops, he didn’t even ask what the squishy white cubes were, the ones that melted so perfectly into a sweet foam over their hot choklad. It wasn’t like having those answers would make a difference back on Coruscant anyways, and it wasn’t worth the risk of upsetting a nat-born and compromising the mission.

But Nox cooked.

Milo absentmindedly passed the jar down to her and caught a whiff of it as he did. His knees almost went weak. It smelled divine.

“Would it-” He started, then paused to collect his words, hoping to phrase the question right. It wouldn’t do him any good to sound overly eager. “Would it help if I… Learned some of this, too?”

Full Chapter (And Story!): Butter Makes Everything Better

#coruscant guards deserve NOMS #Corries need hugs #clone troopers deserve better #Let the man have his Felucia Toast #Butter Makes Everything Better #And Syrup Fixes Mistakes #Egg Angst and Cinnamon Fluff #clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars oc #starwarsficnetwork