Far Too Young to Be This Old by CNWrites ( @cnwolf-brainrot )
Clint took a deep breath. "I’m here because three months ago I got my butt saved by a fourteen year old kid. Do you want to tell me your name again?”
Scott frowned at him, once again studying him sharply. His hands clenched and unclenched into little fists, his muscles tightening with each movement. It seemed like the kid was making a million decisions as he watched Clint, his brow creased under his brown bangs. His fingers clenched one last time, and then he let out a huff.
“Fine,” he muttered. He took a deep breath, carefully drawing himself up to his full fourteen-year-old height. His arms crossed tightly across his chest, his clunky gold visor catching the sun as he stared Clint down. “I’m Cyclops, leader of the X-Men. Now, what do you want with me and my team?”
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In which Clint Barton meets Cyclops, the leader of the X-Men, a new group of rarely-seen mutant superheroes that many people would compare to terrorists. However, Cyclops is not the strong, stubborn, deadly man that Clint has heard of. In fact, he is not a man at all. Complete, 182k words.
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Chapter 54:
“You are choosing the wrong side,” he said, his voice steely and cold as he tried to stare Clint down. “I thought you were supposed to be the one with the good eyesight. Can’t you see I am the victim here?”
“Well, I’m also the deaf one,” Clint deadpanned. “So I can’t hear you.”
Chapter 56:
“Don’t even say it, I know it’s a lie.” His fists were practically ripping the blanket. “It’s always a lie. You can’t care, no one cares. No one ever cares.”
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excellent: the clones/guard slowly putting together evidence to find the sith hidden in the senate, allowing for tension and other storylines to run parallel to their search
infinitely funnier: when you're looking for something, you see it everywhere.
mas amedda? asshole. totally a sith.
orn free taa? could be a sith, certainly has the lack of morals for it.
senator amidala? probably not. but skywalker could DEF be a sith, so maybe sith-sympathetic?
that aide on the senate floor that always burns the caf? ABSOLUTELY a sith.
chancellor palpatine? 100% a sith, no question no notes.
palpatine starts getting paranoid that someone's found out what he is but it's just the guard and the other poor bastards working at the senate talking shit about their bosses
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TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog
“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”
High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”
Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.
Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.
“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”
“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.
High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.
Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”
“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”
Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”
“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.
“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.
He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-
Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.
Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.
Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!
And catch him, High General Windu sure did.
“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”
“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.
“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”
“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.
Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”
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