#political dignitaries and agents | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atreyucannamos · 29 days ago

Text

[OOC] Profile: Atreyu-Cannamos

// CENTRAL COMMITTEE INTELLIGENCE BRIEFING

// SENSITIVE AND CONFIDENTIAL; DO NOT DISTRIBUTE

Full Name: Atreyu-Cannamos

Official Titles: Lord-Discretionary, Cupbearer to the Court Unyielding, Antic to the Court Unyielding

Known Aliases: Leaf (pilot callsign), El-Ahrairah (see profile)

Birthplace: Cannamos Family Estate, Cannamos District, Khayradin

DOB: March 14, 4991u / Feldspar 28, 7564 SR (25 years old)

Parents: Bhodrine-Cannamos (mother), Daomasso-Altia-Seth* (father)

Notes

Born to Bhodrine-Cannamos, the younger sister of Stonelord Hyderad-Cannamos, Atreyu was initially of little note within the Cannamos family. Their father, Daomasso-Altia-Seth, was a minor noble from Seth, a lesser cadet branch of the prestigious and powerful House Altia, who married into the Cannamos family for the purposes of a political alliance.

(NB: it is strongly suspected that the Seth branch is in fact a surviving bloodline of House Ludra, reduced from the rolls after the Free Sanjak rebellion, quietly assimilated into House Altia. Both House Altia and House Cannamos strenuously deny this rumour, dismissing it as vituperative slander by jealous rivals)

Due to the secrecy of the Cannamos household, very little is known about their early life, other than that they were born at nearly the same time as Praya-Cannamos, first-daughter and Graven Heir of Stonelord Hyderad-Cannamos. It is known through a broad spectrum of first-hand accounts and sources that Atreyu and Praya were close friends throughout their respective childhoods, and that Atreyu was subject to close personal attention from Stonelord Hyderad himself.

It is unclear exactly what caused Atreyu to develop Republican sentiments, but the presence of a radical anti-monarchist in the highest echelons of the archconservative House of Stone's nobility was unacceptable to Stonelord Hyderad, who began a public and merciless campaign of public excoriation against his nephew.

Over the course of 5005u to the present, several dozen accounts (some with accompanying audiovisual evidence) of the Cannamos scion being subjected to various humiliations. In one particularly infamous and widely-distributed recording, they are instructed to recite a lengthy Khayradi epic in front of a House gathering, often interrupted from off-screen by Hyderad and a second noble (possibly Ferdinand-Cannamos, younger brother of Hyderad), who alternate between critiquing their pronunciation or prosody of their High Khayradi and asking them to explain how the passage they're quoting disproves Republican dogma.

We suspect that the title of Cupbearer - usually given to a highly-trusted senior member of the house - is another one of Hyderad's punishments, as it requires Atreyu to accompany him on his travels and to wait on him and other House dignitaries at formal events. It would also make Atreyu a prime suspect were Hyderad or one of his associates to die. The title of "Antic" needs little explanation; it is a polite synonym for "jester."

Conclusion

It is the opinion of this analyst that the prolonged and sustained campaign of public humiliation by their House has fatally eroded their familial loyalty. This, in combination with their strong Republican leaning, would potentially make them an excellent agent within the household, provided that a secure line of communication be obtained. With the correct incentives and a reasonable exit plan, they might even be in a position to assassinate key members of the House of Stone should it prove necessary.

Unfortunately, due to the paucity of information from within the household itself, we have little information as to their psychological state or emotional stability. Metrics from similar cases are not promising; more information would most assuredly be needed before a concrete action plan is assembled.

ADDENDUM 1: CRITICAL UPDATE

As of February 2, 5016u, Lord Atreyu-Cannamos of the House of Stone has departed the family estate at the behest of Stonelord Hyderad to attend the prestigious Karrakin Cavalry College. This is an unexpected development, and it presents some interesting challenges and opportunities. While the Karrakin Cavalry College is heavily surveilled, due to its location in Throne Karakiz, it is vastly more accessible than their previous residence.

It should be noted that their only known past associate, Praya-Cannamos, is also attending the College this year. Information on how this relationship has developed over the past ten years is not available to us at this time.

[/ooc]

#house of stone #karrakin trade baronies #lancer ktb #lancer rp #ooc #character profile #atreyu cannamos #shadow of the wolf

32 notes · View notes

siconetribal · 9 months ago

Text

Beyond the Bookshelves (3)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Obnoxious coworkers, what is the proper ettiquette when emailing princes, teasing Captain

Summary: You're a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You've been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N: Please comment/like/reblog. If you'd like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know!

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

The meeting was as boring as the fallen prince expected it to be, but he hardly showed his disdain for his time being wasted. Cabinet meetings and audiences with nobility and dignitaries were expected and mandatory for royals. In his opinion, a majority of them were hardly worth the time and could be easily sorted out with logic, but politics hardly worked that way. It was fickle, changing at the whim of whomever is more powerful. And though at times it was fun to see how the spoiled nobles would squabble over the most ridiculous things, the majority of it was always dull.

To think I once found such a thing mesmerizing as a young boy, wanting to follow my father everywhere and prove myself useful to him. A moment to shine, to step out of the immense shadow casted by my brother. The corners of his lips tugged downwards at the miasma of memories that began to stir. He knew the ledge was a precarious one and a single thought could have him plummeting to the depths and ensnare him.

“Do you have any questions?” The agent looked at the members of the group one by one, hesitating and nearly jumping over Loki to avoid eye contact.

“Agent Pruyn, was it?” He watched the man who was addressing them flinch at the call of his name. “Would it not be wiser for me to be the one who distracts them? I am able to change my image to look like anyone. I would merely need some footage of the person I am to imitate to better play the role. You will also be able to monitor my movements since I will be in the banquet hall as opposed to behind the scenes searching through the office.” Minimal footage of me in questionable places is best. Who knows what someone might do as an act of vengeance.

“No, this is the best plan of action. Hawkeye is better suited for that portion of the mission and needs support while Black Widow distracts the target.” Agent Pruyn cleared his throat. The lack of negative reaction from the others seemed to embolden him a little bit. “Also, are you implying that she can't handle it? Black Widow is the best undercover agent we have. She's successfully infiltrated hundreds of places while you've only failed at discretion.” He scoffed.

There it was. The bias and condescending tone, the twisting of his words, and the lack of support. Such insolence made his blood boil to the point of physically punishing the fool, but he kept his reactions in check with a blank expression. Silently, he changed the way they perceived him to look identical to the infamous fiery haired operative who was sitting with them. Everyone in the room stared at him in wide eyed shock, looking at him and her to see if there was a difference.

“Well isn't that a neat little trick.” Natasha was the first to break the silence. “Certainly beats needing to put on that holographic skin.” She leaned in closer, trying to find some flaw.

“Stare all you like, you won’t be able to tell the difference unless I let you.” He said in her voice.

“If he’s so good at keeping up an appearance, why not just swap them? Nat and I are equally able to get in and out without issues if there’s a good enough diversion.” Clint shrugged, though he was impressed at how perfectly Loki copied her.

“I don’t have an issue with that change, I’m the one who can break into the computer system they have. It’s better if I’m with Clint.” Natasha agreed, Loki shifting back to himself.

“So, we’re in agreement. I will be the one to keep the group busy and the both of you will gather the necessary information. As I stated, I’ll require footage and data on the individual I’ll be impersonating.” He turned his attention back to Agent Pruyn who seemed rather cross with the change to his plan but said nothing since the other two Avengers were agreeing with Loki.

“We’ll need to adjust the timeline of the operation then. Everything was set up for this plan, we’ll need to adjust and see if there’s another gathering we can infiltrate.”

“You say this person of interest has possible ties to this Hydra organization, correct? Why don’t we get ourselves invited to his home or wherever you think he is housing the necessary information? Why must we wait for some large gathering outside somewhere else?” Loki questioned.

“We can’t just waltz into his home unannounced.” Agent Pruyn scoffed. “Do you think he just calls people over for tea time? This isn’t one of your royal games, Loki.” The condescending tone was back once more with a sense of triumph. This was hardly enough to anger the prince, but he was not so lenient to let it slide for a second time.

“Who said anything about tea?” He looked at the agent with raised eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you had the time for such frivolous plans. I must disappoint you, my plans do not allot time for such.” Agent Pruyn grit his teeth and glared at the insouciant attitude the Asgardian was speaking with to him. A few of the other members of the meeting snickered at the calm retort, looking away to avoid the ire of the presenter. “This target has questionable connections and has a proclivity to feign a charitable appearance through auctions. We need to approach him as someone equally shady who wishes to either wash their hands of some item or trade an item to someone else and obtain the money under the guise of donating to said charity. We simply need to choose someone from his connections or create someone completely new.”

“That,” Natasha was the first to speak, coincidentally cutting Pruyn off, “is an excellent idea. If we came as someone new, trying to make a name for themself, they’ll be more likely to accept us if we come with an item of great value. Loki can play the part of the client and I can easily play the part of his assistant as needed to keep up the facade. Once we’re invited in, I can get Clint inside and we can get the information we need while the auction is going on.”

“Until the auction takes place, we can build a relationship with him and others. We can record all the conversations and pick up on any codes they use to discuss the secret dealings!” A female agent chimed in soon after, realizing an extra benefit to this plan.

“This makes it a much longer plan than anticipated though, we’ll have to resubmit the plan to our lead agent and to Director Fury.” A male agent pointed out.

“Sounds like it’s a necessary delay if it’s going to be more fruitful than the original operation. I guess Thor wasn’t exaggerating when he boasted about how strategic you are.” Clint slightly nodded his head in approval. “Redraft the plan and submit it, we’ll see what Fury says before moving forward.”

“We’ll schedule our next meeting after that.” Natasha nodded, standing from her seat. The others followed her actions and the meeting came to an end with a very irate Pruyn glaring at the back of Loki’s head. A small smirk of satisfaction tugged at the Asgardians lips as he walked down the halls, feeling lighter at proving himself as worthy to be on the team.

Y/N stared at the screen of her computer, willing it to fill the empty body of the email that was addressed to the two Avengers she was allowed to work with. Glancing at the time, she groaned audibly and turned her chair around so her back was to the screen.

Three hours, I’ve been staring at this blasted computer screen for three hours! Why do I need to message them!? Wasn’t Agent Hill supposed to coordinate this? Why is everything suddenly dumped on me from start to finish? This is ridiculous! Next they’ll want me to manage their schedules and make sure they have time to complete their missions and assist in my never ending task! I am not some over glorified secretary, I am the head of the Resource Management department, the director of it! I attend all the ridiculous morning meetings, check-ins, and any other waste of time meeting that could have easily been an email instead while managing all centers that contain our resources, digital and physical! She pushed herself out of the chair and paced in the space she had behind the desk. “When am I supposed to even meet with them when both are due to be deployed this week!” She threw her hands in the air as she shouted into the empty office. Defeated, she slumped back into her seat and turned to face the computer once more.

She did not want to wait until their return, she needed it done now so that while they were gone she could have the computers and scanners set up and be ready to start as soon as they returned. Straightening up her posture, she pulled the keyboard forward and quickly began to type a brief email stating she was approached by Agent Hill and wanted to set up a short meeting in person to introduce herself and better understand how to properly utilize their assistance and time. She also added that the both of them are available tomorrow after lunch for a brief period of time. Rereading her email over and over again, she made sure there was no error before finally hitting the send. Now she had to wait for a response. Thankfully, the chime signaling the door opening was a great distraction, letting her escape the panic while waiting for a response.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” She happily greeted the person as she stepped out of her office. “Oh, Captain Rogers, how are you?”

“Good afternoon Y/N, I’m doing well. How are you doing?” He smiled, giving her a slight nod.

“Could do with less work, but that’s not going to change anytime soon.” She tiredly chuckled.

“I don’t know how you handle your work at all. I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a fourth of what’s here. They’ve got the right gal for the job here.” He patted her on the back. “Which is an expertise I’ll be needing at the moment. I’ll be going out on a mission with Thor and Tony to a fairly remote area with indigenous people. Thor will be a great asset with his AllSpeak, but I’d like to get some insight on the culture.”

“Oh, so no “An American Girl” books this time around? Or the “Hardy Boys”?” She curled her lips inward to keep from laughing as she watched the famous Captain America clear his throat and turn away to hide the hints of a blush that were creeping up onto his cheeks.

“No, not this time. But maybe when I come back you can suggest something for me to read?”

“I would love to, I’ll think up a small list and let you see which you’d like to start with. So, back to your mission, where are you going and do you know the group you’ll be interacting with?” She clapped and rubbed her hands together, eager to be of assistance. “Let’s head to the front desk while you tell me so I can pull up what we have for you.” Nodding his head, he delved into the details of the mission that were necessary, Y/N never asking for more information than necessary as she pulled up anything relevant and jotted it down on a sheet of paper. “Ok, follow me!” She walked back around just as the chime signaled someone else coming in. “Good afternoon, if you need my assistance I will be with you shortly. Please wait at the desk.” She turned to smile at the newcomer only to see the raven haired prince. Oh, good thing I put the book on the table already. “Follow me, Captain Rogers.”

“Y/N, you can just call me Steve. I think we’ve known each other long enough to drop formalities.”

“Captain Rogers, so bold and scandalous!” She gasped. “What would your fangirls think?!”

“Please don’t remind me of those.” He sighed heavily and gave her a stern look. “And I insist you call me Steve, we’re friends.” He flashed her that famous hero smile.

“Alright, alright, Steve it is.” She turned into an aisle and began to skim the codes, pulling out books which were taken from her by the gentleman super soldier beside her. Once everything was pulled, the two went to the nearest table.

“This is great, thank you, Y/N.”

“Anytime Capt-,” she stopped at the pointed look he gave her. “Steve. If you need anything, just give a holler. I’ll come help you.”

“We’re in the library, I don’t think hollering is a good idea.” He chuckled.

“Who’s going to stop us, the librarian? Oh wait, that’s me!” She grinned, earning an eye roll from him before he turned his attention to the books he had as she made her way back to the front desk.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss@softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl@rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @kats72 @jainaeatsstars @mssjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki

97 notes · View notes

sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

Text

Protégé à Jamais

Aaron feels his blood boil, fury flooding his veins at the way the man in front of him dared to talk about the woman he loves.

-x-

Hi friends,

Not entirely sure where this one came from. I was driving to the grocery store this morning and some of the dialogue for this came into my head and here we are!

Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: brief canon typical violence

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily had never been so happy.

She sighs contentedly as she leans into her fiance’s side, smiling as he pulls her even closer, his thumb rubbing back and forth on her hip through the material of her dress.

“Are you okay sweetheart?” Aaron asks, his smile soft as he looks at her. She’s almost eye level with him because of her heels and she takes advantage of it, nodding as she leans in to stamp her lips against his.

She hums as she pulls back, “I’m more than okay,” she says, kissing him again, smiling as she hears Derek groan and she makes a point of leaning further into the kiss, her hand coming up to cup Aaron’s cheek as she holds him in place as she licks her tongue through his mouth.

“Oh god Princess, we get it,” Derek says, shaking his head as he takes a sip of his beer, “You two love each other.”

“I think I preferred it when they used to pretend they weren’t in love with each other,” Dave grumbles jokingly, winking at Emily as she finally pulls back from Aaron, her hand dropping down to his chest, “They may have been annoying, but at least we didn’t have to watch them make out.”

Emily rolls her eyes at him, “Well excuse me for kissing my fiance at my engagement party.”

Party was a strong word and she knew it. They were out for a few drinks on a Thursday evening to celebrate her and Aaron’s recent engagement. She knew her actual engagement party would be something her mother insisted on throwing for them, an event full of dignitaries and people her mother considered important. This was the celebration she’d actually enjoy and she was going to make the most of it.

Aaron chuckles and runs his hand up and down her side, rubbing the soft green material of her dress between his fingers as he presses a kiss to her cheek, “Our engagement party, sweetheart.”

She shrugs playfully and winks at him before she finishes her beer, “Yes, baby. Our engagement party,” she kisses him again, “I need another drink.”

He smiles and kisses her cheek before he pulls away, “I’ll go get you one, I’ll be right back.”

She watches him go, her eyes fixed on his ass as he walks towards the bar. She groans as he gets there and as she sees him standing next to Agent Clark and Agent Lewis, “What are those creeps doing here?”

They were both idiots. She’d never particularly liked either of them, but made polite small talk with them in the kitchen or the elevator if she saw them. Clark would often flirt with her and had asked her out on a date more than once, although that had stopped at least since she came back from Paris.

“Garcia invited everyone,” Spencer says, and Emily smiles as she looks at Penelope and she avoids eye contact, “The email went out to the entirety of Quantico.”

“And those two have never turned down a free drink,” Dave says, seemingly regretting for the first time all evening putting his card behind the bar, “They are usually harmless enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Penelope.

“You guys are getting married, that should be celebrated!” Penelope exclaims, her gaze shifting to Emily who chuckles.

“Trust me Pen, Aaron and I have done plenty of celebrating by ourselves,” she says, her chuckle turning into a full laugh at the looks of horror that sweep across Derek and Dave’s faces.

JJ joins in and shakes her head, sympathetically patting Derek on the back, “You know if you stop reacting she’ll stop telling you about their sex life.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Penelope says, taking a sip from her cocktail, “Especially because I’d like another BAU baby to spoil soon.”

Emily chokes on a laugh and shakes her head at her friend as she purposely ignores the treacherous hope that rolls through her chest. She and Aaron had decided to start trying recently, just a few weeks before he proposed, and she’d thrown away her birth control. She didn’t want anyone else to know yet, wanted to keep it as something just between her and Aaron, but she was excited — the thought of adding to their family enough to make her giddy.

Her response is cut off by someone shouting at the bar and she looks back over, her eyes going wide as she spots Aaron standing close to Agent Clark, his fist clenched by his side as Clark cupped his nose, blood dripping down through his clasped fingers. Her eyes drift down to Aaron’s knuckles as she steps closer, and she sees how red they are. His skin was sure to bruise over old scars she knew as well as her own.

She scoffs as she steps closer, confusion driving her closer as he looks at her, his eyes wide as if he isn’t sure what he’s done himself.

“Aaron, what the hell is going on?”

___

They don’t get a chance to talk about it.

At first, it’s because he won’t. Whatever had driven him to punching a fellow agent was something he was keeping to himself, a subtle shake of his head during all of the commotion in the bar all she needed to know he wasn’t ready to talk yet. It was an unspoken rule that they didn’t push each other until they were ready, so as much as she wanted to know what was wrong she takes a step back.

The moment they get home, Jack is on them, asking lots of questions about their night and hugging them tightly as if it had been days since he’d last seen them, not hours. The little boy blatantly disregarding his bedtime just to see them, something Jessica apologises for as she leaves. He insists that Emily is the one to put him to bed, a distraction she’s grateful for as she reads him two stories before he falls asleep against her, his hand tangled in her hair.

Despite everything in her that was screaming to go check on Aaron, to go slide into his lap where he had hidden himself in the home office, she still gives him the space she knows he needs. She gets ready for bed and slips under the covers, eventually falling asleep with her hand pressed against his pillow.

When she wakes up in the morning she’s alone.

She knows he had joined her at some point, can feel the warmth that only came with him surrounding her and permeating into the sheets on his side of the bed. She frowns as she sits up and spots a folded piece of paper on his pillow and she picks it up, smiling sadly as she reads his familiar writing.

Gone to work early, I’ve left you coffee in the pot and sorted breakfast for you and Jack.

She sighs and gets out of bed, putting aside her concern for the man she loves as she steps out into the hallway and almost trips over Jack, the little boy already awake and excited about going to school. By the time she gets to the office she feels anxious, a deep pit in her stomach as she places her bag on her desk, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she looks up at her fiance’s office.

“You ok there, Bella?”

She jumps and places her hand on her chest as she turns to look at Dave. She shakes her head at him and huffs out a breath, “Jesus Christ, Dave. We need to get you a bell or something.”

He smiles at her and holds his hand up in an apology, “Sorry, I didn’t think it was possible to sneak up on someone who used to be a spy.”

She hums and looks back at Aaron’s office, “I guess I’m distracted,” she sighs and turns to look at her friend, “He punched someone, Dave. And not just anyone, another agent. He could get in serious trouble over that,” she says, twisting her engagement ring around her finger, a habit that had replaced her previous one of biting her cuticles, “It’s not like him.”

Dave nods in agreement, “It’s not, but I’d say the guy deserved it, don’t you?”

She frowns and tilts her head at him, “Wait, do you know what happened?”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking up to Aaron’s office, “I may have spoken to Lewis last night, and got his side of what went down between Aaron and Clark.”

She stares at him, expecting him to carry on, and when he doesn’t she asks, “What did he say?”

Dave sighs and forces his hands into his pockets, “If he hasn’t told you I don’t know if I should-”

“Dave,” she says firmly, cutting him off, “Tell me what he said.”

He maintains eye contact with her for a second before he nods, clearing his throat before he tells her what he knows.

___

Aaron’s smile fades as he approaches the bar, internally groaning when he sees Agent Clark and Agent Lewis standing there.

“Clark,” he says, nodding politely as he stands next to them, “Lewis.”

Lewis nods in return, but Clark turns to look at him, the smell of whiskey flowing off of him like a cologne as he smiles widely as if they were old friends.

“Congrats on the engagement, Hotchner,” Agent Clark says, his words slurring together slightly as he tips his beer towards Aaron. Clark was not a good man, and certainly not an agent Aaron would ever want on his team. He had applied to join the BAU more than once but had always been denied, his attitude and work ethic well known throughout the FBI.

“Thanks, Clark,” Aaron says, smiling politely as he indicates to the bartender that he wants two more beers. He smiles as he hears Emily laugh from behind him, the irritation he’d felt building for the man standing next to him immediately fading.

“Prentiss has always been a catch,” Clark says, shaking his head as he places his beer back down, “You’re a better man than I am though, I don’t think I could do it.”

Aaron freezes, his body briefly tense as he turns ever so slightly to face the other man, already asking a question he isn’t sure he wants the answer to before he can stop himself. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Clark doesn’t pick up on his tone, nor does he pay any attention to Agent Lewis on his other side who was attempting to stop him from saying anything else. His hand on his friend’s shoulder as he tries to lead him away, Aaron’s well-known glare getting through to him.

“Well,” Clark says, shrugging, his hand slipping off the bar as he steps closer, “You wouldn’t buy a car that already has damage to the bodywork would you?” He says, smirking as he chuckles at what he’s said.

Aaron feels his blood boil, fury flooding his veins at the way the man in front of him dared to talk about the woman he loves. He clenches his fists at his sides, his short nails digging into his palm as he tries to distract himself, the dull pain in an attempt to pull himself back from the edge. Anger he’d inherited from his father bubbling in his belly, burning up his chest and turning bitter on his tongue.

“What did you just say?” He asks, the words forced out through his teeth as he fixes his hard glare on him.

“We should go-” Lewis starts, but Clark interrupts him, cutting him off as he pats Aaron on the shoulder as if they were old friends, as if they were exchanging shop talk rather than talking about his fiance.

“Come on Hotchner,” he says, chuckling again, “We all know what Doyle did to her. She’s always had an incredible figure, but it must be a mess under that dress,” he says, nodding towards Emily, “Sometimes it’s best never to unwrap a gift if you know what I mean.”

Aaron sees red, and anger he hasn’t felt in years, since he’d seen Foyet in the home he’d once shared with Haley, overtakes him. Any attempt to stop himself from reacting disappears. It happens in slow motion. He doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his body, as if he’s watching himself as he punches Clark, the feeling of his knuckles connecting with the other man's face spreading throughout his hand.

Everything speeds back up again as he pulls his hand back, the quiet in the bar almost deafening as it feels like everyone turns to look at them. Clark’s cursing and the way he cries out in pain as he cups his bleeding nose barely registering as he turns to look at Emily, guilt and shame filling his lungs as she furrows her brows at him, any enjoyment she’d found in the evening long gone.

“Aaron, what the hell is going on?”

___

She closes her eyes as Dave finishes and she shakes her head, love and a flicker of irritation aimed at her finace blooming in her chest.

“Lewis told you all of that?” She asks as she opens her eyes and looks at Dave, smiling sadly when she sees his anger at the way she’d been spoken about painted across his face as he nods, “Maybe he can be a witness if this goes to some kind of committee hearing.”

“He did,” he replies, “I don’t think Clark will be taking this up with anyone.”

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at him, “What makes you say that?”

He shrugs nonchalantly as he smirks, “Let’s just say, someone may have reminded him of his place here and about all the things he should have been reported on over the years.”

She smiles at him and leans forward to kiss his cheek, squeezing his shoulder gratefully before she takes a step back, “Thanks Dave,” she says, blowing out a breath as she turns to look at Aaron’s office, “I’m going to go talk to him.”

Dave nods, “I’ll distract the others when they come in, give you some time.”

She chuckles, “Someone is already taking their role as best man seriously.”

He laughs and shakes his head at her, “For this, I expect godfather of your firstborn, Bella.”

She turns and starts to walk towards the steps leading to Aaron’s office, “I’m not making any promises.”

She takes a moment as she gets to his door and blows out a breath before she knocks and walks in, smiling softly at him as he looks up from his paperwork.

“Hi honey,” she says, closing the door behind her, “You left early this morning.”

He clears his throat and nods, the same shame he’d felt ever since he’d hit Clark swelling in his chest the moment he sees her.

“I had paperwork to do,” he says, folding his hands on his desk, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

They fall into an awkward silence and she hates it, her eyes drifting to his knuckles that were bruised just like she knew they would be before she looks back at him, their eyes meeting as he covers the damaged skin with his other hand. She knows what he’s thinking, the comparisons he will have no doubt made to a man she’ll never get to meet, the man who he spent his whole life worrying he’d turn into. There were moments when she wished she could have a few moments alone with his father, when she wished she could give him a piece of her mind, when she wanted nothing more than to yell at the man who was supposed to protect his son, to hide him from the harshness of the world instead of exposing him to it.

She knew they’d have to talk about it, that she’d have to tell him, again, that she didn’t need protecting, that she didn’t need him to fight her battles for her, but this wasn’t the time for that. Not yet anyway.

“Lewis told Dave what happened,” she says, still standing by the door, her hands clasped together as she once again twists her engagement ring, around her finger, “And Dave told me.”

Aaron sighs, and looks down at his desk, clasping his hands tighter around each other, pressing against his bruised flesh, as irritation at his friend flashes through him. He didn’t want her to know what Clark had said about her. It was one of the main reasons why he hadn’t told her last night, his desire to protect her, to stop her from being any more hurt than she already had been superseding everything else.

“Sweetheart…” he starts, but he trails off, unsure what he wants to say. He looks up as he hears her walking towards him and he sits back in his chair, allowing her room to sit on the edge of his desk.

“We’ll talk about how I don’t need you to protect me later,” she says, reaching for his hand and sandwiching it between both of hers, her touch careful as she runs her thumb back and forth over his damaged skin, “From both the people who say things about me and the things they say.”

“You’re going to be my wife,” he says, anger flashing through him again, feeling wrong and biting in comparison to her gentle touch, “And even if you weren’t…no one should speak about you like that,” he says, shaking his head as he looks up at her, “You’re…you’re everything.”

She presses her lips together and raises his hand to them, stamping a kiss against his damaged skin.

“You’re everything to me, honey,” she says, kissing his knuckles again, soft and diligent as if it would heal him instantly. On some level, he’s sure it does, “So I don’t want you to risk your job over the opinion of a guy like Clark.”

He nods and avoids her eye contact, “I’m sorry.”

She cups his cheek with her spare hand and makes him look at her, “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby,” she says, leaning forward and stamping her lips against his, “Only he does, and I think the broken nose is enough of a punishment,” her smile fades slightly as she chews her lip, clearly lost in thought and he squeezes her hand.

“What’s wrong, Em?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing’s wrong,” she assures him, “It’s just…Clark used to ask me out all the time. And he stopped when I came back from Paris. I kind of assumed it was because we got together so quickly but…” she laughs humourlessly as the scar on her abdomen burns, the phantom stake driving through it as she thinks about it, “I guess not. Not that it really matters, I’d never go there in a million years even if we weren’t together but…it just makes me wonder how many people are thinking the same thing.”

The anger he’d felt last night flashes through him again for a moment, hot and overwhelming as he feels it threaten to burst free, but it disappears as quickly as it came, his concern for her more important. They’d both been self-conscious of their respective scars their first night together, as if they didn’t already know the worst of what each other had been through. It had been a night of exploration, of soft touches and questions that they’d had for years answered. Ever since then, they’d barely acknowledged it, as comfortable with each other as someone could be with another person.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, shifting back so she can slip into his lap, his arms tight around her as she settles against him, her side pressing into his chest, “And he’s an idiot if he thinks what happened to you doesn’t make you even more so.”

She scoffs and smiles lovingly at him, pushing his hair from his forehead, “You’re my fiance, you have to say that.”

“It’s true,” he says, moving his hand so it rests on her abdomen, gently tracing the edges of the scar that lay beneath her clothes. Scar tissue spread out like a constellation, the slope of it a pattern he could follow with his eyes closed, “It’s made of you, so how could it be anything other than beautiful.”

She shakes her head and leans in to kiss him, her lips firm against his as she cups the back of his head, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies, kissing her once more before she rests her head against his shoulder, content to sink into his embrace before the day truly begins, “I wonder when Strauss will be in here yelling at me about last night.”

“I think Dave got you out of that one,” she says, reaching for his hand and linking their fingers together, “He had a conversation with Clark and with Lewis,” she tilts her head to look up at him, “He said something about reminding Clark of his place.”

Aaron chuckles and kisses her forehead, “I’ll have to come up with a way to thank him.”

She smiles, and is briefly distracted as she sees Dave walking up the stairs and stopping just outside of Aaron’s office, clearly trying to be sneaky but failing. She nods towards him and Aaron sees him too, so she winks at him, a silent request to go along with what she was going to say.

“He’s already claimed the role of godfather for our firstborn in return for it,” she says, her smile getting wider as his does, the mention of their potential future child enough to get rid of any lingering anxiety in the air around them, “Poor kid doesn’t exist and they already have Dave as their moral guidepost.”

“I can hear you, you know.”

They both laugh at Dave’s weary voice coming through the window and Emily leans into Aaron’s side again as she replies, happy and content in his arms.

“I know, that’s why I said it, old man.”

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @ptrckjcne, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss #emily prentiss fanfiction

64 notes · View notes

queenphanessa · 1 year ago

Text

*Screams in lesbian*

I won't lie, I spent a few minutes trying to screenshot the moment when she crosses her legs, but the scene went by too fast for me to do it 😔

I originally thought that Arlecchino was lying when she said this since Childe said that he didn't like her at all so there's be no reason for him to talk to her about this... But in his "About Us: Comrades" voiceline, Childe's pretty nonchalant about the fact that the other Harbingers know he's friends with the person who's been foiling their plans, so him casually talking about his friendship with the Traveler to the Harbingers would actually be plausible.

Then again, Arlecchino specializes in intelligence gathering so Childe could very well have mentioned that the Traveler likes sweets, just not to or around her, but an agent of hers could have heard it and carried it back to her.

Oh?? 👀

So she's dispensing with the politeness? Even with the Traveler present?

"But you? It beggars belief just how nonchalant and carefree you have been. From the very beginning, you, the god Focalors... You have utterly failed to take action."

Damn, look at that glare. She's even referring to Furina by her god name, which is hella rude in Teyvat, even calling her "O great Hydro Archon" sarcastically. Ever since that first meeting with Neuvillette and Furina, Arlecchino has been polite, but also passive aggressive. But now? She has completely dropped the cordiality and her tone was honestly angry and damning.

You know, when Arlecchino first appeared in game, I was surprised by how cordial she was because it was so at odds with how she was in the A Winter Night's Lazzo teaser where she was angry with some of the other Harbingers. But now that she isn't bothering with being friendly, I can recognize her now.

And remember how in the teaser, she was angry with Pulcinella and Pantalone, "heartless businessmen and dignitaries" as she called them (which Fontaine is known for having 👀), for talking about a proper way to honor Signora's death when they couldn't hope to understand what she went through when they always have convenient excuses to remain in the comfort of their homeland.

And here Arlecchino's lambasting Furina for "drinking tea and eating desserts as if it's all nothing more than a few stray bugs in [her] garden", talking about how she claims she will save Fontaine from the prophecy, but (seemingly) doesn't have a plan at all and is instead indulging in tea parties.

So it seems that Arlecchino is greatly pissed off by people and dignitaries with empty words and empty promises who enjoy comfort and safety while others struggle.

Because of her reactions in both those scenes, I think that if there's anything that can be determined about Arlecchino is that her desire to save Fontaine is genuine. Childe did say that the Harbingers have their own agendas and saving Fontaine from the prophecy could very well be Arlecchino's.

"Very well, let's stop that conversation here. There are still a few slices of cake left, so please help yourselves, everyone."

And then she just goes back to her cordial demeanor like nothing happened!

(Also, her fucking hips!!! 😩🫦)

Guys. "Those who work hard deserve gratitude and praise."

The shade she is throwing at Furina, my god.

I see those slices of cake there. So she wasn't lying when she said she has a sweet tooth!

This makes me wonder just how strong Arlecchino is. Neuvillette may have taken down Childe in one move, but Childe is the 11th Harbinger, while Arlecchino is the 4th. Could Arlecchino be strong enough to take Neuvillette in a fight? 🤔

More credence being lent to Arlecchino genuinely caring about Fontaine... 👀 Like Signora, she couldn't rely on her god to save her homeland, so she had to take matters into her own hands.

So once the Fontaine crisis is solved, does this provide an in-universe reason for Arlecchino being playable and aiding the Traveler?

She would have gotten what she wanted so her loyalty to the Fatui would take a swan dive.

And since Arlecchino is high up the ranking and specializes in intelligence gathering, how much info would she give us on the other Harbingers? 👀

#genshin impact #arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino my beloved my wife #please come home soon

31 notes · View notes

umbralundertaker · 11 months ago

Note

not just him, everyone is fucked. i don't think we need to repeat how wv and pm got shafted considering that at the top of the list for things carapacian fans know, so here is another example. alpha dignitary is given a lot more personality than usual for diamonds. the aloof agent shows a lot more agitation towards hb dying as opposed to jack, whether that be due to actually caring or due to the loudness of dirk's rebellion. and unlike beta jack, who uses the red miles as a final spiteful fuck you to the universe, alpha dignitary practically opens with it. the man who, in the last two universes we saw him, focused mainly on stealth and little moves to achieve his goals, hits the big red button faster than his boss ever did.

there is also his relationships with other characters, his lust for the condesce and dad crocker being the obvious ones (which speaking of, i feel like that sort of attraction to people is a good sign that something is "alive" so to speak), but there's also the complete nonchalantness of his friendship with jack. i mean after what i said above, you'd think dignitary would do something to help jack out. but its like "nah, do it yourself and also do my paper work", and its hard to tell if this is normal for them, a mirror of beta jack dumping beta dignitary with the political work, or if he really was just being that much of a manwhore for a giant fish and a 50s dressed man.

and yet despite all these actions done to him/from him to the main cast, his connection to the alphas main villain, and one of their dads, you'd expect this man's presence to carry some weight to it. but nope, he just completely disappears. and its all due to the alphas (oh boy, i finally get to take out the bat for the alpha kids).

Dude the ESSAYS!!

And yes the carapaces were soooo shafted. Hussie gives us a little glimmer of hope in the form of content and interesting characterization and kills them off with no one mentioning them again. Again, theyre side characters, but he can do better than thissssss.

#and to clarify i do think theyre alive!!! Just not in the same way as everything else. Yeah #Homestuck #draconian dignitary

8 notes · View notes

handeaux · 11 months ago

Text

Cincinnati Surrendered To The Automobile When Jaywalking Was Outlawed

How many Cincinnatians subscribed to Popular Mechanics magazine in 1912? And how many of those subscribers recognized, in the September issue, a tiny article on Page 414 that laid out the future of the Queen City? It all seemed so innocent:

“The city pedestrian who cares not for traffic regulations at street corners, but strays all over the street, crossing in the middle of the block, or attempting to save time by choosing a diagonal route across a street intersection instead of adhering to the regular crossing, is designated as a ‘jay walker’ in Kansas City. Kansas City recently adopted a new ordinance for the control of foot traffic as well as vehicles, and ‘jay walking’ is to be prevented as rigidly as ‘jay driving.’”

That squib appeared adjacent to another brief item on how the brand-new town of Speedway, Indiana allowed only motorized vehicles on its streets, banning anything pulled by horses. In combination, the two articles sounded the death knell for a way of life that had existed for millennia.

Look at the illustrations that grace the old books about Cincinnati. There is no such thing as jaywalking. The streets were owned and enjoyed by the people. Pedestrians share the road with wheeled vehicles, crossing wherever convenient, even stopping in the middle of the street to chat. Horse-drawn carriages and wagons hauled passengers and freight. Men pulling handcarts and pushing wheelbarrows dodge the throng. The only motorized vehicles were the electric street cars, and they were confined to their tracks.

During election season, Cincinnati’s streets filled with torchlit political parades. On at least one occasion, a parade filled Vine Street from Fourth Street to McMicken with chanting men waving flaming brands, lighting the clouds above with a rosy glow. When any dignitary showed up in town, they were expected to speechify from their hotel balcony and people thronged the street below, halting traffic as they cheered. People crossing the street from any direction weren’t “jay walking.” They were just “walking.” The automobile changed all that.

Horse-drawn vehicles and electric streetcars killed a fair number of people, but the motor car quickly notched more than a hundred fatalities and many more injuries every year. Local media often blamed the victims. The Cincinnati Post [8 January 1916] piled on:

“Fourth-st. is the mecca of Cincinnati’s jay walkers. Most of the jay-walking is done between Vine and Race-sts. The other day we counted 20 persons crossing the street at different points at one time – and none was using a cross-walk. Fortunately accidents are rare on this street because of the extreme care exercised by autoists.”

It appears not to have occurred to the writer that this behavior, just five years previous, would have been considered normal.

The hammer landed in 1917. Cincinnati joined the ranks of other auto-infested cities that criminalized jaywalking. The new law went into effect in May of that year, restricting automobiles to no more than 8 miles per hour in the business district and 15 miles per hour in residential districts. For the first time, pedestrians were restricted to sidewalks and crosswalks. Pedestrians – literally – fought the new law. According to the Post [23 May 1917]:

“Theodore Mitchell, 38, agent, 631 Maple-av, is the first person to be arrested on a charge of jay-walking since the new traffic ordinance went into effect. Traffic Patrolman [Edward] Schraffenberger charged Mitchell attempting to make a short cut at Fifth and Walnut streets. When reminded of his mistake, Mitchell became angry, Schraffenberger said. Mitchell, charged with disorderly conduct and violating the traffic ordinance, was cited to appear in court Thursday.”

If you’d asked the cops, however, they would unanimously aver that the chief violators were women. The Post [21 May 1917] quoted Police Lieutenant Charles Wolsefer:

“The women are awful. They just don’t pay any attention at all. Just take a look at them crossing on Race-st.”

The reporter did so, and counted 48 jaywalkers, of whom 37 were women. A few days later, another Post reporter followed another policeman on patrol who confronted 25 jaywalkers, of which only two were men.

Among the first arrested was Miss Ella Bright of 538 Howell Avenue, Clifton, a teacher at Woodward High School. Miss Bright did not care for the attitude of the city policeman who accosted her. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [7 June 1917]:

“She declared she had been upbraided unduly by an officer because she crossed the street in a manner which was a violation of the traffic laws after alighting from a street car.”

In August of that year, Mrs. John Mongan, 4217 Glenway Avenue, Price Hill, was arrested for striking a police officer who grabbed her arm as she executed a “Dutch Cut” (diagonal jaywalking) across the intersection at Sixth & Race.

Former U.S. President William Howard Taft, then on the law faculty at Yale, was visiting his hometown that year and blithely jogged across Sixth Street near Main, only to be corralled by Officer Joseph Schindler, who gave the law professor a little legal lesson.

The Post even enlisted its “boy reporter,” 12-year-old Freddy Printz, to test the city’s ability to enforce the new jaywalking regulations. On 7 July 1917, Freddy reported his fruitless attempts to get bawled out by a police officer. Despite blatantly jaywalking at five different locations, he only earned a polite reprimand from one officer.

While the local constabulary was doing their best to enforce the new laws, the automobiles were merciless. On 21 May 1918, the Post reported on the 25th traffic fatality of the year. The victim, a 12-year-old girl, was the twelfth child killed by an automobile that year.

Curiously, although Cincinnati outlawed jaywalking, the city had omitted one very important detail that might have contributed to compliance with the new law. A letter signed only “Chicagoan” appeared in the Post on 13 June 1917. The writer suggested that, like other cities attempting to get pedestrians to cross at intersections, Cincinnati should assist pedestrians by painting white lines on the street to mark approved pedestrian crossing paths. Cincinnati’s mandatory crosswalks were unmarked!

#cincinnati streets #jaywalking #cincinnati automobiles

8 notes · View notes

joachimnapoleon · 2 years ago

Text

Fouché evading back-to-back arrest attempts right before Napoleon’s return to Paris:

Actually, then, on March 16, 1815, at eleven o’clock in the morning, policemen surround the Duke of Otranto’s carriage when he is out for an airing on the boulevards, and declare him under arrest, in conformity with Bourrienne’s command. Fouché, who never loses his presence of mind, smiles disdainfully, saying: “An ex-minister, an ex-senator, cannot be thus arrested in the public street.” Then, before the police agents, who for so long were his own subordinates, have recovered from their surprise, he orders his coachman to whip up the horses and to drive home at full speed. Open-mouthed the policemen stand there, breathing in the dust raised by the departing wheels.

(…)

When the policemen report to their chief that Fouché has eluded them, Bourrienne is pricked into sharper action. Now it behooves him to maintain his authority, and to show that no one can make fun of him. He promptly has the house in the Rue Cerutti surrounded, and the door kept under close observation, while a file of armed men mount the steps and enter the house in order to seize the fugitive. But Fouché has another jest to play, one of those unique masterstrokes that come to him always in the most difficult situations. We have seen again and again that when he is in imminent danger he is seized by a lust for amusing himself at people’s expense and for leading them a dance. This adept in the art of mystification therefore receives with extreme courtesy those who have come to arrest him, and asks to be shown the warrant. Yes, it appears to be in order, and he is the person nominated therein. It would be needless for him to say that he has no thought of resisting His Majesty’s command. Perhaps his visitors will be good enough to sit down for a moment while he attends to a few trifling matters, and then he will come with them. With these polite assurances, Fouché withdraws into the next room. The others wait respectfully while he is arranging his toilet. After all, a senator, a sometime minister of State and court dignitary, must not be collared like a pickpocket and dragged off in handcuffs. They wait respectfully; they wait for a good long time; they wait so long that at length their suspicions are aroused. Then, since he still does not return, they too go into the next room, to discover there—a scene of true comedy amid the political tumult—that Fouché has slipped through their fingers. This man of fifty-six, as if he had been an actor for the cinema to be invented almost a century later, going out into the garden, has placed a ladder against the wall, and, while the police are waiting for him respectfully in the drawing room, has with remarkable agility climbed over into the adjoining garden of Queen Hortense’s house, and has thence made good his escape.

—Stefan Zweig, Joseph Fouché: Portrait of a Politician

#Joseph Fouché #just Fouché things #1815

53 notes · View notes

danceswithdarkspawn · 1 year ago

Note

16,17,18,19

16: Are one-shots really underrated?

How do I say this without being unhinged.

YES.

(General 'you' here) If you're the type of reader who writes off short works, such as drabbles, ficlets/microfics, or shorter works in general, I'm not judging you, but you're missing out on some gems.

17: Past or present tense? Why?

I think this depends on what you want. From a reader's perspective, past tense is easier for me to read/get into. There are some cases where present tense could potentially work better however, such as first or second-person POV where the aim is to make the reader more immersed in the story being told. Both are good, and truth be told I don't have a preference. It's all a stylistic choice.

18: First, second, or third person?

This is basically the same as above. I gravitate toward third because it's palatable to more people, is easier to write than first or second in some ways, and is more forgiving of mistakes. I do, however, adore first person and use it where I can.

19: Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

I'm leaving out a very important part at the beginning, I shan't say what it is.

After conducting business in the war room, he came up on a scene of chaos in Skyhold's main hall. A number of mages, scholars, and dignitaries gathered outside the entrance of the rotunda, and still more were being escorted out by Leliana's agents. Among the thralls, Josephine and Charter assured those displaced that yes, they would receive their belongings, but that the tower was closed and would remain so for some time.

He'd earned a reproachful look from Josephine for even daring to oggle for as long as he did. Charter, meanwhile, looked as indifferent as ever, but watched him like a bird of prey.

By nightfall, the rookery and indeed the entire tower that contained it was completely locked down. Each of the many entrances were sealed off and guarded by a pair of elite agents. For three days it stayed that way, with only a select few moving in and out of the tower, and always followed by armed escort.

No amount of backhanded prying got him the confirmation he wanted. All of Leliana's agents repeated the same mantra that they were not to speak of their liege's state. Josephine politely redirected the matter the way he'd expected of a skilled diplomat.

Charter was the only one to give him anything. He came to her claiming to have received intelligence that required Leliana's discretion. Charter informed him that the information was hers to know, and that effective immediately, she was the Inquisition's spymaster.

#the dancer answers #dances writing tag

2 notes · View notes

auntieoneandauntietwo · 2 years ago

Text

In a pern modern au Lessa is a powerful and terrifying world leader and F’lar is a decorated war vet turned FBI agent turned talk show host whose show is a news/politics show with an obvious and extreme bias he makes no effort to hide. He’s having less of a crisis of masculinity in this world and so can acknowledge he’s most useful doing what he does best which is talking a lot in a confident way. He’s vibing as first gentleman. Foreign dignitaries love his scintillating dinner conversation.

#also in this au the harpers are a high profile law firm that’s vaguely corrupt and spying on everyone #I don’t make the rules #they paid the bribes to get lessa elected #pern #dragonriders of pern #pern au #anne mccaffery #dragonflight #dragonquest #f’lar #lessa #stubbornly tagging pern characters names

3 notes · View notes

jefyanjelxxx · 5 days ago

Text

Sean Curran, "the unknown" leading the Secret Service

The photo was instantly legendary: former President Trump with his fist in the air, blood seeping from his right ear and an American flag flying overhead.

Sean Curran was a mostly anonymous U.S. Secret Service agent that July day in Butler, Pennsylvania, when a bullet clipped Mr. Trump's ear, coming within inches of his skull. In the photo, Curran is the agent on the right, sunglassed and unsmiling, after he and his team sprang to the former president's side to protect him.

"Part of me probably still hasn't processed it. I haven't — from that day to now — I haven't stopped," Curran told CBS News in his first news interview. "I felt like I couldn't let him out of my sight. Not to the point where I'd be overworked, but to a point where I felt like I needed to be with him to ensure that things were done the way I needed them to be done. I didn't want to leave his side. I think he probably didn't want me to leave his side, either."

His relationship with the president was forged over seven years of near daily contact, including two assassination attempts and court hearings that numbered "too many to count." "I mean we — it's life-changing," Curran said. Just after his second inauguration, Mr. Trump named him director of the Secret Service.

Curran declined to reveal what Mr. Trump said on the way to and from the courthouse or during his arraignments — or on any occasion — other than to say Mr. Trump remained calm "every single day, and that's on and off camera."

The Secret Service made some preliminary plans for how to accommodate Mr. Trump if he were convicted in his four criminal trials and ultimately sentenced to prison time.

"We had serious conversations about it, and I at one point told him, he and I might be — getting a lot closer," Curran said, which drew a chuckle from a couple staffers in his office with him on the 8th floor of Secret Service headquarters.

But Curran was serious. "Look, if it came to it, I'd be sitting right next to him," he said. "That's how much I care for him. That's how much I felt that he deserved the level of protection that any of our protectees should get. There's nothing I would have not done for him."

Two federal cases against Mr. Trump were dropped during the post-election transition. A conviction in New York resulted in no jail time. Decisions about Mr. Trump's security would have been made by then-Acting Secret Service Director Ron Rowe.

"I think we would have treated [prison] probably like a site, and we would have had to probably own a certain portion of that facility," Curran said. "It's still a law, you know, whether someone is in prison or not. The law still dictates that we have to protect them."

Curran, who grew up in New Jersey, joined the Secret Service in 2001. He was assigned to then-Sen. Barack Obama as part of the Secret Service's dignitary protection division, then to Obama's presidential protection detail. Curran was recognized as special agent of the year in 2007. After a stint working for the assistant director of investigations, he was promoted to run the Secret Service coverage of the 2016 presidential campaign, and later, the protective intelligence squad. During Mr. Trump's first term, Curran became deputy supervisor on Mr. Trump's detail, then, in 2021, one of the youngest special agents ever to be named agent in charge.

When his first term ended, Mr. Trump was persona non grata politically, and the Secret Service senior leadership team was focused on protecting then-President Joe Biden. According to other agents familiar with the situation, headquarters essentially told Curran to build a post-presidential protective detail on his own.

As the controversial former president geared up for his third White House campaign, Curran and his deputy, Matt Piant, tried to warn headquarters that they couldn't treat Mr. Trump like a regular former president. They believed a typical protective footprint, like the bands of security provided to former presidents Obama or Clinton, wouldn't be enough to accommodate Mr. Trump's schedule as he dashed between campaign rallies and court hearings.

Curran wouldn't talk about the failures at Butler, or what happened in the minutes after the shooting. But he suggested that too many leaders have lost touch with officers and agents out in the field.

"Good ideas, big ideas, have been hampered by people with probably less experience," Curran said, adding that leaders in a higher position don't always understand the reality of teams in the field. "I understand what people on the ground need."

One recent change within the agency's ranks has been to embed a team of six lawyers within Secret Service field operations — not for oversight of the officers, but for support in dealing with protesters or other circumstances.

At a time when DOGE is cutting agencies it considers bloated, Curran is seeking a larger congressional appropriation. He said it is unclear whether Elon Musk will try to cut staff from the Secret Service. So far, there's no indication of that.

Curran disagrees with a goal set by former director Kimberly Cheatle to make the Secret Service a 30% female workforce by 2030 – part of a nationwide campaign to diversify the ranks of law enforcement. "When you highlight a specific group or person, you are not going to get the best qualified candidates," he said, echoing Mr. Trump's move away from diversity, equity and inclusion or "DEI" initiatives. "My only goal is to put the right people on the field and get the best qualified applicants for this job, no matter what the position is and no matter what they look like."

Richard Giuditta, a New Jersey lawyer brought in by Curran as a legal adviser, said one of Curran's first actions, within hours of being appointed director, was to go to the uniformed division's midnight-shift roll call at the White House. "Quietly, by himself," Giuditta said.

In a break with agency precedent, Giuditta is the first political appointee to serve as senior adviser to the Secret Service.

Not everyone inside the agency is certain Curran is the right guy for the job — field agents aren't typically chosen to lead the Secret Service and its more than 8,000-member workforce.

"I think overall, people see who I am," Curran said. "They see that I'm out there. They see that I just had a vest on a month ago, and I'm now up here. If you look around historically, that is not what you've seen up here. I've taken a different path. People know that. People are probably scared of that, because I'm the unknown."

Curran, who has been at Mr. Trump's side on the golf course, on and off planes, in and out of meetings, recognizes that his relationship with Mr. Trump may be fodder for critics.

"He has always shown respect to not only me, but the division that protected him," Curran said. "We have a bond, probably for life."

Any president chafes at restrictions on their freedom of movement, although Curran declined to name any specific incidents. "If I could broadly speak on this, he and I have had a lot of those tough conversations," he said. "He was always very respectful of my opinion and what we needed to do, and he never once pushed back."

The moment in Butler, Pennsylvania — and the photos — made Curran a public figure overnight. His face is now plastered on book covers, billboards, t-shirts, tattoos.

Curran would prefer to not be recognized. "I'm a private guy," he said. "This position by nature — our role is to kind of be in the shadows. We are not to be part of the picture. Pun intended, I guess."

Last week, Curran got a phone call from a former Secret Service agent who, perhaps more than anyone, understood that unwanted spotlight. Clint Hill, 93, was best known for leaping onto the back of President John F. Kennedy's limousine after the president was shot. Hill died on Friday, just one day after reaching out to Curran.

"I guess he feels like we had a connection," Curran said. "So he wanted to talk to me. That was that."

1 note · View note

sanibabe9999 · 5 days ago

Text

Sean Curran, "the unknown" leading the Secret Service

The photo was instantly legendary: former President Trump with his fist in the air, blood seeping from his right ear and an American flag flying overhead.

The Secret Service made some preliminary plans for how to accommodate Mr. Trump if he were convicted in his four criminal trials and ultimately sentenced to prison time.

In a break with agency precedent, Giuditta is the first political appointee to serve as senior adviser to the Secret Service.

Not everyone inside the agency is certain Curran is the right guy for the job — field agents aren't typically chosen to lead the Secret Service and its more than 8,000-member workforce.

Curran, who has been at Mr. Trump's side on the golf course, on and off planes, in and out of meetings, recognizes that his relationship with Mr. Trump may be fodder for critics.

"He has always shown respect to not only me, but the division that protected him," Curran said. "We have a bond, probably for life."

The moment in Butler, Pennsylvania — and the photos — made Curran a public figure overnight. His face is now plastered on book covers, billboards, t-shirts, tattoos.

"I guess he feels like we had a connection," Curran said. "So he wanted to talk to me. That was that."

0 notes

newsusa1111 · 5 days ago

Text

Sean Curran, "the unknown" leading the Secret Service

The photo was instantly legendary: former President Trump with his fist in the air, blood seeping from his right ear and an American flag flying overhead.

The Secret Service made some preliminary plans for how to accommodate Mr. Trump if he were convicted in his four criminal trials and ultimately sentenced to prison time.

In a break with agency precedent, Giuditta is the first political appointee to serve as senior adviser to the Secret Service.

Not everyone inside the agency is certain Curran is the right guy for the job — field agents aren't typically chosen to lead the Secret Service and its more than 8,000-member workforce.

Curran, who has been at Mr. Trump's side on the golf course, on and off planes, in and out of meetings, recognizes that his relationship with Mr. Trump may be fodder for critics.

"He has always shown respect to not only me, but the division that protected him," Curran said. "We have a bond, probably for life."

The moment in Butler, Pennsylvania — and the photos — made Curran a public figure overnight. His face is now plastered on book covers, billboards, t-shirts, tattoos.

"I guess he feels like we had a connection," Curran said. "So he wanted to talk to me. That was that."

0 notes