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politicalmamaduck · 4 years

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Mother of the Rebellion

Padme Amidala survives Mustafar, and goes on the run with her babies. With the help of her four dearest friends, they sow the seeds of rebellion across the galaxy. Read it on AO3 here.

(Author’s note: After three years, I’m finally writing this again. I hope you’ll join me for the journey; I am hoping to update weekly.)

Chapter: 1 | 2

Halfway across the galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi commed Alderaan. He breathed deeply and trusted the Force. He had not yet been discovered, and he preferred to keep it that way. His weekly conversations with Bail Organa’s new political aide were his only contact with the wider galaxy. He had work to do that depended on the utmost secrecy. For now, Tatooine’s desert and twin suns were his only companions.

He both hoped and dreaded the day he heard from Padmé Amidala again, for he knew what she would ask of him when he did. He would do right by her children, though he failed their father. He remembered his promise to his dying Master; he trained the boy, but at what cost?

Obi-Wan did not allow himself the solace of emotion. There is no emotion, there is peace.

He repeated this to himself while he waited for an answer. He knew his contact would be busy; it was nearly noon on Alderaan. He settled in, listening to the moisture vaporators hum, and told himself that everything was due to the Force’s will.

On Alderaan, Sabé Carbonell, alias Salia Colometa, former handmaiden to the Queen of Naboo, slipped out of Senator Organa’s offices and down the hallway to her private quarters. She would not risk the Senator being implicated in anything that could harm his political career, though she knew what he discussed with Mon Mothma and Padmé before her disappearance. She could not think of her best friend as dead, even though she knew she needed to. She wept real tears at the funeral; that was not an act. The outpouring of grief in Theed’s streets moved her desperately, and she longed for the day when the streets would once more be filled with light and laughter, instead of mourning and sorrow.

When Padmé returns, she thought.

In the meantime, she looked forward to her weekly conversations with the lost Jedi Master. There was something so comforting, so soothing about him, even in this time of duplicity and upheaval.

She smiled as her comm pinged, and sought to take refuge in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s voice.

…

Padmé loved her children dearly; she always wanted to be a mother, a young mother like her beloved sister Pooja.

She never planned to live a furtive life, but she started down this path the minute she told Anakin Skywalker that she loved him.

She was unsure whether she had lived two lives, or half of one. Would it have been enough? Would anything have been enough?

For three years she spent her days fighting for what she believed was right, and nights entwined with the man she loved.

She knew her life would change dramatically when she realized she was pregnant. She did not expect it to change as dramatically as it did.

The Republic’s collapse, Palpatine’s machinations, Anakin’s betrayal, the Jedi Order’s destruction.

Far too many good lives were lost, including Padmé’s own, supposedly.

She needed time, but she knew every moment was borrowed. She needed to grieve, to adjust to being a mother, to find allies and build a rebellion.

She could trust Bail Organa and Mon Mothma.

She knew her sister like her own mind--Pooja would coordinate with her handmaidens on Naboo.

And Sabé, dear Sabé, the sister of her heart, her loyal decoy and bodyguard--Sabé and Tonra went to Alderaan to support Bail and Breha.

Obi-Wan Kenobi went to Tatooine, where they knew Anakin would never look.

But now it was time to begin to set their plans into motion. It would be difficult, but Padmé would do anything to build a better galaxy for her children.

She thought she was building a better galaxy all those years as Queen and Senator. She would not let those years go to waste, all the dreams and plans and legislation she left behind.

She would continue to speak out against slavery, to free as many slaves as she could. They hadn’t done enough to save Anakin’s mother, and she would regret it for the rest of her life. In Shmi’s memory, she would do everything she could to keep fighting until her last breath to end slavery across the galaxy.

Padmé spent her days writing as quickly as she could her many ideas, plans, and attempts to reconstruct legislation she abandoned in her office on Coruscant. She would not refer to it as Imperial Center. The Senate still existed, though it was entirely useless due to the Emperor’s decrees and dictates. Bail and Mon would keep fighting there, however. They would not let democracy’s light be extinguished.

But without the Jedi, without anyone to physically fight for that light, how long could they all last? How could they protect Force sensitive children across the galaxy? Padmé was certain Palpatine already developed nefarious plans for children like hers.

Padmé was not sure if she was ashamed to admit she prayed her children would not display their father’s gifts, but even at their young age, she knew they both inherited Anakin’s power. Her babies had a bond she would never understand, and they would need help as they grew older.

She needed help, though she was loath to admit it, and she was lonely.

She could risk a comm, then she would move again. She had few possessions that truly mattered anymore. She traveled as lightly as she could, though with two babies and their assorted paraphernalia, light travel was not truly possible.

Padmé had never traveled light as a Queen or Senator. There was always makeup and a wardrobe that came with her, plus the many people in her security detail, and various droids.

Padmé was fortunate that she never experienced depression until after her children were born. Those first few days were a blur of Padmé sobbing and her children wailing, all adjusting to their new life, their new normal.

Obi-Wan, kind and patient, came by her room to check on her every few hours and hold the babies, helping to soothe them.

He was as gentle as he could be when he told her what happened on Mustafar. Though Padmé had not believed him on Coruscant when he told her Anakin turned to the Dark Side, she could see the truth of it in Obi-Wan’s haunted gaze now.

In her labor and delirium she didn’t notice his wounds or the scorch marks on his worn tunic, but she did during their quiet conversations in the first few days of Luke and Leia’s lives. He took care to launder and darn them as best he could, but once they left Polis Massa, he could no longer wear a Jedi’s garb, for far too few survived Order 66, as they now knew it.

Padmé wept for the man who once was her husband.

Padmé wept for Anakin Skywalker, in all his potential, what he could have been for the galaxy.

Padmé wept for Darth Vader, cursed to live in the hell of a mechanized suit by the Emperor’s side.

She wondered what the point of living was until one of her babies cried again, and somehow, she found the strength to emerge from bed and clutch her child to her.

This continued for the few precious days they all spent together on Polis Massa, and then for the next few months Padmé hid with her children in a small apartment on a long forgotten world. It was as safe as anything could be, a nondescript planet inhabited mostly by humans. Though she would not admit it, Padmé desperately missed adult company and conversation. She missed her fulfilling career, her colleagues and friends. She missed her husband.

Each day blurred into the next in an endless cycle until Sabé commed her from Alderaan.

Padmé knew she looked exhausted and disheveled, and would not have cared save for the concern and love in Sabé’s eyes. She offered to come and help with the children, but Padmé assured her they were doing fine, and it was not worth the risk.

The next day, Padmé started writing. Sabé managed to access not only the security data from Padmé’s old office on Coruscant in the first days after the Republic’s fall, but also the many files containing draft legislation. They were safe with Bail on Alderaan, and he would put them to good use.

Padmé wished she had them, but they did not dare risk the file transfer. She wrote as much as she could remember, and made notes whenever they came to mind.

She started journaling, trying to make sense of her conflicting emotions and how she had lost the two things she loved the most. She would learn to love her children even more than her husband or the Republic. Each day they grew stronger, and each day she worried that somehow, someway, the Empire would find them.

#padme amidala #padme lives au #sabe #obi wan kenobi #star wars #fan fiction #my writing #my moodboards

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ladyfogg · 7 years

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Sick Like Me - Part 14/20

Fic Summary: With unfinished business hanging over your head, being locked up in Arkham is holding you back. However, you have your eye on a certain red-haired maniac, who may be just the person to help you escape and realize your true potential. Fic Song. Fic Playlist. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Jerome Valeska/Female Reader

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, for a complete list of warnings, visit AO3.

A/N: Still working on drafting future chapters but I just got a fic commission so I'm gonna be tied up with that for a bit. So the next update to this won't be for about two weeks. Enjoy!

Greenwood is not pleased.

As soon as the four of you step into the penthouse, he rips the earpiece out and rounds on you. “A kill switch?!” he exclaims.

Glaring, you cross your arms. “Yeah, a kill switch,” you say. “Dobkins was going to rat on us the second they got him to the precinct. I did what I had to do.”

“A brilliant decision, as always,” Jerome commends, giving you a slight bow. He removes his earpiece and hands it back to you.

“How can you be okay with this?” Greenwood demands as Aaron also hands over his communicator. “She can kill us at any time when we wear these!”

“You're assuming I can’t kill you at any time period,” you say. “Greenwood, I could have had you choked to death the second I met you.”

“You can’t--”

“I can.” You snap your fingers. “Aaron, take care of Greenwood.”

The giant man doesn't even hesitate. He reaches out and wraps his large hand around Greenwood’s neck. Behind you, Jerome moves in close. His chest touches your back, rising and falling with excited harsh breathing.

“Finish it. Please,” he whispers in your ear.

Tempting.

As Greenwood struggles however, you decide not to kill him. Not yet anyway. He's still useful to Jerome as a lackey. “Aaron, that's enough,” you order.

Aaron looks confused but releases Greenwood, who collapses onto the ground as he coughs violently. Jerome makes a noise of disappointment. You ignore him in favor of stepping forward, kneeling down to Greenwood’s level.

“You keep making the mistake of underestimating me,” you say. “If I wanted to get my hands dirty, I wouldn't even have Aaron do it. I'd do it myself.”

It's amazing that after everything he's witnessed, he still thinks he’s better than you. Hilarious.

“I’m in charge here. I got us out. I am hiding us from the GCPD. And if one of you is going to turn on me, I will get rid of you. I don't like loose ends. I told you once before that you needed to prove yourself useful. And you have. But make no mistake; you are dispensable. Clear?”

Greenwood clenches his jaw, eyes downcast. Silently, he nods.

Jerome claps excitedly. “Glad we got that sorted out!” he exclaims. “Great job team! Now, I know Dobkins botched the execution. But that just means we need to plan something even bigger and better for next time. We need something grand. A showstopper.”

“There’s a benefit dinner happening in a few weeks,” you say, standing straight. “Gotham’s elite will be there. The richest of the rich.”

Jerome's eyes shine and he starts to pace. You can see that his mind is going a mile a minute as he brainstorms ideas. “So many plans so little time!” he grins.

“You can focus on that,” you say. “In a few days I move on my stepmother.”

“What do you need from us?” Greenwood croaks as he stands.

“Nothing. Not on this one,” you say. “It's personal. I'd rather handle it myself.”

Jerome's smile fades and he looks put out. “I want to be there when you kill the bitch,” he says.

You had considered bringing him with along. The need to have him close by your side is great. However, with the GCPD on high alert, you think it's best he sit this one out.

“Too risky,” you say, removing your jacket. “Besides, if things go south then you need to be here to run the show.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a servant appears with a bow. “The visitor you sent for has arrived.”

Perfect. Your contact has finally pulled through.

“Excellent, show him to my study,” you say. The servant leaves and you address the men. “Don't interrupt unless it's an emergency.”

You know Jerome is angry with the dismissal, and bristling at the idea of you having a visitor, but you've waited quite impatiently for this person and you're not going to wait longer than you have to. Which is why you arranged for him to be picked up and brought to you. When you arrive, the room is empty, so you take time to make yourself presentable.

A few seconds later, the door opens and Oswald Cobblepot limps in, a thick envelope clutched in his hand.

“Oswald! Nice to see you again,” you say, crossing to meet him.

“Were the black bag and muscled bodyguards necessary for this visit?” he asks, annoyed.

“Of course,” you say. “Can't just let anyone know my super secret hideout.”

Oswald adjusts his suit jacket with indignation. “You're looking well,” he says with a forced smile. “It's Queenie now, right?”

You share an air kiss to each cheek. “It is,” you say. “Man, how long has it been? Last time I saw you, my father had dragged me and that wife of his to Fish's club.”

“Yes, it has been long,” Oswald comments. “And look at us now. You murdered your father, and I run that club.”

“We were always the smart ones,” you grin.

Despite the familiarity and light conversation, you're no fool. You and Oswald aren't friends. Not by a long shot. There's a tone of distrust under the false pleasantries. This is a business relationship. One you need to cash in on.

“Please, have a seat,” you offer, gesturing to the armchairs by the window.

“I can’t stay, unfortunately,” he declines. “I have a club to run, as you know.”

There's a beat, both of you trying to feel the other out. With anyone else you would insist they stay, maybe pout if you have to. However, you can sense Oswald won't back down, so you don't bother dragging this out. “Did you come across any trouble?” you ask.

“Please,” he scoffs. “You insult me.” You extend your hand for the envelope, but he looks at it with amusement and raises his eyebrows. “Our agreement first.”

“Of course.” You force a smile and draw your phone out of your pocket. Oswald watches carefully as you make a show of transferring the agreed upon money to his account. “There. All set.”

Oswald smiles back, slapping the envelope into your hand. “Pleasure,” he says, offering you a slight bow. “Never liked that woman. Too handsy.”

You draw out the photos of your stepmother. “Among other things,” you agree, carrying the packet to your desk. “Security still tight?”

Oswald follows. “Seems so,” he says. He shuffles through the photos as you spread them out. “These were taken a few days ago. She has a full team. Patrols like clockwork.”

“Any sign of the GCPD?” you ask.

Oswald nods, selecting one or two images that show the unmarked police cars. “There are surveillance vans everywhere. I'd be careful.”

“But where's the fun in that?” you smirk.

Oswald gives a genuine grin at your response. “I thought you might like the challenge,” he says. “Are you bringing the ginger maniac with you?”

“No,” you say, flipping through the photos. “You said these were taken a few days ago?”

“Yes. I had my men back-off when Jim Gordon stopped by.”

“That man just can't mind his own business,” you growl.

“Agreed,” Oswald grumbles. “Well, as lovely as this was, I must be going.” He limps to the door before stopping to look back your way. “Once things calm down, feel free to pay the club a visit.”

“Oh I will,” you assure him. “Save a booth for me.”

As soon as he leaves, you sit down in your chair and get to work examining the photos more closely. You become so engrossed in your work, that not even the soft click of the study door opening is enough to draw your attention.

Now that you have some visual assistance, you're able to begin constructing a plan.

Jerome suddenly drops across your desk, scattering the photos. “Pay attention to me,” he demands.

Torn between amusement and annoyance, you glare. “You get all my attention at night,” you say. “What do you want? Also don't you have your own planning to do?”

“I'm coming with you,” he announces. “You need me.”

Amused, you lean back in your chair. “Oh do I?” you question.

Jerome glares, swinging his legs around to rest on either side of you. “Yes, you do,” he growls. “And I don't appreciate being dismissed.”

“Oh boo hoo,” you mock. “Look who's all butt-hurt.”

You move to stand, but as soon as you do Jerome grabs you, arms and legs wrapping around you to secure you in place. “Don't mock me,” he demands. “You're not leaving my sight. I'm going with you.”

You reach up to grab his cock through his pants, and though he jerks with surprise, he doesn't let you go. “And do what?” you question. As you lean in, lips brushing his cheek, you give him a hard rub. “What are you gonna do for me, J?”

“Whatever you need,” Jerome grunts.

You consider his words and look back down at the photos. There’s a chance this is all a trap. Gordon was poking around the place, and you trust Oswald about as far as you can throw him. Having Jerome with you could provide an edge. Plus, you do need a way to draw security’s attention.

“I need a distraction,” you conclude.

“I'm good at those, remember?” Jerome grins. He turns his head so your lips are touching.

You laugh, slipping your arms around his neck and completing the kiss. “Clearly.”

Jerome hungrily bites at your lips, letting out an obscene grunt. “We're more dangerous together than apart,” he pants between kisses. “We shouldn't separate. Not now.”

“It could be a setup,” you say, pushing against him until he's laying on the desk.

“That's what makes it even more fun!” Jerome laughs, yanking you on top of him. “Now ride me. I've wanted you bouncing on my dick since this morning.”

---

The house looks exactly the same. It's enough to give you that tightening feeling in your chest and stab of anger. You watch from the hedges in the backyard, Jerome at your side.

“Keep in contact when you can,” you remind him, fiddling with your earpiece. “If all else fails, we meet back here.”

Jerome nods with understanding. He grabs your face and slips you the tongue, before yanking away with a grin. “Give her hell, doll face.”

“Make them run, puddin’.”

Another grin flashed your way and then he's gone in the direction of the garage. You're left alone, waiting for Jerome to do his part.

This is it. The last couple of days have been torture. You’ve wanted this moment for so long; your hands are practically twitching. The pistol strapped to your ankle feels heavy. You resist the urge to grab it. Not yet. You’d rather do this with a knife anyways. More poetic you think.

After another minute of waiting, you grin as smoke starts to rise from the direction of the garage. Security guards rush to check out the source, and Jerome’s voice sings in your ear, “Yourrrrrr turrrnnnnn!”

You make your move.

The vines leading up to your window are still strong and you climb them swiftly. Using your knife, you manage to pop the lock, and slip into the house.

What was once your bedroom is now a home gym, complete with a full range of equipment. You snort with disbelief and carefully tip-toe across the room. With a strange feeling of deja vu, you crack open the door and peek into the hall.

No one in sight.

The house is different, and yet the same as you slowly creep along. Now that you're inside, that sick feeling in your stomach is back. The sooner you're out of this place, the better. You have to duck into the hall closet when you hear voices, but they fade as quickly as they come.

“In the house,” you whisper to Jerome. “What's your position?”

“Not under, above, in front, or behind you, so very boring actually,” Jerome says. “Oops. Guard ahead. Gotta go.”

He's not the only one who needs to keep moving.

You slip out of the closet and continue on. Downstairs, you hear the fire alarm is going off in the garage on the other side of the house. It's drawing the attention of the guards, allowing you to move with relative ease.

And then you see her. At least from the back.

She's standing with one of the guards, wringing her hands as they wait for a status report.

“Get her to the study,” someone says over the walkie-talkie. “She may need to be evacuated.”

Silent as a mouse, you sprint down the hall and into the room they're heading toward.

Your father's study is large with two exits. One is being guarded, but you sneak up on the man and slit his throat with no problem. Dragging him into a corner, you have mere seconds to lock one door and hurry to wait behind the other.

You just get into position when you hear the knob on the locked door turn, followed by retreating footsteps. Excellent. They're going around.

Your excitement cannot be contained and you grin, clutching the knife. The door creaks open and your stepmother walks into the room. Without warning you slam the door shut and lock it. She jumps and spins around. You grab her, slamming her against the wall as hard as possible. But as you press the tip of the knife under her chin, the wig slips away and you find yourself staring at Lee.

She glares back defiantly. “Hello, Queenie,” she says.

Surprised, angry, and slightly amused, you give a dark chuckle. “Well, well, hello, to you too, beautiful,” you say.

Behind you there's a click and you glance over your shoulder to find Jim pointing his gun. “We were expecting you,” he says.

No one speaks for a moment. Fucking Oswald. He's so on your list.

“Hello, Detective Gordon,” you eventually say. “You look dashing, as always.”

Jim steps away from the secret door behind the bookcase. “Put the knife down, Queenie,” he orders. “It's over. We have you.”

“I see you found the back entrance,” you giggle. Over the earpiece, Jerome giggles as well.

“I'm trying,” he says, making you grin wider.

Jim doesn't look amused and Lee even rolls her eyes. You yank her forward and spin so she's between you and Gordon, your knife still at her throat. “So what have you done with the bitch?” you ask, ignoring his warning.

“She safe from you,” Lee snaps. “Away from this place.”

“Away from the house maybe. But I know she's still in Gotham. She’d never leave. Can't say I'm exactly surprised to see you here, Jim,” you drawl. “I am, however, delighted to see you again, Lee.”

You lean in close, nuzzling her neck. She freezes in place and Jim's grip on his gun tightens.

“If you knew this was a trap, why did you come?” Jim questions.

You press your cheek to Lee's as you mockingly ponder his inquiry. “Hmmm. Well, many reasons, really,” you say. “Curiosity. Ambition. Boredom. Take your pick. Mostly it was because I didn't know for sure and I couldn't pass up a chance if she was here.”

Lee’s body is radiating warmth and you carefully press your free hand on her stomach, drawing her closer. She's still frozen in place and Jim is gripping his gun so tight, his knuckles are white. The doctor smells wonderful. Like vanilla and honey.

You feel your body tingling and you brush your lips against her ear as you say, “You know, I'm feeling very into you right now. If I was capable of an erection, it would be poking you persistently.”

“I've said it before and I'll say it one more time,” Lee grumbles. “I'm not having sex with you.”

“Are you sure?” you purr, hand sliding downward.

Before you can touch any lower, Jim cocks his gun. “Queenie, let her go,” he orders. “Back up will be here any second. You're done.”

“But she's so soft and warm,” you say.

Lee suddenly grips your wrist with one hand and elbows you in the stomach. You stumble backwards, dropping the knife and giving her enough leeway to break free. She tries to get out of the line of fire, but you dive tackle her to the ground.

Jim moves in close to intervene, however you manage to gain the upper hand. Rolling onto your back you wrap your arms and legs around Lee, once again putting her in the way of Jim's gun. This time you seize your pistol and press the barrel to her temple.

“Okay, I came out to have a good time and am honestly feeling so attacked right now,” you pant. “Next time you see Oswald, tell him we are going to sit down and have a chat.”

“Where are Jerome and the others?” Jim demands.

Great question. Jerome must have heard because his voice comes into your ear. “Ask and you shall receive.”

“Why don't you just take the shot, Jimmy?” you egg Gordon on. “What? You afraid of hitting her?”

It's true. He's terrified, though masking it very well. He's so focused on you, he doesn't sense the bookcase door move behind him.

“How did you escape?” he demands, chancing another step closer. “We know you had outside help. I want names!”

“Oh I can give you a fuck ton of names,” you say, struggling to maintain your hold on Lee as she fights you. “Whether or not they'll help you is irrelevant.” Lee presses into you in her attempt to escape and you groan slightly. “Keep that up, Doc, and you're going to have to finish what you're starting.”

In the distance you hear sirens and it makes you pout.

Jim smirks. “See? I told you,” he says.

“Well, looks like we better hurry then,” you say.

“Jim!” Lee shouts suddenly.

Jim turns around to find Jerome standing behind him. “Surprise!” the redhead grins.

He hits the detective across the face with a heavy book, knocking him out cold. Jim falls to the ground with a thud. Jerome whistles as he tosses the book onto the desk. When he looks down at you and Lee, he giggles.

“Don't you two look close,” he notes.

“You're both insane,” Lee spits. “And you'll get what's coming to you.”

Jerome shrugs and scoops up Jim's gun. “Blah, blah, blah,” he says. “You done playing, doll face? We've got company coming. Seems this was a trap after all.”

“Wish I could play more, but she's not into it. Shame,” you say. Jerome points the gun at her and you let her go. “Up you get, Doc.”

Carefully Lee gets to her feet, hands in the air. You hop up and dust yourself off. “Well, pleasurable as always, Lee,” you say, saluting with your pistol.

You hear the sound of the doors on either side being pounded on.

“Time to go,” Jerome says, yanking you in close. “Do you want to take her with us?”

Lee pales, lips pursed tightly. You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “It's no fun if she's not willing,” you say. “We're criminals not animals. Though she does have a nasty habit of getting in our way.”

Jerome presses his lips to your ear. “We should probably kill her then,” he whispers.

One of the doors give a dangerous crack. “No time,” you say, pulling him toward the bookcase. “Plus, she'll be useful later. Let's get out of here.”

With eyes still trained on Lee, you and Jerome back out through the secret door, shutting it behind you.

Whistling, he pulls the small bottle of accelerant out of his pocket. He sprays it across the back of the bookcase and creates a puddle on the floor. You both back up as he lights the lighter and tosses it.

The door goes up in flames and he laughs while you yank on his hand, pulling him along to make your escape.

#jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska fanfiction #sick like me #ladyfoggdrabbles

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