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officialgomezaddams · 3 years

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Morality

I honestly dk what this is but its set in AOTC kinda want to turn this into a little series $wag also shout out to my fellow nihilists this is for you bb

Palpatine had always kept watchful over her but never loomed. It would have been too obvious. When he met Anakin, it was like a breath of fresh air, a realization that this little boy was destined to restore the balance in the force and his daughter, Y/n, would be the one to defeat him. He had begun the idea of his daughter once he joined the Darkside, already knowing that the possibility to be overthrown was something he couldn’t let happen. The dark energy, the power, was simply too much to let go of. The moment he saw the nine-year-old boy, the lord was happy to know that the power would stay on the dark side.

Dooku trained Y/n as a padawan, and when he left the order, he took Y/n with him, kidnapping her into the night. When she asked why they were leaving the temple as he dragged her into a ship, he simply replied, “Sometimes when politicians can’t do their job, we must do something ourselves.” Over the years together, he would open up more, telling Y/n about the death of Qui-Gon and every step that drove him to leave.

“The Jedi rely on selflessness. To strip one’s ability to have connection and emotion. They lose themselves in conformity. We need to take control of the life we’re given. Emotion, passion, drive. Those are how we will be victorious. Corrupt politicians pull the Jedi around like kites on strings. You can not try and save a house that its lousy foundation has torn down. Tear it down and build a new one.”

It was her job to ensure just that, a new foundation set within the heart of the Darkside. Relentless training to mentally and physically defeat the chosen one. Palpatine would often tell her that her destiny was a part of the Sith Two, that the strongest one of the two would survive, and it was to be her. Darth Sidious found comfort that his creation would take over the Darkside once she had killed him and the Count. The most decisive Jedi ruling on the side of the night.

She didn’t quite understand it, but to stay on the Darkside made the most sense to her. It wasn’t about power. It was the lifestyle. Why be selfless if there was no personal gain? Why spend a life living for something else? Shouldn’t one live their life for themselves? Everyone, she determined, had to want something. As long as she did what she wanted, it was enough. It had to be. Because without drive and her idea of what was truly right and wrong, how would she get anything done?

She rationed that it all didn’t matter. She would never know who was right because, in her mind, the concept of being right varied too much. The Jedi thought they were right, the sith thought they were right, the politicians who voted against their people’s needs thought they were right. She had to suffer through Palpatine’s long lectures about how awful the senate was and now terrible the Jedi Order is. But who was to say he was right? That was only his opinion. Who was to say the Jedi were right because a frog that was almost nine hundred years old said so?

“I’m just…” Anakin went on, pulling a piece of grass out of the ground. “I mean, I don’t know. Padmè is beautiful and wonderful. She’s everything that could make someone perfect: marriage, it’s so permanent. I know I’m supposed to be excited, which I am, of course. But what if we were not supposed to be together.”

His speech made her frown. “Sometimes, it’s better just to dive in and see where you land.” She offered. The dreams with Anakin were a peaceful escape to a Jedi’s life. Neither knew why their dreams brought them together or what they even meant. Neither of them bothered, living the same training life on opposite sides. A sweet dream was the perfect reward. “And who are you going to be with then, me?” She teased back.

The setting of the dreams was in the meadows of Naboo. The pastel-colored flowers stood dim in the moonlight from the starry night above. Anakin laid with his head in her lap as they talked about their personal lives, never going in too deep about what their destinies were. Anakin no longer had the pressure of being the chosen one, and Y/n never had to admit she would kill the chosen one.

“I wish,” Anakin admitted, now looking up at her. “I want so bad to meet you Y/n, not just in my dreams but in real life. If I could have you by my side, all of this would be less confusing. I’ve fallen in love with you, a woman in my dreams. Why can’t you be in my reality?”

“Don’t say that,” She whispered. Whenever Anakin talked about his little girl-thing, Y/n wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what their relationship was, and she always felt a slight nic in her heart. Y/n knew that she was in love with Anakin, but to hear about another woman making him the happiest he’s been in the majority of the years that she knew him, that it wasn’t her, the one sneaking in kisses with him in the shadows. It brought out an ugly feeling of jealousy and possessiveness to Y/n that she didn’t know she had.

“I promise, one day, I’ll be with you in all the ways you want.” She spoke with a smile. She would often daydream about what life would be like to meet him real-time. They would run up to each other and crush each other in a hug. She imagined it all.

“Tell me about it,” Anakin edged on, closing his eyes as if it was going to play out in his head.

“Well, I want to go somewhere like D’Qar, somewhere quiet where I won’t have to worry about neighbors or anyone I don’t want finding me. Or us, because you’re coming with me no matter what your soon-to-be wife says,” You teased, making him laugh. “Maybe- Sometimes in my dreams, there’s no Padmè, it’s just us, and every so often there are kids, but it’s just us. Tucked away where we can be together, and nothing can bother us or stop us from being together.”

The silence that sat in between them began to scare Y/n, “Is that a future you would want with me?”

His eyes met hers, a peaceful moment in the chaos of their lives. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, behind her ear. “If I were able to, I would.”

“And why can’t you? Why can’t you have the things you want, Anakin? Is it wrong to be happy?”

Waking up from the dreams was always the most challenging part, the reality of it not being a reality. Y/n woke up already in a bad mood, mentally kicking herself for pushing too far in. Of course, he wouldn’t want to. He’s getting married to someone else. You’re too late. It had always been Y/n’s plan to end up with Anakin in some way or another. From the first dream to now, she decided to leave the Sith once she had killed the chosen one. Somedays, she would pace around, impatiently waiting for whoever held the title to cross her path so she could just finish the job and take the next ship to wherever Anakin was.

She tore the necklace he had given her off her neck, clutching the carven japor snippet in her hand with a grip so hard she could have cracked it if it wasn’t made out of stone. She was squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to cry. Anakin had given Y/n the good luck charm when they were at the age of thirteen. Y/n was upset that once everything was over that he may not want to be with her, the reputation of her choices would drive him away.

“Well, you can’t be that bad,” He commented, pulling out the carved stone from his pocket and shyly handing it to her. “I made this for you,” Anakin explained as she put it around her neck, “So that when good things happen, you can think of me. It’ll be my way of keeping you safe, and in return, one day, you will come to me safely.”

She opened her eyes and stared at the carvings, remembering how Anakin said he made it just for her, so she better not lose it. Y/n wanted to break it, throw it away, and never see Anakin again. She wanted more than just the dreams. She wanted the sunsets and the early morning and the rainy days - all of it. Maybe they were wrong, they weren’t supposed to meet, and it was just a nice dream.

She couldn’t do that. She at least owes him a simple greeting, and then she can get rid of him. Putting the necklace back on and wiping her face to make sure she wasn’t crying, Y/n walked out of the room, ready for whatever the sith wanted her to do.

“Just be patient,” Her master told her as they waited outside the still open ship. Geonosis was overrun with battle, the sith fighting tooth and bone to claim the planet as its capital, the major droid foundries, and its Mandalorians. Nothing could be more perfect for the sith. The two force signatures caught Y/n’s attention. Looking up at Dooku, she told him, “Well, let’s make it quick then.”

“The chosen one will be here,” he whispered back. “I’ll leave that one to you.”

“You’re gonna pay for all the Jedi you killed, Dooku,” A familiar voice said as you both turned around in unison. “Y/N?” A pit dropped in her stomach. It was him, Anakin. Anakin’s blue saber was pointed at the ground, more focused on her than the older man.

The necklace he gave her burned her through her robes. Anakin was finally there in front of her. This Anakin was different from her dreams. He stood with more pride and confidence. He was also the chosen one. “I-I didn’t expect to meet you like this,” She told him, knowing full well once on the ship, she would be interrogated about her knowledge of the boy.

“Why are you with him?” The venom in his voice almost made her feel guilty about being who she was. “Are you-? Don’t tell me Y/n-” He couldn’t find the words to express his confusion and disappointment, “You’re a Sith. How can you be with them? You lied to me! Can’t you see what they’re doing to you? Can’t you see what they’ve done!”

“The Jedi know no facts,” She spoke, looking over at the Count, waiting for his head nod and sign of approval to ignite her orange saber. The whole weapon was made for destruction, a perfect saber to kill the chosen one. Its orange glow was representing strength. The curved hilt that matched hers of her masters was perfect for duels and close fights. “Only assumptions.”

It hurt her to have him looking at her in disgust. As if she was suddenly less than him because of her beliefs. “Anakin, you need to calm down,” She warned him as he charged towards her, only for Dooku to step in front of her, raising his hand to send bolds of electricity into the boy’s body and fling him into a rock wall. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Her master spoke before walking up the platform of the ship.

Y/n only had seconds to understand that not only her master had abandoned her, Anakin was also lying limp in a pile of rocks, and the other Jedi was making his way towards her. She pointed her saber straight ahead at him, taking careful steps around him, trying to think about how this all would end. Was this it? When is supposed to kill the chosen one who happened to be the boy Y/n had fallen in love with over the past ten years? She knew that once she killed Anakin, she would have to kill the two sith above her, starting the two over with her as a master.

“I heard the little green guy talks highly of you, Kenobi. What a pity it will be when I kill his two strongest men.”

Obi-wan shook his head, “You’re not Dooku’s apprentice. You’re just an assassin to him. Y/n why would he elect a child to be his successor?” He spoke as if he could read her mind, his blue eyes pleading with her.

“You don’t know anything!” Y/n yelled, making the first strike. His saber skills were advanced, but quickly she was able to disarm him and left two marks on him, one on his arm and one on his thigh. She walked up to him, the two staring at each other. Was she about to kill this man? She had never killed a human before. Taking down droids and other creatures were casual to her. Humans? This man was edging her on with his eyes, both understanding that she wasn’t able to drive her saber into his neck. She couldn’t just kill a man who had done nothing to her. That would be wrong, right? But if it was so bad, why was she encouraged to do it?

Before she could thoroughly choose, Anakin came at full force again. This time his master had tossed him his saber, making the fight two against one. “Why won’t you join our site, the right side?” Anakin asked, swiftly dodging her but failing to make any advancements to disarming her.

“I don’t believe in any right sides.” She told him, knocking the green lightsaber out of his hand, evening out the fight. “I believe in one thing. Power of human will.”

She walked into the ship quietly, ignoring the little green Jedi behind her. She didn’t care about the older man, Yoda or Count Dooku. She walked past the sith and made her way right to the pilot’s seat before sitting down.

Dooku followed her, giving her space as she sat down. Crossing his arms like a disappointed parent, he asked, “Well?”

“I cut his arm off,” Y/n spoke, taking out the necklace and looking at the charm in her hand. She left right after, watching him lay unconscious against his master, missing apart of his right arm. She had hurt him, and for a moment, when she was looking at the injured pair, the padawan’s master had the same look on his face as before. An eyebrow raised as if to say, Do it, kill us. I doubt you’ll do it.

“I’m disappointed in you.” He said. Y/n could have done it. She would have just pictured them as droids and slice the two in half. It would have been quick and painless. She could have plaid her life out, kill the chosen one, rule the sith, and live her life. Why didn’t you? She kept thinking as she admired the gift.

Looking at the charm, the future she talked about seemed too far away, especially now. The end with the boy she loved, Anakin, who also was the boy she was supposed to kill. But for right now, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t kill him, at least not yet, until she knew for sure that her fantasies with Anakin were just wild dreams. It was her own life. Why couldn’t she have the things she wanted?

#anakin skywalker imagine #star wars imagine #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #star wars imagines #anakin imagines #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars x reader

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flor3nces · 4 years

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among us | harry potter x slytherin!fem!reader

hi! just know that ive never read nor watched the harry potter series so this is not 100% accurate. then again this is a bit of my take on how i think these certain characters would act when introduced to a muggle game. although i do have my fair share of knowledge about the characters and such. i might make a part two to this that shows the reader play with the malfoys if they agreee to do so. you can see harry j. potter x reader if you squint just a little bit! anyways, enjoy reading! <3

y/n had recently been into this new game called, “among us.” she was utterly fascinated by the muggle world and would often spend her summers in muggle london as they would call it.

her friends at hogwarts would look at her as if she were crazy everytime she told them she would be spending time there. y/n was used to it though. it never really bothered her.

it took the golden trio a while to warm up to y/n. they weren’t so sure if she was just befriending them to rat them out to umbridge but as time passed they realized that wasn’t the case.

“slow down gryffindors!” y/n had been wanting to play with them ever since she found out about the game when she snuck off one night.

the three friends stopped at the voice. they were discussing what they were going to do for the summer before a certain y/h/c haired girl called out.

hermione loved having another girl around, she could only handle hearing about quidditch so much. the boys weren’t so happy as both the girls often teamed up against in whatever it was they were doing.

“hey y/n.”

the girl sent them a huge smile. “okay, so there’s this new game-“

“if it’s not quidditch, does it really matter?”

y/n raised her brow at ron as if challenging him to continue. the weasley quickly shut his mouth. although he has known her for quite a while now she could still be very intimidating.

“as i was saying, i think we should play it on the first day of summer. i know you three are spending it together so i thought we could play it before that.”

the three looked at one another before looking back at her. they had been wanting to invite her to spend the summer over at the burrow but draco had beaten them to it.

it absolutely baffled them that y/n was even friends with him. although, she was slytherin they figured she wouldn’t want to talk to him as she was friends with them. while it may have been foolish for them to think that, they couldn’t help it.

“what is it?”

harry watched as y/n’s eyes lit up as his question. “okay so,” the girl started walking towards the courtyard, her friends right behind, “it’s called “among us” and it’s a super fun game. it may be a muggle game but merlin is it fun! i played last night with some of my friends and had a blast.”

y/n turned around as she was saying her last words to look at her friends faces. “how do you know about it if you’ve been here at hogwarts all this time?”

hermione rolled her eyes at ron’s stupid question. “she obviously snuck off last night, ronald.” ron shot a glare towards the brunette before turning his attention back towards y/n.

“so, will you guys play? it’s alright if you don’t want to! i just thought you’d guys enj-“

harry cut her off. he couldn’t stand listening to y/n ramble nervously as she thought they might say no. “we’d love to. it sounds like fun.”

again, he didn’t miss the way her eyes light up. “explain the rules and we’ll play tomorrow.”

hermione and ron nodded at their best friends words. y/n couldn’t have been happier. she didn’t think she could handle hearing no from them.

***

“i want to be red, harry!”

y/n had suggested they play on computers. it took her about a good hour or so to teach harry, ron, ginny, the twins, luna and neville how to use it. hermione already knew how as she had grown up with muggle parents and they had a computer of their own at home.

the boys had been arguing over who was going to be red for the past ten minutes. everyone was spread out, but they had mistakenly put ron and harry a bit too close.

almost everyone had already picked out their colors. the twins were black and white. ginny, purple. neville, dark green. hermione, orange. luna, blue. y/n, yellow.

“i’m the chosen one, i should be able to get whatever color i want.”

everyone rolled their eyes at this. harry often pulls the “i’m the chosen one” card everytime he wants something. “harry, for the love of merlin, just let ron be red and you can have light green.”

y/n had had enough of listening to the two boys bicker. hermione was about to yell at them but y/n beat her to it. much to hermione’s dismay, y/n had only used a stern tone with them.

harry glared at ron before grumpily changing his color. ron stuck his tongue out at him and chose the color red with a smile.

the twins snickered at harry’s face. it always brought them so much joy watching harry and ron argue. as they could never stay on a single topic for more than five minutes before moving onto another.

“can i press start now?” neville asked. y/n sent the boy a soft smile before nodding.

***

ginny let out a gasp. everyone’s brows raised at the sound. “where?” y/n asked.

“it was in navigation.”

“right, who killed luna!” luna let out a laugh as she sat back and watched her friends debate on who they thought the imposter was.

“i bet it was ron.” harry was obviously still bitter about having to change his color, not that he’d ever admit it out loud. “oh, shove off harry! i was with you and you know it!”

everyone let out small giggles at this. “it might be one of the twins.” ginny looked at her brothers quickly as she was ready to vote either of them out. “but who?” hermonie was so close to finishing her task and then ginny discovered a body.

“i don’t know nevilles been awfully quiet, you guys.” george said. “yeah, he probably killed luna.” fred added on.

“my vote is still with ron.”

“i was with you the whole time!”

harry mocks ron as he votes. “i’m voting fred.” hermonie nodded at y/n’s words voting for the slightly taller twin aswell.

ginny went for fred while as the twins and neville went for hermonie. ron voted harry just to piss him off.

“what! i’m not the imposter!” hermonie exclaimed. “you were quick to vote for me.” george nodded at his twins words.

***

“stop following me ron!”

y/n was running around aimlessly as she had finished her task and was looking for hermonie. unfortunately, for her ron was starting to follow her.

“why? the buddy system, y/n, the buddy system.”

“screw the buddy system, ron! get away from me.”

fred and neville had found both ron and y/n. “ha! now you can’t kill me because you have witnesses.”

fred went for the kill first. neville following soon after. the gryffindor boys vented to separate places. “y/n and ron were dead in security.”

“it’s fred, i’m telling you guys!”

“no it’s not, hermonie.”

“vote fred. don’t listen to him.”

ginny didn’t have to be told twice. “don’t worry y/n i’ll avenge you!” ron mocked a hurt expression. “and me right?”

“yeah, yeah. you too.” ginny waved her hand dismissively. harry tried to cover up his laugh but failed and let out a snort.

“oh, shut up harry!”

***

everyone quickly became obsessed with the game. the weasleys, hermonie, and harry often writing letters to y/n, asking her when they could play again. neville and luna sending letters as well.

the slytherin girl couldn’t help but feel proud at this. she decided to take her chances and show it to the malfoy’s.

though she knew it might take a whole load of convincing them, she weighed out the pros and cons.

lucius liked her enough to not hex her for asking to play a muggle game. draco had come to adore muggle london, though he would never admit it. and narcissa was always willing to try something new to get her family together.

if they said no, she could always just ask draco to play with her. but even then he might say no. that’d hurt her a bit if he did. y/n didn’t mind playing by herself in a game with random people. she just preferred playing with friends.

“i think we should have a game night.”

bringing it up during dinner was the best idea. that way she’d at least have time to run a few feet from lucius before he’d hex her.

the malfoy’s perked up at this. they haven’t had a family game night ever since draco got into his third year at hogwarts.

narcissa told it upon herself to ask what they were playing, figuring as neither her husband nor son would ask.

“so.. um.. it’s a muggle game?”

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diazpoems · 3 years

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Me watching Riverdale S2:

THE WAY KEVIN IS RAISING HIS HAND TO THE MOTHERFUCKING SKY WHEN HIRAM ASKS FOR A VOLUNTEER FOR A WRESTLING DEMONSTRATION. THIS THIRSTY MOTHERFUCKER. HIS FACE IS PRICELESS.

I wish I could just jump into Riverdale and shake the characters and be like

Cheryl: Your parents fucking suck

Josie: Your parents fucking suck

Veronica: Your parents fucking suck

Betty: Your parents fucking suck

Archie: Your dads okay so far, I don’t know about your mom

Jughead: Your dad used to fucking suck but as a person, at his core, I don’t think he’s evil, and he’s getting better, but he’s got a ways to learn. I don’t know about your mom

Kevin: Your dad’s decent so far? Don’t know about your mom

Like especially Josie because I know it’s hard and that a lot of the trauma her mom felt probably manifested itself badly and Josie probably feels attached to her mom and like she owes her being a good daughter because her mom’s had it bad but like I also DON’T CARE. FUCKING TREAT YOUR CHILD RIGHT. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT HAPPENED. THATS YOUR CHILD. WOMAN UP AND BE A FUCKING DECENT PERSON. I DON’T CARE THAT YOU PUT A ROOF OVER HER HEAD, FOOD IN HER MOUTH, GAVE HER A SINGING CAREER (But continue to control it and not give her leeway to think and act on her own). SHE DON’T OWE YOU SHIT. FUCK OFF WITH YOUR WEIRD LIFE-FUCKING-SUCKED-FOR-ME-BUT-IM-ALSO-A-CLASSIST-BITCH PARADOX. MY DAD’S GOT IT MADE RIGHT NOW BUT HE HASN’T FORGOTTEN HIS ROOTS, HASN’T FORGOTTEN THE DISCRIMINATION HE FACED AND THE FACT THAT HE GREW UP SHIT POOR EARLY ON AND HE HASN’T DECIDED “Hey, let’s ridicule people for being in a similar position that I was in!”

Basically, this is me begging for for Josie’s mom to ✨fucking do better✨

Anyways yeah normalize Riverdale characters disowning their own parents ✌🏽🥰

Hmmm. If I wasn’t completely and utterly for the Serpents before, the white serpents learning to shut the fuck up and stand with Toni and her grandfather in opposition of the genocide and colonialism that was perpetrated by Cheryl’s great great grandfather? Hell fucking yeah

Dude I’m sorta crying at the scene with Hiram seeing Veronica in her confirmation dress because he’s a piece of shit but this is how it goes down, like it’s a whole thing

I love that I immediately knew the meaning of “Catholic chic”. Apparently that’s all going to church every Sunday for the formative years of my life accomplished

I hope Penelope Blossom dies in a fire :)

OH MY GOD, LOVE SIMON CAME OUT RIGHT AROUND HERE, KEVIN IS ASKING MOOSE TO IT, MY COMFORT MOVIE OH MY GOD-

Ugh, I don’t trust Midge. Something about the tropey-ness of her being The Girlfriend™️ and her face, as well as the fact that she played Gen in tatbilb, something doesn’t sit right. The haircut feels too manic pixie, like she’s hiding something. Bad vibes

NOOO CHERYL ILL GO ON A VACATION WITH YOU 😭 GOD IM SO GONE FOR HER

Aaaaand she did some fuck shit. Aaaand Toni is pretty. Aaaand there’s the internalized homophobia.

Jughead saying that growing up Betty’s and Archie’s windows being parallel always bothered him sounds more like a jarchie admission than a bughead one, I’m just sayin’

BETTY AND JUGHEAD’S REACTIONS WHEN THEY HEAR THE BED SQUEAKING IS ME. Like the little amused but lowkey confused and baffled expression on his face as he’s like “is that their solution to everything? Can’t they ever just talk?” Like no apparently not. Me too Jug, me too-

Idk Vee, maybe he’s asking questions about your father’s line of work and the business of his associates because your dad and mom are fucking evil

What the fuck Veronica. I mean yay because that just gets us closer to Jarchie kiss but like what the fuck Vee. Also Jughead is super cute, like why does the blue eyes black hair thing absolutely melt my weak heart, like I didn’t choose to fall for this pasty ass white boy but here we are. Also Veronica’s eyes are really big and dark and pretty like girl help im falling for these two-

BETTY LITERALLY POINTED IT OUT, C’MON NOW CW, I KNOW WE’VE MADE THE MISTAKE OF GROVELING WITH SPN BUT PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU WE NEED A JARCHIE KISS-

CAN HETEROSEXUALS PLEASE STOP FUCKING ALL THE TIME ON TV. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO SHOVE YOUR STRAIGHTNESS IN MY FACE. NOT EVERYONE IS STRAIGHT YOU KNOW.

“Entertain Jughead” 😏

DUDE. They were sitting ALONE. TOGETHER. In the WOODS. With them being the ONLY ones who haven’t kissed. DUDE.

C’MON MAN, THEY’RE STARING FUCKING LONGINGLY AT EACH OTHER

If there are weird gay ships for straights then Jeronica is the weird straight ship for gays

Ok so is there a legitimate reason why Veronica is faithful to her parents and defends them to a tee and partakes in their mob shit or is she just daddy’s little fucking girl. Like it isn’t her fault that she’s been manipulated but it pisses me the fuck off. And people who want her to stay with her parents because supposedly they’re the only ones who love her even though it’s toxic and warped? Like do you have a brain?

Archie and Veronica really love supporting gentrification, classism, and Vee’s rich daddy and mommy’s innocence huh

Look i actually agree with Reggie for once, get Hiram’s ass, deal with it Veronica

Wow, nice, shaming Jug for eating. That’s cool, Arch. That’s awesome. And no Betty, she doesn’t have everybody’s vote. Because Veronica’s parents are motherfuckers and when it comes to choosing between a murderer/abuser/rich/classist/gentrifying fuck and supporting your bestie uwu guess which one im fucking picking. Also, THANK YOU JUG for explaining to your friend that even though he lives in a fantasy land where northside Riverdale is the only one worth referring to when talking about Riverdale at all and thus the only one that matters and is worth protecting, the southside exists and people live and have grown up in the southside and building a prison there where it will be even more easy to profile and incarcerate southside residents under false or exaggerated pretenses ISN’T A GOOD THING. That his own friend isn’t quite apart of his and Veronica’s and Betty’s socioeconomic caste and that he’s not going to pretend like he is, he isn’t going to be quiet about it just because you’re friends again. That he’s not going to lay down and let Archie explain what a good move for Riverdale is when he clearly means northside riverdale, let him explain how the southside needs to be dealt with to someone who grew up on the southside and knows it more (not the most, I’m not saying Jug isn’t out of his depth with certain aspects of being a full southsider) intricately than him. LIKE FUCK. ARCHIE. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO. Like he just doesn’t get why building prisons and stereotyping and condemning all southsiders and gentrifying entire neighborhoods is really fucking bad and a big deal and it annoys me so much. Like yeah Arch, obviously you don’t see the big deal because it doesn’t affect you and you delude yourself that it doesn’t affect your friend either, but it actually is that bad.

In conclusion, Archie and Veronica and sometimes Betty are giving me headaches rn. Like I’m not saying Jughead is perfect at all but in this particular instance he’s the only one I agree with for the most part right now.

Yeah Arch, you see things differently because you’re not the one who’s on the receiving end of the problem

YES MOMMA ANDREWS. SNAP! GO FERAL! SHOW THAT SOB SOME CONSEQUENCES!

Ah, so this is the jarchie “break-up” scene. You know what. I feel no heartbreak. Get his ass Jug.

Get. His. Ass.

They sent Cheryl to a conversion institution. I’m literally crying. This isn’t an exaggeration. I feel like I want to cry. Just. God fucking damn it.

SHE DOESN’T WANT TO GET BETTER. SHE’S NOT SICK. YOU ARE. DIE. FUCKING DIE. BURN IN HELL. AND PENELOPE BLOSSOM TOO.

“That’s not how things go in Riverdale” is a veiled way of saying “don’t challenge the upper class and don’t try to stifle gentrification,” I hope you all know

#she speaks #riverdale #cheryl blossom #josie mccoy #veronica lodge #betty cooper #archie andrews #jughead jones #sierra mccoy #you know how spn and merlin fans have that one tag?#u kno the one #john winchester’s a+ parenting #uther pendragon’s a+ parenting #petition to use the same thing when a riverdale parent does something shitty and manipulative to their kid #sierra mccoy’s a+ parenting

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katherinewilliams221b · 4 years

Text

For A Greater Good 9/18

not my gif just the text (The Art of Transfiguration)

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

“You’re going to get us caught. Act normal or it’s over.”

“I didn’t know what to do. What if it was him?” Cassandra, metal box in hand, approached Kent Jorgensen with a furtive look.

“It wasn’t him.” She handed him the box, “These are the ones I found.”

“Listen to me, Cassandra. How much longer are we going to hold out? One thing is... but attempted murder?”

“It wasn’t him.” He insisted.

“How are you so sure? You really don’t think it’s a possibility?” Jorgensen saw in her eyes how doubt quickly took hold, fear too, but she controlled it.

“And then there’s her. She’s not a bad girl, but she’s starting to ask questions. Have you ever stopped to think about why Astrid brought her so late in the year if not for this?”

“Stop it. You have a meeting now, right? Go.”

“It was nice of you to give her some time off... even though she’s using it to snoop around. Or did you want to get rid of her?”

“I have my moments.”

Kate snaked through the corridors until she found the meeting room Astrid Rhode had told her. She couldn’t wait to see the look on the other teachers’ faces when they saw her there.

The night before, she had been practicing one of the legilimens lessons she had received from Snape, but despite her efforts, she was unable to connect with Charlie’s mind without seeing him and knowing where he was.

On her way to the meeting, she forced herself to open her mind and let all the thoughts and emotions around her envelop her. It was overwhelming, yes, but necessary in order to control it.

She let out a long sigh of exhaustion and despair. Dumbledore did not choose well. The amount of information that was accumulating was difficult to handle, and her attempts to put it all on paper ended in deep confusion.

When she reached the right door, hidden in the darkest tower of the castle, she went to push the knob, but instead of making contact with the metal, her whole body went through the wood and appeared on the other side.

“Welcome.” Astrid, sitting at the end of a long table, greeted her. Several people were already in the windowless room.

Kate responded with a nod and the faintest rise of the corners of her mouth. Her head ached, and she looked around.

Mawut, sitting to Astrid’s left, gave her a bright smile which Kate returned. Next to her, she saw who she thought was the Magical Creatures professor.

She pulled back a few red curls from her shoulder and leaned forward, “Denise Krauss”

“Kate.” She waved.

Mer Yankelevich was looking at her intently from across the table, when Kate looked up at her, her eyebrows raised.

“This I did not expect.” She snorted and pursed her lips in a comical smile before patting the empty chair next to her.

Sitting close to Rhode and with his back to Kate was Libor Marek with his arms crossed. He didn’t bother to turn around to see who had just arrived, he just waited for Kate to sit next to Yankelevich and followed her movements.

Holding her gaze, her lips curled down in a gesture of approval.

“It’s not that surprising.” He said, addressing Yankelevich. He turned his head to look at Rhode and continued, “I have class.”

Astrid raised her eyes from her papers over her reading glasses. “There’s still time. Your students can do without you for ten minutes.”

Another body appeared through the door and Kent Jorgensen came out of the shadows.

“Sorry I’m late... Williams.” Kate couldn’t identify his expression.

Jorgensen sat down next to her and questioned her with his eyes. Kate just shrugged and forced a smile.

“Well, we can get started.” Astrid announced.

Before she could continue, Libor Marek interrupted her.

“Angelov is missing.”

“He’s always late, Astrid starts without him, and Libor gets angry because... well, he gets angry about everything.” Yankelevich whispered in her ear. Paying attention to her, she couldn’t hear the argument between Libor and Astrid.

Jorgensen bent down in front of Kate to include himself in the talk. “He gets angry because he never wants to be here.”

“And you do? We already know what we’re doing here, except for Williams, probably.”

Kate mustered all the willpower she could find and kept her mouth shut. Astrid stood up and asked for silence.

“We will continue without Angelov and Rosberg...” she continued her speech, but Kate only heard Yankelevich’s whisper again, saying she meant the divination teacher.

“It will not be necessary.” Angelov stumbled his way to the chair next to Libor. Rhode gave a sharp nod and ignored Marek’s roll of the eyes.

“I called you as soon as I made my decision. As you know, for the past few weeks, Flavia Hodges has been under supervision as a result of the murder attempts she’s been suffering from.”

Murmurings flooded the room.

“Who said they were trying to kill her?” Leron asked.

Kate leaned over to the table to get Angelov to look at her.

“Hodges herself. And I confirm it. Just like Miss Steiner. She was poisoned and then thrown down the stairs...”

“This was a while ago, Leron, where have you been?” Interrupted Yankelevich.

Kate kept her eyes on Leron, but unlike Jorgensen, his blue eyes couldn’t intimidate her. She quietly challenged him to say another word, but he turned his head to look at Mawut, who was talking.

“Do we know what she was poisoned with?” The coach demanded.

“What does it matter?” Marek retorted. Kate looked away from Libor and squinted her eyes when an idea flashed through her head.

“Yes, with Wee... I’m almost sure with a very high concentration of belladonna.”

For some reason, the conversation she heard through the door of Rhode’s office repeated itself in her head, and she remembered that someone had been stealing potion ingredients.

“Belladonna,” she continued, “is a crucial ingredient of the Weedesoros potion, not only used as a poison but also for various kinds of ailments...”

“And then how are you so sure it was with that?” Jorgensen asked.

Several conversations erupted, and it was proving impossible to keep track of them all at once. Kate looked at Astrid and in a mute agreement, decided not to give any more details.

“Does that tell you anything?” Rhode asked

Mer Yankelevich crossed her legs and shook her head. Leron Angelov rubbed his nose before scratching his neck, and Libor Marek and Kent Jorgensen shared a look.

“It tells me that the person responsible has access to belladonna.” Marek spat.

“Are you trying to say something, Libor?” Jorgensen replied.

It was time to focus on the minds of those present. Unfortunately, Kate sensed so much nervousness in the room that she could not identify where it came from. Her own feelings were interfering with the process, and she sat back in her seat in frustration.

“May I ask you something?” Yankelevich intervened. All eyes were on her. “What is she doing here?” She pointed to Kate with one of his mile-long nails. If she didn’t know Jorgensen was the animagus, she’d think Yankelevich was a hawk, because of her claw-like hands.

“That’s the next point. In light of events, Flavia Hodges will be moved to an institution where she will be protected. I have personally taken care of the paperwork and she will leave this week.”

Kate noticed how Marek turned his head to look at her, but she ignored him and continued to listen to Astrid.

“Miss Williams will take her place temporarily.” Now not only was Marek’s gaze upon her, and the murmurs and complaints erupted again.

Rhode raised a hand before she put her glasses on, effectively silencing those present.

“Now, with this settled, I must communicate to you...” She glanced briefly at Kate and after sighing continued, “that Karkarov has been seen on the castle grounds.”

The reactions to the statement were varied, and Rhode had no choice but to shut the room up again.

“Does that mean he’ll be back?” Yankelevich asked.

“He can’t come back after all that’s happened.” Jorgensen answered.

“Karkarov will not return to the school and I will make sure that he does not stain Durmstrang’s reputation any more. Now, on Flavia’s departure, castle guards will control all entrances and exits to the building, the Quidditch field and the lakes, the ship included.”

A new round of protests and grievances filled the place, and Astrid and Kate looked on.

“I remind you that this is a purely informative meeting and there is no room for debate or vote. If we can prevent the ministries from interfering with Durmstrang, I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

Marek slapped the table. “If that’s all, then I’m leaving.”

Astrid gestured vaguely so he could leave, and in the blink of an eye he had already walked through the door.

Jorgensen and Mawut were next, and Mer Yankelevich followed. Denise Krauss greeted Kate again and left as well.

Leron Angelov stared vacantly at the wall, but after a moment he got up too and left without a word, leaving Kate and Astrid alone.

“I didn’t know you were going to comment on Karkarov.” Accused Kate.

“I wanted to see their reactions.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.. Keep an eye on Marek. He didn’t like the decision to have guards. Are you nervous?”

“For my first day of school? I’m terrified. Although I still have to tell Steiner. I’ll be going now.”

Kate stood behind the desk of room 82 and tried to calm her nerves. When she proposed being a substitute for professor Hodges, she was thinking about getting closer to the other teachers and overlooked a minor detail: she would have to perform as a professor.

She had no training, no experience, and no one to give her advice.

It’s just your first day, Kate, try to know the students, and... and figure out how to teach with this useless book.

The doors of the classroom opened and Hodges’ fifteen children appeared, some fought for their seats, others sat down patiently and a small group entered pushing each other. She moved to the front and leaned on the desk and waited for them to settle. They sat quietly at first, but soon the whispering started.

“Good evening, I’m Kate Williams. I’ll be teaching your herbology classes now that your former professor is... indisposed.”

She mentally winced at the wording and crossed her legs in front of her.

“Okay, well… You won’t have a lesson today because I found out that I would replace Hodges just yesterday so…”

A girl in the front row raised her hand. “We have exams in less than two weeks.”

“I know. I’ll do my best to prepare you as fast as I can for that, but it won’t be easy. However, I’ll talk to headmistress Rhode and try to convince her to let me make some changes.”

The whispering started again and Kate shifted uncomfortably in her spot before grabbing the copy of the book she had with her and opening it to the contents table page.

“You were supposed to get to Unit 5: Soils.” She looked up expecting some sort of confirmation but received silence instead. “So that’s what we’ll try to do.”

She left the book on the table again and crossed her arms.

“How many days a week do you work in the greenhouse?” There was silence again, and that started to make her worried. “Do you go to the greenhouse at all?”

A boy from the third row raised his hand.

“Jon Hopkins, professor. Professor Marek says that Durmstrang is focused on martial magic and Dark Arts. That is over-qualified for plants, professor.”

“Of course he does…” she jumped the small step from where the desk was placed and walked through the space between the two blocks of seats. “I come from a place where herbology is also underestimated, and it is true that plants can be boring, sometimes.”

She turned around and re did the path she made, looking at the students and their desks.

“Do you know any herb or plant a bit more interesting than, let’s say, grass?” She huffed, amused at her own words, and kept pacing.

“Dev... devil’s snare?” Said a timid voice behind her. A boy was looking at her with big blue eyes.

They immediately recognised each other.

“Micael, right?” He nodded, “Devil’s snare! One of my favourites will choke you to death at the first opportunity. It will grab you with its multiple tentacles and won’t let you go…”

She walked to the desk again and hopped on it, sitting with her legs crossed.

“You will learn how to recognise it, how to escape its firm grip if you have the misfortune of encountering one. Come on, more.”

She waited long seconds and observed how they whispered to each other. Afraid of losing control of the class, she kept going,

“Have you ever heard of Venomous tentacula? Its spiky vines will try to trap anything near it. It’s not part of the program, but we can make an exception if you’re interested.”

The girl that spoke to her before murmured something to her classmate on the right, and Kate managed to catch some words.

“Ah, mandrakes. They may seem harmless with their cute little faces…. But listen to their shrieks without protection,” she snapped her fingers in the air, “and you’re history.”

She dropped her hand as she saw the expressions of pure disinterest on their faces and nodded. The clock indicated that there were still thirty minutes left in the class. However, no one had anything else to say.

“Well, you can go now. I promise to have a class ready by Wednesday and we’ll start studying for the exam.”

Everyone left the room as quickly as they could, and Kate looked at their backs as they left. The last kid who left got her attention.

“Michael, can I talk to you?” The boy walked towards her looking at the floor and secured his bag to his shoulder.

“Is it because I haven’t raised my hand to talk? I promise to get it right next time.”

Kate was about to laugh at the absurdity of the phrase when she saw actual fear on Michael’s face and mind.

“No, I’m glad you participated, it made me feel less ridiculous. I wanted to know if you were okay.”

“My wrist doesn’t hurt anymore.” He shifted in his place, still not looking at her.

“That’s not what I meant.” Finally their eyes met. “Are you okay?”

Kate knew the answer and hoped Michael understood what she was asking him. The boy nodded quickly and looked back at the floor.

“I want you to know that in my class you are safe. You can talk without fear and count on me whenever you need to.”

“Do you say that to all the students, or just to me?”

“I say that to everyone. If someone needs help, I’ll give it to them. I thought it was a good idea to let you know now.”

With an almost inaudible “Goodbye” he left Kate alone, taking a deep breath and wondering where she went wrong.

No matter how hard Kate tried to get them to learn something, she was failing as a teacher and so were her students. Few of them managed to answer more than half of the questions correctly, and yet none of them stood out particularly.

The preparation for classes, tests, and the extra hours she had used for individual tutoring had consumed every available hour since she began. She was now wondering how good of an idea it had been.

In addition, the security Astrid had implemented only caused concern among the inhabitants of the castle. Ever since Hodges’ departure, everyone seemed to be tiptoeing around, and that didn’t help her inquiries.

This is not working, Kate thought on the way to the Great Hall, and she wasn’t just referring to her competence as a teacher.

It was the first day of March and Astrid Rhode had called a meeting to inform the entire school about the most important event of the year: The Annual Exposition of Dark Arts, or as they called it, the AEDA. Today the theme, rules and prizes available for those who wished to participate in the competition would be presented.

Neither students nor teachers could hide how excited they were, and you didn’t have to be legilimens to notice.

Kate entered through the already open doors of the room. It was difficult to get to where the other teachers were, but eventually she made it and leaned against the side wall where she had a view of the whole room.

Durmstrang’s policy on the teachers’ uniform was a little more flexible, allowing her to wear her own robes as long as they were an appropriate colour, and she wore the band with the Durmstrang emblem around her chest.

Dressed in black from head to toe, and with her band firmly fastened, she went unnoticed in the crowd, and although it was not something she needed, for some reason she preferred to remain in the shadows.

“You have spoiled me.” said a low voice to her left. Libor Marek looked at her with arms folded.

“How come?”

“You’re the only one who didn’t complain about the explosions in my class. Now it’s getting harder for me to put up with those whiny mediwizards.”

Kate forced a smile that ended up looking like a grimace and waved Marek goodbye, who went off to find a free seat.

After a while, Mer Yankelevich came over too.

“I hear you’ve been having difficulties. You can ask for my advice anytime.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” Absolutely not, she thought.

She saw her leave and approach Marek. They had a brief conversation until he made a dismissive gesture for her to leave.

“Attention please, sit down, sit down.” Astrid Rhode pointed her wand at her throat and her voice was amplified all over the place.

After a while, everyone in the room was sitting down and ready to listen to what Headmistress Rhode had to say.

“For those of you who don’t know, every year the largest exhibition of dark arts in Europe is held at our school. Not only is it a magnificent event to enjoy, but also a valuable learning opportunity.”

A strange feeling made Kate frown. She stopped listening to Rhode’s words and opened her mind while looking around.

It was something she’d never felt before, as if a mind would just shut down and turn on again.

By the window, Leron Angelov was sitting in a chair looking at the ground. Kate bowed her head and waited for something to happen.

He grabbed the sides of the chair firmly and looked up at Astrid again, but without loosening his fists.

“Whether or not you decide to enter the competition, I encourage you to attend the event. Wizards from all over the world come to Durmstrang for this reason alone, and it’s a unique opportunity to make contacts or find your professional path.”

Kate stopped looking at Astrid again and met Jorgensen’s eyes for a split of a second. He immediately looked away and pretended to listen to the headmistress.

She shook her head slightly and couldn’t believe that Jorgensen thought she hadn’t caught him staring at her.

“Each and every one of you has until the first day of April to register and until the 15th of June to submit a project. We consider that this is enough time. Now, the theme this year will be: The Art of Transfiguration.”

Astrid waited for the murmurs to stop before continuing her speech, but Kate was distracted again.

She searched through the hundreds of faces around her, but both Angelov and Jorgensen were gone. No one noticed when Kate slipped through the crowd and left the room as well.

She looked to both sides and to her right she saw a cape shaking behind a corner. She trotted over there, but when she turned, she found no one.

The corridors were empty.

A flutter alerted her, and she turned to meet an owl flying in her direction. As it passed over her head, it dropped a card with Durmstrang’s stamps on it.

Katherine Williams has mail in the owlery

She looked again into the empty corridor and with a sigh went to the main gates to leave the castle.

Dear Kate,

We’ve had difficulties locating you, however we’ve decided not to charge you for all the inconvenience you have caused us.

Please accept this well-meaning gift, which is part of our Weasley catalogue.

Be aware of the honour of trying one of our most exclusive items. We accept a review and 10,000 galleons as compensation.

Yours sincerely,

Gred and Forge

Kate looked at the package with suspicion but opened it, anyway. It was long, like one of Ollivander’s boxes.

After removing a velvet cloth, she touched the wand with her index finger to check that it wouldn’t explode and when she felt more secure; she grabbed it.

“It’s not terrible quality.” She said to herself and pointed to a feather on the ground with it, “Merlin help me... Wingardium Leviosa.”

The stick flew out of her hand and into the air. As if it was playing an invisible drum, but replaced by her head, the wand began hitting her. She shrieked and all the owls in the tower started to get agitated; some flew off in all directions.

Slapping one hand in the air and laughing endlessly, she reached into her robe to find her real wand, as she tried to escape the Weasley’s trick item.

As soon as it stopped, she would immediately write to them so that Charlie could also receive a surprise gift.

If you are binge-reading this, this chapter is a good place to stop and go to sleep or rest

[Part 10]

A/N: I know this isn’t the most exciting chapter but there were important things that needed to be said

Tag List: @eldritchscreech @meteora-fc @cazreadsstuff

#charlie weasley #mc #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #hphm #charlie x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley fanfiction #kate williams #durmstrang #charlie weasley x oc

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ @sasuhinabigflash2020 || Day One: Chance ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina, NaruSaku ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

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With the end of the war and the aftermath all around it, Sasuke finds that what he feels the most is tired. Between the fighting, the politics, and his own personal struggles, all he wants to do upon securing his freedom is lay down and sleep for a thousand years. No more risks, no more struggling...just some peace and quiet.

But unfortunately, life waits for no man, not even Uchiha Sasuke. So, while he spends a great deal of his time cooped up at home, he eventually finds he can’t do so forever. While he has plenty on his mind, and could think himself through an entire day, there’s more that needs to be done.

Like work.

Missions are hardly a challenge, and he only takes them occasionally. Enough to support himself. Otherwise, he’s not too keen on supporting a system within a village that’s so cruelly wronged him in the past.

...but that’s what he devotes all of his spare thinking time into: it’s not going to be this way forever. So in the interim, he does what he must.

But that’s not all he finds himself unable to avoid.

“Oi! Teme!”

Lying on his stomach on a couch, Sasuke’s eyes peel open, gaze already murderous as Naruto quite clearly pounds on his door.

“I know you’re in there, ya bastard! Open up!”

Teeth gritting in a snarl, Sasuke takes to his feet and wrenches the door open. “What?”

Retreating half a step and looking ready to block a blow, Naruto hesitates a moment. “...jeez, what’s got you so crabby?”

“You, obviously. What do you want?”

“Well, uh...how to explain…” A finger itches at his chin. “The Academy’s putting on a fundraiser, and...I thought I’d ask if you could...help?”

“...help how?”

“Well the point is, it’s supposed t’be, like...a little carnival! Booths and all that. And you pay to play games or eat food or whatever. So, I thought, if you had some spare time tonight while it was going...you could maybe throw a few ryō their way…?”

Sasuke’s eyes narrow. “I can’t just make a donation or something?”

“Well, sure! But...c’mon man, that’s no fun! The kids have been working really hard on all their booths! And you know they’d be psyched to see ya!”

At that, the Uchiha’s expression painfully sours. “...I doubt that.”

“No, really! Look, I know…” Naruto sighs, a hand at his neck. “...I know it’s not easy. But these kids need people to look up to. And hey, you want people to know the truth, right? Well...where better to start than with kids? Before they get other garbage in their heads!”

He considers that. “...anyone else going?”

“I’ve got a few others roped in, but some of us are on missions right now. Sakura’s going, Kiba, Shikamaru...I think Ino said she’d think about it, and Hinata’s going!”

Though unchanged in expression, Sasuke internally brightens just a hair. “...all right, I’ll come out for a bit. Just...don’t expect much. I don’t want to be out late.”

“Oh please, they’ve all got bedtimes, too. The kids, I mean! It’s not gonna run all right or nothin’. It’ll open at two! So, y’know, you’ve got a little time.”

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

Naruto’s blues go starry. “Thanks, man! It means a lot! Iruka-sensei’s really excited about it!”

Ah, that explains a lot. Nodding, Sasuke watches the blond retreat before shutting his door. A little carnival, huh?

...sounds cute.

After a proper breakfast, some kata, and then a shower, Sasuke deems himself ready. Dressed as casually as any other day, he meanders toward the Academy grounds to see - as Naruto promised - little aisleways of booths.

...huh.

“Sasuke-kun!”

Repressing a cringe, he turns to see Sakura waving him over. Beside her stand Naruto and Hinata.

“See? Told you he’d come!”

“I’m a man of my word,” he replies blandly as he approaches.

“So, where to first? Games, food…?” Sakura asks, digging out her wallet.

“Games!” Naruto declares, hands thrown into the air. “I’m gonna win all of ‘em!”

“Carnivals are known for their rigged games,” the rosette counters with a grin.

“Pshhh, they’re kids! How much could they do?”

Heading for the proper booths, Sasuke stands idly toward the rear of the group, watching with guarded eyes. He hasn’t been to the Academy since…

“See anything you want to try, Sasuke-kun?”

Glancing to Hinata, Sasuke then roves eyes over the games. Most are...pretty basic. A ring toss, catching fish with a paper net, hitting targets...but one catches his attention. A game of chance, it declares.

“What’re the rules?” he asks the kid behind the booth, who quails slightly at the sight of him.

“We’d like to play, if that’s all right.” Coming up beside Sasuke, Hinata smiles charmingly. “But...we don’t know how.”

Glancing between the two, the little girl offers a set of dice. “...w-we roll. Whoever gets the higher number wins. The more rolls you do, the...the bigger the pot.”

“What are your prizes?”

After a pause, she fetches a little bag of...smaller bags? “I...made treats. If you win more, you get a bigger bag.”

“Well I like treats,” Hinata chirps in reply. “How about...two out of three to start?”

Nodding, the student hands Hinata a die, and they both roll. Hinata’s stops on a three, and the girl’s a five. Again. This time, Hinata’s six to her two.

In spite of himself, Sasuke finds himself watching the last cast a bit nervously. Hinata’s die lands with a five facing up. But the other spins and spins on a corner, landing on...a six.

“Aw, you got me!” Hinata laughs, handing over the proper ryō. “Want to try, Sasuke-kun?”

Eyeing the prizes, he admits, “...I’m not a big fan of sweets…”

“Well, maybe you can win them for me! And I’ll trade you another booth’s prize later.”

Again he glances to her, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “...all right. Two out of three.”

Looking far more wary, the girl hands him a die. His first roll is a four, hers a one. Then his two to her five.

“Sure these dice aren’t loaded?” he teases, hesitating as she swiftly shakes her head.

“N-no! I just bought them this morning, I promise!”

“It’s all right,” Hinata gently cuts in. “He’s only joking. It’s all a game of chance after all, ne?”

“...yeah.” Taking up his die, Sasuke waits for the girl before casting. He ends up with a six, brightening only to see...a second six.

A tie.

“...roll again?” he asks, looking up.

Clearly unsure, the girl rapidly shakes her head again, and just hands him the bag. “T-thank you for playing!”

“...hey, I -?”

“Thank you,” Hinata intercedes, a hand on Sasuke’s arm before guiding him away.

In spite of himself, he feels his shoulders wilt. “...I just…”

“It’s all right, Sasuke-kun,” Hinata murmurs.

“No, it’s not. I knew coming here was a mistake,” he hisses bitterly. “I knew they’d -”

“Opinions are some of the slowest things to change. Sometimes...they never do. But not all of them matter.”

Watching a gaggle of students crowd around Naruto, Sasuke finds himself surprised by the painful pang in his chest. “...some matter more than you think.”

Softening, Hinata lays a hand upon his shoulder. “...it might not mean much, but...I’m not afraid of you, Sasuke-kun. I might not know or...understand completely, but I hope you know I’m on your side.”

Looking to her touch, Sasuke makes to reply...but soon finds himself interrupted as Naruto and Sakura rejoin them.

“Whoa, win some candy? Nice!”

“It took Naruto ten tries to beat the ring toss,” Sakura offers with a smirk, ignoring as the Uzumaki tries to make excuses.

Shaking his head, Sasuke hears Hinata giggle beside him, clearly amused by Naruto’s pleading.

...it brings another feeling to his chest, but...not quite the same as before.

“I vote we try some food next!” Sakura then offers, cutting Naruto off. “You can buy me my portion since you borrowed ryō for that game, Naruto.”

“But -! Sakura-chan, I -!”

“You want anything, Hinata?” Sasuke asks, following as the other pair start to move.

“No, thank you - I think the candy will suffice,” the Hyūga replies, smiling. “I don’t want to get a bellyache. Besides, I’m happy you won it for me.”

Ever so lightly, pink blooms along the bridge of Sasuke’s nose. “...hn. You’re welcome.”

Maybe this was all a good chance to take.

Heya everybody! Long time no see! Not gonna lie, it feels both good and yet a little weird to be posting on this blog again, haha! Since I wasn’t able to participate in SHM this year due to the schedule change and my own busyness, I’m super psyched to be able to do this event. Admittedly I’m a little on the slow side writing lately (I recently took nearly a month hiatus from my main blog), but I’m going to do my best to do every day that I can, and try and keep the same word count average I had during the year-long challenge. That said, there might be days I skip if it keeps to be too much. But I’m hoping that will not be the case! Anywho, just a little canon-divergent fluff-angst combo. I tried something in a modern verse first but it...flopped lol, so we have this instead which I like a lot better. Poor Sasuke...he has a lot to come to terms with and face upon his return after the war. But at least he’s got someone in his corner! That said, it’s very late and my eyeballs are not happy lol, so I’ll be back tomorrow! Thanks for reading!

#sasuhinabigflash2020 #shbf2020 #sasuhina #narusaku #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uzumaki naruto #haruno sakura #a light amongst shadows [ canon verse ]

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starwarsfic · 4 years

Text

Gai'se bal Mande 3: Tarre Vizsla (2)

Originally posted September 9, 2020

Summary: There's one basic fact of the galaxy that lots of people agree on: Qui-Gon Jinn does not deserve to raise Obi-Wan.

Details: Force Ghost/Time Traveler Tarre Vizsla. Mandalore Mission AU. For the Punch Qui-Gon and Adopt Obi-Wan challenge

CW : (completely non-sexual) consent issues.

xxxxxx

The nights in the desert outside Sundari were freezing cold. With nothing to block the wind, Obi-Wan and Satine desperately looked for shelter each day, sometimes even backtracking despite the dangers, just to stay out of the elements. They huddled together in caves and crevices, trying to raise Qui-Gon or any of the New Mandalorian loyalists on their comms.

Today they had cut it close, the sun already dipping low on the horizon as they trudged through what looked to be ruins of some once-great building. Between the bombardment and the elements, there wasn't anything identifiable left, nor any buildings that they could use.

Obi-Wan stretched out with the Force as much as he could, senses flowing over what might have once been pillars, what might have once been statues. He almost stumbled when the ground dipped under his senses, too deep to just be a ditch in the sand.

"Sat'ika, I think I found something," he called softly, voice gruff from a day of disuse but Mando'a still flowing easily enough.

She hurried to him--tired, malnourished, but still bristling with righteous energy wherever she went these days. "What is it?"

He took her hand and guided her to what he'd felt, a good few minutes of walking away from his original location. When they got there, he thought perhaps their current lifestyle was playing with his mind, because it just looked like more sand. Cautiously, he pushed it with the Force and...it sunk down, a door hidden beneath opening and the sand flooding through the hole until they could see it.

"A basement," she murmured, her pleasure echoing in the Force. "Can you get us up and down?"

There were no stairs, no sign of any ladders left, but the fall wasn't very far. He nodded in agreement and she wrapped her arms around him as they'd done so many times before.

Obi-Wan descended slower than he would have if it were just himself, not wanting to frighten her no matter how much she now trusted in the Force. They landed softly in the pile of sand. Without needing to speak, they separated as soon as their feet were steady, Obi-Wan pulling out his lightsaber to light their way, but also for protection, as Satine aimed her blaster around them.

"I don't sense anyone else," he murmured.

Though, that wasn't entirely true. There was something about these ruins that made them not feel empty. Maybe some creatures, he pondered, already worrying about all the ways this unexpected boon could go badly the same as all the others before it.

"Can you close the door?" Satine pointed above them. "Sand should cover it again during the night, if anyone comes looking...."

He shot her a smile before doing as she'd suggested, glad she'd thought of it while his mind was elsewhere. As soon as it shut, they were plunged into darkness, his lightsaber the only source of light.

Reaching behind him, he caught Satine's hand, then started deeper into the building. Technically, they could stay in that room all night, but in case there was another entrance they needed to watch, he wanted to know where they were.

The only way out was a narrow hallway, nothing about it screamed danger in the Force. After walking through, they found a large set of doors, faded carvings all along them.

Figures in beskar'gam were easy enough to pick out, along with other clearly Mandalorian depictions. "This must be old," Satine murmured, "old enough we all forgot."

Old enough the New Mandalorians didn't know it was here to destroy, Obi-Wan thought, perhaps ungenerous, but didn't speak.

A noise rang like a bell from beyond the doors and he startled. From Satine's questioning look, he knew she hadn't heard it.

Again, he could feel some oddness, some presence, but no danger. So he kept going forward, pushing open the doors with the Force and continuing inside.

Beyond was a gigantic space and as they walked they discovered the edges weren't walls, but buildings. Shops or homes, maybe, with doorways and windows. In the center was a field of dirt where crops might have once been raised. Further in, there were steps leading up to a grand building that even in disrepair spoke of reverence.

"Is this some sort of hidden city?" Satine pondered, studying what could be seen in the glow of the lightsaber.

Obi-Wan just shook his head, drawn up those stairs, towards another set of doors. "No. It's a Temple."

She hesitated now to follow him and he sensed unease from her. "To which gods? The Mandalorian ones aren't the most welcoming."

Biting his tongue--because he'd studied plenty of religions and there was nothing overly bad about the Mandalorian gods--he answered, "It's a Jedi Temple. Or...something like it. A Force tradition, definitely. Not Sith."

No, Sith would have...a feeling to it. He'd been around darksiders and Sith holocrons, he and Qui-Gon had even had an eventful mission involving a Sith Temple, but this was different. Maybe not Jedi, but closer.

The presence was here, he realized. It was the Temple...something in the Temple.

Someone in the Temple.

Standing as if in a beam of moonlight, a translucent blue figure waited within. It wore beskar'gam and at its side was a very familiar hilt--one that Obi-Wan had seen in pictures at the Temple and in propaganda from Death Watch.

A dead Force user who was a Mandalorian and carried the Darksaber.

"Mand'alor," he tried, voice showing more of his uncertainty than he liked, and gave a respectful bow.

Behind him, Satine seemed even more confused and uneasy, taking another step back as the figure approached them. She couldn't feel him the way Obi-Wan could, didn't know he meant them no harm.

No, Obi-Wan thought, studying the feeling more. He definitely meant Obi-Wan no harm. How he felt towards Satine was...less certain.

"Padawan," the figure--Tarre Vizsla, if Obi-Wan was right--greeted, the Je'daii word twisted slightly by some ancient Mandalorian accent.

"We seek shelter in the Temple for the night, Mand'alor, with your permission."

"Obi-Wan," Satine hissed, softly, but he didn't know what she wanted and didn't want to distract himself from the apparition.

Tarre tilted his head, Obi-Wan hoped the body language of Mandalorians hadn't changed too much and that was still a show of acknowledgement and agreement.

He turned back to Satine, carefully handing her his lightsaber. "There's light enough in here and I'm trained to move in darkness, anyway. Why don't you go find one of those buildings and get some sleep? Try to raise Master Jinn on the comms again, if you can. I'll take first watch."

Normally, she'd protest everything--separating, leaving him without his main weapon, sleeping first--but this time she left without another word, just a frightened look at the Force ghost before them.

"She is not Mando'ad," Tarre commented when she had left (Obi-Wan couldn’t think of him as just “Vizsla,” not when he’d spent so many months now associating that name with the enemy).

"There are...many who agree with that."

"You are?" The question seemed almost extraneous, as if Tarre had already figured him for one of them.

Which he supposed was fair--he was still wearing the stolen Death Watch beskar'gam he'd taken. If one didn't know Tarre was the first and last Mandalorian Jedi, they might might assumptions about Obi-Wan.

"No," he answered, truthfully, and saw Tarre shift into a position that showed disbelief and displeasure. “I’m a Jedi, sent to protect her--uh, that’s Duchess,” there was, he realized, not for the first time, no good Mando’a equivalent and ended up having to say ‘a position like Mand’alor’, “Satine Kryze. She was voted in as the New Mandalorian ruler for Manda’yaim and the Sector, and then there was an attack….”

With every phrase he uttered, he could feel Tarre’s displeasure depending, the Force darkening with it. He shifted, glancing down again at his armor. That probably wasn’t helping, he imagined, as Obi-Wan had never said the Resol’nare in any form and Tarre was surely too traditional not to notice.

He took off the buy’ce, blinking as he realized it was even brighter inside the main Temple than he’d thought, his visor having protected his eyes from what would have been a blinding glare after the darkness outside.

“I’m sorry, I know I have no right to it. The people we’re running from--”

“Stop.” The authority in Tarre’s tone made Obi-Wan immediately stop speaking. “You are worthy, of that I can tell. If that one,” he motioned towards the door, “had dared, that would be another issue.”

“Thank you.” He knew enough about Mandalorian culture to know he’d just been given a major compliment. “I promise, we’ll be gone before--”

“Where is your Guardian, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “My...oh. We’re taking separate parts in this mission. My main duty is to protect...her.”

“Where is the Mand’alor?”

“...Dead? Or at least missing. For years now. There’s another,” Obi-Wan had to catch himself from saying Tor Vizsla’s name, “who’s claiming the position, but he used treachery to remove the other Mand’alor and so many would never follow him.”

“As they should not. A Mand’alor knows battle and honor. Treachery is the way of the dar’manda.”

He wondered if Tarre would still say the same, if he knew it was a member of his own Clan he spoke of. Maybe, the traditionalists were very into honor, and one couldn’t get much more traditional than someone who had been alive before the New Mandalorians even existed.

“Sleep here, Padawan.”

“In...in this Temple, Mand’alor?”

“Yes. I will guard you.”

“...I would be honored.”

***

Obi-Wan slept, and he dreamed, and he knew he wasn’t alone in those dreams.

He dreamed of the Creche, of Bruck’s mocking “Oafy-Wan”s and the judgement of the Masters. He dreamed of Qui-Gon’s rejections, of trying to sacrifice himself for him. Of Melida-Daan and the shunning he faced at the Temple after. Of Xanatos and being put on trial for Bruck’s death.

He knew it was Tarre in his mind, directing his memories to play out like some sort of holodrama. Every time his resentment built and he thought of pushing him out, though, a wave of serenity would wash over him and he’d forget to try.

***

When he awoke, nothing had changed. The bright light was still there, Tarre Vizsla’s ghost was still there. He could tell it had only been a few hours since he’d fallen asleep because of the tightness in his body from lying on a thin layer over a stone floor.

And, yet, the air felt charged.

“Obi-Wan,” Tarre called to him, the name he hadn’t been told rolling off of his tongue. “There is something I must show you.”

If not for the Force, Obi-Wan would feel like this was some sort of trap. Even with the Force, he was questioning what was happening. He had gotten better at the Living Force that his Master obsessed over, enough to sometimes let it guide his steps, but now even that was mostly quiet.

Deciding he was already in a Temple that shouldn’t exist in the middle of nowhere with a ghost and he didn’t have much left to lose, anyway, he followed Tarre deeper into the Temple.

The outer complex was huge, so it was no surprise that this building was much bigger than it appeared from the front. They went through hallways and rooms, Obi-Wan using every trick he’d been taught (or had to teach himself) to keep track so he could get out on his own if he needed to.

Around them, the Force pulsed, growing more powerful with each step. When they finally reached their destination, he felt as though he might be knocked down by its strength.

A nexus, he realized. An unknown nexus in the Force, on Manda’yaim, that had somehow managed to survive the Dral’Han without turning Dark.

Tarre stood at the edge of the doorway leading into it, watching him. “You are in need, Obi-Wan. And Mandalore is in need. It was the will of the Ka’ra that you found this place, that you awoke me from my slumber.”

The Force, so quiet despite its strength before, was screaming at Obi-Wan. He didn’t know why--didn’t know if it was at the rightness of the situation or to tell him to fear, to run.

All he could do was stand there, still and unsure, as Tarre Vizsla’s ghost walked right into the nexus.

***

Obi-Wan realized he had been knocked out by the blow of energy when he woke up to hands gently running through his hair.

The next thing he realized was they were not Satine’s familiar hands. They were rougher, much larger, and the fingers had claws, though they weren’t making any attempt to harm Obi-Wan.

He reached out with the Force to gauge if he was in immediate danger and who might be with him and the other person reached back.

They had the presence of a Master, extremely disciplined, with firm shields that yielded slightly to Obi-Wan’s juvenile searching as though to comfort him. There was a sharpness to them, like a violence simmering around them, that was entirely unfamiliar from any Jedi, but he couldn’t sense Darkness, either.

When he opened his eyes, he realized the figure was in full beskar’gam, the gloves discarded by Obi-Wan’s head. And the armor itself...was exactly what the ghost had been wearing.

“...Tarre?” he asked, saying the name he’d been referring to the ghost in his thoughts as.

They nodded, gentle hands still petting him, Force presence beginning to loop around him in a mental equivalent of a careful embrace. He’d had other Masters do that to him, too, over the years, though never Qui-Gon, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“Obi-Wan,” Tarre answered in acknowledgement before finally pulling away.

He grabbed his gloves, shoving them into his belt, and pulled Obi-Wan up as he stood. There was the Darksaber still at Tarre’s side, despite...seemingly no longer being a ghost...and Obi-Wan wondered if that meant there were two Darksabers in the galaxy (if this wasn’t just all some weird hallucination).

“How are you…” he trailed off and just waved at him, not sure what the Mando’a word for ‘ghost’ was or how to really encompass the difference.

Tarre tilted his head in amusement, pulling Obi-Wan along with him as they made their way back towards the entryway (Obi-Wan hoped). “This Temple was built for many reasons. After I left the Order, I gathered Mando’ade to train, knowing the Order would stifle them, try to disconnect them from the Manda. Here, we trained. Here, we learned. From Jedi who saw the truth of my mission. From Sith who sought a new path.”

Looking around, noticing that despite the loss of the ghostly Tarre there was still light everywhere from what Obi-Wan could tell, he could almost imagine what these halls and rooms would look like filled with those people. Almost see the echoes of them in the Force surrounding him.

“I collected my knowledge here, my being. Not all of myself went to the Ka’ra.”

“The...the way I saw you, before, then?”

“Yes, this Temple was built for learning and I left a part of myself to teach.”

He blinked. “Like a holocron?” More like a Sith holocron, he thought, than a Jedi one.

Tarre shrugged. “I waited, after the last of my students left. After war came to Manda’yaim and destroyed so much of its life. I felt that one day I might be needed again.”

“But how are you...how are you physically here?”

He stopped, Obi-Wan almost hitting into him. Glancing around, he realized they’d made their way not just to the entrance of the Temple, but out into what had been the courtyard--and the light was still there. The light was everywhere, as if the sun beyond the ceiling could somehow reach them.

“I brought myself here, from the time before.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. “You...time traveled?”

Tarre shrugged again, as if nothing he was saying was shocking or impossible. “I used the Force, the nexus, the energy left behind by myself. I drew on it and brought my whole self here.”

Nothing he said rang with falsehoods in the Force, no matter how dizzy the ideas were making Obi-Wan. “You used an entire Temple to bind yourself to this place so you could reach into the past and bring your physical body to the future in order to...what?”

“Save Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, then let it out, realizing he probably wouldn’t be able to reason with someone who had gone to such extremes. “Okay. And what do I have to do with it?”

Tarre gave the head movement that indicated amusement again, face still hidden under his buy’ce. “You are lost. Not just in body, but in heart and mind. You are meant for the Manda, but you are held back by the Order. And by that unworthy Guardian.”

“You--that’s--.”

“I know your name as my child, Obi-Wan. And as my student.”

Obi-Wan took a physical step back, but Tarre simply followed. He reached up with those long hands and removed his buy’ce, revealing his face to Obi-Wan for the first time. The grey skin and yellow eyes marked him as more than a little Taung, as did the claws, and Obi-Wan wondered how history could have assumed he was just a human.

“You can’t just adopt someone!”

“And yet I have, Ob’ika,” Tarre replied with ease. “None would question it, when I am revealed.”

“When you--you can’t truly mean to just go out in the world, declaring you’re Tarre Vizsla and...what, the rightful Mand’alor?”

Tarre grinned, showing sharp teeth, and Obi-Wan thought he missed the helmet and head tilts. “Yes. There is no Mand’alor, only that aruetii with you. The Jedi, too, are weak. And the Republic near collapse. You have shown me that.”

“I didn’t show it to you, you took it!”

The Force swelled around Tarre, gently pressing down on Obi-Wan, and he felt something in his own shields give. There was a bond there, he realized, something the likes of which it had taken him years to consciously form with Qui-Gon. He thought of some of the Jedi histories that Qui-Gon had him read. Cultures were different through time, he knew, and whenever Tarre had lived, with whatever culture he’d built up in this Temple, what he’d done must not have been such a violation.

Obi-Wan hated that it hadn’t even really felt like one. Tarre had felt like he belonged in Obi-Wan’s mind.

“I’m not your child or your Padawan,” Obi-Wan insisted, though it sounded weak even to his ears, with the way the Force seemed to draw them together.

Before Tarre could answer, a warning blared, and he had just enough time to put on his buy’ce before Satine appeared out of one of the side buildings.

“Obi-Wan?” she had her blaster in one hand and his lightsaber in the other, but was smart enough not to be pointing either towards Tarre. “What...what’s going on?”

He gestured helplessly. “Tarre Vizsla? Force osik?”

That got him a severe look out of Tarre and he wondered if the word had been even worse back in his day or if he just didn’t approve of his child using such words in front of...an aruetii. He didn’t want to think of Satine as such, but...Tarre wasn’t wrong. Obi-Wan himself had been questioning the New Mandalorians for half the mission, at least, though he’d stopped trying to get Satine to see reason long ago.

He glanced between the two of them, shoulders slumping. “I’ll explain on the way.”

“The way to where?”

Obi-Wan glanced at Tarre, who seemed to weigh telling Satine versus keeping Obi-Wan in the dark. “Where are we going?” he pushed.

“Keldabe.”

Exchanging a worried glance with Satine--Tarre might not know anything about the state of Manda’yaim beyond the Temple--he hurried to collect his things. Keldabe was the last location Qui-Gon had been in, as far as Obi-Wan was aware, so maybe it was a good thing they were going there.

***

Buy’ce on, lightsaber clipped back to his belt, pack on his back, and Satine ready to go--the checklist he’d been running through basically every morning for months now. Except instead of setting off to find a new place to hide, they were following Tarre kriffing Vizsla through an unknown heretical Jedi Temple under Manda’yaim.

He’d say no one would ever believe him, but he was fairly sure when he showed up with someone looking more Taung than anyone had in centuries, with a Darksaber, maybe they would.

“Is there another exit we’re going towards?” Satine finally asked, her voice polite in that cold way the Coruscanti politicians used but with an undertone Obi-Wan had learned meant she was very annoyed.

Tarre didn’t even acknowledge her, he hadn’t actually directly spoken to her yet and Obi-Wan wondered if that was some weird religious thing. So, Obi-Wan repeated the question, and Tarre answered.

“Yes, you came in through a service entrance.”

That made sense, considering how hard it would have been to get back out of. Well, maybe not if the Temple really had been full of trained Force sensitives.

“We’re outside of Sundari, why are we going to Keldabe?”

“It’s the capital.”

“...It was the capital.”

The temperature dropped for a moment as Tarre’s anger grew, then he released it into the Force as Obi-Wan had felt Master Windu do--with the fine restraint of someone who knew when and where anger could be useful.

“It will be the capital, again.”

Satine seemed ready to argue, but Obi-Wan grabbed her hand and shook his head at her. She squeezed his back and kept hold of it. He wasn’t sure if the fine tremors he felt from her were just her fear or exhaustion and he hoped they wouldn’t have to walk much farther, if only because she’d be mortified to show weakness in front of a stranger.

As though beckoned by his thoughts, they reached their destination.

It was another gigantic room, but inside was not residential buildings or a Temple--it was a hangar with pristine looking, ancient model ships.

“What the kriff.”

“Language.”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan responded, automatically, then scowled to realize he had.

“Sorry, buir.”

“...What?”

“When saying ‘sorry’ you should utilize some title or honorific.”

Satine let out a choking noise. “Why would Obi-Wan call you buir?”

Tarre didn’t exactly acknowledge she’d spoken, though perhaps her words were what made him continue. “I am your buir, it is fitting you call me such.”

“Saying a few words doesn’t mean you actually adopted me!” The others looked at him and he realized how ridiculous that must sound to Mandalorians. “I’m not calling you buir,” he finished, sullenly.

His answer was a long-suffering sigh as Tarre moved on towards the ships.

“These have sat in stasis for nearly as long as I. Any should be worthy of low atmosphere flight.”

Obi-Wan grimaced, but didn’t counter Tarre’s words. All of the ships did look to be in very, very good condition and if nothing had degraded in the systems, he probably wasn’t wrong.

It would also help his case, to show up in Keldabe in a ship that looked straight out of the Mandalorian Wars.

They settled into a mid-sized model that was all curves and sharp points, like whoever designed it wanted it to look dangerous. Obi-Wan had a quick whispered conversation with Satine and thankfully convinced her to stay in one of the bunks--she had to sleep and they looked more comfortable than anywhere they’d slept in weeks.

He headed to the cockpit, where Tarre was expertly starting the pre-flight checks. Tarre waved a hand and the door shut--and locked--behind him, keeping Satine out he supposed.

Then Tarre took off his helmet again and Obi-Wan had more thoughts about Mandalorians and religion that he kept to himself because he didn’t want Tarre to think he had any personal interest in him.

“You took everything I knew about Mandalore out of my head, didn’t you?”

Tarre nodded. “I did, Ob’ika.”

“...Do you really think you can save Mandalore?”

The smile he received was softer than the previous ones, the Force bond between them swelling with fondness that leaked through Obi-Wan’s shields. “I must. Mandalore will fall if I do not.”

“But you’re just one person.”

“I am Mand’alor. The Ka’ra guides me.”

“...Is that the same thing as the Force?”

Tarre shook his head. “You’ll understand, I’ll teach you, ner’ad.”

Obi-Wan flinched at the possessive term and slumped into his seat, deciding it might just be better to sit back and ignore Tarre like he was ignoring Satine.

***

They reached Keldabe during the afternoon--Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure that only a single night had passed in the Temple, but he thought he could trust that only a few hours had passed since they’d left it.

People were already taking note of the ship, aggressive and beautiful in a purely Mandalorian way, and probably not seen outside of the art in historical holodramas.

When Tarre descended into the city, he pushed out with his Force presence in a way that knocked Satine off her feet and sent a strange energy through Obi-Wan. Tarre pulsed in the Force, pulling and pushing, and Obi-Wan soon caught onto what was happening.

Somehow, he was calling to the traditional Mandalorians--many of the ones who seemed to have the more pleasant reaction were in beskar’gam or other traditional dress, had mythosaurs on their clothing or blasters at their sides. The ones who weren’t...he grimaced as he helped Satine down from the ship, using the Force to support her so he didn’t have to carry her.

This might be what Tarre had meant by the ‘Ka’ra,’ perhaps some purely Mandalorian form of using the Force and not just a mythological presence.

Outside of Tarre’s presence, Obi-Wan could feel another strong in the Force approaching, and he knew it was Qui-Gon. Their bond was gone--he didn’t feel the normal loose ends of a torn bond, it was like it had just never been there--but they were both still too similarly trained not to notice each other.

When he reached them, his lightsaber was in his hand, thumb hovering over the activation button. “Who is that?” he demanded.

Obi-Wan flinched at the tone and felt an answering outrage through the bond he did have, now. Tarre was before them in a moment, close enough in height to Qui-Gon that he could stare him in the eye without losing ground.

“You are one of the Jedi of today.”

He still spoke in Mando’a, Obi-Wan was almost certain he knew Basic and just refused to speak it, so Obi-Wan hastily translated when Qui-Gon looked towards him.

“I am. Who are you?” Qui-Gon’s presence was bristling, defensive.

Tarre, though, was smooth and assured, almost smug. “I am the Mand’alor. And Obi-Wan is now mine.”

Obi-Wan hesitated to translate the last bit, so Satine did, biting out the words as she glared at Tarre. Of course Qui-Gon reacted badly, trying to push his way between Tarre and Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon lit his saber when Tarre raised a hand, Force swelling in the tell-tale sign he meant to use it. A moment later, Tarre’s own lightsaber was lit, and silence descended on the square once more as the Darksaber sang its discordant song.

Everyone else stared, even Qui-Gon seemed to falter.

“He’s Tarre Vizsla,” Obi-Wan stated, flushing as he realized how far his words carried into the silence.

“That’s not possible.”

Obi-Wan threw his hands up in defeat. “I doubt there’s anything you can think about this situation, Master, that I haven’t already.”

“Do not,” Tarre reprimanded, and Obi-Wan glanced at him in confusion. “That one is no ‘master’ to you. He was not a fit Guardian. You are my Padawan, now.”

Qui-Gon might not understand much Mando’a, but he understood the sentiment, and he raised his lightsaber in a classic Ataru starting position. Before Obi-Wan could come up with any good protest, they were fighting.

Many liked to say that a real lightsaber duel would last either seconds or hours. Obi-Wan was used to the spars in the Coruscant Temple, where the entire point was normally not to just outright win.

Tarre was a Mandalorian facing down a Jedi and he humiliated Qui-Gon. In three moves he’d disarmed him (and cut his sword arm off in the process) and knocked him down. One of the best duelists in the Order, Qui-Gon had been thoroughly unprepared, and writhed on the ground clutching the stump where his hand had just been.

If the ancient ship, Force pulses, and the Darksaber hadn’t been enough for the people of Keldabe, the “fight” seemed to be. Everywhere around them people were saluting, there were many shouting out the Resol’nare right then and there, and more still using the comms to spread the news.

At Obi-Wan’s feet, Qui-Gon lay curled up on the ground and Satine had sunk to sit down, seemingly having a hard time just staying conscious. Tarre had been right, whatever it was about being a Mand’alor as he was, there seemed to be a power with it that backed him up.

“Ob’ika, ner’ad,” he called, waving for Obi-Wan to join him where he stood with who might have been some sort of city officials or clan leaders, by their well-maintained beskar’gam and expensive looking weapons.

Obi-Wan felt a tug through the bond, too, and for a moment just let that and the pulse still pounding around him flow. It was nice, like being in the Temple on the best of days. It felt right in the Force. Or the Ka’ra. Or Manda. He didn't know.

“I’m coming, buir,” he muttered, resigned to follow through with whatever was happening until he had more information.

xxxxxx

A/N: Do you ever just accidentally write 5000+ words about a time traveling ancient Mandalorian adopting your favorite Jedi?

I jokingly said I wanted to do Tarre Vizsla and then while writing the Alpha-17 one I got an idea of how to do it lol So, this is also during Obi-Wan's mission to Mandalore.

Tarre is presented as human in what little we know about him, but I think that's almost entirely because of a single statue we see of him, wherein he's wearing his beskar'gam and there's no color. Only a little of his face shows through and I think it's entirely possible to claim that's both a semi-accurate statue and that he was definitely not human looking. This might end up being my most stolen idea in SW fandom lol

Mando’a: Sat'ika - Satine plus the diminutive 'ika Beskar’gam - the distinctive Mandalorian style armor Mand’alor - sole ruler of the Mandalorians, the traditional emperor-like role Mando'ad/Mando'ade - Mandalorian/Mandalorians Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore Buy’ce - the helmet of the beskar’gam Resolnare - the central tenants of traditional Mandalorian culture that must be adhered to in order to be Mandalorian dar’Manda - a disgraced former Mandalorian Dral’Han - the Mandalorian Excision, where the Republic performed a pre-emptive strike against Mandalore, left most of Manda’yaim a barren desert, and occupied the Sector for years after Ka’ra - the stars, believed in the ancient Mandalorian religion to be the spirits of their old leaders acting as guides to the living Ob’ika - Obi-Wan and the diminutive ‘ika Aruetii - outsider, foreigner, traitor (in this case, for Satine, basically all three) Osik - shit Buir - parent (like mom/dad) Ner’ad - my child

"I know your name as my child" is the translation of the vow of the gai bal manda, the Mandalorian adoption ritual.

#character: obi wan kenobi #ship: satine & obi wan #character: satine kryze #character: tarre vizsla #ship: tarre & obi wan #verse: time travel #theme: mandalorian culture #theme: jedi culture #theme: the force #character: qui gon jinn #theme: mandalore mission

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theliberaltony · 5 years

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via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Donald Trump won the GOP nomination and then the presidency even as many prominent officials within the party opposed him. He spent much of his first two years in office struggling to get his policies enacted, with top advisers such as then-Defense Secretary Jim Mattis essentially ignoring his demands. Early in his tenure, the GOP-controlled House and Senate adopted several measures, such as new sanctions on Russia, that it was clear Trump did not truly support, leaving the president looking irrelevant. At the same time, Trump was being investigated by the executive branch that he was running, in special counsel Robert Mueller’s probe.

Even as he was losing some fights in 2017 and 2018, though, Trump was also steadily beating back Republican resistance to his leadership. In many ways, 2019 was the culmination of that work. As we approach the end of the year, Trump is truly in charge of the party now — a fact that was powerfully illustrated last week week when every Republican member of the House opposed impeachment despite ample evidence that the president and his team tried to force the Ukrainian government to investigate the former Vice President Joe Biden and his son Hunter. Let me unpack that idea by looking at power centers within the government and the broader Republican Party.

The executive branch

Trump spent the latter half of 2017 and all of 2018 gradually forcing out the more establishment Republicans who he had initially put into top jobs in his administration. That process was all but completed in 2019. He replaced Mattis, national security adviser John Bolton and Director of National Intelligence Dan Coats — all of whom allowed their disagreements with Trump to become public — with people who were more likely to align his vision. One of the first moves of Robert O’Brien, the new national security adviser, was to reduce the number of non-poltical staffers working at the National Security Council, essentially an effort to prevent future anti-Trump whisberlowers.1 New Defense Secretary Mark Esper forced out Navy Secretary Richard Spicer amid tensions over Trump softening the punishments for a Navy Seal accused of war crimes in Iraq.

By far the most important personnel change was the confirmation of William Barr in February to run the Department of Justice. From downplaying Mueller’s findings before the special counsel’s report was publicly released to aggressively investigating the origins of the Trump-Russia investigation, Barr is executing Trump’s agenda at DOJ in a way that Jeff Sessions never did.

Congress

The conressional GOP has become more and more aligned with Trump through two mechanisms: First, members are retiring and being replaced by more pro-Trump figures, and second, members who remain in office are increasingly aligning themselves with the president.

In 2018, 26 Republicans in the House and Senate opted to retire from politics rather than seek reelection. It was the second-biggest congressional exodus for the GOP since at least 1974. A similar trend has developed in 2019 (there are already 24 retirements) and I would expect more Republican lawmakers will head for the exits early next year. Trump isn’t the only reason that these members are retiring, but being a congressional Republican increasingly means defending whatever Trump does — and some GOP members don’t want to do that.

I haven’t comprehensively studied the comments about Trump and the voting behavior of Republicans who entered Congress in 2019 compared to the people they replaced. But looking at the broader story of what is happening in both the House and Senate suggests that the newer members are helping shift the congressional GOP closer to Trump. In Trump’s first two years, for example, then-Speaker Paul Ryan sometimes balked at the president’s demands, angering the House Freedom Caucus. But Ryan’s former No. 2, Rep. Kevin McCarthy of California, is now the top Republican in the House, and he’s gone from Trump skeptic to fierce loyalist. The House Republicans are now essentially one big Freedom Caucus, aligning with the president on nearly every issue.

In the Senate in 2017-2018, there were six GOP members who regularly criticized the president: Susan Collins of Maine, Bob Corker of Tennessee, Jeff Flake of Arizona, John McCain of Arizona, Lisa Murkowksi of Alaska and Ben Sasse of Nebraska. McCain resigned from the Senate and eventually died. Flake and Corker retired, and the latter was replaced by the very-pro-Trump Sen. Marsha Blackburn. Up for reelection next year and needing Republican votes to ensure he is not defeated in a GOP primary, Sasse has dialed down his criticism of the president. The Trump-skeptical wing of Senate Republicans is now really down to three people: newly elected Mitt Romney of Utah, Collins and Murkowski.

There are also significantly fewer GOP House members now than there were at the start of Trump’s tenure. So one element of the story here is that Republicans, particularly those in blue or purple areas, are losing elections in part because of Trump’s unpopularity. The 2018 midterms, for example, all but wiped out Republicans representing districts that were carried by Hillary Clinton in 2016. So the elected officials who remain are more likely to represent more conservative districts and states. And the GOP senators and representatives who are inclined to push back against Trump are more isolated as a result.

Matt Glassman, who studies Congress as a senior fellow at Georgetown University’s Government Affairs Institute, argued that losing the House also in some ways strengthened the bond between congressional Republicans and the president. When congressional Republicans and Trump aren’t aligned on something, they blame their challenges on a common enemy: House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

“When the GOP controlled both chambers, they had to find ways to bury his Trumpy legislative agenda. Now they can just let Pelosi do that,” said Glassman.

The states

Let’s start with the governors. In 2017 and 2018, there were basically five Trump-skeptical Republican governors: Charlie Baker of Masachusetts, Larry Hogan of Maryland, John Kasich of Ohio, Brian Sandoval of Nevada and Phil Scott of Vermont. They opposed GOP efforts to repeal Obamacare — playing an important role in signaling that the party was not united on that issue, even as most congressional Republicans fell in line and backed the repeal efforts. But the Trump-skeptical gubernatorial ranks have since dropped — Kasich left office because of term limits, replaced by a Republican (Mike DeWine) who doesn’t publicly criticize Trump much. Sandoval also left because of term limits, replaced by a Democrat (Steve Sisolak.) There are also just fewer GOP governors today than there were when Trump was sworn in — the same blue wave that gave Democrats the House in the midterms also knocked several Republicans out of the top job in blue states.

We’ve also seen state Republican parties closely ally themselves with Trump in 2019. At the beginning of this year, I thought Trump might face a serious challenge in the Republican primaries. I was wrong. Former Rep. Joe Walsh of Illinois and ex-Gov. William Weld of Massachusetts entered the race but never really gained any traction. But even if a real challenger had emerged, he or she would have had to overcome a huge barrier — GOP state party officials in several states have canceled caucuses and primaries to ensure that Trump doesn’t have to face any competitors in those states. Maybe the state parties would not have made those moves if Hogan or another Republican with more standing in the party were challenging the president, rather than Walsh, who served only one term in Congress, and Weld, who hasn’t held an elected office in years and last made news by running for vice president as a Libertarian.

But I tend to think that this is another example of the party bowing to Trump’s power — and that even a viable challenger would have been effectively shut out by the canceled primaries.

The courts

An alliance between the Federalist Society, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell and Trump has resulted in the president appointing 50 judges to appellate courts, nearly as many as Obama appointed (55) in eight years. And Trump, of course, has also made two Supreme Court appointments, with new Justice Brett Kavanaugh serving his first full year on high court in 2019.

Some of these judges, like Kavanaugh, would likely have been appointed by a President Ted Cruz or a President John Kasich. But I think it matters that more and more of Trump’s appointees are on the bench. Why? Because it’s likely that some of the cases that these judges are going to hear will be Trump-related questions that would likely not apply to a President Cruz or Kasich: Is the way that the Trump administration is trying to build additional barriers along the Mexico-U.S. border legal, considering Congress’s objections to some of this spending? Should the president have to release his tax returns? Should his aides have to testify on Capitol Hill?

These Trump-appointed judges, whatever their legal views, have some reason to be loyal to Trump, in a way that a conservative judge appointed by a president like Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush does not. Several of Trump’s appointees had questionable qualifications (according to legal experts) and might not have not been appointed by another GOP president. Trump stuck by Kavanaugh amid the sexual misconduct allegations, and Kavanaugh has said he is grateful for that support. Next summer, when the court rules on whether Trump must release his tax returns, could that gratitude color how Kavanaugh sees the case, which touches not on Trump’s policies but matters that are more about Trump personally?

Trump’s further consolidation of the GOP really matters. First, as I have written before, there is substantial conservative opposition to Trump. But it’s largely concentrated among former senior administration officials and members of Congress, as well as media figures who are on CNN and not Fox News. Trump’s GOP opponents increasingly raising their objections in spaces where they will not be heard by many GOP voters.

Secondly, if Republican members of Congress and even Trump-appointed judges are aligned with Trump, it makes it easier for Trump to cast any disagreement with him or his policy moves as simply Democrats opposing him because he’s a Republican. And the media covers partisan disputes in a less negative way for Trump than disputes that cross party lines.

Finally, the Republican Party’s near-total alignment with Trump makes it harder for GOP critics of the president to gain any traction. Romney seems to want to lead an insurgency among Republicans on Capitol Hill, but he can’t lead anything if he doesn’t have any followers. And so far, there is little indication that there’s a substantial bloc of Republicans on Capitol Hill who want to join Romney in taking on the president.

In short, it’s Trump’s Grand Old Party, now more than ever.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Perry Bacon Jr.

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vonlipvig · 5 years

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Fodder vs. Freelancers - Episode 12

(If you’re looking for past episodes, just check the “Survivor RvB” tag in my blog!)

Quick recap! So the tribes finally merged into the Rebels tribe, and everyone’s fighting for individual immunity now. Still, some alliances are still standing, after all you have to have friends to survive! In an incredible (and possibly clueless( power move, Caboose got the first individual immunity, and strong contender Tex ended up being eliminated (I can totally imagine Church in his confessionals now, being all “that’s it, I’m burning this camp down to the ground”).

Only three OG Freelancers remain in the game now, Carolina, York and Wash. Unless they pull some interesting moves, it’s not looking too good for them...

Once again, the Yorkalina Alliance is still standing strong at an 8 strength, with all other Alliances at a 5 or less. But, once again, York and Lina have no numbers, no matter how much they stick together. Hmm...

Anyway, let’s see what the reward challenge brings!

So random teams are picked, and it’s Doc, Lina, Donut and Sarge who emerge victorious! And what a lovely reward they get! I actually remember this part from the show, the winners get to go to a village and get immersed in the culture, it was really nice! They also got adorned with necklaces and flower crowns, like this:

Like, I know I’m Docnut trash, but can you imagine them with this look? That’s adorable! (And also please take a moment to imagine Sarge in a flower crown. Aww).

But they still need to send someone to Exile Island, and this time, they go all alone!

Aww, man. Poor Simmons. Although I feel like him going alone to Exile is like...Peak Simmons. But will he be able to find what everyone covets?

HA! Oh, he sure can! Simmons got the hidden idol, you better watch out, guys! Now the Reds and Blues are happy they’re allied with this guy!

But it’s time for the immunity challenge!

Oh my god, I love this challenge. This is all abound endurance, will power, and not being tempted by goddamn cookies. Look, this is what it’s like:

If your arm so much as twitches a little bit, prepare to get soaked and lose the challenge. And of course, the host (Probst in the real show...who would be the host here? Vic? Yeah, probably) tries to tempt people with food to willingly step down, it’s so good.

So how do our Rebels do?

IT’S THE DUTCH-IRISH MACHINE! Man, Simmons is on FIRE right now. Neither a sore arm nor pastries can stop him now! I can totally imagine some controversy(tm) going down in this one, like Church going “oh, COME ON! he’s got a CYBORG ARM!”, and Lina being like “Shut up Church, your arm gave out after 20 seconds”. Ah, good ol Drama. But anyway, Simmons is immune for now!

Notable Tribe Events: Apparently, the behavior of York is rubbing people the wrong way. York, my man, what are you doing? Maybe he was all like “Hey, I’m good at being sneaky, let me go check Simmons’ bag to see if he has the idol”, but like...we know he’s not very good at the whole stealth thing. Poor guy.

Anyway, it’s TC time! (And I want you all to remember that South and Tex are present right now, listening to everything that’s going on. Whoohoo, Jury!)

Simmons doesn’t use his idol this time. I think he feels confident in his alliance!

YORK, MY GUY, I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU. WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU. It seems the twelfth person voted off Survivor Blood Gulch is York. Oh, my heart is absolutely breaking, but there wasn’t much they could do (I mean, in this computer simulation, I’m sure in real life things could have been way more complex and backstabby). All the Reds and Blues voted for him, and all three Freelancers voted for Caboose. It’s numbers, plain and simple as that.

I’d like to think he gives both Wash and Lina a very big hug once he’s eliminated (Ok, maybe he lingers a bit longer with Lina, let me be sappy). Goodbye, York.

Carolina and Washington are in big trouble if they don’t do anything. What will happen next? Stay tuned for the next episode of Survivor Blood Gulch: Fodder vs. Freelancers!

Next Episode - Beginning

#survivor rvb #survivor simulations #rvb #red vs blue #NOOOOOO YOOOOOOORK IM SAD #i mean a computer sim is never as complex as what a real game of survivor would be like #like you can still save yourself if you're outnumbered by convincing people and lying #but here is more about numbers and luck so what are we to do

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chiseler · 5 years

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Imagine Electing Pete

On September 12, 2019, during the Democratic Primary debate in Houston, Texas, something strange, even epiphanous occurred. At least for me. The current Mayor of South Bend, Indiana, one Pete Buttigieg, evidently (for this was by no means visible to the eye) fell into a trance-like state and began to channel a voice that was, oddly, not of the spirit world.

The voice was that of Disc Jockey Glenn Beck, and the words were from a 2009 Mission Statement that he had composed for some extraordinary thing he'd started called the 9/12 Movement; a kind of protest/support group for those citizens longing for the rare fragrance of unity and togetherness which intoxicated all of America, we were told, on September 12, 2001; just one day after that thing happened in Lower Manhattan. "We were not obsessed with Red States, Blue States or political parties, the color of your skin, or what religion you practiced. We were united as Americans, standing together to protect the greatest nation ever created. We want to get everyone thinking like it is September 12th, 2001 again." Beck continued. "On September 12th, and for a short time after that, we really promised ourselves that we would focus on the things that were important -- our family, our friends, the eternal principles that allowed America to become the world's beacon of freedom." Amen. I suppose. Of course, how formidable the words, and how entirely sincere (or not) the sentiment may have been -- one cannot, I suspect, locate much nostalgia for that moment beating in the hearts of this country's Muslim communities, ever since marked for harassment (and frequently far, far worse) at the hands of those basking 'neath freedom's beacon -- it seems to have been a uniquely durable one. Personally, I had completely forgotten that . . . anyone . . . had told ev'ry little star just how sweet they thought everything was on that day. What I remember most Is the kind of unusually animated daze people were walking around in. The American Imagination was in high style that day. All anybody could talk about was What Happens Next, with many of these people consumed with their own, homemade fantasies of national vengeance toward those responsible. Their hearts were full, and grim. The Mayor of South Bend, as I say, appears to remember things rather differently, and one cannot question it. Six years later -- the clear sky of American unity having, for the rest of us, clouded over once more -- Buttigieg would remain so enthralled by this singular hour in Our American Story that he would leave his two jobs (it was, yes, that kind of economy) as a consultant for McKinsey & Co., and as a Fellow at the Truman National Security Project. He would enlist, voluntarily, in the United States Navy, jumping into our ongoing war of military aggression against the country of Afghanistan with both feet for a period of fourteen months. He ran numbers and drove officers around. Not exactly Audie Murphy in 'To Hell and Back' . . . or Abbott & Costello in 'Buck Privates' for that matter (if he triple-tapped an elementary school or watched our drones wipe out a house party or two, he has not admitted to it) . . . but it provided this future Presidential candidate a chance to build character (and, naturally, his resume). So, unlike a professional grifter such as Glenn Beck, when Buttigieg waxes nostalgic for those days of unity, one doubts his sincerity at one's peril. Buttigieg, during the debate in Houston, stated "All day today, I’ve been thinking about Sept. 12, the way it felt when for a moment we came together as a country. Imagine if we had been able to sustain that unity. Imagine what would be possible right now with ideas that are bold enough to meet the challenges of our time, but big enough, as well, that they could unify the American people. That’s what presidential leadership can do. That’s what the presidency is for." He concluded, of course, with, "And that is why I’m asking for your vote." To someone like Buttigieg, September 12, 2001 is a day that, I'm certain, he wishes could have gone on forever. But whatever he wants people to think, it was a day when the entire country was crouching as one, it seemed, gazing at everyone around them in fear and outright bafflement; a day that our rulers could have done (and in some senses did do) anything they wanted with us, and we probably would have gone along with all of it because we didn't know what else there was to do; a day, in other words, when our empire was never more firmly in the grasp of those who own it. Despite the loftiness of his rhetoric on the debate stage -- a mode of high school valedictorian speech he is often given to -- Pete Buttigieg is, underneath it all, a born technocrat; a classic, Eisenhower-era Republican; a creature of our institutions. He is not Franklin Roosevelt (that Bolshevik). He does not aspire to lift a frightened nation out of its slough of despond and keep its people safe from Capitalism's consequences and depredations; or anything, by all evidence, more inspiring the citizenry than the 'Shut Up and Shop' society finally urged upon us in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. He is only here to apply for a job to manage this empire of ours, nothing more. But I can't help feeling there's something quietly monstrous about his true, evident nostalgia for that time when unity was accessible to some Americans and not to others. I had my first inkling of this a couple months back when he had to get off the campaign trail for a day or two because the cops in South Bend had been for too long conducting themselves like Cossacks under Nicholas II, rampaging with too much impunity through that city's Black neighborhoods (safely separated from the more upper class College Town South Bend is known for being), finally dropping too many bodies with too little pretext. After pleading to the national press that he had essentially no control, no control at all, over the police in his city, and every poll showing that Black voters utterly despise him, he headed over to the part of town in question to inform the residents to please stay on the line, as it were; their questions and concerns were important to him. In full Damage Control mode, Pete Buttigieg read his statement through a bullhorn to a group of women, members of a grossly victimized community, all of whom had had enough and were giving their Mayor the earful his White ass deserved. And he stood before them, this diminutive block of American cheese in shirtsleeves, collar and tie; the guy who blankly tells you he's sorry, but you're being let go and there's nothing he can do about it; standing with a bullhorn in his hand and not a hint of emotion in his voice as he droned into the instrument to his city's Black community: "I'm not asking for your vote." Some people in this country, you see, are asked for their vote; others are not. Matters of race aside -- and not much good can be said on Buttigieg and that subject; which is not to suggest, I hasten to add, that the man is racist. With his background he's probably never had to think very much about race -- one thing was clear to me: He's a real calm customer, this guy; doesn't break a sweat. Everyone says so. Smart as a whip, too. You hear that one constantly from his supporters: swooning over his credentials, his evident intellect, his grasp of languages ("Norwegian! Can you believe it?!"). It all feeds into the overarching perception of his ability to handle crises with the right character of detachment. Our media adores him, largely for this reason; and why shouldn't they? He's perhaps the closest thing to a polar opposite in this race to the dread Donald Trump without his skin being at all darker. With Pete Buttigieg as President, I have been told, we won't have to think and worry so much about what's going on in the world, the way we do now. We won't be on pins and needles, waiting to see what the President of the United States does next. We can, at long last, relax again; get some sleep. He's got this. I can understand the enthusiasm for Buttigieg on the part of those who wish to see him elected President (there aren't too many of them, if polling has anything to say about it, but they do make themselves known). I even can find it in me to share it. To some extent, anyway. There is, after all, true intrinsic value in the election, should it happen, of the first (openly) gay President of the United States; just as Barack Obama's election possessed similar intrinsic value; just as the election of our first Woman President will when it happens. It's the only, unambiguously good thing about a prospective Pete Buttigieg Presidency. But beyond that, and the fact that most of what is claimed for him is probably true, I actually dread his ever being President (that he is not the only candidate currently in the race who I can say this about does little to ease my anxiety). Last night's single file march down 9/12 Memory Lane tore it for me. I know what he is now, and no mistake. He is a living, breathing, competent, talented, educated, cultured (no Alfred E. Neuman for this guy), credentialed throwback to the brain trusts and planners of the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, Rostow, McNamara, Bundy; every Ivy League war criminal Halberstam wrote about in 'The Best and the Brightest', who cooly, carefully ran the numbers, made their calculations, and executed a wholesale genocide in Southeast Asia. Buttigieg has the potential to be precisely the kind of cool, detached, analytical monster that will tell us, sorry, but entitlements have to be cut (numbers don't lie) or, worse, successfully oversee the ongoing, unending US war on Islam while our once again fat, dumb, happy country sleeps an untroubled sleep. In that sense (if no other), Pete Buttigieg is the most dangerous of all the candidates currently in the race. He's what Noam Chomsky warned us about fifty years ago.

by R.J. Lambert

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ohmytheon · 6 years

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The Adventures of Villain Uraraka

title: Unravel

summary: Two weeks after the Kamino Incident and silence between them, Ochako decides that she's ready to come back to the League and introduce herself to those loyal to Tomura. Aka, Ochako Meets the Gang. (Part 5 of my crack Traitor Uraraka series)

notes: Okay, so this was supposed to be a lot crackier than it came out, but seriously, Shigaraki and Uraraka would not cooperate with me. Granted, they're going through a lot so this was never going to be the case. I guess when I had this in mind originally she was supposed to meet the new members of the League before the attack on the Training Camp, which would've made sense except my mind had other ideas. This is what happens when you write whatever pops into your head: things go off the rails. Nonetheless, I had a lot of fun writing this. Seeing as how Magne is alive, consider this a slight canon divergence in that they haven't met Overhaul just yet. I just pushed that back by a day or two. I would love for them to meet, but I don't see that happening. Maybe.

Ochako had fallen into a state of radio silence after their last meeting. There were periods in which their contact was severely limited and full days when Tomura didn’t hear from her at all. The longest time they’d gone without any communication had been two weeks. It had driven him up a wall, judging from the way he’d disintegrated more than a handful of glasses. In the end, she’d flounced back into the bar, full of confidence after her first two official weeks at UA.

He could still remember seeing her in her high school uniform for the first time, the normalcy of it making his stomach clench uncomfortably. He couldn’t understand why she seemed to enjoy it so much, but then he’d never been to school before, not that he could remember. Sensei and Kurogiri had given him all the education he needed. She lived in a completely different world, something which was more apparent than ever since she had gone undercover in earnest.

Due to the nature of how she’d been raised, Tomura was used to seeing her sporadically, even though she had been a huge part of his life. When she had been too little to own a phone, he’d go almost a full week without talking to her. As she got older, the couple raising her for Sensei supplied her with one, which turned out to be a mistake since she discovered emojis and gifs very quickly. She used them an obnoxious amount, sometimes spamming him with nonsense texts.

He would kill for just one from her right now.

Whenever they had gone through long periods of little to no communication, there had always been a set time for a check in to make sure that things were still on track and her secret was safe. It frustrated him to hell and back, but the hour would come and she would step through Kurogiri’s warpgate like clockwork.

The silence that had fallen between now them was different: Tomura didn’t know when Ochako was coming back.

As if getting forcibly dragged through a warp gate after miserably failing to complete his goals and leaving Sensei to fight All Might wasn’t horrific enough, Tomura couldn’t get the sight of Ochako out of his head. Her big brown eyes, begging him to fix everything yet filled with a rage that he hadn’t seen in years, but it had been directed towards him this time. The fists she had pounded against his chest. Those furious tears that she’d wiped away but kept coming. He’d screamed back at her in his fury and desperation following Sensei’s defeat. In the end, she had turned on her heels and left. He hadn’t heard from her since.

The phone call came out of the blue. At first, he snatched his phone so quick that he nearly used all fingers, but then realized that it wasn’t his going off. It was Kurogiri’s. He answered the phone, much more subdued than he had been two weeks ago when they’d kidnapped Bakugou. Kurogiri was almost impossible to read, but somehow Tomura knew exactly what was going on even if he was murmuring quietly.

“She wants to meet the others,” Kurogiri supplied.

Tomura narrowed his eyes. “Why the sudden demand?”

“Who wants to meet us?” Dabi asked as he walked into the room. This was his first time in their new hideout, having been put on recruiting duty and out of contact. So far, he hadn’t done that great of a job, but then again, they weren’t in the best of positions right now. Tomura knew that they were rebuilding and it was painful to accept, but he had to if they were going to see this through and improve. It was what Sensei wanted and he still believed in Tomura even after he had failed.

(So why couldn’t Ochako?)

Toga popped in right behind him. “Oh, we’re meeting someone? Is she cute?”

Tomura rolled his eyes. She was kind of adorable when she was angry, which she had been when confronting him over Toga stabbing her on the camping trip. When he looked back to Kurogiri, there was a questioning look in the way he held himself and the phone next to his head, awaiting an answer. Tomura sighed and waved a hand. Bring her on in. If she thought it was time to show her face, then that was on her.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he was antsy to see her again and see how she was handling things. The Hero License Exam had occurred yesterday and he had no idea how things had gone for her. Toga could only tell him so much and what he’d heard about Ochako had made him vaguely uncomfortable. She had to get one so that she could start amassing more information from the pro hero side. If she got one and was able to work more with pro heroes, she’d be infiltrated in hero society even more. Who knew what intel she could get then? Not to mention that her quirk’s strength had grown even stronger. At this rate she’d be able to lift buildings one day.

“So who’s this mystery girl?” Dabi asked as Kurogiri turned away to finish the conversation on the phone. “Don’t tell me you’ve had a girlfriend stashed away this whole time.”

Even though it was utterly ridiculous, Tomura’s face flushed behind the hand he had resting on his face and he barked out a furious, “No!”

“Good,” Dabi replied in his typical flat tone, “because I’m pretty sure you only sleep with an anime body pillow.”

“That’s not--” Tomura snapped his mouth shut and hissed through his teeth. It wouldn’t do him any good to let Dabi rile him up further. Maybe he should just send him out before Ochako showed up. She was around enough skeevy boys and heroes as it was. He didn’t need to add Dabi to the mix. “Don’t you have something to do?”

Dabi folded his arms across his chest. “And miss meeting our mystery guest? I don’t think so.”

Sighing, Tomura stood up. He trusted these people to help further the League’s plans, but Ochako was something different. She’d been a part of this group for as long as he had. Her entire life had lead up to this moment and he wasn’t going to have anyone mess that up. The two of them had done their best to make Sensei proud and they would keep doing that even with him in prison.

“This is a very serious matter. She is one of the highest kept secrets of the League. Very few members have ever met her or even know of her existence.” Her position in UA was very important and precious to the League. He had to protect that as much as he had to protect her. Ochako could understand that. The older she got, the less people in the League that knew her. Sensei didn’t want them to know of his plans for her. Compartmentalizing kept her role safe, but now Ochako wanted to show her face. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight. No, she was in the same boat as him. He had to remember that. “Talk about her outside of here to anyone but us and you can pick out what urn you’d like to be in.”

Compress nodded. When the hell had he come into the room? “This is clearly very delicate. We appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Kurogiri hung up the phone. “Shigaraki?”

“Yes, yes.” Tomura turned back to the others. “Not a word to anyone .”

With everyone in agreement, although Tomura eyed Dabi warily, Kurogiri opened the warp gate. Tomura turned to face it. The seconds that passed in between took ages, but then Ochako walked through the black mist wearing a comically simple outfit of shorts and a t-shirt. He almost turned the chair next to him to ash. She looked so normal with her hair done as it always was, the pastel colors of her outfit, and white sneakers.

The moment was interrupted by a loud, excited squeal behind him. “Ochako!” Toga brushed past him in a flash so that she could jump in Ochako’s face, clapping her hands together and beaming brightly. “I knew we were gonna be friends!”

Tomura saw that way that Ochako’s lips twitched in a grimace at being referred to by her given name, but she wisely didn’t comment on it. No doubt he would hear about this later. She didn’t like it when people spoke to her with too much familiarity when she didn’t think of them like that. Back when she had been little, a lot of Sensei’s colleagues would refer to her as such and she, for however small she was, would always tell them off. It was hard to take her seriously when she was so, well, cute. She made a great spy.

“Yes, great friends,” Ochako replied sweetly. Toga clapped in excitement, but he heard that tone for what it was. She was irritated. Whenever she got like that, she hid it behind a syrupy sweet tone that belied the danger beneath.

“Oh!” Compress exclaimed in surprise. “I must be honest: I did not see this coming.”

“That’s the point of being a spy, isn’t it?” Ochako responded dryly. “I wouldn’t make a good one if you had figured it out upon seeing me once.”

Compress tapped the chin part of his mask. “A remarkable deception. It’s very commendable.” He sounded quite impressed. Tomura could see the slight way Uraraka straightened up in pride. She did the same thing whenever Sensei had praised her. “You helped those boys catch up with me to save Bakugou and Tokoyami.”

“I also once floated Kurogiri and called the cops on Tomura,” Ochako added in a challenging yet playful tone. Oh yeah, he’d almost forgotten about that even though it hadn’t been that long ago. He might have deserved her rage for the mall incident.

Toga tugged on Dabi’s jacket. “This is one of the girls I was telling you about!” She put her hands on her hips and beamed. “And you said she wouldn’t be my friend.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes. “She’s our source in U.A.? Doesn’t seem like much.”

As strong as the urge to throttle Dabi or tell him off, Tomura kept silent. Ochako didn’t need him to defend her. She knew her worth and her strength. Besides, Dabi didn’t know shit about her. That was what people had said about her at the Sports Festival and he’d seen her fight on tv. She pushed herself to her limits every day and he had no doubt that, without their quirks, she could knock Dabi flat on his face. He’d pay good money to see that.

Ochako tilted her head as she evaluated him. “You’re the one that set fire to the forest and kidnapped Bakugou.”

“Guilty as charged,” Dabi replied, holding out his hands.

“No wonder a witness was able to spot you entering the hideout,” Ochako said in an unimpressed tone. “You look like pieces of overcooked meat stitched together. Completely conspicuous and hideous.”

Toga burst into giggles while Dabi and Ochako stared at each other. Considering what had happened the last time that someone had insulted him, Tomura was briefly concerned that Dabi would try to attack her, but he stayed in his seat. He had to let Ochako handle this or none of the others would take her seriously. It was important that they do, seeing as how she’d been a part of this much longer than all of them combined. He did not want them to know of her true significance though.

Finally, Dabi jabbed a thumb back at him and Tomura stiffened in his seat. “Have you seen him underneath that hand? He looks like an ashtray.”

Tomura scoffed. “Dabi, I swear--”

A smile split across Ochako’s face as she looked back at him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I like him. It’s good to have someone that can give you lip when I’m not here.”

It took everything in Tomura to not go off on her right here in front of everyone, but he couldn’t stop from seething in his seat and clenching his hands tightly. “Are you shitting me?” As if he needed anyone to sass him as much as she did, least of all Dabi. He was used to people being afraid of him, even villains, but these latest members were something different. Maybe they were wary of him, but they weren’t afraid. It did remind him of Ochako sometimes.

Which honestly wasn’t a good thing all the time, considering how frustrating she could be.

“I’m so excited you’re here,” Toga burst, unable to contain her enthusiasm. “It was so nice seeing you yesterday, but Tomura had me on a mission and I couldn’t talk to you properly.”

That comment took Ochako back. She blinked, the surprise evident on her face. “A mission?” Slowly she turned her body so that she was completely facing him, Toga forgotten at her side. He had known this would come up sooner than later, but he’d hoped that Toga would keep her mouth shut for a little longer. In his defense, he would have told her had she answered his calls. “Yesterday? The Provisional License Exam…” Her head snapped back to Toga as realization struck her. “The girl that attacked Deku! It was you!”

“And I would have gotten him if not for you,” Toga added, not upset in the slightest. She’d been very excited to tell Tomura all the details, especially about the other two U.A. students that had interrupted her.

“It was you!” Ochako’s face burned bright red. “You turned into me and then-then you melted and you were--” She couldn’t seem to get the word out of her mouth. Any anger that he had felt upon her siding with Dabi faded away, replaced by a smug feeling. Now it was her turn to get embarrassed. He could allow a little of it since she had been the one to bring it up. Plus, it wasn’t often that he got to see her blush like this.

“Don’t worry, Ochako,” Toga said brightly with a wink, “I didn’t let the boys see your goods. I wasn’t you then.”

There was no way she could respond to that, not with the way she looked ready to blow a gasket. That would only end in her trying to float Toga to space and she couldn’t do that. Tomura snorted at the look on her face and she reared on him so fast that it was surprising she didn’t get whiplash and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t start with me, Tomura! I’m not in the mood.”

“Should’ve thought of that before taking Dabi’s side,” Tomura shot back, unable to stop himself, and she practically snarled in response. He didn’t want to give off the air of too close of a relationship with her, lest they start getting any ideas, but that was difficult with him having already used his given name when no one else did. Kurogiri sometimes did, but it was rare these days. Only Sensei and Ochako did on a regular basis.

With her eyes closed, Ochako held her hands out in a gesture that looked like surrender but he knew meant that she needed time to think. Despite that none of the rest knew that, they seemed to pick up on it somehow, judging from the way that they stayed quiet. She took a deep breath, in and out, and her face slowly returned to its normal color, those pink spots on her cheeks standing out again.

“You had Toga infiltrate the Provisional License Exam to what end?” Ochako asked. When she opened her eyes, there was fire in them again. “To attack Deku? Just because--” She snapped her mouth shut when Tomura stood up from his seat warningly. She wasn’t afraid of him -- wasn’t wary in the slightest -- but she understood his role here as well. He was the leader. She could berate him all she wanted in private, but in public, even she would have to restrain herself. She could’ve argued over it more, considering she was Sensei’s daughter, but she never did. “Why? Why put her at risk? You had me in there.”

“I hadn’t heard from you,” Tomura pointed out mildly. “We had to act fast.”

Ochako stared at him wordlessly. A hundred things passed between them that couldn’t be said out loud. She was still grieving. Sensei wasn’t dead, but locked in Tartarus was as far away as he could be without being so. It was hurting her greatly, but she was doing her best not to show it. Considering her position in U.A., she was skilled at hiding how she felt and what she thought, but it was different with him. She’d always been something of an open book, just as she could read him when everyone else failed.

Finally, she reigned herself in and sighed. “Of course.” It had been her decision to remain out of contact during these past two weeks and she knew it. He’d called her a few times on her disposable cell, but she hadn’t answered them. He couldn’t decide if she was just ignoring the calls or had thrown the cell out altogether.

She should have known better with the exam right around the corner, but so much had happened. She hadn’t even told him that she was moving into the U.A. dorms; he had been forced to find out through Kurogiri that she had moved out of her little apartment. Add on the extra training that she’d no doubt had to do for the exam and the first day of the semester today, it was a surprise that she’d been able to keep her cover straight with all the emotions swirling in her head.

One thing he was certain about: she was strong, much more than people like Dabi expected.

“She’s a little thing, isn’t she?” Magne asked, leaning forward to peer at her closer. Ochako huffed, but didn’t argue about it. She had more pressing concerns on her mind, like why Tomura had ordered Toga to sneak into the license exam and how she had been able to pretend to be two people. He could see her thinking about it even as she eyed Magne with a coldly amused expression that she’d learned from her father. “How do you know we can trust her though? Heroes are all the same: selfish and controlling.”

“We can trust her,” Tomura said flatly, not bothering to look at her. His focus remained on Ochako.

Magne frowned and put her hands on her hips. “If you say so, but anyone that goes to U.A.--”

“It’s not very hero-like to betray the heroes,” Spinner pointed out.

“The information on the training camp,” Compress added. “I’d assumed it came from a teacher, but a student…”

Ochako untucked her bangs from behind her ears and moved them to frame her face, making her look even more innocent. “You all are free to be who you are, but some of us have to play the long game.”

“That’s true,” Magne said, her face twisting into one of sympathy. “You have to hide who you are every day.”

“It’s not easy, living a lie and pretending to believe in something you’re fighting against,” Twice said. “You have to be someone you aren’t and someone you are.” He put a hand to the side of his head and shook it. “Two people all at once. That’s not easy at all.”

It was something all of them could understand. They had been smothered by heroes, suffered under society, and had been told that there was no place for them. It was different for Ochako. She could have a place in this world if she wanted one. Tomura had known that she was different since she was little. She lived with one foot in another world, the one he was fighting against, but he hadn’t realized how easy it would be for her to lift her other foot and place it in that world if she wanted. She could leave them behind. The society that turned its back on him would accept her with open arms. Sensei had given her that life so it would in order for her to complete their goals, but it would not take much for her to abandon them.

All it would take was for her to ignore his calls and go on living the life she had created. Turn that lie into reality. Become the hero she was pretending to be.

Had he been stressing out over her silence or the idea of what her silence might mean?

Ochako’s eyes swept over to his as the League members mulled over her existence and Tomura met them head-on without blinking. There was an impassive look on her face, but try as she might, she couldn’t keep everything hidden. She was a better actress than he could’ve ever expected from a girl who used to cry at those animal shelter commercials and read those teen girl magazines that had articles about empowered female heroes and multiple choice quizzes about crushes. But she was still Chako to him and he could see how tired she was.

Both of them had isolated themselves after Sensei’s defeat and imprisonment, becoming volcanic islands in order to become stronger. However, he at least had to League to back him up. She had plenty of friends, but none of them real. Not a single one of them knew of her pain and struggle. He’d always thought that he was the lonely one, destined to walk his path alone, while she was so bubbly and friendly.

She had no one.

Of course she’d come home.

Tearing her gaze away from him, Ochako sat down in a chair near the wall where Dabi was leaning, as if she was as familiar with this place as she had been the bar. “We’ve more or less been on lock down since Kamino and being moved into the new dorms. Contacting you was risky when nearly all our moves were being monitored. You were right about them being concerned about a traitor.”

“Are they looking into the students?” Tomura asked.

“Not that I’m aware of, but the teachers are being more cautious than ever before.” Ochako sighed and rolled her eyes. “Especially since Deku and Bakugou got into that massive fight last night. They destroyed nearly half of Ground Beta.”

Tomura tried not to react, but the others weren’t as cautious. The casual mention of Katsuki Bakugou was enough to catch everyone’s attention. The extraordinary failure of his kidnapping rested heavily on everyone’s minds. All of them felt guilty in some way, even Ochako, who hadn’t even been aware of it until after the fact. She had been the one to give them the information that allowed them to attack the training camp. They couldn’t linger on it though. As furious as it made him, they had to focus on rebuilding. Sensei believed in him to take over. He had to prove his sensei right.

“Everyone is still reeling from what happened,” Ochako continued, her voice suddenly devoid of anything as she attempted to keep all emotion out. She apparently didn’t want them to know of her true significance either. “Plus we had to do extra training that we didn’t do at the camp before our license exam. It was all I could do to get away for a few hours to come here. I’m exhausted.”

Toga rocked on her feet. “The license exam was a lot of fun though.”

Ochako looked at her for a beat and then slumped in her seat. “That’s right. You were that girl from Shiketsu with the quirk to make you look like me. I can’t believe you passed.” She furrowed her brow. “How did you…?” She sat upright. “My blood. You took my blood at the camp when you attacked me.”

“I had to get close to Deku somehow,” Toga said. She clasped her hands together and gave a wiggle. “He’s so cute! And he thinks very highly of you, Ochako. He didn’t think twice before trying to save you.”

Not taking it as a compliment, considering that they didn’t know the extent of Ochako and Deku’s predicament, Ochako folded her arms across her chest and grumbled, “You could’ve asked for some of my blood instead of attacking me and jamming a giant needle into my leg.”

“It wouldn’t have been as much fun,” Toga insisted with a giggle. “Friends share! If you ever want some of my blood--”

“No thanks,” Ochako interrupted tartly. “I’ll pass.”

Dabi snorted.

It wasn’t a perfect meeting by far, but Tomura could feel the tension in the room bleeding away. Of course they had been resistant to the idea that this little girl from U.A. could be one of them, but they didn’t know her like he did. They couldn’t possibly understand that she been raised for this very role. He might have been chosen and raised to become Sensei’s successor, but she was his dream. Their goals could be possible without her, but they would be that much more difficult and harder to grasp. She brought them into reality at a high cost.

“It’ll be nice to have another girl around here,” Magne hummed.

Ignoring her sense of space, as she did often, Toga snatched Ochako by her hands, pulling on her hard enough to jerk her out of the chair, and exclaimed, “We’re going to have so much fun together!”

Tomura witnessed the split second of indignation turned rage on her face before a more appropriate look of excitement settled on her face. Toga hadn’t minded her fingers, but Ochako kept her pinky fingers out just in case, always careful even when she didn’t want to be. Surely not all of them could be blind to the tension in her arms as she struggled not to pull away.

“Can’t wait!” Ochako replied.

This time, Tomura almost snorted. “You needed more girl friends anyway.”

Ochako shot him a glare that no one but Toga in her glee seemed to miss. Her two closest companions at school were boys, one of whom was still on the kill list despite her reservations. She could stand to have some bloodthirsty female friends, especially one close to her age. It would do her some good to become colder. He was worried that being around those U.A. idiots all the time was making her soft.

“What’s your stake in this anyway?” Spinner asked curiously as Ochako took her hands out of Toga’s. “I mean, we all have our reasons for being here, but you, well…”

“I look like every other normal person in society, don’t I?” Ochako responded coolly.

Spinner glanced at Magne and Compress, the latter of whom continued, “We aren’t questioning Shigaraki or his trust in you, but like I said, you do fit in very well with the others.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like how those with stronger quirks squash down everyone else,” Dabi put in, having been surprisingly quiet for the most part. He wasn’t talkaive by any means, but Tomura had honestly expected him to make more snarky comments than he had. “Did you see the Sports Festival? She put up a hell of a fight, but she nearly got obliterated.”

Despite herself, Ochako’s face flushed a little. She hated being reminded of the Sports Festival. It had been an excellent motivator, but also a sore point for her. After getting beat by Bakugou, she’d been forced to call them in order to get a hold of Sensei. Tomura had sensed that she was near tears, but had decided not to mock her for it, not when he’d accidentally disintegrated a bottle of good liquor during her match. Kurogiri had seemed almost as dismayed over that as he had when she had passed out in the arena.

“My reasons for joining the League are my own,” Ochako answered in a tone that broke no room for arguing. Her gaze swept around the room, bouncing from Spinner, who frowned, and Magne, who nodded her head. When her eyes landed on Dabi, he didn’t move or blink, but there was a sudden tenseness. “I’m sure we all have other reasons that we’d rather not talk about.”

Dabi shrugged his shoulders. “I can respect that.”

Ochako smiled. “Okay, you’re off my shit list again, but you’re on thin ice.”

That almost made Dabi grin. It made Tomura frown. Shit list? Since when had Ochako started swearing so much? She hadn’t done that before U.A., as far as he remembered. Honestly, those foul-mouthed boys… It was probably that fucking Bakugou kid. He had a mouth on him. Tomura did remember teaching her awful sayings for her to repeat in her sweet voice when they were younger that had Kurogiri and other adults panicking. She’d thought it was funny and he couldn’t help himself. She must still find vulgar things hilarious.

Now he really had to make sure that she stayed away from Dabi.

With everyone satisfied as they could be, the group began to disperse. Toga clearly did not want to leave Ochako, who most definitely wanted her to leave, but then Compress called her away. Dabi was the last to leave, but then he mumbled about having business to get back to and Kurogiri called up a warp gate for him to disappear through.

After that was done, Kurogiri took his leave as well after giving Ochako a hug as best as someone made of black mist could. She was soft and kind in returning the gesture, the smile on her face genuine, but they all knew that he wasn’t the person she wanted to hug her. A daddy’s girl through and through. Tomura couldn’t tease her about that now, not with the shame fighting to crawl up his throat.

Taking a deep breath, Ochako lifted her gaze from her feet to where he was sitting down again. “Tomura, I...”

“You shouldn’t have gone silent like that,” Tomura scolded her. “There’s a lot riding on the line right now more than ever. We all went our separate ways to take the heat off, but I needed to hear from you.”

He winced a little. That last part had come off as a little too needy, something which he couldn’t afford to let bleed out. Even if they were alone now, he couldn’t discount the idea that some of the others were trying to listen in. Her eyes flickered to the door, telling him that she was thinking the same thing. It stung more than he wanted to admit.

Perhaps it had been too long since they had been completely open with each other. He should’ve told her about the plan to kidnap Bakugou. He knew that now. He’d thought he was sparring him some pain, but instead he’d missed out on valuable intel. Sensei had taught him to learn from his mistakes, but this one was so brutal. It was time to fly on their own.

Ochako swallowed. “I know. It was foolish of me. I won’t do it again.”

“We all made mistakes to bring us here,” Tomura told her.

“The only thing we can do is learn from them and not make them again,” Ochako finished.

They’d been taught well. Neither one of them had wanted to get to this point where they were now. The League crippled, Sensei in prison, on the run with a backup hideout. It wasn’t ideal. Moving into the U.A. dorms would possibly allow her to gain further access to get more information, but it put her in the thick of things and she was in more danger than ever. Her apartment had given Kurogiri an easy port of entry to create a warp gate for her to do check-ins, but he couldn’t do that on U.A.’s campus. Any odd behavior would be noted. They would have to find another way.

Tomura eyed her carefully and, though it pained him a little, he took the hand off his face. Whereas others flinched, she immediately relaxed upon seeing his face. It still confused him sometimes. “Are we good?”

“Yeah,” Ochako said, nodding, “we’re good.”

It wasn’t near enough for what they’d lost, but they would have to make do. They always had with the time they were given. Now was not the time to cower and hide. Despite forcing All Might into retirement, the world thought that they were broken and he was still alive. Tomura wanted him dead for what he’d done to Sense, nearly taking his life and then his freedom, and he knew that Ochako felt the same way.

The fire that had been stoked during the Sports Festival had turned into a raging bonfire. He needed it even stronger if they were going to go further. Her situation was precarious more than ever. He couldn’t afford her to have any doubts. They had to be stronger.

#shiragaki tomura #ochako uraraka #villain uraraka #traitor uraraka #bnha #mha #dabi #toga himiko #mr. compress #twice #spinner #magne #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #crack traitor uraraka series #bnha fanfiction #anime

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mattzerella-sticks · 6 years

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Electing to Care (a Dean/Cas fic centered around voting) (ao3)

Dean Winchester has lived in Texas his whole life, and has seen it go red time after time, election after election. He never gave it a thought that there was something he could do to make a difference.

But then Sam drags him to a rally, where he meets someone who shows that one person can do just that. And the best way is to lead through example.

There weren’t many things Dean Winchester would wake up early for. Work was a given, although ‘early’ is a fluid concept when you’re the owner of your own business. Some days a simple text saves him an hour or two from actually having to open his shop. Emergencies, as well, can rouse him from sleep much sooner than he’d like. His wants taking a backseat to the needs of his family and friends. However, on this morning – a morning of a rare day-off – it was neither of these two options that forced him to watch the wide, Texas sky bleed from marmalade to robin’s egg, jumping the chasm of the color wheel. The reason he’s conscious was because of a third, more sinister reason.

Sam’s puppy-dog eyes.

“Please, Dean,” his brother had begged him over dinner last night, “Eileen’s flight was cancelled, so she and Siobhan won’t be back until tomorrow night.” His wife and daughter were visiting with relatives over in Georgia, Sam exempt from travel because of a case. And while it wasn’t to be a long trip, their reunion has been forestalled by the reputed reliability of Delta airlines.

Dean was nonplussed. “I don’t see why you can’t do this by yourself?”

Sam sighed and started to explain, his fingers racing to keep up – a habit hard to break even while his wife’s eyes weren’t there. Dean couldn’t blame him, finding his own hands forming words seconds after he spoke. Although in contrast to Sam’s plea, Dean’s use of signs was centered on a key one: ‘no’.

It was only when his brother pulled out his secret weapon that Dean finally surrendered, weakly nodding both head and fist.

Which explains why he’s trapped in a crowd with strangers, his brother, and a half-empty tumbler of coffee barely doing its job.

Even rubbing at his eyes under his shades doesn’t help. “Christ, Sammy,” Dean grouses, “How can you stand things like these?”

His brother is too cheery for a man missing a wife. The night before he was like a dog waiting for its master to return home. And now, his tail is wagging as if Dean brought him to the park along with all the other pets. Sam turns to him, breaking from conversation with another group of young twenty-somethings. “It’s for a good cause,” he shrugs, “We’re all interested in the same thing.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, surprisingly.” He casts another glance around at the crowd, amazed by the amount of Democrats who happen to live in Texas. When they first arrived at the park, Dean had expected twenty people at the most and five minutes before Sam sighed and freed him. What he wasn’t counting on was for people to show up. Now it’s been a half-hour since the thing was supposed to start, and Dean’s been gnawing on his arm like a trapped coyote.

“What’s everyone waiting for anyway?”

“This usually happens,” Sam tells him, “the guy running the rally gets caught up in talking to people he loses track of time.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course. Some two-bit politician in a three-piece suit, making sure ‘he’s got our vote’!” Sam doesn’t appreciate the jab, shooting him a bitch-face reminiscent of the time Dean sewed the cuffs of all his pants three inches shorter than they were. “It wasn’t funny, dude,” Sam snapped at him after work, “I had a meeting with my boss and all she could stare at were my ankles!” Dean couldn’t hear him over his own laughter.

“He’s not like that,” Sam says, “Cas is pretty cool.”

“Cas – you know the guy well?”

“We’ve had a few conversations.” Sam smiles, gazing up towards the makeshift stage where a few people were milling about. “He actually started this organization himself, y’know, after the election.” Sam points to his white t-shirt, where the words ‘I Got the Blues’ stand out in fierce cobalt. There was another, similar shirt crumpled in the backseat of Baby, where Dean had tossed it, preferring his own black tee. “Wanted to be a part of the ‘rising Blue Wave in Texas’ as he called it.”

Dean scoffs. “More power to him, but he does know Austin’s an anomaly, right? There’s not enough of a differing majority to make Texas look like anything else but an ugly, red sunburn – unfortunately.” He notices a few people shoot him some ugly looks, and he ignores them.

Sam offers another reproachful look. “We came close. And with everything happening, especially in our own state, lots of people are looking to jump ship. You remember that protest against detention camps Eileen and I went to a month and a half ago?” How could Dean forget – it’s not everyday he gets a FaceTime from his sister-in-law telling him his baby brother was in jail. “We outnumbered the counter-protesters ten to one! You couldn’t even hear them. And – get this – Cas organized the whole thing.”

“He’s really working hard for his votes.”

“God, Dean, do you even follow the news?”

“No – why?”

“Cas isn’t running for any office.”

“Wait,” Dean says, “you’re telling me this guy has nothing to gain from… any of this? Then why’s he putting in all this work?”

Sam smiles again, a small one usually given to babies or toddlers when asking things like ‘why is the grass green’. “Because he just cares.”

The words struck Dean into a sort of silence. Sam leaves him for a bit, then, ambling over to a few other people he knows. Which is fine with him, as he needs the solitude to process his thoughts.

Caring is something Dean thought was antithetical to today’s society. What with everything going on in and around the world, numbing yourself was the only way to survive. Dean treated everything outside his personal sphere with a cool indifference. He has his opinions, but he can’t work up the energy to voice them anymore. No matter what, it always felt like he was being drowned out or being proven wrong. ‘Bisexuality is a real thing, dad’ is met with ‘you’ll find a nice girl someday’. ‘Stanford is so far away, Sammy’ seemed like a good argument at the time, but now that his brother is back with a good job and loving family, is now just a bad memory. ‘We can make it work, Lisa’ never had any foothold in reality. It’s why he hasn’t voted in a long time, since his vote won’t make a difference whether Texas finally breaks with tradition or stay entrenched in their past.

Thankfully, he’s saved from drowning in his musings by the projected tapping of a life preserver. Dean refocuses on the stage as Sam makes his way back towards him. “Is it starting?” he asks.

“Yep.” He points, “That right there is Cas.”

Cas is… not what he was expecting. Given that he knows enough about politics to fill a leaky barrel, his mind crafted a caricature of a man. He thought he’d see a balding, somewhat pudgy guy waddle his way up the steps in a suit or – worse – a button-down with the sleeves rolled up so he can ‘get to work’. Instead, Cas is an average guy. He has a full head of dark hair that looks as styled as his own. And his choice in clothes is a mix of stuff Dean is sure is in his own closet. Aside from the ‘I Got the Blues’ in reverse colors, Cas has on a brown-and-blue plaid shirt, some khaki shorts and…

“What kind of hippie sandals are those?”

Sam scoffs at him. “Those are Tevas.”

“Te-what now?”

“Tevas,” Sam says, “they’re more than just a sandal. You can do a lot in ‘em like hike, bike, rock climb –“

“So what you’re saying is you own a pair, too?”

His response to Dean’s jab is very suspicious blanching. “Just shut up and watch…”

He does. Not because Sam told him to but because Cas still had a surprise or two up his sleeves, like his voice. It was as gravelly as the road he and Sam would bike to reach the lake near their Uncle’s property every summer when they were still kids. And just as treacherous. One time Dean was tossed on his ass because he wasn’t paying attention, and the pebbles dug enough into his skin to scrape. He’s dealing with a similarly uncomfortable sensation. Except the only scraping caused by Cas’s coarse baritone is Dean’s dick at his zipper. ‘Probably the worst thing to do at a rally,’ he thinks, ‘is popping a boner.’

Dean wills for his dick to stop pounding at the gate, regretting his decision to forgo underwear. “It’s warm,” he remembers saying earlier, “and I’ll be back in my sweats soon enough. Why waste a pair?” ‘What a fool I was…’

“Hey, could you stop?” Sam whispers to him, eyes whipping back and forth between him and Cas, “I know this isn’t your thing but at least try to look like you’re having a good time – for me?”

‘You don’t even want to know the horrible good time I’m having here, Sammy.’ Still, for his brother, he musters up enough strength to grimace as Cas wraps up his speech. He motions for someone else, a woman, to come to the stand. They shake hands and hug, and he moves off to the side so she can have everyone’s attention.

Except his eyes stay on Cas. He should be relieved now that the man’s siren song was over, except Dean’s left still spellbound. The woman was an easy out – Dean could have focused completely on her and her platform and depressed himself thoroughly enough to wilt his crotch. But no matter how hard he tries, he finds himself looking back over towards the other man.

Watching him, Dean sees he’s completely enraptured with what she has to say. His body is turned toward her, profile blocking out the heavy sun, making it near blinding to gaze at him for too long. Dean was never one to shy from a challenge. If he stared long enough, he looked a lot like the saint Sam and others probably thinks he is.

Without realizing, the crowd starts clapping and Dean is dragged from his contemplation. Sam hollers and cheers with the rest of them, nudging him to do the same. He nestles his coffee between his elbow and chest and claps.

“Thank you,” Cas takes the microphone again, “That was as inspiring and empowering as always. Now, remember folks, if we want to get her elected to office, we need to –“ the crowd responds, “Vote!” “You need to tell your friends to –“ “Vote!” “Your family?” “Vote!”

“Because what do we got?”

“We got the blues!” There’s another uproar, and Dean startles at the ferocity of it.

Cas laughs at it. “Thank you. To get your strength up for the long battle to midterms, please go and grab some complimentary brunch – on us.”

“Brunch?”

Dean noticed the tables near the back of the event, where he was sure some volunteers would be staffed to get unknowing suckers into signing petitions. When he and Sam arrived, all he saw was a few clipboards stacked at the end of one of the tables before his brother was dragging him towards the front. But if Sam didn’t have to be early to everything in his life, he might have been able to see the food being brought in. Or get a good place in line.

Sam nods. “They always get somewhere good to cater. Since it’s brunch they might even have mimosas?”

“Good,” Dean claps him on the back, “Hope you can carry all of it when you get back here.”

“What?”

“You brought me here,” Dean tells him, dialing up his own puppy-dog eyes, “It’s the least you could do.” They’re not as well executed as Sam’s but they get the job done. He’s enjoying the sight of Sam trudging into the crowd, getting smaller and smaller, when he feels a slight presence behind him.

Dean doesn’t know what’s worse: that Cas is standing right there or that he’s even hotter up close. Details he couldn’t make out are now in sharp detail. Like the scruff dusting his chiseled jaw, or how his shirt clings tight, teasing at strong, defined muscles that are on display with his calves. Even now he’s at a loss because of the other man’s eyes – as blue as the party his shirt is touting.

Cas holds a hand out to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Castiel Novak, but you can call me Cas.”

“Dean,” he replies, “Dean Winchester.” Cas’s hands are calloused and warm, a nice feeling even in this torturous heat. “And yeah, this is my first time – here, at a… my brother brought me.”

“I take it your brother is Sam Winchester?”

Dean raises a brow. “He’s talked about you,” Cas continues, explaining, “And I saw you two standing together in the crowd. Wasn’t that hard to put the pieces together.”

“Yeah, he’s a hard one to miss.” He waits a beat, debating on what lie to use to exit the conversation before he ruins it. Only Cas isn’t as willing to let go as he is.

“So, what did you think?”

“Think of what?”

“Of… this?”

“Oh, um… it wasn’t that bad. Except it’s not really my thing…” Cas’s head tilts adorably, and Dean would appreciate it more if he wasn’t trying to forget the taste of his foot. Except it seems he’s not keen on taking it out of his mouth anytime soon. “Y’know, politics. I think you’re doing a nice thing but… I don’t know – I’ve never seen the point in Texas.”

“Politics is everybody’s thing, Dean.” He winces, recognizing the tone in the other man’s voice as the one his teachers would use when he was caught ditching class. “Voting is what decides how this country is going to be run and by who. I mean, look at what happened two years ago. November is important because we need to reverse all that’s happened before it’s too late.”

“But it’s like we’ve already been tossed in the crapper and flushed before we realized it,” Dean argues, “How can we climb out when we’re stuck in the sewers?” The analogy draws a smile to Cas’s lips.

“I wouldn’t know,” he starts, “I’m not a plumber by trade.”

“Really? Then what do you do besides… this?”

“I’m a carpenter.” He gestures to the stage, “I actually built this myself with some leftover material from a few orders, as well as some recycled wood from old furniture.”

“That’s… really cool,” Dean says, smiling, “I know a lot about tools, but not enough to do all that. But show me a car and I can strip and repair her in a day.”

“Mechanic?”

“Yeah, I own Singers’ Body Shop down on Enfield.”

“I’ve heard good things about it – from your brother, actually,” Cas tells him, “He was helping me connect with some lawyers, to do some pro bono work with detained immigrants, and my truck was having a fit. My brother ended up bringing it over to a Jiffy Lube the day after, so I never got around to going.”

“Damned chain stores,” Dean grouses, “If it’s the one I’m thinking of I’ll be seeing you soon enough.”

Cas’s eyes twinkle at the thought. “I’m lucky you’d want to see me again after such a delightful first impression.”

“Look, sorry if I’m a little grumpy.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not because I don’t believe in what you’re doing, really. I think it’s cool. But… I don’t know if it’ll all work out, s’all. I saw how excited Sam and all our friends were when it looked like Hillary was going to win but then… he wouldn’t leave his house for a week. The world’s not gonna change enough in two years to ever fix everything so what’s the point and… I don’t know, it’s probably me being stupid or – whatever.”

“Dean.” He looks up, Cas’s voice sighing in such a fond way his heart skipping over itself at the sound. “What you’re experiencing isn’t rare. Voter apathy is a terrible affliction, one that persists thanks to the machinations of others. The people in power who don’t deserve their positions have coasted on it for years, disenfranchising constituents so there won’t be any opposition. That’s what I fight against by hosting these rallies, registering voters, and staging protests – making it so people care again.”

“Sounds like a hard job.”

Cas smiles with his gums. “That’s easy. The tough part is when it comes time to vote – hoping that I’ve done enough to turn out enough people at the polls.”

Dean looks over at the sprawling crowd, watching them mingle with each other. People of different races, young and old, smiling and laughing like there’s nothing waiting for them in the newspaper or on Twitter that’ll send them into a spiral. “From the looks of things, you might just do it.” He feels something flutter in his chest, and a warm feeling oozes its way down like butter on a warm slice of toast.

“And you?”

He turns back to Cas. “What about me?”

“Will you be voting?”

Dean wishes he wasn’t facing Cas. It’s hard to crush the dreams of the good-looking man with a kind heart when you’re swimming in his eyes. His face turns red, and he focuses more on Cas’s mouth when he says, “…I’m not sure.”

He gets a clear view of when Cas frowns. “What I mean is,” Dean continues, “I haven’t voted in awhile… not even sure I’m registered…”

“That’s an easy fix, Dean,” Cas says, “the deadline is months away and –“

“Why does it matter, anyway?” he asks, voice small, “My vote won’t make a difference…”

“All votes make a difference, Dean,” Cas tells him, Dean’s self-doubt like oil spilling into the sea of his eyes, his passionate response setting it all terrifyingly ablaze. “Yes, it is just one vote but it helps raise up all the others. Your vote is like your voice, and if enough people shout it can get people’s attention. Even if we end up losing, if we make the margin as thin as possible – people will notice. Although, I have good faith all the people who’ve been taking a back seat for so long are no longer willing to let others drive for them.”

Sam was wrong, back then, when he said Cas ‘just cares’. Because from what he’s seen, Cas doesn’t do anything in ‘justs’. His actions are absolutes. His words are truths. And God help everyone if his dreams aren’t reality. He pours his heart into his work and into people, and makes everything shine like they’ve gotten a fresh coat of varnish. Even now, Dean feels his own storm clouds lightening, as if Cas’s bright disposition is forcing them out.

“You sure?” Dean asks, teasingly, “Getting me to vote could be a point for the other side…”

Cas huffs. “Really, Dean, I find that hard to believe.”

Dean isn’t done playing with him. “Well, y’know, I haven’t really been paying attention to the news lately, I might just pick the names I like the most. I like cruising in my car, so maybe I’ll vote for –“

“If you’d like,” Cas cuts him off, his own impish grin plastered to his face, “I could make a helpful suggestion?”

“Oh?”

Cas takes a step closer. The extra foot of distance was a barrier keeping all of Dean’s senses and wits about him. Now Cas has the higher ground. “I’m not doing anything later tonight. We could meet up for dinner, somewhere casual, and I could explain the current political climate,” his voice takes on a breathy quality, “just… like… this.”

Dean nearly falls apart at the seams. The only thing keeping him together is that he has to respond. But his tongue has a stranglehold on his brain, and not much gets through. “You – you would?”

“Of course,” Cas says, “I find it’s best to… act, rather then letting opportunities slip away. I wouldn’t be wrong in thinking that you’re interested in… voting.” Dean whines low in his throat. “And maybe after we can take it back to my place and discuss,” his hand brushes across Dean’s crotch, “polls.”

It’s too much for Dean – and too good to be true. “You don’t,” he huffs, trying to get control of himself, “You don’t just say that to any pretty face at a rally, do you?”

Cas doesn’t get offended, instead chuckling at Dean’s question. “I couldn’t say, I’ve never actually seen anyone with as pretty a face as yours come to one of my events.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t Sam that I noticed first in the crowd.” That hits all of Dean’s spots, and nearly has him seeing stars. But as quickly as Cas’s advances started, he takes a step back, allowing Dean the lungful of air he so desperately needed. However, his smile doesn’t dim. “Here, take this.” Cas hands him a business card. “You can text me so I’ll have your number, and we can go from there. It was a real… pleasure, meeting you, Dean.”

Dean responds with a meek, “You, too.”

Cas moves back towards the stage, towards a group of people, as if nothing happened. He does get a noogie from a smaller, blond man, and Dean’s only sure it’s because of what happened when he winks at Dean while suggestively licking his lollipop. Dean doesn’t watch them for much longer.

At least Sam chooses then to walk back. “So they were out of drinks,” he said, handing Dean a plate, “but I managed to get eggs and some pancakes for us. Although that’s all the bacon I could get and – Dean, are you listening?”

“Huh?”

“Are you all right?” Sam asks, fork held steady in the air, waiting to see if it would continue in its quest for food or be held off by something else.

Dean shakes himself out of his daze. “What? Yeah, yeah I’m fine – thanks…”

Sam lets it go. But halfway through his meal, Dean, who can’t leave well-enough alone, bothers him again.

“Hey Sam, can you tell me more about this whole…” he waves with his fork, “I Got the Blues thing?”

Epilogue – November 6, 2018

Dean steps out from the building, a sticker tacked onto his shirt, smiling. It brightens when he spies a familiar figure leaning up against Baby. “Hey,” he calls out, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be harassing people to do their ‘civic duty’?”

Cas chuckles and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. “I was, and will be. Wanted to check up on you is all.” He places a firm kiss to Dean’s lips, nipping at them, begging for entrance. He lets him in. After a good few minutes of making out, they pull away. “So,” he asks, nose pressed to nose, “what did you think?”

“About the kiss or voting?”

“I already know you love my kisses.” He gives Dean another one, tacked onto the end of his sentence like a period, to prove a point. “How do you feel now that you’ve voted?”

“It feels – well… it feels like…”

“Like…?”

“Like nothing’s changed.”

Cas leans back, disbelief etched into his face. “Excuse me?” he asks, “What do you mean nothing’s –“ He cuts himself off, noticing the Cheshire grin Dean has failed to reign in. “You little shit.”

“What?”

“Why is it you like to get a rise out of me?”

“I don’t like getting a rise out of you.” Even he knows it’s a lie, and doesn’t need to see the shrewd look in Cas’s eyes. But playing dumb has its rewards, and Dean loves to reap them. “And anyway, I’m not totally wrong. We won’t find out who won until later tonight so really, nothing haschanged.”

“You’re so obstinate.”

“Am not.”

“This is just like the Tevas all over again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cas huffs out a laugh. “You said they were ugly, stupid, and even more hippie than Birkenstocks.”

“And?”

“You’re wearing them right now!” Dean bites down on his lower lip, stuffing his smile down like an overflowing envelope as he peeks down at his feet. Like Cas said, Dean has his own tan pair on. The other man bought them for Dean when he tried Cas’s on. He was very vocal about not liking them, but Cas could see past the front Dean put up.

“Well I didn’t have any other shoes to wear because somebody hid them on me,” he lies, letting his smile bloom like a spring flower at how Cas rolls his eyes. “At least I don’t have to work in these, otherwise you’d really be getting an earful.” Another good thing about being your own boss – if he wanted to make sure his employees went out and voted, close the shop and make your day’s pay be dependent on whether or not they get a sticker.

“At least one of us has the rest of their day free,” Cas sighs, “I still need to check in with everyone and do a few more sweeps to make sure people engaged in the democratic process.”

“You love it though.”

“Yeah.”

“And hey, when you’re done, come to my place,” Dean tells him, “we can get in a good mood and examine some polls.” Cas’s laughter still sends a shiver down his spine.

“I’ll do just that.” They stare at each other, saying everything they ever need to with their silence. Cas pecks Dean on the lips one last time. “I should get going.”

“You should.”

It’s another five minutes before he does.

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural fanfic #Spn fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #Destiel fanfic

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 7 years

Text

Arranged Chapter Fourteen

Description: Y/N is a struggling student in Seoul: working multiple jobs, living in a broom closet apartment, and often sacrificing her dignity for the sake of her livelihood. What happens when a handsome stranger presents her with an offer she cannot refuse at the moment she needs it most?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Word Count: 6,752

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Chaebol!Au, Company!Au, Arranged Marriage!Au

Warnings: Coarse language, although not frequently

A/N: Hiya! Here’s the next chapter. I think you guys will like this one! We are very rapidly approaching the end of the story which is so bittersweet for me. This story has afforded me so many opportunities and experiences I would have never had otherwise, and that’s all thanks to you guys. So truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for the support and love. It’s been so overwhelming in the best way. Please shoot me a message if you’d like! I love to chat with you, so don’t be shy. I should be online at around 5 PST or so! And if you have any issues, feedback, critique, questions, or anything don’t hesitate to let me know!

Also! If you didn’t already know, I’ve created a one question poll/survey to see which member I will write about next since I want to give you guys what you want! And, along with that, I am considering for the next fic only updating once a week to give myself some more time to make everything polished. How would you guys feel about that?

Here’s the poll! I’d really appreciate it if you guys took the time to vote:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/YN9TDQT

–Mercury

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen (END)

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Jungkook: At least tell me why. Y/N: I already told you. Jungkook: Yeah, you told me a boldfaced lie. I wanna know why for real. Y/N: Shut up. We’re supposed to be paying attention.

I shot Jungkook a sharp look as I sat beside him at the dinner table. My father sat next to his father, the four of us settled at a white table in the Jeon’s vast dining room. He shook his head and busied himself typing again. Our fathers were speaking to each other, Mr. Jeon laughing boisterously at something my father had said through clenched teeth. I could scarcely look at either of them.

Jungkook: You don’t get to just decide we’re gonna go through with it and not tell me the real reason why.

I shut off my phone and made a show of placing the dead thing on the table between us, turning slightly to look at Jungkook. “Say, Jack what exactly are we doing here?” asked Jungkook, still looking at me with a challenging glint in his eyes.

“Well…we’re discussing what we’ll do moving forward,” said my father, furrowing his brows.

“And that is?” asked Jungkook, turning to face our fathers.

Jack raised his eyebrows and Mr. Jeon cast a warning glance at his son. “Well, uh…we’ll need you both to sign the registration document and uh…a few other things.”

“But what about Y/N’s marriage to Yoongi?” asked Jungkook.

“That was one of the things we need to discuss, Jungkook,” said his father with a pointed look.

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see the point in us being here. Seems like all the decisions have already been made,” he said, smiling. I noticed then that the guy had a way of saying frustrating things with a smile, making it impossible to chastise him for it. My father shook his head. “I assure you, that’s not the case. There’s a lot we need your opinions on.”

“Our opinions?” asked Jungkook with a chuckle. “Well, if it’s just opinions I’m sure they won’t count for much.”

“Jungkook,” I hissed under my breath, shaking my head.

My father stared at me and I thought I saw a flash of…guilt? How dare he be guilty? “I’m surprised, Y/N,” he said, turning to me with a grin. “Normally, you’re so uppity about these things.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” said his father, his voice stern.

“And where’s Mom, huh? What’s she up to with all of this?” asked Jungkook.

Was he doing this to punish me for turning off my phone? For lying? I pinched his thigh beneath the table, but he easily swatted my hand away. Surely, my father wouldn’t penalize me for the actions of Jungkook…right?

“Your mother is busy meeting with other company wives for their monthly dinner,” he said. “You know that.”

“Will Mrs. Min be there? Is Mom gonna gloat?” asked Jungkook. It seemed that something long-dormant in him was beginning to sever, leading to an inevitable snap.

Mr. Jeon opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.

It seemed none of us in that room were too keen on bearing witness to that snap.

“Jack, I think we need to be excused,” I said without so much as taking a glance at my father.

“But…you’ve hardly touched your dinner,” he said. “And there’s so much to discuss. Like the matter with Yoongi and-,”

“Jungkook, let’s go,” I said, grabbing his arm and yanking him to his feet.

Despite standing taller than me, he was remarkably pliable under my hands, almost like a child about to be scolded. I led us down the hallway and out into the backyard where the sunset painted his pool lilac. “What the hell?”

He rubbed his arm as I released it and shrugged. “You’re lying to me and I’m not about to let you ruin your future without at least knowing why.”

“I told you why. My dad needs your dad’s financial support. What more do you want, Kook?” I asked, scoffing. “Listen, you don’t understand. Sometimes…sometimes you have the be the responsible one. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for-,”

“For your dad who’s never been around?” asked Jungkook with a humorless laugh. He adjusted his black button-down and rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the Y/N that I know.”

“Yeah well maybe that Y/N is gone.”

At this he paused and stared down at me with wide, startled eyes. “W-What?”

“Maybe she died. Maybe she couldn’t handle it all and she-,”

“She’s not that weak.”

I shook my head, crossing my arms. “She’s weaker than you think.”

“Then she should talk to me. I’m weak too, but maybe together we can-,”

“We can’t.”

He guided me to the grassy lawn beside his swimming pool, the two of us sitting together like we had many times before. “How do you know?”

“You know,” I said with a chuckle. “My father is an alumnus at Seoul University?” I asked, my heart aching as I thought of it. “He’s involved in universities, grad schools…middle schools.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“He…,” I said with a wry smile. “He’s ruthless. He may have been vulnerable when your dad met him, but he’s turned into a viper.”

“So? There are tools that kill snakes.”

“Jungkook,” I said, turning to him. His expression was soft, helpful, almost pleading. “You can’t kill a snake when it’s got someone you care about all wrapped up. You’ll end up hurting the person too.”

“He’s blackmailing you with someone?” asked Jungkook.

I shook my head. “Forget it. Just…I’m here. That’s what’s important. I…I made my choice.”

“But…don’t you deserve to be happy too?”

I ran my hands through my hair and fought the familiar tightness in my chest. “Not at the expense of someone’s livelihood.”

That night instead of going home with my father like he’d suggested, I decided to spend some time alone. Jungkook insisted I stay at his house instead, said there was no reason for me to stay with my father at such a tumultuous time, but I’d told him no. If I stayed with him, I wouldn’t be able to keep my thoughts and emotions to myself. I caught a bus eastward, much like I had before. And I got off near my old apartment, much like before. I then found my way to that park, to the swing set. Much like before.

Except that nothing could be the way it was before. I sat down and kicked lightly, swaying back and forth. The moon was obscured by clouds, tinted grey by the lights of the city below. I watched that blanket of sky, a suffocating duvet overhead, and remembered the way Yoongi had looked beneath the grey comforter on his bed. His cheeks were flushed from crying, his lashes dusting his high cheekbones as he slept. His dark hair, his cool fingertips on my arm, his slightly parted lips. I longed to see it again. I could almost feel his smooth, warm skin if I shut my eyes and tried hard enough.

But when I opened my eyes I was met again with reality. Cold, dark, lonely reality. Yoongi’s words were forever burned in my memory. Everything I touch rots. A pain began to swell in the pit of my stomach. How could he think something so tragic when he’d planted flowers in my heart from the moment we met? When he’d breathed life into my days and filled them with color? A horrible moment passed in silence as I thought of this, watching a few cars whiz past me.

And then I heard a whisper from somewhere nearby. Startled, I whipped my head about to take in my surroundings. The world was navy blue around me, but I could see no one. I looked around just long enough to feel comfortable that I was alone before turning back towards the street to continue wallowing in my own self pity.

Until I felt a sharp jerk on my shoulders and screamed. “What?” shouted Hana’s unmistakable, joyful voice through laughter from behind me.

I turned around to face her and shook my head. “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know not to sneak up on people? Are you crazy or something?” I asked, placing a hand on my chest to feel the hammering of my startled heart.

She laughed. “They say you’re not supposed to come up to a horse from behind or it’ll kick you.”

“Then I’m a horse! Consider me a horse!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up.

Again she laughed and came around to join me on the swings, just like Namjoon had. “How have you been?” she asked.

My eyes widened before I cleared my throat and looked away, back to the sky. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not.”

I sucked in my breath and nodded. “I’m not.”

“Namjoon…he’s been…he’s been spying on us,” she said.

“I know.”

“I know you know,” she said with a deep, heavy sigh. “I just…I wanted you to know that I’m not going to talk to him anymore. He really, really hurt me.”

I turned to face her and nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

She smiled and tossed her dark locks over her shoulder. “Why should you be? You didn’t do anything. He’s the one who chose to help your dad.”

“But it’s my dad who hired him,” I said. “My dad who targeted you, my dad who-,” I began, but stopped. If I told her what was on the line, she would convince me to go back to Yoongi. And God knows I didn’t need much convincing to do it.

She’d be outraged if she found out. But not on her own behalf — on mine. And that was why I had to follow through with it. Because I knew, deep in my heart, she would do the same for me.

“But it wasn’t you.”

I looked at her and saw a soft comfort in her dark eyes as they bored into mine. “I’m ashamed to be related to the person who hurt you.”

She smiled and reached her hand out, clasping her fingers with mine softly. “You’d never hurt me.”

I shook my head. “Never.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” she asked.

Could she tell from my face that I had nowhere I wanted to go? That I’d exiled myself from the only place that felt like home? “I…I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I know. Stay with me tonight. You can sleep in my room and I promise I will kick you out first thing in the morning. You won’t even be freeloading. It’s…a sleepover!” she said with a laugh.

I smiled. The thought was too enticing to deny. “Okay,” I said softly as she pulled me to my feet and we began walking, talking easily, towards her house.

“Y/N!” called her mother, Mina, from the kitchen when she heard my voice. Hana lived in a modest family home in Itaewon, a stout brick building with one story belonging to them and one story overhead belonging to the Jungs. I’d only been over a handful of times, but Mina always made me feel like family. She poked her head around the corner and laughed, waving her spatula in the air, flicking her dark waves over her shoulder and revealing the fine lines around her mouth as she gave me a wide smile.

“Hello Mrs. Park,” I said with a smile.

She shooed me with her spatula and gave me a stern look. “You call me Mrs. Park one more time and I’ll hit you with this. Don’t age me!” she called as she turned back to the kitchen.

Junho, Hana’s father, peered around the wall to the kitchen at me, his white dress shirt splattered with batter. “Oh hello! Are you here for pancakes?” he asked with a grin. He was a short man, shorter than both Mina and Hana. But he made up for his height with his booming voice.

I glanced at Hana, already untying her laces, and she only shrugged. “But it’s,” I paused to consult the watch on my wrist, “It’s ten.”

“Perfect time for pancakes,” said Junho with a boisterous laugh before he too disappeared into the kitchen with his giggling wife.

Hana patted the back of my leg as she continued to struggle with her shoes. “Come on,” she said. “Take off your shoes so we can help my parents.”

I flushed and nodded, leaning down to remove my loafers and set them primly beside her tennis shoes. We walked into the home and I saw on the couch Hana’s littlest brother Dohyun watching her thirteen-year-old brother Hyungmin played Call of Duty on the TV.

“Hyun! Min! Say hi to my friend at least, you cretins!” called Hana with an exasperated sigh.

The boys turned around and gave me the barest of hellos before continuing with their game on the slouchy brown sofa. We wandered into the kitchen where Hana placed a kiss on her father’s cheek, and then her mother’s. She stretched her long arms above her head and turned to me, flashing her eyes wide to urge me into the small room. I stiffened before entering and smiled shyly as her parents gave me a few chuckles. The walls of the kitchen were outfitted in tons of photographs, some of Hana, some of Hyungmin, a few of Dohyun when he was a baby. There was one that made me look away though: a photo of Hana posing with her high school diploma next to Hyungmin holding his elementary school diploma.

I looked instead at her parents as they joked and laughed in the kitchen, Mina flipping fluffy pancakes while Junho labeled uneven scoops of batter into measuring cups and lined them up, three at a time, for Mina to grab with her messy hands.

“How can we help?” asked Hana, glancing at me with a smile.

“More flour,” said Junho as he focused on scooping the batter into his next measuring cup, this time a red 1/4 cup measurer. “Batter’s too runny.”

Mina gaped at her husband and placed a hand on her hip. “Excuse me, the batter is perfectly fine.”

“It’s runny.”

“Are you the one cooking them?” asked Mina, raising a brow.

Junho glanced at her before continuing to measure and scoop. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Mina smirked and looked over her shoulder at me. “Y/N, sweetie, could you just get some plates from the cabinet to the right of the fridge?”

I nodded and quickly attended to her request. I reached for the plates, but was distracted briefly by a few of the quotes the family had scattered about, pasted letter by letter onto the beige kitchen walls. Some from the Dalai Lama, some from Ronald Reagan, and one…

For me, being vulnerable is asking for help from other people whatever it may be. Mason Jennings.

I blinked a few times at the quote before Hana gave my shoulder a light smack and my attention was again seized by my task. I grabbed the mismatched plates and settled them beside Mina’s floury work station. She smiled her thanks and returned to flipping the last of the pancakes.

“Is that all you need? I was hoping we could at least flip a pancake or two,” said Hana with a sigh.

Mina turned to her and rolled her eyes as her daughter propped herself up onto the counter, letting her heels bounce against the bottom cabinet. “We have a good system going in here. If you want to help, then leave instead of being distracting.”

Hana gasped and looked at me. “See how cruel they are to me?” she asked me.

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. “I mean…she has a point. At least I grabbed some plates,” I said with a mischievous smirk.

Hana pointed a manicured finger at me. “Traitor.”

“Come on,” I said, hovering in the doorway. It was clear her parents didn’t need our help. “Let’s go find someone else to bother.”

She tossed her head this way and that as if pondering it, and shrugged, hopping off the counter and trotting behind me as I led the way back into the living room where the boys were shouting at the TV.

“What do you think they’d do if I just…unplugged it?” asked Hana in a whisper beside me.

I chuckled and shook my head. “I think we would need one less plate for pancakes.”

She glanced at me before nodding and choosing instead to hop over the back of the sofa and landing in a heap between her brothers who yelled at her in protest, insisting she would ruin Hyungmin’s roll.

I smiled fondly after them.

And I told myself I would not regret my decision.

We ate pancakes together while watching Tazza, but only for an hour before the boys had to go to bed. Hana’s parents followed suit soon after, leaving Hana and I to sit in the dimly lit living room together, silence descending around us as the movie played on. I wasn’t paying much attention to the film, and was mainly focusing on not nodding off. It had only been a day since my life imploded, and it was the first day of work I’d ever skipped without calling first. I assumed Yoongi wouldn’t want to hear from me. That letter I’d left…it had settled atop the piano with the weight of finality. I was sure he expected no less.

“You and Yoongi…,” said Hana slowly, as if testing the water.

An acrid feeling filled my stomach at the mention of his name. “Yes?”

“Did you…leave?”

I turned to her. “Yes,” I said.

She furrowed her brow and huffed a sigh. “I don’t get you,” she said, then smoothed the hair out of her face and gave me a serious look. “I mean it. You say you love him and you leave. If you love him, why would you ever put something above that?”

I smiled softly. This was where our minds diverged it seemed. “Unfortunately, there are many more important things than being with the person you love. Life is fickle like that I think.”

She shrugged. “You know what bums me out?”

“Hm?”

“I liked Namjoon,” she said with a scoff. “I like…really liked him. From way before this whole thing with your dad started.”

I peeked at her as the inky glow of the TV set her soft features alight. “You did?”

She nodded. “Mhm,” she said. “Enough to give him a chance to explain himself.”

“You did that?”

“Didn’t you give Yoongi a chance to explain himself too?”

I flushed as I remembered the previous night. Of course I had… “Fair enough. Continue.”

She chuckled. “He said your father approached him after the articles came out. He must have researched the music store and found out that Joon was the owner’s son,” she said.

“Someone I would have trusted.”

“Yup. And someone who, coincidentally, was there when you and Yoongi met. One of the only people,” she said. “And he had just been offered a job at Yoongi’s company. Another convenient coincidence, said Joon.”

I nodded. “Makes enough sense.”

“He said he was in your ear for a while. Remember the day he told you to come and talk to me? The day we met at the music store and your father mysteriously popped up?” she said.

“Namjoon,” I responded with a laugh. “Of course.”

“And the time you were alone at that park, stressed out and sitting on that crusty swing set,” said Hana with a laugh. “He told me that he told you to give your dad a chance that day.”

“He told you about that?” I asked.

Hana nodded. “I gave him the time to talk, so he told me everything.”

“Oh,” I said slowly as I took in the information.

“He told me that you went there that day after meeting with your dad. He said you’d probably go there when you were feeling upset,” she said, taking a look at me.

I glanced away and rubbed the back of my neck. “Ah…yeah. I mean, I’ve kind of started to like that place. It’s quiet. And I can be alone, surrounded by familiar things. I can pretend I’m home.”

“But that’s not home for you, is it?” she asked, then laughed. “Forget I said that.”

I blushed. “Well…you’re not wrong,” I said as a thought hit me with a forceful jolt. “Wait, is that why you were at the park tonight?” I asked.

She raised her brows and looked away, back towards the movie. By then, neither one of us knew what was happening and I suspected neither one of us cared much. Hana’s slender hand raised to brush her hair over her shoulder, although it was barely long enough, and she gave a shrug. “Your phone was off when I tried to call you earlier today.”

I startled and grabbed my cell phone from my back pocket, checking to see for myself that it was indeed turned off. “That was because of Jungkook.”

She shrugged again. “I wanted to give you some time to process. Right when you found out, that’s when Joon called me and we met up. I didn’t want to bombard you right away, but I’m worried I might have waited too long…,” she said.

My eyes grew wide. “What do you mean? Too long how?”

She inhaled sharply, pulling her knees to her chest. “When I said Namjoon told me everything, I mean…everything,” she said.

Oh no. No, Hana wasn’t supposed to know. If she knew then she’d tell me not to do it. She’d make a martyr of herself. I couldn’t bear the thought of my best friend putting herself on the line just so I can date a boy I like. It was too frivolous, too selfish. But she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead she stared ahead, much like Yoongi had the night before.

“He told me that your father wanted to use me as blackmail, and that he’d been gathering information on me to give to him,” she said finally, slicing clean through the palpable layer of tension between us.

I crumpled. “Hana, I-,”

“And you didn’t even come to me,” she said, turning to look at me.

I shook my head at the painful expression on her face. “I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Burden me! For Christ’s sake, please burden me. We’re friends,” she said, then chuckled. “Or at least I thought we were.”

“We are, Hana! You’re one of the most precious people in my life.”

She glanced at me and nodded. “What bums me out isn’t that Namjoon lied. It’s not that I liked him and he sold my secrets to someone who wants to hurt my best friend,” she said softly against the sweet scented nighttime air. “It’s that whenever I try to be a friend to you, you push me away. It’s like…like you have this idea that you’re the only one who can fix things. Like you have to face it all alone.”

I shook my head. “Hana, that’s not it-,”

“Yes it is. Otherwise you would have told me when your dad threatened Hyungmin and me. You would have called me and talked to me about it, like a friend,” she said, looking at me with sternly set brows. “You wouldn’t have taken the burden alone.”

“But Hana, it’s not your burden,” I said, my voice pleading as I scooted closer to her.

She shook her head. “But it is. Did you even think how I would feel knowing you were choosing my future for me? I’m just as involved as you are. And so is Jungkook. And so is Yoongi. You can’t shoulder this burden alone. You have to let us help you.”

“Hana, that’s so selfish. I can’t bring you guys into it-,”

“We’re already in it!” she said with a laugh. “You can’t bring us in, Y/N. We’re here to begin with.”

I remembered suddenly what Yoongi had said. He felt like he would be wronging Eun by letting her close to him, knowing that she would only be hurt, knowing that his happiness wasn’t worth he price of hers. How naive I had been to think that he’d made a foolish choice. How naive I’d been to pity him for his sad, foolish choice. I understood him deeply, but I found a loneliness in that understanding too. A profound loneliness, the kind the pervades the skin and flesh and seeps into the very center of you.

“You can’t save everyone alone. We all need to save each other,” she said gently, taking my hand. “What made me sadder than anything, sadder than Joon and your father’s threat…what made me the saddest was that you locked yourself away in a place where I couldn’t reach you. No one can. But I want to.”

I sniffed past the tears building in my chest. God, was I sick of crying. She opened her arms wide and, without a second thought, I collapsed into them. That quote in the kitchen, the one Hana knew I would see. Her parents helping each other make pancakes, her younger brother helping the older get through tough areas of his game, her offering to help Mina and Junho…

She’d wanted me to see it all. She’d wanted me to notice how people act when they care about each other.

She wanted me to see that asking for help wasn’t a burden, but a sign of trust and love.

“You don’t have to fight the world alone,” she said against my hair as I clutched onto the back of her shirt. It had been a long, long time since I’d felt like I could depend on someone else.

I remembered that conversation Jungkook and I had had. About wanting to run to your parents when you’re young, to run to them and ask them to make it all better for you. Perhaps when we get older, we don’t need to stop searching for those pillars of strength in our lives, we don’t have to deal with the hardships alone, but rather collaborate and face the obstacles together as a stronger front.

I shook my head as I held on tighter, burying my face in her shoulder as she continued to pat my back gently. “Hana, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice quaking and cracking as it hit the cool air.

She chuckled and it vibrated against my ear. “I forgive you.”

Jungkook had said he felt like he was drowning in cold water, all alone. And what has I told him to do? “I…,” I began, but paused to collect myself. “I need help,” I said quietly.

She nodded and ran her fingers through my hair softly. “I know. And we’ll figure something out together. All of us.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“But not now. In the morning.”

“In the morning,” I repeated as we both backed away and she carefully tucked my hair behind my ears. “We’ll find a different path.”

“Together, right?” she asked, raising her brows.

I smiled slightly. For the first time in days, I felt a swell of hope in my chest instead of that bracing emptiness. “Together.”

“Is she dead?”

“No, she’s breathing.”

“But she looks dead. Look at how she’s laying there.”

“Hyungmin, Dohyun, what are you doing?”

“It’s your friend. I think she’s dead.”

“She’s not dead, you idiot.”

“Hm…maybe we should check?”

I groaned and rolled over onto my side, wincing against the voices. But before I could fall back asleep, I felt a heavy jolt, and then rough jostling on my body. Suddenly fully alert, I sat upright to find Hana, Hyungmin, and Dohyun jumping on the couch where I previously slept, bouncing beside me, smacking my legs and stomach with their wildly flying limbs.

“Ow!” I called out, scuttling to the far corner of the couch where, predictably, the kids and their ringleader bounced ever closer, closer, closer until-

“Hyun! Min! Hana!”

I turned to the kitchen to see in the doorway Mina with a steely expression, her jaw set and eyes like cool black metal as she shot each of her children a glare. “Is that any way to wake a guest?”

“We were making sure she wasn’t dead,” said Dohyun as he hopped agilely off the couch and onto his feet beside me. He gave me a grin filled with complete with a missing front tooth and laughed. “Good morning, Y/N!” he called before bouncing towards the kitchen where his mother stood, still glaring.

“Hey, I’m trying to teach them to look out for their neighbors,” said Hana with a smirk my way as she leaped over the back of the couch and squeezed between her mother and the doorframe to get into the kitchen.

“Oh yes, how could I have been so silly? Of course. You were teaching a seven-year-old and a thirteen-year-old to jump on a person if they’re dying. A valuable lesson,” said Mina with a sigh. “Min, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Hyungmin shrugged as he joined his brother and mother in front of the kitchen. “I knew she wasn’t dead.”

I chuckled as I struggled to pull my hair out of my face. I’d slept well, better than I had in a few days, and had awoken, although suddenly, filled with energy. The sun was shining brightly through the gingham curtains leading to the fenced backyard and I could feel it sitting warmly on my exposed calf. Just a little sunlight was enough to energize me.

I stretched my tight limbs and smiled at Mina. “Good morning,” I said softly to her with a slight bow.

She chuckled and patted Dohyun’s head as he trotted into the kitchen to join his sister. “You look pretty well rested.”

“All things considered,” I said, standing and stretching my hips. “I am pretty well rested.”

She smiled. “That’s a relief. Come into the kitchen, let’s get you some strawberries or something.”

I returned the smile and followed her into the cramped room, filled with two young boys fighting over a jar of brown sugar for the top of their oatmeal and one young woman eating a cold slice of pizza with wide eyes. “So what’s the plan for today?” asked Hana, chewing on a chilly piece of pepperoni.

I grinned at her as Mina handed me a carton of fresh strawberries, picking the reddest, juiciest one and popping it into my mouth. I chewed for a moment, my eyes locked with Hana’s. It had been a long, long time since I’d felt this confident. “We’re gonna go see a friend of mine.”

She raised her brows at me. I watched the cogs in her head turning as she struggled to understand what I meant. But slowly, her thoughts became clear and a smirk overtook her features. She hummed, taking another bite of pizza. “I’ve never been to a mansion before,” she said with a chuckle.

“Open up, JK,” I said, banging on the door to his game room, Hana standing behind me, scrolling through her phone with absentminded nonchalance.

“Ugh, one minute. Why the hell are you here so earl-,” he grumbled as he opened the door, then paused when he saw me. His eyes went wide. “You look…good.”

“Ew, stop flirting in front of me,” said Hana with a theatrical gag. Jungkook flashed his eyes towards her and his brows furrowed. “Who’s that?”

“That,” said Hana with a pointed look, “is Y/N’s best friend.”

I chuckled. “Her name is Hana. And we’ve got some things to talk about.”

“We do?” asked Jungkook, his gaze flashing nervously between Hana and me. I smiled and nodded my head. “Let’s go inside,” I said, pushing him backwards by the chest into the game room.

The place was darker than it usually was when the door clicked shut behind us, meaning he’d probably slept there the night before. The room smelled like pizza rolls and banana milk: an unpleasant combination. I scrunched up my nose and padded to his windows, tossing the heavy blackout curtains aside, letting the fresh morning sunlight pierce the musky darkness. Jungkook squinted against it and let out a low, displeased moan.

“God, who are you right now?” he asked. “Last time I saw you, you were mopey and talking about snakes.”

“I’ve risen from the dead,” I said, chuckling as Hana pried one of those big windows open, sweeping her hands around to guide the stale air outside. “The old Y/N is making a comeback.”

He met my eyes with strain and chuckled. “Finally,” he said. “But…does that mean you’re finally ready to fight back?”

I took a few steps towards him, scruffy in the morning light and still squinting slightly, and patted his shoulder. “Sure does.”

He smiled brightly and turned his head towards his beanbag chairs. We both collapsed into them, with Hana falling just behind. She stared at me for a moment before looking at Jungkook. “So…you’re the one in the articles,” she said.

“Those articles were taken down,” he said, pouting.

Hana smirked. “I took screenshots.”

“Delete!” he shouted, reaching across my lap to lunge for Hana’s phone. “Delete them-,”

“Down, boy,” I said, pushing Jungkook back to his beanbag. “Now is the time for scheming, not fighting.”

Jungkook grumbled and pouted as he stared ahead at the blank projector screen. “Alright. Then let’s scheme.”

I cleared my throat. “Well…Yoongi never signed our marriage documents. It’s not officially registered. And our contract was never valid without his signature. Our fathers probably know this, since they’re probably keeping updated records on us,” I began, heaving a deep sigh. “Which means…,” I hedged, giving Jungkook a smile.

His eyes lit up. “It means that if he were to sign them…,” he said.

“Then it would be official. Which means…,” I followed.

“Can you guys stop?” asked Hana with a groan. “Just say it plainly so I can understand. Jesus.”

I chuckled. “If the marriage becomes official, then there’s not a lot Jungkook’s dad can do about it besides try to get it annulled.”

“Which he can probably do,” said Jungkook with a frown. “I was following you for a second, but now you lost me.”

I nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll explain everything.”

“Then do it! God, enough with the drama,” said Hana, leaning back in her beanbag chair until she was practically one with it. “One good night of sleep and you turn into Sherlock Holmes or something.”

“If I am married to someone else before agreeing to an engagement with Jungkook, then the betrothal becomes completely void,” I said with a smirk. “It means that if Yoongi signs those papers, we’re insured.”

Jungkook shook his head. “But the document about our betrothal is already written and signed,” he said.

I nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. But Yoongi said something the other night that really interested me.”

“That being?” asked Jungkook, leaning closer to catch my every word.

“Those documents on our betrothal,” I began with a smile. The plan I’d started cooking at Yoongi’s apartment was fully baked now. “They’re private records, not public.”

“Okay?”

“Jungkook, they’re basically untraceable. There’s no way to prove that they existed and weren’t just drafted on the spot to get my marriage dissolved,” I said with a laugh.

Jungkook nodded rapidly as the pieces began to fit together. “So, it’s meaningless?”

I tilted my head to the side. “No, not entirely. If Yoongi doesn’t sign the papers, the document is still pretty powerful. It just becomes suspicious if the marriage becomes official. It makes things harder for your dad.”

“Oh,” said Jungkook. “Then why are you still smiling like a crazy person?”

I tried to wipe the knowing smirk off my face, but it felt rooted in place. Talking with Yoongi that night had been far more illuminating than I thought it would be. “Jungkook, a document needs consent from both parties to be considered legally binding.”

He nodded. “Alright. So what?”

Hana chuckled by my side. “Oh no way.”

“Remember how our fathers made us have dinner with them last night? And it felt like…I don’t know, like they had something they wanted to talk about really bad?” I asked, peering from Hana’s smiling face to Jungkook’s confused one.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“We’re legal adults Jungkook,” I said. “That document was binding when we were minors. Now in order for the document to mean anything, we both need to sign it.”

“We…we what?”

“We have all the power here, Jungkook. They just want us to think we don’t,” I said with a laugh. “They need our consent, otherwise-,”

“The document is just a piece of paper.”

“Exactly.”

“So…if we just don’t sign,” said Jungkook as a smile began spreading across his face. “Then we’re off the hook?”

“We are,” I said softly, glancing at Hana as she sat grinning at my left side. “But Hana isn’t.”

Jungkook sighed, clearly frustrated, and shook his head. “Then what do we do? We’re just as stuck as we were before.”

“Not quite,” I said, letting the sunshine dance across my skin. “By all legal standards, Jungkook, you and I aren’t betrothed,” I said. “That makes me a single woman. But if my marital status were to change…”

“There’d be nothing they could do besides try to convince you to divorce,” said Jungkook.

“Which I can’t do without Yoongi’s consent,” I said with a laugh.

Jungkook began to laugh with me, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is some complex psychological warfare bullshit,” he said.

“More complex than Overwatch?” I teased.

“God, shut up about Overwatch already,” said Jungkook with a groan. “I don’t even play it that much.”

“Were you playing it last night?” I asked.

He was silent and Hana’s flitting laugh filled up the room. “Only for a few hours,” he murmured. “Anyway, I get all of this, but I don’t really know what we’re supposed to do now.”

I grinned. “Nothing,” I said. “That’s the thing. If we keep avoiding the signing, then in theory we can stretch this out as long as we need to. Keep acting normal, pretend we’re okay with the betrothal, the whole nine yards.”

“Then that means the only thing we need now is…,” said Hana, thinking.

I felt my chest tighten as I thought of it, but before I could say a word my phone began to buzz in my back pocket. I fished it out and when I read who was calling my eyes went wide. “Yoongi,” I finished.

Hana looked at me, startled into straighter posture as she tried to crane her neck to see my phone. “Are you gonna be okay?”

I nodded. “I’ll be fine. But Jungkook,” I said, turning to him. “If I’m going to go to Yoongi, I need you to make sure our fathers don’t find out. That would ruin everything.”

“How would I do that?” he asked.

I shook my head. “That’s the only answer I don’t have,” I said, glancing tensely at my phone, still illuminated with his name. “I…I gotta answer this. Jungkook…I’m counting on you,” I said, nodding at him as I stood to my feet and rushed towards the door, Hana following close behind.

“Wait! I don’t know what to do!” he called.

I shrugged and waved my apology before jogging out the door and down the stairs. I only had a few seconds left before Yoongi’s call went to voicemail, and I wasn't sure he’d answer if I called him back. But I was certain I couldn’t answer the phone in this house. Tense, I looked around for any prying ears or eyes and saw out of the corner of my eye movement in the hallway leading to the kitchen. I saw the call coming through, and knew any second now it would be over. I had to risk it. Just as I reached the front door, I tapped the answer button and pressed the cool phone to my flushed cheek.

“Yoongi…,” I whispered.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #yoongi fanfic #bts reactions #bts au #bangtan #arranged bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts scenarios #bts reader insert

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tasteofswallowedwords · 7 years

Note

#2 with Sweet Pea :)

Pairing: Sweet Pea x reader

Prompt: 2. The way you flirt is just shameful.

Word Count: ~2460

A/N: yesterday was my first anniversary of the first fic I posted on this blog :’) time flies my dudes

Prompt list

“I really like your shoes. Where did you get them?”

“What?” the boy yells over the music, before immediatelyturning back to the stage, where one of the worst bands I’ve ever heard isdoing its best to deafen us all. He pumps his fist in the air, screaming thelyrics back at the singer. Brown curls fall in his eyes as he dances, the redstage lights setting his profile aflame.

“Your shoes,” I shout. “They’re nice! I like them.”

He throws me a sideways glance. “Thanks,” he says.

I take a breath to try another approach but someone tugs atmy jacket. I turn to find myself face-to-face with a solid chest, look up tomeet Sweet Pea’s gaze, a bemused twinkle in his brown eyes and slant to hislips. He jerks his head towards the bar and turns, pushing his way through thecrowd. My boots stick to the liquor-soaked floor as I follow him.

“The way you flirt is just shameful,” he tells me when wereach the bar, and turns away to order two drinks.

“I- I don’t know… I wasn’t”—I glance off into the crowd,eyes landing on the brown-haired boy, and I don’t even attempt to finish mysentence. He’s got his eyes screwed shut, nose wrinkled and mouth open wide ashe sings along to the band. I don’t know who he is, but I’ve been to every showat the Whyte Wyrm since I got my first fake ID, and it’s always the same faces.Cute boys don’t just show up here. I have to make a move tonight.What if I never see him again?

“You’re staring,” Sweet Pea says. I snap out of my daze andmeet his eyes. One of his eyebrows is quirked up just slightly, a small frowncurving his lips. “If you really like him, you’re gonna have to do better thanthat. Fangs has his eyes on that one too, and if I had to put money on it, Iwouldn’t bet on you.”

“Thanks for the voteof confidence,” I mutter, leaning one elbow against the bar.

“I could give you a few pointers,” he says. “If you want.”

I scoff. “What? Like you’re some kind of expert?”

“I’m better than you,” he laughs, taking the drinks from thebartender and paying. “And I’m all you’ve got.”

I roll my eyes, but it actually doesn’t sound like a badidea. I was born into the Serpents, and we’re a family. The only guys I know thatdon’t treat me like their little sister are Ghoulies from school, so needlessto say I’m not exactly experienced in the dating department. “Fine, whatever,”I shrug.

“Okay, first things first. You need to loosen up,” he saysmatter-of-factly, sliding the two drinks towards me.

“Both? That’s two doubles! Nuh-uh Sweets. No way.” I pushone drink back to him.

He huffs. “I didn’t know the Serpents raised a quitter,” hesays, because he knows I won’t back away from a challenge.

I stifle a groan, take the first glass and throw it back.Flames race down my throat, and my chest catches fire, but I down the secondglass before I can think twice.

“What was that?” I choke, wiping a hand across my mouth.

“Whiskey. Because you’re about to get frisky,” he says witha wink.

“How am I supposed to take any advice from you after hearingthat?”

“It was a joke, (Y/N). Learn to laugh.” He nudges me withhis elbow playfully. “That’s the second step. Laugh at every joke the guymakes, even if he’s not funny. People like it when they make other peoplesmile.”

I nod. I can do that. Smiling is easy. “That’s actually notbad advice, Sweets.”

“I know. What you have to remember is that flirting is liketen percent talking. The rest is all down to your actions. Which is lucky foryou, because you’re not so great at the talking part.”

I chew on my lip as he tells me to be confident, thatlingering eye contact and gentle touches are great ways to tell if someone isinterested, and that once the ball is rolling, it’s really pretty difficult tostop.

“And little things, like that right there,” he says,pointing at my face. I raise an eyebrow at him, so he continues, “The lipbiting. Guys go crazy over that stuff, but you have to make more eye contact.Oh, and you smell good, but you have to get close for that to come into play.Forget boundaries. Try to dance with him—that gives you an excuse to be allover him.”

“You know, I think I might actually be able to do this,” Isay, looking back over at the boy. He’s still lost in the music.

“We’ll see,” Sweet Pea smirks. “I’m staying here. I won’t bethere to save you if you start talking about his shoes again.”

I clench my teeth, resisting the urge to bring up the factthat he’s been single for as long as I’ve known him. “How about this? I bet youten dollars I’ll have kissed that boy before we leave here tonight.”

His eyes glitter as he runs his tongue over his lower lip.“Why don’t we make it even easier for you? I bet you ten dollars that you won’thave kissed any guy by the morning.”

I glare at him through narrowed eyes. “Twenty dollars thatI’ll have kissed a boy before we leave.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he extends his hand towards me. Ishake it. “Cash only. I don’t accept cheques.”

“You’ll be accepting my foot up your ass if you don’t shutup and let me get to work,” I tell him as I take off my jacket. “Hold this.”

The boy doesn’t notice me when I make my way back over tohim. I need a way to establish some physical contact quickly. If not, I’ll haveto get his attention by talking to him and Sweet Pea was right, it’s notexactly my greatest strength.

Lucky for me, the skills I’ve gained from being a Serpentcan be useful at times like these.

I walk up behind him, shaking my hand out to loosen it upbefore I dip my fingers deftly into his back pocket and pull his wallet out.Then I place my hand over his upper arm. “Hey, did you drop this?” I ask.

He furrows his eyebrows, his hands checking his pocketsbefore he frowns at me. “I guess I did. I didn’t even notice.”

I hand it back to him, smiling softly. “Hold on to that. Ifsomebody else finds it, you might not get it back.”

“Thank you,” he says and returns my smile.

I take my bottom lip between my teeth and slowly release it,though I can’t bring myself to maintain eye contact with him throughout theaction, so I glance at the stage. “They’re pretty good, right?” I lie.

He nods enthusiastically. “I came from Greendale just to seethem.” He leans towards me as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he’sabout to say, which is ridiculous because the music is so loud I can barelyhear myself, but I remember that I have twenty dollars on the line and leaninto him too. “I think people have noticed I’m an outsider,” he says.

I laugh, throwing in another lip bite. Am I overdoing itwith the lip biting? Maybe. But he is staring at my lips, so it’s working.“Stick with me. I’ll keep you right.”

I don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at me, the slowsong the band is playing, or the alcohol finally kicking in, but it’s as if I’mcloaked in a haze. It wraps me in warmth and throws a soft filter over my vision.Everything is out of focus except the boy’s blue eyes, which haven’t left mesince the beginning of the song. His cheeks are tinged red, and this time ithas nothing to do with the lights.

“Dance with me?” he asks, and waits for me to nod before heplaces his hands tentatively on my waist. I don’t hesitate in sliding my handsacross his shoulders, bringing them to rest at the back of his neck.

I let the boy guide the dance, almost giggling at the factthat I don’t even know his name, yet I’m pressed against him, closer to himthan I’ve ever been to a boy in my life. He lowers his head, his nose brushingthe hair above my ear. I hope Sweet Pea was right about me smelling nice.

The loud music and low light almost give the illusion ofprivacy, and for the first time tonight I’m not concerned about what I looklike, or who might be watching. His hand finds the small strip of exposed fleshon my back between my top and my jeans, and a shiver ripples up my spine.

The hair above his neck is soft. I run my fingers through itwith one hand, while the other barely traces the skin at the nape of his neck,eliciting a small gasp from him. He nudges me with his nose gently, asignal for me to look up, and when I do his lips are centimetres from mine—

“Alright,” barks a voice from behind me as I’m dragged awayfrom the boy by the elbow. “That’s enough of that.”

Sweet Pea trails me from the dance floor towards the exit,but I dig my heels into the ground before we reach the door. “What the hell?” Idemand, shivering as Fangs walks through the door, inviting in a gust of icyair and cigarette smoke.

“Put this on,” Sweet Pea says. He throws my jacket towardsme and I consider throwing it back in defiance, but there are goosebumpsgrowing goosebumps on my arms, so I shrug it on.

“Are you gonna explain what just happened?”

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Thatlittle display was too much. I couldn’t let you keep going.”

“I did everything you told me to do!” My shriek earns a fewsideways glances from the bartenders, but we both elect to ignore them.

“I said flirt with him, not throw yourself at him,” he spits.

“What? Are you jealous because I was actually good at it?Because you can’t even follow your own advice and get some?” On any othernight, I wouldn’t speak to him like this. He’s my best friend; the last thing Iwant to do is hurt him. But the alcohol in my gut has turned sour, and I missthe warm crowd, the music, and the feeling of someone’s arms wrapped around me.Sweet Pea just dragged me from the one boy who’s ever shown any romanticinterest in me, and I want an explanation.

“Watch it,” he warns through his teeth.

“Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you witha girl! Why is that? Are you just too chicken to talk to them?”

He shakes his head, staring over my shoulder because hecan’t meet my eyes. “That’s enough.” The haze is starting to wear off, and Irealise there is nothing soft about Sweet Pea in this moment. His teeth arebared, his jaw clenched, his eyes ferocious. It’s a display that would scaremost people, but it only serves to make me angrier.

“Maybe your moves don’t work on them. Is that it, Sweets?” Isay and he looks back at me with his lip curled.

“They work fine,” he growls.

I laugh humourlessly at him. “Then what is it? I’ve knownyou practically my whole life and you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“Maybe because the one girl I want to flirt with is the only girl who isn’t interested!” heyells.

I blink slowly, trying to piece together what he’s tellingme, but the alcohol hasn’t completely worn off and my brain is chasing thethoughts, trying to wrangle them together, but it can’t keep up. “Who?” I ask quietly, and I don’t know why itfeels like something in my chest has dislodged.

It’s his turn to laugh, and his is even more joyless thanmine. “Forget it,” he says, turning towards the door with a shrug.

“No”—I grab his sleeve, pulling him back to face me—“I wantto know. Who is she?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says. There’s no bite to his words. Theyfall quietly from his lips as he refuses to meet my gaze.

Having had enough, I grab the lapels of his jacket and pullhim to my height. “Don’t you dare drop a bomb like that and not tell me everything.”

“Who do you think it is?” he whispers. His gaze flicks frommy eyes to my lips and back so fast I almost don’t register it. “Who else couldit be?”

My mouth falls open, grip on his jacket loosening, but he doesn’tmove away. I raise my eyebrows at him, a silent question. Me? He sighs defeatedly in confirmation. “If you like me,” I beginquietly, “why would you offer to give me advice on how to flirt with anotherguy?”

He rolls his sad eyes. “I was hoping you’d see it. That that’show I treat you. I’ve been flirting with you for years but… well, did younotice?”

I always thought he considered me family. I thought I was likea sister to him. Every time he threw his arm over my shoulders or kissed thetop of my head, I assumed he was being protective. I never once imagined hemight be flirting with me.

I glance at his lips, and I’d be lying if I said I’ve nevernoticed how full they are. He leans closer, resting his forehead against mine,waiting for my permission. I close the distance between us.

He kisses me softly at first, but when my lips part, allrestraint is lost. One of his hands finds my neck just below my ear, while the othersnakes around my waist and presses to the small of my back, hungrily pulling metowards him. He’s so tall I have to crane my neck, standing on my tiptoes toreach him, but he’s holding me so tight he’s almost lifting me off the floor.

We come apart for air, his thumb stroking gentle patternsacross my jaw, breath tickling my chin. I’m warm again, and it has nothingto do with the alcohol.

“Sweet Pea?”

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles as he delivers another quick peck to mylips.

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

#sweet pea x reader #sweet pea imagine #riverdale x reader #riverdale imagine #sweet pea fanfiction #riverdale fanfiction #idk what other tags to use #this is probably shit but also #i'm tired and don't care #thank you for the request <333 #redhairedoddity #ask

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patriotsnet · 3 years

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What Will Happen If Republicans Win

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/what-will-happen-if-republicans-win/

What Will Happen If Republicans Win

So How Can Republicans Win Without Texas

Lets take the 2016 map with Texas flipped as a starting point. Republicans were at 268 Electoral College votes, meaning that they would only need to flip one Democratic state to win the election. The simplest way to do that would be to target states like Minnesota , the only midwestern state the Republicans failed to pick up in 2016, minus solid blue Illinois. Lets flip Minnesota and see how the map looks then.

This is one way in which Republicans can win an election without Texas. The ten extra Electoral College votes from Minnesota push the Republicans to a victory, albeit by a small margin but a victory nonetheless. Of course, this begs the question, how realistic is this map? Well, Minnesota was by no means a comfortable victory for the Democrats in 2016; Clinton won the state by just one-and-a-half points or roughly 44,000 votes out of a total of 2.7 million votes cast. Its not unrealistic to think that, with some extra effort in campaigning, Republicans could flip the North Star State.

Republicans could also target Nevada , which was ranked as a lean-Democrat/battleground state in 2016. Clinton eventually won Nevada and its six Electoral College votes, but only by a margin of around 30,000 from just over a million cast. Heres how that map would look.

A smaller margin than if the Republicans flipped Minnesota, but a victory nonetheless.

All maps courtesy of 270towin.com