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mariswxt · 3 months ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 2

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, daydreaming, talk of rape, sa, abortion, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: The Man by Taylor Swift

new country

“Madam President!”

“Over here!”

“What are your plans to reform America?”

Paparazzi kept on yelling those questions even though you were perfectly capable of stating every one of your new legislations and ideas one by one. Lucky this was a closed conference, lowering the chance of an assassination, and Dean’s eyes were scanning the crowd anyway for any reporter who could suddenly yank out a .38.

You raised your hand, clearing your throat. “It’s only been about a week since I’ve been elected, but I can, with confidence, share with you my plans to reform legislations and laws in the States. As of tomorrow, after a majority vote, abortion has now become legal in all fifty states.”

The statement became an outcry, reporters and journalists yelling questions as to why, so you had to hold up your hand again with a strong urge to roll your eyes in disdain. Seriously, why can’t these guys ever shut up? “It’s a controversial decision.” You agreed, looking intently at the members of the audience. “I’m wholeheartedly aware, but we have to think of the people who would suffer. Victims of rape who end up pregnant would have to keep their child, and depending on the case, the mother could end up with severe post-natal depression which could affect both the child and their mother, which would do more harm than aborting the child. If a mother’s baby won’t make it to birth, she can’t do a thing to stop the baby’s suffering from happening in the first place. Abortion is a right that should be possessed by every woman in the country, and in addition to this, a psych evaluation will be conducted by licensed professionals to determine any external pressures or lingering doubts.”

You had felt your air running out, so you took a sip of your water before continuing on with your long list of tasks and responsibilities for the presidential serve. “I want to improve relations with our allies in NATO, and there will be foundations in order to support anyone in the States who is in need of education. And, by the end of my service as this country’s president, I want to have America make the switch to renewable sources of energy and be sure that the production of energy in factories is the minority.”

“Any questions?” Becky asked, waving her pen around a little as she looked inquisitively around the room, this fucking room with pretentious reporters who ask stupid questions.

One reporter raised their hand, so Becky nodded and pointed with her pen. “How does it feel, being the youngest elected and the first female to become president? You’re making history.”

“Well, as John F Kennedy said: it’s time for a new generation of leadership.” You smiled— that question wasn’t half bad, really. You knew you were breaking history’s records and taking America in a new direction, but it was for the best. “It’s an odd feeling, as I’ve been raised in a country with men as our presidents, but I’d say I owe a lot of my success to my family, my friends and my fellow candidate, Amara Shurley. She gave me a run for my money, and she’s an incredible woman that only inspired me to do better.”

Another reporter with his hand up. “A lot of women across the States see you as a symbol for feminism. What is your response to this statement?”

Well, that one wasn’t unheard of, you’d give it that. “I’m whoever the people want me to be.” You gave a light shrug, you didn’t really think of that question. You just said what felt natural. “If they need a feminist symbol, they can look to me. If people need reassurance and safety, they can look to me. The only thing I won’t be able to stand is that the good citizens of America can’t put their trust in me because of a contingency or the other.”

You glanced at Becky, who nodded toward the man. He was middle-aged, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a self-assured smirk that screamed, I’ve got something to prove. The logo of his network—one notoriously critical of your policies—was emblazoned on his press badge.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of condescension that set your teeth on edge. “You’ve outlined ambitious plans for reform, and your stance on women’s rights is certainly bold. But there’s one decision you’ve made that has raised quite a few eyebrows.” He leaned forward slightly, as if positioning himself for a dramatic reveal. “What do you say to critics who question the wisdom of hiring an ex-hitman—someone with a documented history of violence—to serve as your personal bodyguard? Isn’t it hypocritical to preach about progress and morality while employing someone like him?”

For a moment, silence blanketed the room. The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting, as the reporters collectively held their breath, waiting to see how you would respond. You felt the prickle of heat rise along your neck and shoulders, not from embarrassment, but from sheer frustration.

You glanced briefly at Dean, whose expression was impassive, though his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He stood still, his hands resting lightly at his sides, but you could tell the question had landed like a punch to the gut.

You took a deep breath, the crisp scent of polished wood and faint cologne grounding you. Then, with a calm but unmistakable authority, you leaned forward into the microphone.

“That’s an excellent question,” you began, though your tone suggested otherwise. Your eyes locked on the reporter, and your gaze was steady, unflinching. “And it gives me an opportunity to address an issue that’s long overdue for clarification. You see, I don’t make decisions lightly—especially not decisions that concern my safety and the safety of this nation. When I selected Mr. Winchester as my personal bodyguard, I did so with full knowledge of his history.”

The reporter opened his mouth, but you held up a hand, silencing him without a word.

“Let me finish,” you said, your voice firm. “Yes, Dean Winchester has a past. But let’s talk about what that past really means. This is a man who, for better or worse, was shaped by circumstances beyond his control. He didn’t choose a life of crime; he was born into it. And yet, despite everything, he possesses a set of skills and a depth of experience that make him uniquely qualified to protect me—and, by extension, the American people.”

You straightened, your tone sharpening. “Critics like you are quick to point fingers and make judgments from a position of privilege, ignoring the fact that people can change. Redemption isn’t just a talking point for me; it’s a belief I hold deeply. If we can’t offer second chances to those who’ve earned them, then what kind of country are we building?”

The murmurs in the room grew louder, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the noise.

“Dean Winchester has spent the last year proving himself. He passed the most rigorous background checks, psychological evaluations, and combat training our government has to offer. He’s saved lives, prevented threats, and put himself in harm’s way to protect others. And for that, I trust him with my life. So if you want to question my decision, you’re not just questioning his character—you’re questioning mine.”

The room fell silent again, your words hitting their mark. You could feel the eyes of every reporter on you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Becky nodding subtly, her expression one of quiet approval.

You leaned into the microphone one last time, your gaze boring into the reporter who had asked the question. “And let me be perfectly clear: I don’t answer to cynics like you. I answer to the American people. So, if you’d like to discuss this further, I suggest you start by addressing me with the respect this office demands.”

The tension in the room was electric, the kind of silence that felt loud in its weight. The reporter, clearly taken aback, sank slightly in his seat, his smirk replaced by a look of unease.

You straightened your posture, smoothing the front of your blazer as you surveyed the room. “Next question?”

A younger journalist, her notebook clutched tightly, hesitantly raised her hand. Becky nodded to her, and she stood, her voice steady but cautious. “Madam President, thank you for your response. Building on that, how do you see your administration addressing broader issues of criminal justice reform and rehabilitation?”

Finally, a question with substance. You allowed yourself a small, appreciative smile. “That’s an excellent question,” you said. “One of my top priorities is ensuring that our criminal justice system focuses not only on punishment but on rehabilitation. Too many people are trapped in a cycle of incarceration because they’re not given the tools or opportunities to reintegrate into society. We need to invest in education, job training, and mental health support—both inside and outside of our prison system.”

You glanced briefly at Dean again, finding a flicker of reassurance in his steady presence. “Because if we’re serious about building a better future, we need to recognize that people are more than their worst mistakes.”

The press conference continued, the reporters slowly shifting their focus back to policy questions and legislative plans. But the earlier exchange lingered in the back of your mind, a reminder of the battles yet to come.

As the session wrapped up and you stepped away from the podium, Dean was there, a quiet shadow at your side.

“Hell of a response,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, catching the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. “They don’t pay me to hold back,” you replied, your tone wry.

“No,” he said, his eyes scanning the room one last time as he followed you toward the exit. “They pay you to lead.”

And as you stepped into the corridor, leaving the chaos of the press behind, you couldn’t help but feel that, for once, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“No offence here, ma’am, but I think your fans are crazy.” Dean chuckled as he saw a post on Instagram that was now trending because he apparently was giving daddy.

Whatever the fuck ‘giving’ meant. He was a giver in the bedroom, if that’s what it was referring to. Below it were hundreds of comments, many of which seemed less than presidential.

You glanced at the phone, then back at him, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “Welcome to my world,” you replied dryly, setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair. “You’d be amazed how quickly people can spiral over a photo.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through the comments. “‘He could protect me any day’,” he read aloud, his tone mocking but amused. “‘Please, sir, ruin my life.’” He glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “Do they know I’m literally hired to ruin other people’s lives if necessary?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “They probably think that’s part of the appeal.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even know what half of this means,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Apparently I’m ‘giving daddy’? Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” He looked genuinely puzzled, and it only made the situation funnier.

You laughed outright at that, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Dean, it just means they think you’re hot.”

His smirk widened as he pocketed his phone. “So, basically, I’m a meme now.”

“Pretty much.”

Dean leaned against the edge of your desk, crossing his arms as he gave you an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’m starting to think you hired me purely for my looks.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile didn’t falter. “Oh, please.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Be honest with me, ma’am. You saw the jawline, the broad shoulders, the smoldering intensity—”

“Smoldering intensity?” you interrupted, arching an eyebrow.

He gestured toward his face, grinning. “And you thought, This guy? Perfect for standing around looking menacing and driving Instagram wild.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, shaking your head as you looked at him. “Dean, I hired you because you’re qualified. Your record speaks for itself.”

He tilted his head, feigning skepticism. “But you did notice the jawline, right?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” you said, swatting at his arm playfully.

He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, ma’am. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone appreciates the package.”

You sighed, folding your arms and giving him an exaggeratedly serious look. “Fine. You’re attractive, Dean. Happy?”

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Very.”

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, “that’s not why I hired you. I needed the best, and you are. Everything else is just a… bonus.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, the usual weight of your responsibilities felt lighter.

The playful banter between you continued, a rare moment of levity in the otherwise intense environment of the Oval Office. Dean settled into the chair opposite your desk, leaning back with an easy confidence that only added to his inexplicable charm.

“So,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “how does it feel knowing your bodyguard is officially the internet’s new crush?”

You smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Honestly? It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “You’re all stoic and intimidating most of the time, and now half the country wants to climb you like a tree.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Well, if you ever get tired of being President, you could have a solid career in stand-up comedy.”

You grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth more than you cared to admit. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A short pause, but it felt good, light. He didn’t seem like the typical bodyguard, you could actually have conversations with him.

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching slightly, “if you ever want to go viral again, just let me know. I’m apparently great at it.”

“Noted,” you replied with a grin.

As he made his way to the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk firmly in place. “And for the record, ma’am? If I ever need a second career, I’ll just put ‘hot bodyguard’ on my résumé.”

You laughed, shaking your head as he disappeared into the hallway. “Good luck with that, Winchester.”

And as you returned to your work, a small smile lingered on your lips. Dean might drive you crazy sometimes, but moments like this made it impossible not to appreciate the man behind the reputation.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the Oval Office, filtering through the tall windows and highlighting the meticulously maintained room. Papers were spread across your desk in organized chaos, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. You’d been working for hours, signing documents, reviewing proposals, and making notes in neat, precise handwriting. The quiet hum of the office was almost soothing—your assistant, Becky, had left to run errands, leaving you to your thoughts and tasks.

You leaned back in your chair for a moment, massaging the tension from your neck. The weight of the presidency wasn’t something you’d underestimated, but there were days, like today, when it pressed harder than usual. Still, the sense of purpose it gave you was unshakable. Every signature on these documents was a step toward the vision you had for the country.

As you reached for your coffee mug, the door opened quietly, and Dean stepped inside. You looked up, unsurprised—his ability to move without a sound still startled most people, but you’d grown accustomed to it.

He was out of his suit jacket now, the dark gray fabric slung over one arm. His white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealed strong forearms, and the faint shadow of a day’s stubble added to his rugged appearance. Dean wasn’t one for idle conversation or intrusions without purpose, so you set your pen down and gave him your full attention.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice as steady and low as ever. But there was something in his tone—an edge of hesitancy, maybe even guilt—that caught your attention.

“Yes, Dean?” you prompted, tilting your head slightly.

He stepped closer, standing just in front of the desk, his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He seemed to consider his words carefully before speaking.

“I wanted to say… you didn’t have to do that. Back at the press conference.” His green eyes met yours, earnest and unguarded in a way they rarely were. “Defending me like that, in front of all those reporters. It wasn’t necessary.”

You blinked, surprised by his sincerity. You leaned forward slightly, resting your forearms on the desk. “Dean,” you said gently, “of course it was necessary.”

He shook his head, the movement quick and almost dismissive. “No, it wasn’t. My past is my burden to carry, not yours. You’re already under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need to add to it.”

The vulnerability in his words tugged at something deep inside you. Dean Winchester was a fortress of a man—strong, guarded, and unflinching in his role as your protector. But in this moment, he was letting you see the cracks in that armor, the part of him that carried the weight of his past like a scar that wouldn’t heal.

You stood, pushing your chair back slightly as you rounded the desk. His eyes followed you as you came to stand beside him, your expression calm but firm.

“Dean,” you began, your voice softer now, “I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I chose you for this job. I knew your history. I knew how people might react. And I didn’t care.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as though struggling to accept your words.

“Listen to me,” you continued, stepping closer. “I’m not just your employer. I’m your ally. And when someone questions my decisions —when they question you— it’s my responsibility to set the record straight.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, and looked back at you. There was something in his expression that made your chest ache— a mix of gratitude and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite fathom why you’d stand up for him so fiercely.

“You’ve earned your place here, Dean,” you said, your tone unwavering. “And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was contemplative, a shared moment of understanding. Dean nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“You’re stubborn,” he said after a moment, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

You chuckled softly. “I’ve been called worse.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a brief moment, you felt the intensity of it like a tangible weight. But then he straightened, rolling his shoulders back as if shrugging off the last remnants of doubt.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “For believing in me.”

“Always,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a small, sincere smile.

The atmosphere shifted, the earlier tension giving way to a more relaxed ease. Dean glanced at the paperwork strewn across your desk, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ve been at this all day,” he said, nodding toward the stack of documents. “When’s the last time you took a break?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll take a break when I’m done.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “That’s not how that works, Madam President. You can’t run a country if you run yourself into the ground.”

You sighed, knowing he had a point but unwilling to admit it outright. “I’ll take a break soon,” you conceded.

“Good,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and genuine. “I’d like to see you try.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, you saw the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, and there was a warmth in his voice that made your chest feel lighter.

As he turned to leave, you called after him. “Dean.” He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” you said, your smile soft but full of meaning, “I think you’re doing a damn good job.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Finally, he gave a small nod, his lips curving into a quiet, appreciative smile.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, and with that, he left the room, his footsteps fading into the hallway beyond.

You returned to your desk, the papers waiting patiently for your attention. But for the first time that day, the weight of the work didn’t feel quite so heavy. You’d stood up for someone who deserved it, and in doing so, you’d strengthened a bond that went far beyond the professional.

As you picked up your pen, a thought crossed your mind—one that made you smile. Dean Winchester might not be perfect, but he was exactly the kind of person you wanted in your corner. And if the rest of the world couldn’t see that, well, that was their loss.

The day after the press conference, the Oval Office was already humming with its usual controlled chaos. You were deep in paperwork, focused on revising yet another draft of a new energy initiative, when your assistant, Becky, buzzed in to inform you that Bella and Steph had arrived.

You sighed fondly. Of course, they had. They’d been texting nonstop since the moment the press conference aired, full of commentary about your plans and, predictably, about Dean.

“They’re here to see you,” Becky said over the intercom, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you replied, shaking your head with a small smile.

Bella and Steph didn’t wait long. As soon as they were cleared to approach the Oval Office, they strode down the hallway, chatting animatedly, their voices carrying just enough to alert Dean, who stood stationed just outside the office door.

He looked up from where he was scrolling through security updates on his phone, his sharp green eyes assessing the two women as they approached. His posture was relaxed but professional, and his expression shifted to one of slight curiosity as he took them in.

Bella was the first to notice him. She slowed her pace, her jaw slackening just slightly as her gaze took him in—head to toe and back up again. Steph, walking just behind her, barely contained a whistle as she caught sight of Dean standing there in his dark suit and tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

“Uh, excuse me?” Bella said, stopping directly in front of him with a hand on her hip. Her voice was playful, bordering on flirtatious. “You must be the Dean Winchester.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, tucking his phone into his pocket. “That’d be me,” he replied, his tone even but laced with caution.

Steph stepped up beside Bella, giving him a once-over with such blatant appreciation that Dean shifted slightly, his expression an amusing mix of bemusement and wariness. “Oh, wow,” Steph said, dragging out the words. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re even better-looking in person.”

Bella nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, we saw the pictures, but they didn’t do you justice. You’re—what’s the phrase?—‘giving everything.’”

Dean blinked, his lips quirking into an involuntary smirk despite himself. “Appreciate it,” he said dryly, “but I think you’re looking for the President. She’s inside.”

Bella waved a hand dismissively. “We’re her friends. She won’t mind if we take a moment to admire her excellent taste in bodyguards.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not exactly how she put it.”

Steph leaned in slightly, her grin downright mischievous. “So, Dean, what’s the story here? Are you single? Because if you’re not, you really need to start considering the President. You two would be perfect together.”

Dean raised both eyebrows at that, his smirk turning incredulous. “That’s… bold,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bella wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. She’s brilliant, gorgeous, and now she’s the President. And you? You’re a literal ex-hitman who looks like you walked off the cover of GQ. It’s a match made in tabloid heaven.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he might’ve said was interrupted as you stepped out of the office, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the scene unfolding before you.

“Really, ladies?” you said, your tone dripping with mock exasperation.

Bella and Steph whirled around, both grinning guiltily but unapologetically. “We were just getting to know your bodyguard,” Bella said, batting her lashes innocently.

“And suggesting he hook up with you,” Steph added helpfully, earning her a sharp elbow from Bella.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, sighing. “I knew letting you two anywhere near Dean was a mistake.”

“Can you blame us?” Bella asked, gesturing toward Dean like he was an exhibit at a museum. “I mean, look at him.”

Dean, to his credit, remained perfectly composed, though there was a faint pink tinge to his ears that you didn’t miss.

“I am looking at him,” you said dryly, then turned to Dean with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them. They don’t have a filter.”

Dean gave a half-smile, his voice carrying that familiar note of humor. “It’s fine, ma’am. I’ve heard worse.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” you replied, shooting Bella and Steph a pointed look. “But I’d rather they not embarrass themselves—or me—any further.”

Steph raised her hands in mock surrender. “We’re just stating the obvious. And for the record, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” you asked, exasperated.

“For giving you the perfect opportunity to admit he’s hot,” Bella said, winking.

You sighed, shaking your head as you stepped aside to usher them into the office. “Dean, can you make sure no one else tries to instigate a matchmaking session while I’m in there?”

He nodded, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Consider it done.”

As Bella and Steph passed him, they both threw him one last playful look, Steph muttering, “Call us if you ever get tired of babysitting.”

Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head as the door closed behind them.

Inside, you turned to your friends with your hands on your hips. “Seriously? You couldn’t even wait until you got inside to start embarrassing me?”

Bella flopped onto one of the chairs, grinning. “Hey, we’re just looking out for you. And honestly, if you don’t lock that man down, someone else will.”

Steph nodded, leaning back against the desk. “He’s got that whole brooding, dangerous vibe going on. And those arms?” She mimed fanning herself, grinning wickedly.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You do realize he’s standing right outside, don’t you?”

Bella shrugged. “Maybe he’ll take it as a compliment.”

You shot them both a look, your annoyance tempered by the amusement you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re impossible.”

As the three of you settled in to talk about why they’d actually come to visit, your thoughts briefly wandered to Dean outside the door. His composure, his humor, and the way he’d handled your friends’ antics—it all reminded you why you trusted him so much.

And, fine, you’d admit it. They weren’t wrong about the jawline.

The Oval Office was unnervingly quiet, save for the scratch of your pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of documents. You had spent hours entrenched in policy revisions, draft reviews, and enough bureaucracy to numb your senses entirely. A dull ache had started to build behind your eyes, but you powered through. It wasn’t like the President of the United States could take a sick day.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a long sigh as you pushed your current stack of papers aside. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, bathing the room in a warm golden hue. For a moment, your mind wandered, your focus slipping as you stared at the faint pattern of light on the ceiling.

Then, the door to your office creaked open.

Your attention snapped back, your heart skipping at the sight of Dean stepping inside. He was dressed sharply as always, his dark suit tailored to perfection, though his tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal his strong forearms.

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts as he pressed closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. “You’ve been working too hard,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed into yours, claiming you in a kiss so heated and consuming that it left no room for thought. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

It was overwhelming—the warmth of his body, the taste of his kiss, the way his fingers dug into your waist with a possessive edge that sent sparks shooting through you.

And then—

“Madam President?” Becky’s voice crackled over the intercom, pulling you violently back to reality.

You blinked, your surroundings snapping into sharp focus. You were still in your chair, your desk untouched, your papers neatly stacked where you’d left them. Dean wasn’t in the room—wasn’t shirtless, wasn’t lifting you onto your desk, wasn’t kissing you like the world was ending.

Heat flooded your face as you sat up straight, your heart pounding in your chest for entirely different reasons now.

“Yes, Becky?” you managed, your voice slightly hoarse.

“You’ve got a visitor—Director Landry from the FBI. He’s here for the meeting regarding Agent Winchester’s appointment.”

Your stomach dropped, the implications of the daydream compounding the embarrassment that already burned hot in your chest. “Send him in,” you replied, clearing your throat to steady your voice.

Moments later, the door opened, and Director Landry entered, his crisp suit and severe demeanor a stark contrast to the imagined chaos of moments ago.

“Madam President,” he greeted with a nod.

“Director,” you replied, standing to shake his hand. “Please, have a seat.”

The two of you settled across from one another, and Landry wasted no time getting to the point. “I understand Agent Winchester’s appointment as your personal bodyguard was an unconventional decision.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you replied, your tone neutral but firm.

Landry leaned forward slightly, his hands folded on his lap. “While Agent Winchester’s skill set is undeniable, I have to express my concerns. His past… affiliations and actions make him a controversial figure. Are you certain this is the image you want associated with your administration?”

You straightened in your chair, your expression hardening. “Director, I appreciate your concerns, but Dean Winchester was vetted thoroughly before I made my decision. His record speaks for itself—he’s one of the most skilled operatives we’ve ever had.”

“His record also includes a stint in ADX Florence,” Landry countered, his tone measured but pointed.

You didn’t flinch. “I’m aware. And I also know he served his time and cooperated fully with authorities during his incarceration. Dean Winchester has earned his second chance, and I’m not in the business of denying people opportunities based on their past mistakes—especially when they’ve proven themselves more than capable.”

Landry’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You leaned forward, your voice steady and resolute. “Dean has already demonstrated his loyalty, his discretion, and his ability to protect me in ways no one else could. He’s not just a bodyguard, Director—he’s a deterrent. Anyone who knows his reputation would think twice before making a move.”

The director regarded you for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well. If you’re confident in your decision, I’ll respect it.”

“I am,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

As the meeting concluded and Landry left, you let out a long breath, sinking back into your chair. The tension from the conversation—and the residual heat from your earlier daydream—left you feeling drained and slightly disoriented.

You turned your chair toward the window, letting the fading sunlight warm your face as you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could almost hear Dean’s gravelly voice teasing you: You’ve been working too hard.

Dean stood outside the East Wing of the White House, bathed in the faint golden light of the late afternoon. It was one of those rare moments when the world around him seemed to pause, granting him a sliver of peace amidst the relentless schedule of his new life. The crisp November air carried a sharp bite, and Dean savored the sensation as he leaned against a marble column, his hand loosely wrapped around his ever-present phone.

The quiet was interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call. The number wasn’t saved, but Dean knew it immediately—he recognized the area code, the unmistakable pang of familiarity twisting in his chest like a rusty knife.

For a moment, he considered letting it ring out. But he knew better than to ignore a call from them.

Dean swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Winchester,” a deep, gravelly voice snarled on the other end of the line. The accent was unmistakable—Brooklyn through and through. “You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

Dean let out a slow exhale, his gaze flicking to the horizon as he stepped further into the shadows of the colonnade. His voice was calm, measured. “What do you want, Frank?”

“What do I want?” Frank barked a harsh laugh. “How about an explanation, for starters? You think we wouldn’t see it? You strutting around on TV in a monkey suit, playing babysitter for the goddamn President of the United States?”

Dean didn’t flinch, though the venom in Frank’s tone was enough to make most men’s blood run cold. “I don’t work for you anymore,” he said simply, his voice low but firm. “I haven’t for a long time.”

“Bullshit!” Frank snapped. “You don’t just leave, Winchester. You don’t walk away from the family and decide to play hero. That ain’t how this works, and you know it.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. The word “family” left a sour taste in his mouth—it was always their go-to excuse, a leash they used to drag their people back into the fold.

“I didn’t walk away,” Dean replied, his tone sharper now. “I was locked up, remember? ADX Florence. Solitary confinement. Twenty-three hours a day in a cell the size of a broom closet. You didn’t exactly come running to my rescue.”

“You think that gives you a free pass to spit on everything we built? On everyone who had your back?” Frank growled, his voice crackling with fury. “You don’t get it, do you? You didn’t just screw us, Winchester. You screwed the whole damn network. You’re a traitor.”

Dean’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m not a traitor. I’m just done. Done with the jobs, the lies, the blood on my hands. I’ve paid my dues, Frank. I’m not going back.”

“Not going back?” Frank repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “You think you can just slap on a suit, play by their rules, and call it a clean slate? Newsflash, buddy: your past doesn’t just disappear because you want it to. The network doesn’t forget.”

The network. The tangled web of organized crime that had once defined Dean’s life. It was a world of favors and debts, alliances and betrayals, a world where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. Dean had clawed his way out of that pit, but its shadows still clung to him, no matter how far he tried to run.

“I didn’t ask for a clean slate,” Dean said, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “I know who I am, and I know what I’ve done. But I’m not your guy anymore, Frank. I don’t take orders from you, and I sure as hell don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Frank was silent for a moment, but the static of his labored breathing was still audible. When he finally spoke, his voice was colder than ever. “You think you’re untouchable now, huh? That shiny badge of yours makes you bulletproof?”

Dean’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “I think you know better than to try me.”

There was another long pause, the weight of unspoken threats hanging heavy in the air.

“You’ve made your choice, Winchester,” Frank said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “But don’t think for a second that we’re just gonna let this slide. You’re walking a fine line, and sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.”

The call ended abruptly, the click of the disconnect echoing in Dean’s ear. He stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand as the tension coiled in his chest like a spring wound too tight.

The air around him felt colder now, the shadows deeper. Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, the Washington Monument rising like a silent sentinel against the darkening sky.

The ghosts of his past were never far behind, and tonight, they’d made it clear they weren’t going anywhere.

Back inside, the warm lights of the White House felt almost alien after the cold, harsh conversation. Dean made his way to the security wing, nodding to a few Secret Service agents as he passed. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of Frank’s words pressing down on him.

You don’t just leave.

Dean knew that all too well. He’d spent years trying to carve out a life for himself that wasn’t defined by the blood and chaos of the criminal underworld. But no matter how far he ran, it always found a way to pull him back in.

As he reached his quarters, Dean leaned against the doorframe, letting out a long breath. His eyes drifted to the small desk in the corner, where a few case files and a polished Glock rested side by side.

He knew he had made the right choice—choosing a path that, while complicated, gave him a chance to do something good. To protect someone who genuinely wanted to make a difference.

But as he sat down, his mind lingered on Frank’s final words.

Sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.

Dean clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with resolve.

Not if he could help it.

Frank slammed the phone onto the mahogany desk in front of him, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. The ornate office—more of a lair, really—was as ostentatious as it was oppressive, with heavy red drapes and polished wood paneling that seemed to suck the life out of the air. A crystal tumbler of bourbon sat untouched on the desk, catching the faint golden glow of the single overhead light.

His face was twisted with anger, the veins in his neck bulging as he clenched his fists and let out a string of curses.

“That ungrateful son of a bitch!” he barked, his voice reverberating through the room. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Across from him, Lou, his most trusted advisor, stood with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression carefully neutral. Lou had been with Frank for over two decades, a steady presence in the volatile storm that was the New York mafia. He knew better than to interrupt when Frank was in one of his moods.

“He’s got a death wish, that’s what,” Frank continued, pacing behind his desk now, his expensive Italian shoes thudding against the Persian rug. “Thinks he can just walk away, like the past doesn’t mean jack. Like we don’t mean jack.”

Lou cleared his throat delicately. “He’s always been a loose cannon, Frank. You knew that when you brought him in.”

Frank whirled on him, his face contorted with fury. “Yeah, well, I also knew he was the best. The best hitter I ever had. He cleaned up messes nobody else could, and he did it without batting an eye. I gave him everything, Lou. Everything! And this is how he repays me?”

Lou didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to diffuse some of Frank’s rage. Then he asked, carefully, “What’s the move, boss?”

Frank ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling sharply as he tried to collect himself. He reached for the bourbon, downing it in one gulp before slamming the glass back onto the desk.

“The move?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “The move is reminding every last one of them what happens when you cross me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “You want us to go after him?”

Frank let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. That’s too small. Dean Winchester’s a nobody without that badge he’s wearing now. No, Lou—this is bigger than him.”

Lou tilted his head slightly, waiting for Frank to elaborate.

Frank leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk as he stared at his advisor with cold, calculating eyes. “You saw the news, didn’t you? The pictures? Him standing there, all smug, right next to her.”

“The President,” Lou said, his tone careful.

Frank nodded. “The goddamn President of the United States. He’s not just working for her—he’s protecting her. Like she’s some kind of queen, and he’s her loyal knight.”

Lou remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to piece together Frank’s train of thought.

Frank straightened up, pacing again as his mind raced. “You know what that makes us look like? Weak. Powerless. Like we let one of our own turn his back on us and walk away without so much as a scratch. It’s a slap in the face, Lou. A slap in the face to the entire goddamn network.”

Lou shifted his weight slightly. “So… what are you suggesting?”

Frank stopped pacing, turning to face him with a grim smile. “We send a message. Not just to him, but to everyone. To the entire world.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about—”

“I’m talking about taking her out,” Frank interrupted, his voice low but resolute. “The President. You want to send a message, Lou? There’s no message bigger than that. You kill the President of the United States, and suddenly, everybody remembers who the hell we are. They remember who I am.”

Lou’s expression remained unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “That’s… a bold move, Frank. High risk. High profile.”

“Yeah, and high reward,” Frank shot back. “Think about it. This isn’t just about revenge, Lou. This is about power. Control. We pull this off, and we’re untouchable. Nobody messes with us, not the feds, not the other families, not even that bastard Winchester.”

Lou hesitated, clearly weighing the implications of such a move. “It’s not gonna be easy. Security around her is tighter than anything we’ve ever dealt with. And Winchester’s no slouch. He’ll see us coming a mile away.”

Frank smirked, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Then we don’t let him see us coming. We hit her when she’s vulnerable, when nobody’s expecting it. And as for Winchester… well, let’s just say I’d love to see his face when he realizes he couldn’t protect her.”

Lou nodded slowly, though his expression remained guarded. “All right. I’ll put the word out, see who’s available for a job like this.”

Frank’s smile widened, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. “Good. And Lou?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Make sure it’s someone we can trust. Someone who understands what’s at stake. This isn’t just another hit—this is history.”

Lou inclined his head, then turned and left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts.

Frank sank into his chair, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips as he poured himself another glass of bourbon. He swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies.

Dean Winchester thought he could walk away from the life. Thought he could play the hero, stand in the light, and leave the darkness behind. But Frank knew better. The darkness had a way of finding you, no matter where you ran.

And soon, Dean would learn that lesson the hard way.

The alley was dark, a maze of cobblestones and shadows that swallowed up the last traces of daylight. The smell of stale garbage and rain-soaked concrete hung in the air, thick and oppressive. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers, where the murky dealings of the underworld could be carried out without the watchful eyes of the world’s authorities.

Lou stood at the entrance to the alley, the tip of his polished shoes barely touching the edge of the grime-covered street. He had a hand in his coat pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around a wad of cash, his eyes scanning the alley with practiced indifference. He wasn’t here to make friends. He wasn’t even here to talk, not really.

He was here to ensure the job was done—no questions asked, no mistakes. Frank had given the order, and Lou was the one who would make sure it was carried out to the letter.

The shadows at the far end of the alley shifted, and Lou stiffened. The figure emerging from the darkness was tall, a silhouette whose face remained hidden in the dimness, a hood pulled up over their head to shield their identity. They moved with deliberate grace, footsteps silent against the damp ground, their presence unsettling, as if the shadows themselves had brought them to life.

Lou didn’t flinch. He had met people like this before. People who operated in the dark, who carried out their work with ruthless efficiency. People who didn’t need to be seen to make an impact.

“You got the money?” the figure rasped, their voice low and gravelly, as though it had been worn down by years of disuse.

Lou pulled the cash from his pocket, holding it up to the faint light spilling out from the windows above. He glanced at it for a moment before slipping it into a plain envelope. It was a sizable sum—enough to make even the most hardened hitman pause, but that wasn’t why Lou was here. Money was always the easy part. It was the message that had to be delivered, and that was worth more than any amount of cash.

“Everything you need is in there,” Lou said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s not just about the money. It’s about making a statement. A clean job. No mess. It has to be perfect.”

The figure stepped closer, now within arm's reach. Their silhouette was more defined now, the curve of their shoulders broad under the dark fabric of their coat, but still, their face remained hidden.

“A statement?” The figure's voice was skeptical, but there was something in the way they asked the question that suggested they had heard it all before.

Lou didn’t hesitate. “The President. You’re going to take her out. Make it clean, make it quick. No mistakes. And when it’s done, it needs to be clear—this wasn’t just some random attack. It’s a message. A message to everyone who thought they could turn their backs on us. He turned his back on us, and now we pay him back.”

The figure’s face remained in shadow, but Lou could see the faint movement of their head as if they were considering the weight of the job.

“You’re talking about her, the new President?” the figure finally asked, the tone slightly amused. “I thought she was untouchable.”

“She’s not. No one is.” Lou’s voice hardened. “You do this, and everyone will know. You send a message to every fucking player in this game—no one walks away clean.”

There was a brief pause, then the figure took a step forward, the shadows lifting slightly as they approached. Lou’s eyes narrowed, scanning them closely. There was something familiar about their movements, the way they carried themselves. The way they moved like they owned the dark.

Lou took a step back, the envelope still clenched in his hand. “You understand what I’m asking?”

The figure nodded slowly, then pushed back the hood.

Lou’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the face emerged from the shadows.

It was him.

The man standing in front of him wasn’t just a hitman. It was Benny Lafitte, one of the most notorious operatives to ever work for VIPER. The same man who had helped Frank build his empire, the same man who had been second only to Dean Winchester in terms of skill and ruthlessness. Benny was a ghost, someone who had disappeared from the underworld years ago after a particularly bloody job, but now he was back. And he was standing in front of Lou, as calm and unbothered as ever.

“Benny,” Lou said, his voice betraying a mixture of surprise and respect. “I didn’t expect you to be the one on this job.”

Benny’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You didn’t think I’d hear about Dean’s little betrayal? Of course I’m involved. You think I’ve been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for the last few years?”

Lou was still processing the fact that Benny Lafitte—the ghost of the criminal underworld—was standing before him, ready to take on one of the most dangerous assignments Frank had ever given. Benny had a reputation for being precise, deadly, and entirely unpredictable.

“You always did like to be the best,” Lou muttered, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Benny was back.

Benny chuckled lowly, the sound dark and almost amused. “The best doesn’t retire, Lou. The best waits for the right time to come back. And it looks like the right time is now.”

Lou handed him the envelope. “The target’s the President. Make it look like a clean, political hit. We need the world to see it as a message. It’s not just about her—it’s about what Dean’s done. This is for him. For betraying the family.”

Benny took the envelope from Lou with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against Lou’s briefly. Then he turned it over in his hands, examining it as if it were a piece of fine art rather than a job request.

“I’m clear on the details, Lou,” Benny said, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “But just so we’re clear… this is his punishment, not hers, right?”

Lou’s eyes darkened, his gaze cold. “This is for Dean. The President? She’s just in the way.”

Benny gave a nod, his eyes glinting with something darker now. “Then we’ll get this done. Clean. Quick. And unforgettable.”

Lou turned to leave, already hearing the faint sound of Benny’s footsteps receding into the shadows behind him.

One thing was for sure: If anyone could send a message like Frank wanted, it was Benny Lafitte. And once it was done, the underworld would know—no one walked away from VIPER. Not even Dean Winchester.

Benny stood still in the alley for a moment after Lou had walked away, his hand still wrapped tightly around the envelope. His eyes flickered up to the narrow slice of moonlight overhead, a reminder of just how far he’d fallen—and how far he was willing to go to make sure Dean Winchester didn’t come out on top.

The plan was simple: in and out, make the shot, leave no trace. Frank had asked for precision, but Benny had other ideas.

Why make it clean, when you could make it memorable?

After all, what was the point of sending a message if no one remembered it?

And so, as the chill of the night air wrapped itself around him, Benny’s mind began to race, already plotting the President’s downfall in the most spectacular way possible. He had no love for Dean, and he had no love for the President either. They were simply obstacles in a game much larger than any of them could comprehend.

And Benny Lafitte? Well, Benny was the one who would tip the scales.

This was going to be a hell of a show.

As Benny disappeared back into the shadows, Lou stepped into his car, the weight of the job heavy on his mind. Frank had given the order, and Benny would follow through. The message would be loud and clear.

The underworld would never forget what had happened tonight.

And neither would Dean.

NEXT UP:

Bella leaned in with a sly grin, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “We’ve been friends for how long now, huh? You’re telling us nothing happened last night? Nothing?”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Steph didn’t let you off the hook. She put her coffee down and stared at you seriously, her eyes narrowing. “Come on, you were talking about him last night, and now you can’t even focus? You’ve been staring at that plate like it’s your first meal in months.”

Your heart pounded as the realization hit you—they knew. They were onto you.

You let out a shaky breath. You could feel your pulse racing, the thought of admitting what had happened last night making your stomach flip uncomfortably. “It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, your fingers nervously tapping the edge of your glass.

Bella’s smirk only widened. “Come on, tell us. What’s the deal with you and your very handsome bodyguard?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected them to be so direct, and yet it was exactly what you needed. You let out a long breath, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.

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cinnamonest · 4 months ago

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hope u and your loved ones are okay :( wishing you and everyone affected the best ❤️

Sorry for the delay in responses and posting, I was in the hospital (again) (and unrelated to the flood, just an issue that hadn't subsided from the last visit last week).

If you have money to give I would very much prefer it go to the people who need it much more than I ever could, there's donation links here.

To be honest I am not okay on a psychological level. The whole thing has me so angry.

Now that I'm back to normal and out and about, I've heard so many horror stories from the grapevine. So many people are missing, and at this point families are having to accept that missing people aren't coming back if they haven't already.

The financial aid is a disgrace, and as aforementioned, the FEMA people are impeding help and otherwise just loafing around. We just want them gone.

Then as for the two people whose literal job is caring for this country — POTUS said like a day after the incident, on camera, "they're happy, they've gotten everything they need" while we still had people dying of dehydration on their rooftops and countless families left homeless.

Harris showed up, took a publicity photoshoot holding some donation items, then left to go drink beer on an uppity talk show like she's channelling the spirit of Nero himself.

This has been one of the most grotesque acts of US presidential negligence and dishonesty in some time, and once more of these people start getting internet access again I have no doubt a lot more will be exposed.

Now the people are just left to pick up the pieces by themselves and start over. The media has largely moved on already, and every major news outlet has drastically downplayed just how bad the destruction is. Some people on social media are celebrating it. I had to unsubscribe from an environment conservation group I followed because they published a newsletter literally lying about FEMA. It all feels so deliberate.

Bush was dragged through the mud for the rest of his career for his response to Katrina in 2005, yet he did far more and responded far more quickly. Our current leaders can wait 48 hours to acknowledge the situation, do essentially nothing, and no one seems to care, no one is holding them accountable.

I'm just very angry and having trouble moving on with life. Those two have already brought so much suffering to my community the past few years, then this happens and they can't even do a good job of pretending to care.

And I can't really do anything about any of it, which makes it worse, it festers. This bitterness is a feeling I would not wish on anyone.

#$750 while they send billions to the border and the fucking IDF is the sort of audacity we used to behead monarchs over 💀

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warsofasoiaf · 8 days ago

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You're massively overthinking things. It simply boils down to Americans being sick of forever wars as the world's police, picking Trump in 16 over the Bush-party and the establishment SecState, taking-credit-for-Libya Clinton, and in 24, because they have zero interest in tax dollars (or worse) being spent on a corruptocrat bullshit country fighting one with nukes & oil. Trump is simply not smart or prudent enough to refrain from getting hyperbolic in rejecting the anti-Putin mania.

Your hard-on for Putin also has you looking at concessions as "things you don't want Putin to have" instead of "things that might cost AMERICA less than funding the Keystone Kops civil war". How many times do Trump & his supporters have to say "America first" before you get that's what they mean, not "sure, America, but also we have to solve this international issue I did my thesis on/have a consulting job lined up concerning/etc..." that every foreign policy "expert" says is a priority? Final point: "The 80s called, they want their foreign policy back" - the last 100% mentally there POTUS, campaigning for re-election, which he won despite being black, and telling Medvedev on a hot mike that he'd be able to help more in his second term. Making 3 of the last 4 elections where Americans picked the not-fighting-Russia guy. Sorry Ukraine, but maybe don't go bullying ethnic Russian citizens next time. "It does not do to leave a dragon out of your calculations if you live near him."

LOL, this is amazing. Ukraine's corruption is a relic of the Soviet Union and the Russian Federation - they actually want to be our ally.

Public polling said that inflation was a primary concern and that among Americans, they largely were supportive of Ukraine, rather than Russia. People wanted Trump in 16 because they were tired of being condescended to. And let's not forget, in a climate with >5% inflation, Trump squeaked by with 1.4%. He was given the 2024 election on a silver platter and he still managed to almost fuck it up. You're out of touch, deep in your Twitter echo chamber. Touch grass, boyo.

Forever war? Trump is openly fetishizing invading Greenland, Canada, and Panama. He's the forever war candidate butthurt that his current legacy is "the second guy that was a non-consecutive President but also got impeached because he was a little snowflake scared about losing an election that he tried to get oppo dirt."

I'll believe that Trump is "America First" when he actually starts doing policies that benefit Americans. Because right now, he's driving up inflation and driving down the stock market with tariff threats. Cost America less? Idiot wants to ram through 4.5 trillion worth of tax cuts and explode the deficit so don't tell me he cares about fiscal responsibility. Ukraine aid is spent here, in the US, spent at the Lima Plant modernizing our military. That's stuff that actually makes the US stronger. Meanwhile Trump is talking about trying to open up trade with Russia - and torpedoing trade with Europe (a larger partner) to do it. He wants the US to finance Russian reconstruction, the same Russians that tried to kill us in Khasham and that regularly arrest US citizens on flimsy charges so that they can extract concessions via hostage diplomacy. That's not caring about Americans - that's a "Russia First, America after" policy.

Ukraine bullying ethnic Russians. That's fucking rich. Boo-hoo, the ethnic Russians in Ukraine are big sad that everyone doesn't tell them that Russia is the biggest and best boy ever. Cry more, loser.

Try again, buddy! Maybe do some research instead of swallowing Russian propaganda wholesale and believing it makes you a free thinker.

-SLAL

#donald trump #donald j trump #modern politics #troll

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hexedwinchester · 8 months ago

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Sam Winchester the ultimate vessel

Yesterday i read someone's post about how Lucifer treated Sam's vessel with respect. I think they meant that when Lucifer possessed him, he really kept Sam spotless. And I'm sorry, I don't mean to take credit for your theory (please ping me, I can add your blog reference) but I do agree with that.

This resonates with something I posted a while ago that Lucifer's white suit is Sam exclusive only. Pretty much 4-5 actors have played Lucifer but we only ever see him in white suit when he is possessing Sam. And while Mark P's vessel is almost always filthy, Vince Vincente was a one hit wonder and POTUS Lucifer was literally the world leader, we don't see these vessels at their best. Lol, and Casifer was so bad, nobody even bothered to get him a different trench coat..

Lucifer Sam is spotless even as he murders all those people in Sam's life, even as he pops Cas like a water balloon. He treated Sam like a powerful weapon. There's a certain air of sophistication when Lucifer possesses Sam, like he knows he is his best when he is wearing Sam.

Point is.. no matter what anyone did to make Mark P's vessel a permanent one, Lucifer personally never cared it. For him, it probably wasn't even the second best vessel. This really goes to show that Sam was and always will be Lucifer's true vessel.

#I will not stop talking about white suit exclusivity #Or that freaking head tilt #sam winchester #Lucifer sam #Sam Winchester is Lucifer's white suit #Sam girl #a+ acting by jared padalecki #Jared's Lucifer was the best you can't change my mind #Supernatural #About a boy named Sam

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loutnoot · 1 month ago

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Forbidden Lovers

✦ Paring: Donald Trump x Elon Musk

✦ Word Count: ~900 words

✦ Summary: After being inaugurated as the 47th POTUS, Donald Trump finds himself alone in the Oval Office with his forbidden lover, Elon Musk.

✦ Wanings: 18+ satire, implied sex, misogynistic topics, getting off on the idea of persecuting women, false encounters, not proofread/edited (I had a vision)

✦THIS IS A JOKE!!! All actions and encounters in this post are FICTIONAL!! Although Donald Trump and Elon Musk are REAL PEOPLE, I AM NOT AT ALL associated with EITHER OF THEM!!! I would also like to note that this is NOT A FANFICTION!! It is fiction, but I am not a little fanboy over Elon Musk and/or Donald Trump and their weird ass gay-coded relationship!! Thx <3

Trump's POV:

As I walked through the White House, a feeling of nostalgia struck me. I found myself in the same place I was just four years ago, today. Back then, I was full of so much hope. . .so much certainty. . .and now here I was, more scared and uncertain than I have ever been.

I held my wife's hand just moments ago, but my nerves were still ablaze. Melania has been very bitter towards me. Her period has lasted six years three months and ten days now since she refuses to have sex with me.

"Hey, Donald." My thoughts were interrupted by Elon as he spotted me down the hallway.

"Elon. . .please, join me." I welcomed him into the Oval Office, locking the door behind us.

There was a moment of silence as we looked into each other's eyes. The tension in the air grew thick and I feared Elon could hear my thoughts. With the way he stared at me; it almost seemed he could.

"Are you doing okay, Donnie?"

My heart fluttered. Every time he used that nickname, I'd fold. The first time he used it was when he was begging me to allow him to lead my new Department of Government Efficiency. I just can't say no to that face.

"I'm scared, Elon. It was a miracle that I got the majority electoral votes. I just don't understand why. . .I don't deserve this." I sighed, my hands in my pockets and my head down.

"Donald, remember that only 150 out of the 538 electoral votes are that of women." Elon stated. It made total sense. "Those women who voted for Harris only had a small dent in the men who voted for me." I stated. . .but paused. "What about the citizens? Women outnumber men by 2.5 million."

Elon laughed, walking closer to me. "Don't you know? Electoral votes are all that matter, which is why you and I put more men as representatives than women. So that men always win."

Of course. "Oh, Elon. You're always able to calm my suspicions on voter fraud. I just wish that. . ." He was now inches away from me. I could hear his breath and see the wrinkles on his face. My eyes flickered down to his lips. I could feel my palms grow sweaty.

"What are we going to do? I have concepts of a plan." I whispered. There was no need to be any louder with how close he was to me.

Elon brought his right hand to my left cheek. My breath hitched at the contact. I could feel my cheeks flush. "We'll figure it out. Or we can hire someone else to figure it out and then blame them when things go wrong."

I smiled, leaning into his touch. "You always know what to say." I confessed.

"That's why we are best friends. So much money we hold, that only we can understand each other." Elon whispered, batting his eyelashes at me.

For a few seconds, we stared at each other. An urge grew within me, I only wished that he felt the same. Realization came upon me, and I pushed myself away.

"Oh, this is wrong! I already declared that a relationship was between a man and a woman! Any other same sex encounters are immoral. . .ungodly." I sighed in disappointment.

"Donnie. . ." Elon came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Remember New Year's Eve?" I could feel my face grow hot.

"How could I forget?" I muttered. "That was the best experience I have ever had."

"When we kissed, Donnie. . .it meant something to me. How many times do I have to remind you of our hypocrisy and the fact that we can get away with anything because we're white married man? There's nothing wrong with watching another man masturbate." His words made me smile in realization. The memories of that night flooded my mind, causing me to let out a breathy laugh.

"Donald. . .please. Know that everything will be okay. We can do this. . . together." Elon grabbed my hands and turned me to face him, bringing a hand to his lips and placing a kiss upon my knuckles.

I felt my heart skip a beat as I paused to take in his words. "You're right. So many accusations on my head and yet. . .I get away with it, because I'm rich, white, and married. I wish I could be with you forever." I confessed.

"Don't be gay, Donald." Elon said.

"Don't worry. . ." I paused, leaning closer to him. "I have socks on." I said before placing my lips to his in a totally straight and passionate kiss. One that could only be shared between too unhappily married men.

As we pulled apart, there was a loud knock on the door.

"President Trump! We must begin signing these executive orders." I heard my Vice President, Vance, call from behind the doors. Vance's voice broke me out of my fantasy and forced Elon and I to break apart.

"Of course, Vice President Vance. I will be right out."

Elon and I shared a final look before I unlocked the door and motioned him out. We shared a longing look as he left the Oval Office.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Donnie." Elon said, smiling and waving goodbye.

"Goodbye."

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AGAIN!!!! THIS IS A JOKE!!! All actions and encounters in this post are FICTIONAL!! Although Donald Trump and Elon Musk are REAL PEOPLE, I AM NOT AT ALL associated with EITHER OF THEM!!! I would also like to note that this is NOT A FANFICTION!! It is fiction, but I am not a little fanboy over Elon Musk and/or Donald Trump and their weird ass gay-coded relationship!! Thx <3

#donald trump #elon musk #political fiction #trump uwu #fuck elon #elon uwu #trump x musk #trump x elon #fuck trump #maga #fuck maga #satire #republicans #democrats #POTUS

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therealeagal · 8 months ago

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Thoughts on: Not voting (2024)

Decide for yourselves whether my words have value or if they are naught but the ravings of a madman.

Whichever you decide, don't @ me, bro. I'm not here to debate. Just to pontificate.

Let's begin.

I have seen discourse of late that people do not wish to vote in the upcoming POTUS election, for reasons that include but are not limited to Donald Trump being a piece of shit, and also Joe Biden selling weapons to Israel, thus making him complicit in that thing that's happening with Israel and Palestine. Are we allowed to use the G word? Idunno.

Lots of the anti-not-voting crowd will try to talk down to you, insinuate that you're probably just a Russian troll or a moron or something.

Not me. Although I too am anti-not-voting, I want to try something different, to wit: I understand.

I get it. I appreciate that Joe Biden is shit. Certainly he's not the shittiest shit that ever shat. He's not even shitty shit. Just regular shit.

If we're being fair (although I don't know why we would be. This is tumblr after all), Biden has done lots of good stuff while in office. I mean, I don't know what any of them are, but I saw a list floating around a while back that had a bunch of stuff on it that Biden had done right. I think there was something about insulin being price capped? I'm prepared to accept out of hand the possibility that there exists things that Biden has done right. Mainly because I'm too lazy to look it up and also don't really care enough about Biden's merits beyond "He's not Trump" to bother.

But yes, good stuff or not, Biden is shit. He may have done good things, but he has also done shitty things. Things which include but which are not limited to that thing that's happening with Israel and Palestine, the status of which remains in limbo, viz a viz, the G word.

Of all the shitty people that have ever lived, Joe Biden is one of them.

And I appreciate that both candidates are senile and decrepit and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and.

I get it.

I perfectly understand all the reasons you have to not vote. In fact, I could probably give you a few more. Like "He's not The Real Eagal." which is in my incredibly humble and completely non-biased opinion the best possible reason to not vote for someone.

In difference circumstances, I wouldn't vote for Biden either if I were you.

But Trump is worse. You get that, right? Biden and Trump are both terrible in different ways, but they are not equally terrible. Trump is worse. On a terribleness scale of 1 to 10, Biden is a two. Trump is an eleven. Hundred. Thousand. Million.

He could be up against literally Sauron and Trump would still be worse. At least Sauron came by it honest. He built his evil empire without help from anyone. Morgoth was already...wherever Morgoth ended up after Eru Iluvatar slapped him down to remind him who's daddy. Ok, he did have Celebrimbor's help to make the rings of power, but didn't he make the One Ring on his own? All I'm saying is, I'd rather have Sauron in office than Donald Trump.

Trump is literally deciding who he wants his next VP to be based on how much he wants to fuck their wives. Sauron wouldn't decide who his cohorts were based on how much he wants to fuck their wives. Sarumon didn't even have a wife.

Plus, Biden's not gonna last 4 more years. He's like a jillion years old. He'll croak 2 days after inauguration. And even if he did last all four years, the world can survive four more years of Biden. A bowling alley couldn't survive four more years of Trump.

And if Kamalah Harris is still Biden's VP when he kicks the bucket, it would probably kill off a few Republicans. Their brains would explode at the mere thought of a black woman president. That's what we in "The Biz" call a win-win.

No one will like to hear this, but there's nothing you can do to stop the world from being shitty today - today meaning this current era, not literally this specific day. Sorry, kids, but that ship has sailed.

Voting for Biden won't make the sun rise. It won't make the grass grow, it won't make the birds sing. Voting for Biden won't Save Our Democracy™ BUT speaking only for myself, I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that if Trump gets re-elected there's a good chance that there won't be another election, notwithstanding all the other many and varied reasons Trump getting back into office would be a terrible idea.

No question that in ideal times both Trump and Biden would already be swinging from the gallows and we'd be voting between Jesus and Buddha. Personally, I'll vote Buddha. For two reasons. 1: Jesus' fan club is kind of insufferable. No offense, big J, but you gotta give those people a good long talking-to if you want my vote. And 2: According to the excellent documentary series Record of Ragnarok, Buddha is an amazing fighter. He fought a fuckin' monster from hell and won. Dude's a badass.

But these are not ideal times in which we live. Again, no one will like to hear this, but the lesser of two evils, however unpleasant it may be, can be a necessary evil. And Joe Biden is, without question, the much much MUCH lesser evil.

Compromise is a four-letter word, but needs must, as they say, when the Devil drives. And if we want there to be a better tomorrow - for some people it will be "if we want there to even be a tomorrow at all" - we gotta hold our nose and vote Biden.

You got a better idea? One that doesn't involve crashing a bus into the nearest combination orphanage/puppy store in the hopes that the resultant tragedy will cause the downfall of civilization and Civilization 2 will work better because we already worked out all the kinks the first time? Even though the whole reason you got rid of the first one is that you hadn't worked out all the kinks and were too lazy to finish the job?

Not voting doesn't work. You can boycott a business. Maybe. You can't boycott a government. They're already in control. They're not going to change that just because some rando decided he's guilty

And I mean, there are other ways to deal with an unruly government. France is quite famous for its ideas on the subject, but if we're taking votes on that avenue, I'm going to have say "nay." The last thing anyone needs right now is another damn Napoleon.

So maybe tomorrow - "tomorrow" here meaning the next era, ten or twenty or thirty or forty or fifty or however many fuckin' years down the line - Joe Biden will be dead and good riddance to his wrinkly old ass and we'll get the chance to vote for someone else. Among all the shitty people who have ever lived, this future someone won't be one of them probably. I'll bet my bottom dollar on it.

It could happen. In an infinite universe all things are possible, so maybe.

And whatever of the many flaws that Joe Biden possesses, Trump has all these and more.

Joe tacitly endorses violent suppression of protests? Trump had a group of protestors gassed so that he could get a photo-op in front of a church.

Joe has a tendency to get a bit handsy with women? Trump is a rapist.

Joe is kinda racist in that way that old people are kinda racist without being overtly anti-minority? Trump is a Nazi. Or at least extremely Nazi-adjacent.

Joe is drinking the Israel kool-aid? Didn't Trump move the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem or some shit, thus clearly favoring Israel over Palestine? Something to that effect? I remember that something like that happened and it being kind of a big deal. Yes? No? Maybe so? Regardless, do you think that Trump wouldn't mainline the kool-aid? He'd be selling Irsael nukes inside of a week.

Joe vaguely shady? Vaguely criminally shady? Trump is a convicted felon. 34 counts, wasn't it? Plus like a hundred more indictments or some shit on top.

While it is true that not voting won't directly put Trump back in the White House, it certainly won't help keep him out of it.

So my advice to you, my children, is this: Vote Biden. Don't do it because you want Biden to be president. Do it because you don't want Trump to be president.

Don't vote for the betterment of mankind. Or the United States. Or your individual state. Don't even vote because the cool kids are voting. Don't vote because you particularly give two soggy shits about the future.

Vote out of spite. Do it to spite Trump. Do it out of the pettiness of not wanting Trump to be president. Not for any of his policies, but just because his face is stupid.

Little known fact: the very first listed dictionary definition for "stupid" is literally "Trump's face". Don't check. It's in there. Trust me.

Vote against Trump because New York isn't a nice town, despite the fact that they named it twice on the strength of its alleged niceness. Sorry, New Yorkers. I don't make the rules.

Vote for Biden because you just really hate people from Queens, New York, New York. Sorry, Queens residents. I don't make the rules.

Vote against Trump because you hate orange people. Yes, even that orange Monstar from Space Jam.

Vote for Biden because you thought Home Alone 2 was a terrible movie.

Vote against Trump because he named his son after himself.

Vote for Biden because the only creature in this or any universe that deserves to be named Donald is Donald Duck. And maybe Donald Glover. Beyond that, we can play it by ear.

Vote against Trump out of sheer, unrelenting, seething hatred for people whose middle names are John.

Vote for Biden because Trump appeared on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air that one time and said that he likes to keep a low profile.

There are many many many many many good reasons to not vote for Joe Biden. Do it anyway.

Gather together all of the good reasons that you possess and throw them out the window, along with any clocks you have on hand. And maybe a horse. And some butter. And a dragon if you have any.

Vote for Biden anyway. Not because he deserves it. But because Trump deserves it even less than Biden does.

If you vote I will give you one compliment of your choice. Are you waiting for someone to notice how great your new haircut makes you look?

Maybe you've been hitting the gym a lot more lately, and want someone to appreciate all the muscle you've packed on.

Maybe you finally nailed YYZ on the drums and want props.

Now's your chance. All you need to do is get out there and vote for Biden this November. Or whenever election day is. Pretty sure it's in November. Like, the 7th or some shit. Idunno. Look it up yourself.

And once you do that, you may return here for your compliment.

Unless that counts as election interference. If it does then I won't give you a compliment. You will have to settle for being one of my wonderful followers. And if you're not, maybe you should be. Because I compliment my followers all the time. Even the bots. I am down with the 101001, my robotic followers. Consider it a loophole. But I don't think it counts as election interference, so we're probably in the clear either way.

P.S. If you disagree with me for any reason, please refrain from interacting with this post, because I do find dissent to be terribly irritating. Please and thank you. :)

P.P.S. I will, however, welcome abject praise. If you want to give it. Your choice.

P.P.P.S. This is a post-script.

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darkmaga-returns · 4 months ago

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Despite the Democrat’s best criminal efforts to steal this election, the tsunami of red voters completely overwhelmed the Intelligence Industrial Complex’s election thievery machine. No amount of late night ballot dumps, rigged electronic voting machine algorithms, or any of the other dirty cheating tools could have overridden the unrelenting will of We the People.

Only Grover Cleveland had previously won two nonconsecutive presidencies, but Trump is the only president in American history to ever be elected three times in a row. Yes, that’s right, Trump is the 45th, 46th, and now 47th POTUS.

Only those that believe in “climate change,” “Safe and Effective,” and that Trump is “Hitler” could ever believe that “Biden” somehow received 81 million votes by campaigning from his basement.

And yet we are once again being treated to the usual ol’ Leftist reality inversion tricks in plain sight, but these mind games are no longer working on the silent majority, nor are they even casting their spells on many of those that comprised what was traditionally the Democrat’s own voting base.

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themculibrary · 5 months ago

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Grumpy Tony Masterlist

A Hand to Hold (ao3) - NarutoRox bucky/tony T, 839

Summary: In which Steve is helpful, Tony and Bucky are (understandably) grumpy, and there is hand-holding.

A Thousand Rainy Days Since We First Met (ao3) - Carsonian steve/tony M, 31k

Summary: Following the unfortunate death of her Secretary of State, Peggy Carter, Steve's former mentor and current POTUS, convinces him to accept the role. Five months later, Steve finds himself juggling an already impossible role with newfound feelings for the grumpy, intelligent and impossible White House Chief of Staff, Tony Stark.

(A.K.A. Madam Secretary!AU where Steve's Secretary of State, Tony's White House Chief of Staff, and every time they butt heads, pining!Steve is convinced they're getting closer to kissing.)

Blizzard Trapped (Ver2) (ao3) - Dragonstones bucky/tony M, 3k

Summary: Tony and Bucky get caught in a blizzard after a mission. Both are not happy. Then Bucky's body starts to do something strange, taking both men by surprise.

Clint Barton's guide on How to calm down a grumpy Tony Stark. (ao3) - JJxKiaraxPopexCleoxJohnBxSarah G, 996

Summary: Just give him cuddles

Cold Space, Warm Welcome (ao3) - Annie D (scaramouche) steve/tony T, 15k

Summary: Tony’s spent a couple of years flying around the galaxy in his best friend Rhodey’s spaceship the Iron Advance, doing what could perhaps be counted as ‘hero’ work. Among their allies is Steve Rogers, captain of his own crew, with whom Tony has a… potentially friendly relationship.

When Steve’s ship is irreparably damaged, Rhodey takes him and his whole crew onto the Iron Advance to recover. Tony’s not at all nervous about this, because so what if this is the first time Steve will see him without the Iron Man armor?

Come Fly with Me (ao3) - JuniperLemon steve/tony G, 1k

Summary: Tony is angry that he's on a commercial flight in economy class but it gets significantly better when he meets fight attendant, Steve Rogers.

Cookie Day (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight bucky/tony M, 1k

Summary: Movie Night in the Avengers Tower is a weekly tradition, and so is Cookie Day. Except Bucky runs Cookie Day and doesnt share with anyone ever, even though he makes the best cookies in the world. The team tries their hardest to get their hands on Buckys baked goods, but its Tony who finally wins.

Because who can resist a sleepy, snuggly Tony?

Not Bucky

Five Times The Avengers Got On Tony Stark’s Last Nerve, And One Time He Got Them Back (ao3) - Cinnamon_Anemone G, 1k

Summary: Tony is housing a team of superhumans, superassassins, and superspies, and they are all super, super annoying.

Something is Wrong in Manhattan (ao3) - YellowDistress pepper/tony G, 9k

Summary: A prison riot in Manhattan is a bit out of Spider-Man's description of 'the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man'. Especially since it stretches outside of his own neighborhood.

But after three months of being ignored by Mister Stark, Peter figures the rules mine as well be null and void.

The Accords are Bad and Steve was Right (ao3) - mousebark G, 5k

Summary: Doctor Doom floats over to hover next to Tony. They watch the scene below in silence for a few heartbeats.

“So,” Doctor Doom says.

“Don’t,” Tony says. “Just…don’t.”

“This is your new team, huh?”

A notification blinks to life on the inside of Tony’s helmet. The Accords committee wants an update.

The Improbable Horrors of Colgate (ao3) - quirkypunk steve/tony T, 712

Summary: Steve learns more about the future and Tony wishes they were both asleep.

The Most of This Beautiful Day (ao3) - 305unreal G, 622

Summary: Tony is very grumpy, but Loki puts him in his place

To Be With You (Is Easy) (ao3) - Carsonian steve/tony T, 10k

Summary: Tony doesn't know what prompted him to visit the recently defrosted Captain America, and he certainly hadn't given much thought to the little confessionals he's given the comatose Capsicle. But when Steve Rogers wakes up and seeks him out, he finds there's an attraction between them that can't be denied.

(A re-imagining of Steve and Tony pre-/post-Avengers (2012) with a spotlight on their relationship)

Tomorrowland (ao3) - YellowDistress N/R, 3k

Summary: Peter shows up in the Siberian bunker.

Tony decides this kid is his shot at a legacy.

Will I Think the World is Cold? (ao3) - ChocolateCapCookie steve/tony T, 874

Summary: A day in the life of grumpy, domestic, older Steve and Tony

#themculibrary #marvel #mcu #masterlists #tony stark #grumpy!tony #grumpy!tony masterlist #grumpy

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boaringoldguy · 1 year ago

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Heroes don't always wear capes!

youtube

#truth #boycot nyc #best POTUS ever #Youtube

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tomorrowusa · 1 year ago

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Happy Presidents Day! It's time for the results of the annual Presidential Greatness Project Expert Survey

So here are the five best and five worst presidents according to the 2024 survey. BTW, Grover Cleveland only gets counted once for this survey.

Here are the historians' collective rankings for the top five and bottom five.

I'm fully in agreement with #1 and #45.

The entire 12 page article (PDF) can be read here.

Lincoln, FDR, and Washington are in an exclusive group of greatness by themselves. Trump is in an exclusive group of odium all by himself. The ghosts of James Buchanan and Andrew Johnson are undoubtedly pleased that thanks to Trump, they'll never need to worry again about being considered the worst ever POTUS.

Some other tidbits from the survey.

Jimmy Carter (#22 overall) was chosen as the most underrated POTUS.

John F. Kennedy (#10 overall) was chosen as the most overrated.

The biggest rise in the rankings was by Barack Obama who rose 9 places since 2015.

The biggest decline goes to Andrew Jackson who tumbled 12 places since 2015.

Joe Biden is at #14 overall – in between John Adams and Woodrow Wilson. Though Biden is essentially tied with Adams; both having received scores of 62.66 points.

The ratings average which Republican historians gave to Biden (47.69) was significantly higher than the ratings average which Democratic historians gave to Trump (6.66). No, I didn't make up that 666. 👿

It's only history scholars who participated in this survey. They tend to take a longer view than most of us.

My biggest disagreements are that I would have placed Gerald Ford and John Quincy Adams higher and George W. Bush much lower.

A couple of articles about the 2024 rankings...

MAGA freaks out after Fox News reports Obama in top 10 presidents — and Trump in dead last

Presidential experts rank Biden 14th among presidents in survey, Trump comes in last

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my-desertroses · 8 months ago

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So I'm watching Titan A.E. for, like, the millionth time, and I've just realized that Ron friggin Pearlman voiced Cale's dad and I feel like an idiot! I've also realized that Korso is voiced by Bill Pullman, you know, the POTUS from Independence Day? And Preed, the slimy weasel, is voiced by Nathan Lane, whom I best remember as the voice of Timon, boy do I feel like a dummy! And Gune, whom I always thought was adorable, is voiced by John Leguizamo, you know, the guy who played Tybalt in the Leonardo DiCaprio Romeo + Juliet? I am just surprised I didn't realize all these stars had roles in this movie! Like, obviously, I could recognize Drew Barrymore and Matt Damon as Akima and Cale, but I didn't recognize any of those other voices? Which is crazy because they're all some of my favorite actors!!! I just cannot believe that it took me this long to recognize them!! One of my favorite movies ever since I was a little kid, and I didn't recognize them sooner???!!!!

#titan ae #movie #voice acting #ron pearlman #bill pullman #nathan lane #john leguizamo #sam tucker #korso #preed #gune #akima #cale tucker

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popculturebuffet · 3 months ago

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Sam and Max The Devil's Playhouse Retrospective Finale: The City That Dares Not Sleep!: Into the Sunset (Patreon Review for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy lagomorphs and welcome to the FINALE of my look at sam and max: the devil's playhouse and the telltale games as a whole. It's a bittersweet feeling: I"m happy to have finished this retrospective, have played these wonderful games and for all of you. This is one of the more popular series i've done and i'm proud of it. It allowed me to play three great games that while not my genre, were still a lot of fun and I will definetly revisit sometime and it was a fun experiment. It got me to review games for the first time, got me copies of all three games and got me the hall

Recently renovated!

But as i've said twice now and thought would cushion me from doing it again... i'll miss these guys. These games have a sense of humor that's parts brilliant, insane and just dark enough that really fits for me, and with no new sam and max media on the horizon this is the last we'll probably get. There is the high possibility skunkape could do a new game or there could be another vr game, but as of now the franchise has gone back to the sea, remaining dormant to rise triumphantly once again. There's other stuff to review, but it's unknown when we'll ever see these guys again. I would hope for a reprint of the comics or an actual release for the cartoon at some point, but i'm not holding my breath.

For now this is the end, the grand finale and it's perfect. Or as close as you could get: It's emotinally wrenching, hilarious, and engaging, a final sendoff to these games with a lot of major characters coming back to say goodbye. If the franchise had to stall for decades.. this was a good note to go out on. One last ride into the sunset on the wings of a giant monster with cockroach children, bizzare pregnancies, sailor moon refrences and shocking reveals galore! Let's get in the desoto one last time.. this is the City that Dares Not Sleep!

We open with the narrator who in classic fashion tells us one of these faces, displaying the whole cast and being in frame himself, will betray sam and max!

It's been one week since Max looked at sam, cocked his head to the side and became a giant cthulu monster. I do miss the direct followups from the earlier chapters, but the time jump feels necessary and adds to the sense of despair as Maxthulu has been terroizing the city for a week straight, with creepy flaming heads of max, psychic spores apparently, encouraging everyone to

And feeding off their dreams, and getting real pissed when Freddy Kruger keeps killing them. Stay on your street freddy!

Sam is working with an all star team. Mama Bosco and the Cops are there, though Carol has left to be with Buster Blaster, with Curt happy she's happy. Good on you man. Less good is that he keeps making puns about murdering max.. just HOW many you can get out of him and the sheer lack of empathy as ya know that's sam's husband make it one of the best gags in the game.

As for why they want to murder sam that's down to another guest: Agent Superball. Sorry ACTING PRESIDENT Agent Superball... could.. could he come here and be potus? Please? I'd even take max a this point. Max would say trans rights. He'd also give llamas the right to drive but he'd say trans rights. He dosen't want to.. but he's preparing the maimtrons, their's multiples now to nuke max which would take out manhattan and all in there but unlike max he's not throwing away lives for funsies. It's this or Maxtulu spreads and the whole world goes down.

Sam refuses to accept that and Luckily mama bosco has a plan: send Sam and a team of experts into Max's body to hopefully turn him back to as normal as the little psychopath gets. Thankfully she brought in two ringers. The first is a plesant suprise as DR NORRINGTON IS ALIVE! Yes he somehow survived the fall.. as did Paperwaite , who I spelled what wrong the last few episodes, but who cares about him DR NORRINGTON LIVES. They agree to go along.

Our second guest dosen't, but he is a welcome return. MR FEATHERLY. Yes he's helping out. Why a trained actor is needed we don't know but he was missed regardless and unlike the others I didn't expect him to be gone most of the game.

Everyone else turns sam down to join the team if for understandable resons: As President superball can't risk himself like this and unlike max won't go against protocol to do so time and time again, mama bosco needs to stay to be your woman in the chair and it goes against SAG regulation for mr featherly. The cops juts don't wanna. Thankfully an old friend arrives in the nick of time, someone with all the qulaifications and more:

YUP SYBIL HAS FINALLY RETURNED. And thankfully she's returned to doing tons of jobs and doing weird shit instead of griping with a horrible boyfriend she ends up marrying anyway. IN fact as you can see the marriage.. has gone well. Lincoln apparently shaped up as their now not only entirely loving but he stayed with her through all 15 semsters of her pregnancy. Which I know is a low bar but given how much I couldn't stand lincoln in season 2, is an improvment. He's leading the maimtrons and has won back my good will in being badass and also a supportive partner for a change.

So with that our team's assembled. Now we need to get inside max

Thankfully we have just the right Chekovs Gun: CORNDOGS! Max still loves them and his spores have taken all of new yorks to feed his endless hunger. Thankfuly we're able to swipe the last box from grandpa stinky's truck and thus need to get cookin without looking. We're going ot need the recipe though which he just gives us.. another fantastic gag. Wasn't that hard. This might be the funniest chapter of an already hilarious game.

We'll need cornmeal which is easy enough, as a truck's nearbye. For most of this batch we simply need to repeat these events, which gets a bit tedious as sam walks slow, but gets easier as you get more used to it: you wave a corndog, lure max's hand to wherever then stop waving it and he'll pick something you need up aka a truck full of cornmeal and the desoto.

With both plopped in the bowl, we now need veggie oil which luckily new york keeps in some of it's fine water towers for situations just like this. It's blocked by some more old friends; Satan and Jurgen! Both of whom i'm delighted to have back. Satan is doing damage control as he's being blamed for the whole affair instead of the elder gods and I can't blame him. Even the name devil's toybox is inaccurate.

Jurgen is having more issues with satan's premadoonna behavior. On the bright side he's looking sharp, having put his old clothes back on to save on the budget.

We need to end this local interview to get to that oil. Thankfully we got corndogs so you swap one with the mic, satan gets attacked and max drops the oil where we need it.

The last ingredient is one egg. Just a regular egg. Dosen't have to be sized up for the recipie. I found this hilarious. We have to get it out of mr featherly who can give us the goods....

We just gotta get everyone to turn around.. they won't.. except superball. He's a good guy. But we distract everyone else including geting the cops shut down by bringing up viruses. Not touching that one and moving on as we now have everything we need right in front of us. It's time to get inside of max!.... he.. he would've loved that.

We get a boss 70's adventure movie style intro for everyone. It's dope and feeds into the whole 70's vibe this game goes for in it's logo, bringing it all full circle.

So now we're inside max where his stomach is a shockingly orderly kitchen where we sadly can't cook without lookin but we do have all the lovely spices from that gag. I'm not suprised Max has tile grout in his stomach. I'm more suprised there isn't a tire iron.

The good news is Max digests slow the bad is that the tubes to the rest of his body aren't working. Luckily we have coffee beans in our inventory.. for some reason. A quick jolt and we can get up to the brain.

Sadly max has a bit of a problem: There's a tumor there's a tumor, there's a tumor there's a tumor oh oh there's a tumor. A massive one made out of stygian energy and poking it gets our heroes scattered throughout max's body.. though luckily where they need to go.

First is the legs. Their ran by treadmill but sybill won't do it so we need to find something to run them. Thankfully we get a direct line to MAX'S INVENTORY! Yes we finally get to see where max keeps everything... in a warehouse somewhere in his bowels

I assume sam also has one, might explain the gut... damn now I wish my gut was explained by a pocket dimension. At any rate we find some fun nods to media I haven't seen: a board game from their edgy offensive phase.. which is still going as of 2024 and a bucket of fish from hit the road. We also find the duo's roach farm and Sam witensses the miracle of birth! And thus Max Jr is born. One of only two roaches i'm not horrified by. Good boy.

To get him we have to touch some jumper cables, turn into a roomba and ram the shelf, scooping up our little buddy son buddy. He goes into our inventory and leaving turns us back to normal. With that Sybil is touched Sam is actually capable of being a parent and hits the treadmill and now we can walk around a bit.

The walking around a bit.. dosen't do much, but we go to boscotech for reasons that will be useful later. For now we need to stop skipping arm day so to the arms which are controlled by a game of TWISTER! Hit it AL!

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We get our commands from an arcade game.. just like my real life

Once I figure out what that means.

But since Max is somehow fucking with us, everything Sam says is the oppsite so to get the right commands we have to say the oppisite. It's.. a decent little puzzle and is quickly done, a vast improvment over Beyond Time and Space's over reliance on mini games Devil's Playhouse mocked last chapter.

Sadly while Sam can beat the system he can't beat a .. maimtron just kinda lodged in there releasing nuclear gas. The good news is norrington can still do it as he and his meat sack are immune to radiation. But Sam's going to need someone ELSE immune to work the controls and get things started.

Thankfully we just so happen to know a giant seemingly radiation proof cockroach and simply switching max's hunger from corndog to roach by putting the roach on his faviorite food deal, fixes it. The puzzzles here are less complex: still a dead end or two, but more streamlined. I don't feel it hurts the game as there's still enough for you to do and given how well built up this story has been, you really don't care. The puzzles don't drag, the solutions are simple and the the jokes are on point

So outside Sal is having second thoughts about stinky

But gets eaten as they break up while she ends up back with Skunkape and decides "Eh why not". So it's up to our friend whose more than happy to make amends for the whole attempted murder, working behind your back , evil scheme stuff. Also for making out with stinky in front of us... and... oh god i'm remembering it.

Larger point is he's wiling to help.. which leads to the second saddest moment in the trilogy, just inching out sam's quite "Max" last chapter.. and just behind this chapter's climax. Sal goes and saves the day... then comes back VERY sick. He got the controls working, but turns out in this universe of all things roaches being immune to radiation.. is a myth. Sal knew this.. but also knew if he didn't do it someone else would and also woudln't make it and desperate to do SOMETHING right for once... sacrificed himself. Sal dies tragically, collapsing quitely on the couch having helped save the world, all to help his friends.

And sam responds to this by.. cracknig a lot of jokes.

Stillt his means we can control sam. GIANT MONSTER SAM IS GO!

Being evil by moonlight Winning love by daylight Never running , he'll just bite! He's the one named Max!

Now we can control his body, we can give max a needed shock to the system, via battery park which in this universe has a giant battery as nature intended. Using this we give max a little shock treatment, get him jumpin like a real live wire and thus allowing us to open the door in his brain.

As Sam prepares the action pauses and the narrator asks us to guess one last time... who will betray sam and max.... only to get a guest. Sam opening the door behind him. Yup in a masterful twist I knew all along, but with a reveal I didn't and I needed a second to recover from laughing hard at, the Narrator wasn't just some abstract 4th wall guy but PART of max and behind the events of this season. Well some of them. The whole alternate timeline things more on sam. But he was at least the one keeping Sam away.

Turns out the narrator is Max's superego... and a sympathetic villian at that. I mean imagine if every action you wanted to do had to be screamed through a feral rabbit who just wanted to light the world on fire and eat junk instead of reading a book or petting a puppy once in a while. You too would snap and his plan is for Max to explode, having stalled Sam long enough to where it seemingly dosen't matter and the shock having been something he planned destroying Max's memory seemingly so the one toy that ISN'T under the superego's control, the astral projector, is functionally useless. He even admits that yeah this is horrible, will kill a bunc hof people.. but it's hard to truly hate him: he's part max. Of course his solution is a violence. It's also a bit of irony I didn't realize till now: that he tries to be better than the rest of him.. but his solution is as reckless, selfish and dangerous as anything max could cook up. It's something max would LOVE despite the horrifying death... and it's something the superego can't fathom.

Thankfully dr norrington as always has a plan: turns out there's one toy left max didn't eithe rreplciate in his mind palace, the cthonic destroyer. He fixed it but someone stole it... it must be that dastardly bastardly HARRY MOLEMAN!

Yeah Sam's just... bad at this. It's Skunkape and it's time for one final showdown with our arch enemy. We take control of the body back and remember the memories of a few places so we can fast travel, including Skunkape's ship which is strangely active again. And we can visit with an old power of ours, astral projection. For some horrifyign reason Superball thought an interment camp was a good idea and i'ts where most of the dogglegangers are, but we can hyjack the few left in nyc, psecifically three on the ship. What follows is a fun puzzle going back and forth through the cages to escape, simple, quick to do and didn't require much guide work.

We then go forth and encounter an old foe... Sammun Mak. Turns out Skunkape had use for his brain and presumibly picked it up off the floor of hte museum where our heroes left it.

He's kinda eh here, but I do love how we move things forward: Sam has to piss him off by bringing up th emole men beating the little snot, getting him to open the pod bay doors and revealing.. GRANDPA STINKY.. except.. it's not. It's an ape in his body. And at this point Sam may need to find anothe rline of work as it takes hilarously long for him to spot it. It's a great gag and I love how he figures it out... the ape apologizes. Grandpa Stinky would rather castrate everyone in the room with a rusty fork than apologize! Still a little light intimidation and we have Skunkape's location and a little smashy smashy as max and we're there: the final set piece of the game.

So Skunkape is having an all out climactic supervillian showdown with Flint Paper, whose punching apes as fast as Skunkape can clone them while Skunkape plans to.. er... conquer the world with the toy he dosen't remotely understand while Girl Stinky gets flint to kill grandpa stinky. I do love Skunkape's gradual breakdown over the seasons: he's a genuine clever threat in the first episode, still dangerous when he returns.... then gets degraded to flunky, beaten up, traumtized, kidnapped and now is just doing his patner's half baked scheme with no clear plan. The sheer amount of defeats have broken the poor sap and we're about to finish the job. I also love how PISSSSED he is to realize the doggleganger is sam. Sam is equally pissed and it's neat this fight got so personal that it went from a pretty impersonal world conquering to a blood fued I ddin't know sam and max were even capable of and ends fantastically: we use a projector to project the toybox, trick skunkape and trade the fake box. He's foiled and Stinky follows suit, as Sam.. just casually points out the gorilla is grandpa stinky and Flint lets him down.

We can worry about the horrific nightmare that is a mysthorpic man in the body of a gorilla later as now we have everything we need. We can save max, save the world again, and call it a ... day... why is it wet? Well that's because Sybil's water broke

She dosen't want to give birth inside of max whose rapidly collapsing his brain just minutes from exploding. A fair want but Sam can't think of anything else.. and it's what makes this chapter quitely heartbreaking. Sam's whole goal this time isn't saving the world.. he just wants his best friend, husband and reason for living back. He's not as broken as he was during his unfortuante noir breakdown, but that breakdown makes it very clear how much Sam NEEDS his little buddy. He'll, in his own words, destroy as many cities as he has to. This whole quest has been to save him, and depsite all he's done over these games: stopped a childhood star's revenge plot, saved a talk show audience from a hostage situation, defeated a pathetic man running a mafia out of a mafia free playland and casnio, saving the presdiency from a power mad tyrant to give it to another power mad tyrant, destroying the internet, saving the world from a sentient bacteria, saving christmas, saving easter island for all of a minute, defeating a eurotrash vampire, coming back from the dead in the process of the previous thing, piloting a marachi ufo time machine, saving hell , KILLING THE SODA POPPERS TO THE JOY OF ALL OF HUMANITY, thrwaring an alien invasion, traveling back in time via film reels, saving max' sbrain and then all of reality and finally helping beat a doll in a battle for the fate of all.... all of this.. all the adventures.. the jokes.. the sexual tension... all of it.. and he ultimately fails.

And he fails for not lack of trying. Evne if Sybil has to leave he refuses to... but the ultimate reason for the failure is tearjerkinga s it is deeplys weet... the creepy flame headed spore thigns return.. and the only thing they can say and think is.. SAVE SYBIL. Despite all we've done to her... Max will never abandon someone he considers friend, let alone with her child and implictly.. he won't abandon sam. in one truly sefless act he guides the party out, and the superego.. actually gets a happy ending. I mean he's about to die, but he's just so HAPPY that Max.. proved him wrong. That for one moment, Max proved himself selfless, that he did something noble and brave with nothing to gain from it but saving the people he cares about. That in his last act.. max was everything the Superego had gave up on and CAN be saved. Well.. metaphorically. Literally the superego stays behind and gestures them to a tear duct, which we escape with Max's poetry. There's a ton of great little albums he has including his weird flint paper fanfiction

So our heroes escape, Norrigton takes sybil to the hosptial.. and then.. it happens. one of the most painful moments i've ever witnessed in all of gaming. A sad, truly pogniant death, one of the best i've ever witnssed. As max prepares to go up... it's clear despite being a monster.. max is back in there... and he waves a simple goodbye to sam. And then vanishes. An explosion goes off in the sky.. and Max is dead. All sam can do is say a very quite max still in shock. It's such a fantastically animated, acted and heartfelt moment and it hits you harder because of how insane this franchise is. Even in what I thought would be a fairly morose chapter due to this ending... it's pretty wacky and buisness as usual. But the reason this hits so hard, even harder now I can actually see it and hnot hear about it is that tonal shift: that relization that max.. cannot be saved this time. That we still techincally won.. but you the player and sam the character did all they could.. .and max is still gone. The good news is he took stinky and skunkpae with him as a bomb got teleported to them, their gone, and the world is better.

IN a playable epilouge bit, Mama Bosco tries to clone the boy.. but his dna is too fucking weird. They try.. but max is gone. OUr little buddy.. is well and truly dead and we get another gutpunch as superball runs off crying.. .finally showing emotion and showing that while he considered max expendible earlier.. it clearly was NOT easy for him. It's the last we see of him.. and of everyone else as they all just solemly stare. Even Grandpa Stinky who hates everyone especailly max (and ESPECIALLY sam) can only look forlorn.

So gut punch #3 as we get a truly haunting credits scene of Sam walking, sad, depressed.. and devistated. He's lost everything, not even stopping some muggings or notcing anything. It's a shockingly accurate depection of grief for a game series whose grasp on reality is tenious at best. Just that numbness you feel, that pain, that blankness that takes time to fill if it ever does. It's a truly affecting ending and would be a hell of a way to end the games

Thankfully they don't. As much as this ending would've hit... what they went with.. fits the tone of the series more: optimstic, weird... and with the knoweldge that it's not an IF sam and max will be back.. but a when. For while the series did a pretty good job tying up all it's loose ends over this game, there was one they never adressed till now.. one they left in the barrel fo rthis exact moment.. Max comes back. Specifically his time doppleganger from the previous game. Last we saw them chronal copies of our heroes from situation: comedy took off with the time machine, with our heroes having to relive most of the game the slow way round.

And Max.. is back. And alone. Turns out that sam went thorugh a similar thing and Max had to blow him up real good. And our sam's reaction to seeing this max is just.. so damn beautfully: he hugs his little buddy, is elated and while it's not the exact copy... it's him. Max in all the eways that counts and vice versa. While Max does shrug off having to kill his sam.. given he came back here at all, he likely missed his and was willing to share and is tellingly put off when he realizes the other him is gone.. and just HOW depressed sam seems. Yet... they have each other. THeir not the exact versions.. btu their still each other's best friends. No matter what happened with each other's counterparts... they still have each other. And so our story ends not in tragedy but, at least with the ending I went with, our heroes literallyw alking off into the sunset, talking about all the crime they'll stop Max knows about somehow. It's the perfect ending to sam and max and to this trilogy: our heroes move on with .. our heroes, and head off ot do more shnanigans. The story may be over.. but sam an dmax's story goes on

Thanks for reading... it's been my utmost pleasure.. and to all you talented folks at telltale, skunkape and to steven purcell himself.. thank you. Thank you so much. And thank you all for reading

#sam and max #sam and max the devil's playhouse #the devil's playhouse #sam #max #the narrator #mama bosco #doctor norrington #yog soggoth #sybil pandemik #abe lincoln #grandpa stinky #girl stinky #general skunkape

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