#i need to figure out what they sound like first

[sukurarose92]

I wanted to turn this into a little crack fic but I don't have enough spoons to write it so here are the highlights. - i wanted crosshair to hide up in the vents and follow hunter around for most of the day, once in a while just giving a low hum on the kazoo then crawling away. - He's keeping right on the edge of hunter's hearing distance so he cant hear his heartbeat or catch his scent. - hunter keeps hearing this quiet little honking on and off all day and it's driving him fucking insane. wrecker's in on this prank. his job is to keep Hunter distracted and he is trying so hard not to laugh. - wrecker had his comm on so crosshair could hear when hunter would start talking.

]"the plan involves--"

"hoooooonk"

"--......... there's a series of--"

"hooooooonk"

"hunter?"

"do you hear that?"

"hear what?"

-several seconds of prolonged silence. hunter questioning his sanity. no sound so it must be in his head-

"--as i was saying; the plan involved a series of--"

"hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk"

"WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT NOISE COMING FROM!?" - Hunter figures it out pretty quickly after that. He realizes he hadn't seen crosshair all day and he looks at wrecker. dead eyed stare and it's so awkward and then the kazoo honk and wrecker breaks. he snorts and it's all the confirmation he needs. - then Hunter pulls the grate off the vents and climbs up and wrecker pulls out his comm "he's onto you. get out of there, cross!" and you hear the echo of a scream in the vent as well as several panicked kazoo sounds. - this scuffle can be heard through the vents in random places as crosshair attempts to escape. -it ends up back in their person bunk, where Tech is hearing frantic kazoo sounds and simply staring into the distance like it's a camera and he's on the office. - crosshair has the kazoo in mouth and is hauling ass as fast as he can army crawl through those vents with hunter on his heels. because the kazoo is in his mouth every time he exhales it's making a pathetic little squawk.

he gets halfway out of the vent into the room, reaching out to wrecker for help and right before wrecker gets to him his ankles are grabbed and you get one long honk of terror before he's dragged back into the darkness.

the kazoo is taken and forcibly ejected from the vents. hunter is very grumpy with Crosshair and Wrecker for a couple days. crosshair still thinks it was worth it.

This event takes place before the batch adopts Echo

and there is a repeat performance later on.

one of Echo's first missions with the batch. crosshair comes across a kazoo in town and buys it. they all get back to the ship. they're settling in for a 6 hour flight.

crosshair leans back in his bunk, cleaning his rifle. waiting for the perfect moment to strike. everyone is comfortable.

hunter is relaxing in the pilot seat while echo is co-pilot.

hunter hears a quiet "oh no" from tech

that's all the warning he gets before there's a quiet "hooooooonk" in the stillness of the ship

echo about jumps out of his skin when hunter parkour flips himself out of the chair and races, full tilt out of the cockpit

cue one very high pitched scream from Crosshair and tussling happening in the back of the ship. wrecker's laughing his ass off.

"w-what was that?" -echo

"that was revenge for past transgressions" -tech.

i swear, hunter heard that kazoo and kill bill sirens happened in his brain.

he was up and after crosshair before he even realized he was moving.

that kazoo went right out the air lock.

Wrecker: Ugh I’m bored!

Crosshair: Same. There’s nothing to do.

Wrecker: …

Crosshair: …

Wrecker: Wanna go bother Hunter?

Crosshair, pulling a kazoo out of nowhere: I thought you’d never ask.

[hotshotsxyz]

living lies and compromise

(8b spec) (buddie) (879 words) spoilers for 8x08! set a few days after eddie returns from texas and i still managed to make it angsty :) i bet you'll never guess what band i stole the title from

The knock on Buck’s door isn’t entirely unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, doesn’t know how to exist in this strange liminal space where Eddie’s back but everything is still different.

A few months ago, Eddie would’ve used his key and walked straight in. A few months ago, Buck would’ve welcomed him with open arms. As it stands, he hesitates. Just for a moment, but—

It’s been a long time since Buck was hesitant with Eddie. He hates it.

He opens the door, and the smile he greets Eddie with feels brittle and fake.

“Hey, man,” Buck says, trying trying trying to make it come out right. He hears it, though—it doesn’t sound the same.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He hoists a six pack in the air, and if Buck squints he can almost pretend this is exactly what it used to be. That they’re what they used to be.

“Come—come in,” Buck invites. He can’t remember the last time either of them waited for permission like this.

Eddie swallows visibly and steps into the loft for the first time since—god, he’s not actually sure. Right after Halloween, maybe?

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He drops the beer on the counter but makes no move to grab one.

Silence stretches between them. It’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it’s also not the kind that falls when everything that needs to be said is out in the open and everything left can wait.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Eddie says finally, achingly quiet.

Buck shakes his head. “I am, of course I’m happy to see you,” he says.

“Please don’t do that.” Eddie’s eyes are wide and sincere, and if Buck’s not careful—

“Eddie,” he says, pleading, “I am, you have no idea.”

“Then why…” He gestures vaguely at the space between them. Why the distance? Why the reticence? Why aren’t they falling together the way they always have?

Buck bites his lip and steps into Eddie’s space to grab a beer for himself. He retreats, but he doesn’t go far.

He pops the cap off and sighs. “You left,” he says simply.

Eddie stumbles back against the counter. “But I came back,” he says. “And I thought you understood.”

Buck offers him a sad little smile. “I did. I do. But—coming back wasn’t the plan.”

“Did you… not want me to?” Eddie asks, small and a tiny bit incredulous.

“No,” Buck says, watching as Eddie’s disbelief turns to hurt. “I didn’t want you to come back. I needed you to.”

A wounded noise escapes Eddie’s lips. “I did,” he says.

“What about next time?” Buck asks. He wishes he didn’t sound so raw and ragged, but it hardly matters when Eddie’s the one listening.

“What?” He breathes, punched out like a cough.

Buck looks over Eddie’s shoulder, out the window and into the vague glow of night in Los Angeles. He takes a swig of his beer.

“I need you, Eddie, I still—the whole time you were gone it felt like—like I was missing a limb. And I can’t—I can’t keep needing you like this, not if I don’t get to keep you,” Buck admits. “So I just… I have to figure out how to stop. But I can’t do that when you’re here.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says desperately. “Please don’t. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“I’m not sure I know how to survive believing that again,” Buck replies.

Eddie takes a step forward, close enough now that Buck can feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Look at me?” he asks.

Buck’s never been able to deny him much of anything.

“I kept looking for you. I’d see something funny and I’d turn, because I wanted to see your reaction. The front door would open, and I kept thinking you were going to be the one to walk through it. Hell, every time I went to the grocery store I wanted to call you to make sure everything we needed was on the list.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes.

His hand drifts toward Buck’s shoulder, just like it always seems to, but this time it doesn’t stop. Eddie reaches until his fingers are resting against Buck’s neck and his thumb is slowly sweeping across his jaw.

“You need me?” he asks.

Buck nods.

“Good,” Eddie says in a rush of air. “Because I need you too, okay? So please don’t stop, please don’t pull away. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump. He takes the last step forward and pulls Buck into a tight hug.

There’s this thing Buck’s been trying not to look at. It’s been growing in size, taking up more and more of his field of vision since the moment Eddie left for Texas. It’s been fuzzy and hard to discern, difficult to ignore but easy to avoid putting a name to. As he melts into Eddie’s arms, though, everything comes into sharp relief.

It’s need. It’s want. It’s love.

And the thing is, Buck knows how this goes. But what the hell? It’ll be a privilege, getting his heart broken by Eddie Diaz.

He clings a little tighter.

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER NINETEEN: toothpaste

masterlist

*if you want the full sjap chososcamgirl experience click here!

Toothpaste.

That was all she needed.

The familiar jingle of the doorbell sounded as she stepped into the pharmacy, its ring echoing briefly before being swallowed by the soft hum of fluorescent lights above. She moved past the aisles with purpose, the faint scent of antiseptic and the bittersweet smell of charcoal lingering in the air.

At the counter, a brown-haired girl in her late twenties leaned against the register, lazily blowing out smoke from a cigarette.

"Shoko," her name tag read in bright red letters.

Pretty name.

"Hey," she muttered, a casual greeting as she passed. The girl didn't look up, but offered a half-hearted smile, her eyes unfocused as she exhaled smoke, lost in whatever thoughts dulled her day.

Toothpaste.

The word repeated in her head like a quiet mantra, the task simple, mundane. She wandered down the aisles with mechanical precision, her gaze flicking over shelves of medicines and other pharmacy essentials.

Her fingers brushed against boxes, but she didn't really look at them. She wasn't here to linger.

And then she stopped.

A stillness took hold of her. Her body froze mid-step, her pulse quickening in a way that had nothing to do with the cold air of the aisle.

In the distance, there was a figure. His back was to her, his face buried in his hands, almost in a gesture of resignation or frustration. His stance was familiar in an unsettling way, as if he was trying to disappear into the shelves, as if he were searching for something he didn't know how to find.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the hum of the lights suddenly deafening in her ears. The shape, the posture, the way his shoulders slumped-it was him.

For a moment, she debated standing there. Still, until he noticed her. 

Then, just as her mind screamed at her to stay, she saw him start to turn—his head shifting, eyes beginning to look her way.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and without thinking, she bolted. She pivoted on her heel, her breath quick and shallow as she darted toward the next aisle, her legs carrying her as fast as they could.

She whips out her phone in frustration and starts furiously typing.

“Hey.���  

She freezes, fingers hovering over the screen of her phone, her mind torn between the message she was about to send and the voice she recognizes. Slowly, she looks up.  

His gaze locks with hers.  

Megumi Fushiguro.  

Her eyes narrow, irritation flaring as she exhales sharply. Without a word, she pushes past him, intent on finding what she came for. 

Toothpaste.  

The aisle ahead is a chaotic jumble of brightly coloured shampoo and conditioner bottles—too many choices, too many distractions. She weaves through the sea of products, her focus narrowing to the search for the one thing she came here for.  

“Yn, please, I’m sorry.”  

The words make her blood boil. God, she hates the tone he’s using. It’s almost like he doesn’t get it.  

She bites her lip, trying to ignore the sting of his voice, but before she can refocus, she feels his hands settle gently on her shoulders. It takes all her willpower not to jerk away.  

Not now, Megumi. 

Finally, she spins around, giving him the sharpest glare she can muster.  

“What do you want, Megumi?” she spits, every syllable laced with frustration.  

His frown deepens, his eyes flicking to her lips, a hesitant tension hanging between them. He bites his lip, visibly unsure of how to proceed.  

“I just... I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”  

Her jaw tightens, and she shoots a pointed glance back at the shelves, pretending to be absorbed in the endless row of oral care products. She couldn’t care less about his apology.  

“I heard you the first time,” she mutters, grabbing the toothpaste off the shelf with one hand, her grip tight and fingers stiff. 

A beat of silence stretches between them. Megumi’s voice cuts through again, softer, but with the same persistent edge.  

“So... you’ll forgive me?”  

She scoffs, shaking her head with a bitter laugh, her patience wearing thin. Of course, he would ask something so dumb.  

Finally, her eyes land on the familiar packaging.

Toothpaste.

She picks it up, turning to face him with a glare that could melt stone.  

“No. And if that’s all you have to say, then I’m leaving.” 

With that, she brushes past him once again, this time with more force, walking swiftly toward the checkout counter. She can still smell the lingering scent of cigarettes, the same stale air she’d walked into when she first arrived.  

The conveyor belt moves slowly beneath her, and she places the toothpaste down with a faint clink. Her fingers automatically slip into her pocket, searching for her wallet.  

And then, she hears it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her.  

She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. Her shoulders sag, frustration mounting in her chest. Of course he’d follow me.

She groans internally, preparing herself for whatever nonsense he’ll say next.

"Will this guy ever get a fucking life?" she mutters under her breath, barely holding back an eye roll.

“I got it,” a voice called from behind her.

The cashier, unfazed by the tension hanging in the air, set her pornographic magazine aside and casually picked up the toothpaste. Her cigarette, still smouldering in her mouth, bobbed up and down as she scanned the item, her expression completely indifferent to the moment's awkwardness.

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied Megumi from head to toe, as if waiting for him to do something else.

"Oh shit, uh, and these too," he stammered, placing the box of Magnum condoms on the conveyor belt, nervously scratching his neck.

Yn's eyes flickered to the box and then back to him. "Big night planned, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with mock amusement as she glared at the condoms.

Megumi’s face reddened. "Oh, uh, those aren’t for me," he mumbled, his discomfort palpable.

She merely gave a disinterested "Mhm," chewing the inside of her gum as the cashier processed the transaction.

Megumi opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but was cut off by her.

"Did you guys want a bag?" she asked flatly.

"Yeah, please," Yn answered quickly, eager to leave the awkwardness behind.

The sound of plastic rustling filled the silence, only intensifying the tension. The cashier bagged their items with a practised, almost bored efficiency—as if this kind of transaction was the least exciting thing to happen all day.

Before Megumi could protest any further, a cloud of smoke from the cashier’s cigarette drifted in their direction. She didn’t even flinch.

“That’ll be 4250 yen, please,” she said lazily, still grinning, unfazed by the duo hacking their lungs out from the smoke.

Megumi quickly covered his mouth with his arm, pulling out his wallet with the sort of frantic haste only a person desperate to escape awkwardness can manage. He fumbled with his card, sliding it into the reader. The machine beeped.

Yn grabbed the bag in one swift motion, already on her way out of the store.

Megumi, looking flustered but relieved, gave a curt nod to the cashier before jogging after her, eager to leave the bizarre scene behind.

The cashier took another slow drag from her cigarette, her eyes following the two figures darting across the parking lot. She exhaled a thick plume of smoke, watching them with a detached amusement, tinged with something darker—something she didn’t care to name.

"Kids," she muttered to herself, shaking her head with a soft, resigned chuckle before turning her attention back to the magazine before her, as if it might shield her from whatever she couldn’t bear to witness.

—

The sharp click of shoes on wet concrete echoed in the cold night, piercing the stillness like a warning. 

"Yn, please!" Megumi’s voice cracked, strained with exhaustion and desperation as he closed the gap between them.

Yn kept her head down, hands shoved deep into her pockets, the cold metal of the keys biting into her skin. Her pace quickened, heart racing as though the faster she moved, the less likely he would be able to reach her, to make her turn around. She couldn’t hear him. Not now. Not when everything she’d been holding back was on the edge of spilling over.

"Megumi, stop," she whispered, voice tight, trembling at the edges. "I already told you, I—"

Before she could finish, she felt his hand grip her wrist, pulling her to a halt. The sudden force of it made her breath catch, and for a moment, she was still trapped between the pull of his touch and the weight of her own resolve.

She looked at him, and everything inside her stilled.

His eyes weren’t the same. They were darker now, heavy with something deeper than she had ever seen in them before. No arrogance. No defiance. Only raw, unfiltered regret. Sadness. The kind that seemed to press in on his chest, making it hard to breathe, to think. He couldn’t meet her gaze for long; his eyes flickered to the ground, and for a moment, he looked like he might break. Like his whole world was about to shatter into a thousand pieces, right there on the wet pavement.

"Yn, please," he whispered, voice breaking, so full of pain it made her chest tighten. "I never meant any of it. What I said... it was so fucking stupid. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to lose you. I know... I know it’s selfish, asking you to stay, but I can’t... I can’t lose you. Please." 

"Megumi, I—"

He cut her off, his voice hoarse, trembling with the weight of everything he hadn’t said before. "And I know you told me you weren’t ready for a relationship, and I’ve tried to understand that, to give you space. I’ve accepted it, even if it wasn’t easy. But..." His words faltered, and for a moment, he looked like he might swallow them back down, like they were too heavy for him to carry. But then he breathed in, steadying himself. 

"But Yn... I would wait a thousand lifetimes for you. I would wait forever, if that’s what it took, because I want to be with you. I need to be with you. And not just because I miss you, or because I feel lost without you, but because... because, Yn, I want you. In a way I never thought I could want anyone." 

He paused, the weight of his own confession sinking in, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the space between them with the quiet intensity of a truth he could no longer keep buried. 

“So hate me all you want Yn, just please don’t shut me out. I’ve spent so much time thinking I could walk away, that I could let you go, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Not anymore." 

His chest rose and fell with the effort of his words, like he was trying to catch his breath after running a race he didn’t even know he was in. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer force of his emotions breaking through. His hand clenched at his side, his knuckles white, as if holding on to something he might lose if he let go. His eyes were fixed on hers, pleading without words, desperate without asking. 

For the first time in a long time, there was no bravado, no walls between them. Only the quiet truth of a man who had finally realised that what he felt for her wasn’t something he could walk away from. And he was asking—no, begging—for her to see it, to feel it, too.

His grip on her wrist tightened, his fingers trembling. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes, as though the weight of his own guilt might crush him if he held her gaze for too long. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the torrent of emotion that was threatening to spill over, but it was there—raw, uncontained.

Yn exhaled, the weight of his words settling over her like a fog. She wanted to pull away, to shut herself off from him—everything inside her screaming for distance—but she couldn’t. Not with him standing there, broken, stripped bare in front of her. 

She shook her head slowly, the words thick in her throat. "Megumi... I could never hate you." The confession hung in the air between them, fragile and heavy with everything they had left unsaid. 

His eyes snapped back to hers, searching for something—anything—that would give him hope. And in that moment, when the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, a single streetlight flickered above them, casting his face in a pale, golden halo. She froze. In that soft glow, she remembered. She remembered how he had always been beautiful—how she saw him for the first time underneath the lucent lights with his guitar, to the man standing in front of her carrying nothing but a bag of toothpaste and condoms. For a fleeting second, it felt like time had both stopped and rewound, all at once.

A fragile shift passed between them, unspoken but undeniable. His hand slipped from her wrist, fingers brushing lightly against her skin as if afraid to touch her too firmly, as if the very act of reaching for her might undo them both. But then, with no more hesitation, no more words to hold them back, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a kiss of anger, of apology, or even of reconciliation. It was everything—everything they’d held back, buried too deep for too long. The crash of everything unspoken, everything broken, everything still raw between them. It was the kiss they should have shared ages ago, but neither of them had been ready for. It was the space between their words—the silence that had stretched so long, finally, finally given form. 

And in that kiss, there was no more distance. No more fear. No more hesitation. Just the weight of everything they hadn’t let go of, suddenly, impossibly, all at once.

extras!

• panda sent the ynmegumi gc a text like “plan in motion” so they all celebrated with a movie night (??)

• dunno know WHY they thought it would work

• it did so ig it’s okay…

• they knew their plan worked after ynmegumi turned their location sharing off LMFAOOOO

• shoko was definitely fan service for ree (are you reading this ree? are you?? are you?? did you like it??? do i get a kiss on the cheek?? do i??)

• but her working in the pharmacy isn’t THAT ooc so #cry

• she did not gaf about ynmegumi😭 she just let them have their moment

• brought her flashbacks to stsg gay asses #LetGodBeTrueQuickly🙌🙌

• yn wants to be main character soooo bad omfg girl give it up

• complete parking lot fight slash makeup scene cliché SUE ME

• btw they left the toothpaste out on the gravel for some reason so yn did in fact not get the stupid ass toothpaste

• got the condoms though😛😛😛

• yuta will definitely be questioning as to why they were open

• may or may not have done something not very sft in the car but hey!! you didn’t hear it from me…

a/n: aaaand we’re back!!! how’s everyone doing? good? okay? horrible? all three? same❤️ i hope this sufficed for taking a week off (i’m still in my shackles) this was probably my favourite chapter to write. gonna lie and say it didn’t make me teary eyed towards the end… champagne coast being the recommended song of the week even though it was a gag for the first chapter is a full circle moment. a bit of tzc reeferences sprinkled in the chapter bc i love those girls to death (even though mitch gave up on chapter 2… she didn’t even make it to lesbian digresser… #shitfriendmoment😒) ANYWAYS enjoy and see you guys tmr!! <3

taglist: @shokosbunny @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @ichcocat @laughingfcx @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @sluttkuna @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm @syxoki

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[lady-griffin]

Jinx's Hallucinations + Ekko

Before Act III drops, I wanted to talk about an aspect of Timebomb that I'm quite fascinated by -

Ekko isn’t a trigger for Jinx’s hallucinations.

He has even stopped her hallucinations – not intentionally or anything, but more than once Ekko's presence seems to have a nullifying impact on Jinx.

Which is odd, right?

One would assume due to their history Ekko would be just as triggering to Jinx as anyone else, if not more so, and yet the opposite seems to be true.

In Jinx's first reunion with Vi, she quickly becomes overwhelmed and has an episode due to a whole combination of factors, but notably because her hallucinations of Mylo and Claggor start attacking her, largely because she's starting to breakdown and is getting overwhelmed (a self-perpetuating cycle).

Jinx can't even begin to calm herself down, in fact she yells at everyone to shut up, because she needs to think.

Then she hears Ekko’s hoverboard and suddenly the hallucinations are completely gone.

Jinx isn’t sure if what she heard was real or not.

Which is a great detail, since it indicates Jinx is aware that the voices she hears aren’t “real," meaning she knows other people can’t hear them too. So, it's rather telling (at least for me) that she asks Vi to confirm if she too heard the hoverboard sound.

It's also impressive Jinx was able to instantly recognize the sound of Ekko's hoverboard, despite her being in the midst of a mental breakdown and unable to think properly.

It’s almost like Jinx’s brain went into fight mode or something, because seemingly all the hallucinations stopped at once because there’s now a much bigger threat Jinx needs to be on guard for – Ekko is heading her way.

I really can't emphasize how much I love that.

While not traditionally romantic, in any sense, this shows the amount of respect Jinx has towards Ekko and the threat he poses to her. He’s someone she actually has to take seriously when fighting.

Which is a bit unique for Jinx.

Throughout S1 we saw Jinx being far more scared of her hallucinations then actual real, physical threats, but in this moment it’s like her brain recognized Ekko as being the far greater threat than her hallucinations.

Which he is - but that’s also true for many of the other things Jinx faces and isn’t scared of.

Jinx does “glitch out” while fighting Ekko and the Firelights in “When These Walls Come Tumbling Down,” - but it’s more of an asset than a problem, as she easily dodges the Gorilla Mask Firelight (at least I think it’s a gorilla).

Then when Ekko disappears, Jinx's psychoses come rushing back; obviously, this has less to do with Ekko himself and everything to do with him taking Vi, but nonetheless, it's still a slight repetition of the pattern that keeps happening between them.

In "The Boy Savior," during Jinx's bridge fight with Ekko, she once again specifically doesn't experience any hallucinations; even though she was just experiencing them not too long ago.

Mylo was this 'demon' on her back that while she could initially argue against, the more upset she became, the bigger his presence was.

She saw Caitlyn as this devil figure, laughing and mocking her and her psychoses even blocked Vi almost entirely from her sight; whether literally or symbolically, Jinx clearly wasn’t fully aware she was shooting at Vi, despite her obviously seeing Vi and then shooting in her direction.

Then Ekko bursts onto the scene and suddenly no more hallucinations. Which is just...

I honestly don’t know what this is. I really don’t.

To be clear, I absolutely love this whole thing despite not knowing what it is exactly, because honestly, I'm just fascinated by this dynamic, because for whatever reason, Jinx isn't triggered by Ekko nor does she hallucinate him.

In S2, Jinx’s hallucinations have significantly decreased, but in “Paint the Town Blue," she's suddenly bombarded with pretty much everyone’s voices because she’s beyond upset and panicking about Isha being taken by the enforcers.

She sees pretty much everyone - Silco, Vi, Mylo, Claggor, Sevika, and Isha.

Jinx seeing Vi, Sevika, and Isha shows us that she can/does hallucinate people who she knows are alive.

In addition, Isha being one of her hallucinations shows us that Jinx doesn’t need to have negative or even complicated feelings towards someone for them to become a part of her psychoses, as Jinx largely thinks/feels positively towards Isha.

Though it should be noted, the hallucination of Isha isn’t acting aggressive towards Jinx, not like the others are.

Finally, Ekko or Vander are the only two she doesn't hallucinate, but we know Jinx has hallucinated Vander in the past, making Ekko the odd one out when it comes to Jinx's hallucinations once again.

Which for the millionth is absolutely fascinating to me.

Because why?

Why doesn't Ekko trigger Jinx? Why isn't he one of her hallucinations? How come he's the only one we've seen having the ability to stop Jinx's hallucinations altogether (even if it's completely unintentional)?

For whatever reason, Jinx’s mind has seemingly categorized Ekko as being different than everyone else and while it’s obviously not this big thing the show brings your attention to, it’s also clearly there, albeit subtly.

And yeah...

I don’t really have much more to say, I just wanted to talk about this interesting aspect of Timebomb before we get to the last and final arc of Arcane.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Morrigan, under a cut for length:

"Morrigan began, waaaay back, as a bit of Morgan le Fey (hence the Dark Ritual) mixed with Delirium from Sandman. The Delirium elements subsided into more of a weird cadence of speech as my idea of Morrigan solidified - more cynical, wanting to connect but unable to. Originally, we were looking for a Middle Eastern actress to play her, as Shoreh Aghdashloo was slated to play Flemeth and we wanted a similar sounding voice -- but it was a real struggle, and then Shoreh unfortunately had to drop out to do a movie. So suddenly we had nobody for either character! Then, one day, Caroline (our VO Director) comes in with a recording sent by a rep for Claudia Black - who hadn't done game VO back then but wanted to get into it. And it was Claudia doing a slow *beat poet* rendition of Baby Got Back. I kid you not. I was already a fan, so I lost my goddamn mind. (Yes, I still have the recording. No, you cannot have it.) Naturally, we jumped on that immediately. As I recall, this was met with resistance from higher up - they had this image of Morrigan as young, like 18 years old (no idea where this came from) and complained that Claudia sounded "too old". Them: "She sounds like she smokes three packs a day!" Me: "That's what I like about her!" Caroline and I were determined, so we pushed ahead. We had to agree to get Claudia to sound "younger", which I was dubious about. The first two sessions we asked her to pitch her voice up and it was AWFUL. Claudia had to focus on sounding "right" instead of acting. So Caroline and I did the sneaky thing, and on the third session we asked her to just... act. Use her natural voice. We loved her performance so much we had the feeling that the team would love it too and forget their nonsense. They did. My best memory of Claudia was when we first met. I'd been flown down to LA for the initial sessions to help the major DAO actors find the character "voice" and, boy, was I nervous. It didn't help that I was a huge fanboy of Claudia's and she was going to be the *first* of all the actors I'd talk to. Caroline gave me a list of rules for "how to talk to a celebrity" - top of the list: DO NOT COMPARE THEM TO OTHER ACTORS. So I meet Claudia, and I'm sweating. I think: I'll start from the beginning, right? "Well, when I started writing Morrigan, the voice in my head was Helena Bonham Carter..." Claudia gives me a look and tilts her head. "So what you're saying is... I'm a very cheap version of Helena Bonham Carter." I'm mortified. I melt. I gasp and stutter and she lets me implode for maybe 30 seconds before she throws her head back and LAUGHS. So wicked. I love her instantly and forever. For the next several days, whenever she's in the booth and I make a comment to Caroline - which she can't hear, because the booth is sound-proof - she'd say "Oh, does he want it more like Helena?" And I'd melt into the desk in renewed mortification and she'd LAUGH. This is Claudia in a nutshell. Morrigan became a real touchstone for me, the heart of DAO. Way beyond her initial inspirations. Some said "she's just an ice queen" like some I'd written (Viconia, Bastila, etc.) but such categories are very reductive, I find. She had a voice I could instantly slip into, every time, without fail. The problem, after DAO was said and done, was with how we were going to honour the Dark Ritual going forward... or, more to the point, how we *weren't* going to honour it. I wasn't willing to let her go, however, so I had to figure it out. BUT... that's a story for another day. CORRECTION: A friend reminds me that the beat poet recording Claudia did was "Smack That" and NOT "Baby Got Back", and now I need to go give it another listen just because I can."

[source thread]

David Gaider: "Actually, when Shoreh's movie wrapped she came back and asked if the role was still available - her grandkids were VERY excited for her to be in a game. It wasn't, but as I recall Caroline was all "well, we have this role in ANOTHER game we're making..." Hence why she ended up in ME2." [source]

David Gaider: "Tali's accent was purely created by the actress - which made it a bit of an Issue when the time came to have more Quarians in ME2. "Do we get the actors to all try and mimic... whatever she's doing?" I'm certain Caroline could write a book about how THAT all went down." [source]

User: "I also never knew that Delerium was part of the inspiration for her (atleast in the beginning)." David Gaider: "It'd be difficult to see that now. The very first drafts were a lot more eccentric - more like Flemeth, I'd say, but times ten. The feedback I got was that she's a bit too LALALULU and I had to agree (and my idea of her was changing anyhow). So that slowly got weeded out." [source]

User: "What had you seen Claudia in that made you such a big fan already? (was it pitch black?)" David Gaider: "Originally? Farscape. Then Pitch Black, yes. I tried watching Stargate just for her, but coming in so late I kinda bounced off it." [source]

User: "My only complaint is, and has always been, why is she the straight romance when everything about her screams lesbian?" David Gaider: "I would have written it, if it’d been allowed (remember this was VERY new back then), but after all was said and done I’m kind of glad I didn’t. The friendship path I wrote for Morrigan with a female Warden is perhaps my favourite but of writing I did from back then." [source]

User: "Morrigant to me was such a fantastic character because of the way she sounded! Her introduction in DAO is iconic to me "Well, Well, what have we here?"" David Gaider: "You have NO IDEA how many takes that took. 😳" [source]

User: "Claudia Black did an amazing job with every line in every game." David Gaider: "She absolutely did. It took some time for her to get her bearings, but by the end of our first few sessions I actually went back and re-wrote a bunch of lines to match Claudia's voice. She informed so much of who Morrigan became." [source]

User: "are YOU the reason we see so much morrigan after dao? (positively, she is one of my all time favourite characters)" David Gaider: "Yes and no. She was always considered, by both me and the team, to be a "face" of Dragon Age. I'd have put her in DA2 if there'd been room, but thankfully that limitation is what allowed Flemeth to grow into her own." [source]

User: "were Morrigan and Flemeth always supposed to be Chasind, and/or did the Chasind have any ties to northern Thedas in earlier drafts of the character? The Chasind are universally depicted with dark skin except for Morrigan and Flemeth." David Gaider: "I don't think we had a very clear idea of the Chasind in general back then - they kind of got abandoned as a concept once we cut the Human Barbarian origin for DAO, and were only picked up again later." [source]

[memori662]

KIAN vs ALEXA (my two dear snipers...)

Spoiler: they end up as besties

And sorry if the P.O.V. is strange. Idk why sometimes they're written in first person and another times in third person.

Bang!

Alexa dogdes the bullet just by a hair.

Bang! Bang!

Now, what the fuck?

“Hey, to whoever is trying to kill me: I'm sure I have no debts. And if you're looking for any debts my parents might had...” She smoothly takes out her hand-gun. “I'll make sure you don't get your prize.”

Her eyes search for any strange movement. Any sound. Anything. And they land on a green fluffy ball (?) on one of the buildings.

The green fluffy ball (?) must've noticed her eyes on ‘itself’, as ‘it’ —in an abnormal velocity— changes placement.

“It's a solo sniper? Snipers don't usually attack alone. Or it's a very good sniper or there's more enemies.”

Shit. She has lost sight of ‘it’.

“Are you being a coward?” Maybe provokating whoever that might be lure ‘it’ out. “I mean, if you're a sniper that some dark organization hired to kill me, I'd feel honored to be such an important figure.” For fucks sake, I sounded just like Memori or Mimi...

It doesn't work. Bang!

Oh, they're good.

Alexa isn't one that works in dodging —unlike a particular blonde girl named Memori—, she's also a sniper. And she recognizes a good job done —thing that Memori definitely wouldn't...— Wait, don't think of her everytime??! Maybe those are things that happen when you're a competitive person and is paired with someone who enjoys remarking ‘how much better she is at everything’. But anyway, as I was saying— Bang!

“We're gonna be bad blood...” she mutters.

Her red eyes scan the place quickly, taking notes of anything she could use at her advantage and anywhere more enemies could been hiding. I should probably ask for help— Bang!

She would've been already dead if it wasn't for her quick thinking. She's been doing this practically since her birth.

I should confront them directly. Snipers usually don't have good hand-to-hand combat skills.

And with a quick and quiet running, she luckily makes it to the top of the —gladly not too tall— buildings without being shot.

She knows the green fluffy ball —that now takes the shape of a young adult probably with her same age, that wears a fancy mob-like suit that which would give off an intimidating aura if it wasn't for his puppy-like expression— allowed her to actually come closer, because he clearly isn't a normal human.

“Wow,” the puppy-looking boy speaks, “it's been a while since someone succesfully dodged my bullets.” His voice doesn't have any venom, just genuine interest. “You're good.” He smiles.

“I know I am good.” As she speaks she fires her gun. “No need to remember me.”

“If I shoot now, you cannot dodge.” The green-haired boy smiles slyly as he easily dodges the bullet. “Are you sure it's wise to keep attacking me?”

“Who said I couldn't dodge?”

“It's basic knowledge. You're so close to me that if I fire right now, you wouldn't have time to dodge.” he speaks lightly with a sing-song tone.

“Are you suggesting we chit-chat this over? Because I'm no diplomat.”

“Neither I am.” Even though his voice and overall appearance were so soft and puppy-like, the sniper in his hands right now says the contrary.

He probably isn't half bad in hand-to-hand neither. I need to be careful for any ambushes or hidden trap.

“Are you thinking about my skills right now, Alexia?”

“It's Alexa.” Oh no, this man is giving me déjà vu...

“I think Alexia sounds cuter, don't you think so?”

... Definitely déjà vu.

“Hehe, but I think Alexia suits you better, don't you think so, Ale~xia?”

Ugh, get out of my head, you fucking egocentric bitch—

“My name doesn't have anything to do with being ‘cute’. And how do you know my name?”

“Your name?” He widens his eyes —so fucking adorable—. “I thought you'd know me!”

Nope. This guy's on drugs.

“I'm Kian. K-I-A-N!” If he had a tail, it'd be swinging happily right now. “And you're Alexa. A-L-E-X-A.”

Why is he spelling the names again...?

“I asked you a question.”

“Memori is your Boss or something like that, right?”

Of course.

“You know her?”

The glimpse of sadness in his eyes disappears as quick as it appeared. “Yes.”

“What's she to you?”

“...” He seems to be struggling to find the correct words. “We- She was a close friend.”

... Is this some sort of pattern? Thinking of all the similarities...

Being unclear as fuck, acting as if everyone should know what you're talking about, being in your own world, switching personalities as a light switch, loud, child-like, asking how your name's spelled... There's definitely some patterns.

“Are you implying she hired you to kill me?”

“I'm not,” he whispers to himself. “It was just because.”

“Just because? Nobody hired you, no ‘a higher power demanded me to’? Nothing?”

He nods with apologetic eyes. “Memori seems to like you very much.”

Hell yeah she does and doesn't even try to hide it.

“You're asking why Alexa has to go with me?” She asks with a nonchalant expression. “Obviously because she's better than you all.” Her words are often impossible to understand if they're seriously or not. But it wasn't the first time that she admited a clear favoritism with Alexa.

“But Alexia, what do you man with a high—”

“Dude, did she reject you or what? You look so hopeless always talking 'bout her.”

“No?? I don't see it.”

“Ya sure?”

“Sure. She's like my sister.”

“... Really?”

“Really. She's like a black cat.”

What. Definitely no.

“Uh-huh,” I continue. “Why did you think it's a good idea to attack me?”

“Well, since Mori bullies you—”

“She doesn't.” Mori.

“—she must like you very much! And I wanted to see what it is that she likes about you so much!”

“You're nuts.”

“I'm not a nut- I'm not an aliment!”

“I know you're a real human.” He recoils just a bit when I call him a real human. “I meant you're crazy.”

“Ohh!” He has fangs. “That's what you meant!”

“Are you four or what?”

“I'm the same age as you!”

“Really? I don't think so. And how the fuck do you—”

“Ah, sorry for this,” he says as he lowers his sniper.

“No worries.” A total weirdo after another weirdo. “And where ya from? Your work, I mean. You look too fancy to be a normal sniper. Don't tell me you're a blue-blooded rich?”

“Ah, that is... Hm.”

“Very helpful,” irony fills my words. “So ya aren't a rich?”

“Ah, you could say... Kind of rich. My work pays me well.”

“Are riches becoming more and more common by the time?”

“People are getting better and better at finding suitable jobs!” He exclaims with optimism.

“I don't think Memori's your friend.”

“She's an angel! Who wouldn't be her friend?”

“An angel, you say?” She asks skeptically.

“She may be nicknamed sinner now, but I mean it as her personality—”

“She's nicknamed sinner now?! Since when?”

“Ah, between a circle of rumours,” he half-lies smoothly. “Nothing big, really. Some people simply resent her for her former job.”

“That chick was probably in some illegal trade. Tell me otherwise,” she rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“You don't know where she used to work?”

“At least me, no.” She looks at the sky. “She's a real mistery among us. Classic rich person behaviour. How delightful.”

“You don't have a very limited vocabulary!” He seems oddly excited about it. “I thought you wouldn't know words like ‘delightful’.”

“It's not a bad thing.”

“Why the hell wouldn't I.” No, this man right here? He's also a total fucker.

“Uh-huh.” Of course it is a compliment. Of course. Very obvious. Totally expected.

He suddenly grabs my hand and shakes it with both of his hands with a bright smile, but quickly stops after what seems like remembering etiquette. As if there is an etiquette for shaking hands. There isn't, right? ... Not that I would know, anyway.

A little late, no? “Alexa. Pleasure's mine. Is that what I'm supposed to reply?” I ask genuinelly this being the first decent handshake I've ever had.

“Excuse me,” he apologies with a smile as he lowers up his right-hand and looks at me expectanly.

??? What does he wants me to do?

“Uhm... What do I do?”

“Ah, nothing,” he dismisses.

Oh, a headshake.

I offer my left-hand to him. He stares at my hand, as if it was strange. Fuck, do headshakes have some etiquette I'm not aware of? “Am I doing something wrong?”

He focuses his attention back to my eyes as he accepts my headshake also with his left-hand. “It's not a big deal. Usually, handshakes are with the right-hands.”

So it does have an etiquette.

“Oh. I'm left-handed. I didn't know.”

“Don't worry your pretty little head about it.” He replies as he shakes his hand four times, completely different from how his behavior was a minute ago. “My name is Kian. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Mhm, maybe a little bit more formal, but yes,” he chuckles and nods. “You are cute. Like a mouse.”

Like a mouse. That's new.

“And you're like a dog.” It's an implied insult.

“Why, yes! I get told that often.”

“Figures.” I stare at this green-haired man with disbelief at his obliviousness.

“Welp, I need to go now.” He adds, “Boss expects me...”

Boss? So he does work for someone, huh?

“Bye-bye, Alexia! It was nice to meet you!” He waves his hands with excitement.

“... Nice to meet ya too, I guess.”

And with that, he jumps swiftly away.

Huh, what a strange man.

Randomly pick 2 OCs. Make them fight. How will it go?

[emchante]

Angst idea coming up!!

I imagine there would be a school event let’s say and Daniel would go with his children of course, possibly want to take you with him, but his ex wife would insist that it’s a family event and you’re not family in any way or shape, no matter how much you take care of Daniel’s kids, this just isn’t a place for you and this could make Daniel uneasy because he’d see the logical part in his ex wife’s reasoning yet feel bad because you are his new partner and his kids like you and I imagine this uneasiness and perhaps indecisiveness from Daniel would spark uncertainty in you as well and that just hits right in the heart

~🫠

🫠 nonnie always pulling through.. i know that’s right!! but GOD?? the thought of this?? it pulls my heartstrings. the angst potential LORDDD.

you know the usual, drabble under the cut<3

“she’s not family, daniel,” is spat across the line, daniel wincing at the harshness in his ex-wife’s voice. “she looks after the kids— great. that doesn’t make her family all of a sudden.”

daniel’s fingers drum against the kitchen counter anxiously as she rambles on, adding more reasons why you shouldn’t be at the kids’ charity evening. parents were invited along of course, running stalls with their children. it was a great idea, the kids were so excited to tell you, daniel and their mother.

but they didn’t know themselves that their mother wasn’t onboard with it.

“it’s— it’s not fair to leave her out,” he interrupts, screwing his eyes shut in preparation for another shout down the phone. thankfully, it’s only a deep sigh so he can continue. “the kids love her, they were so excited to tell her,” he explains, a soft smile appearing on his face as he recalled the memory.

“i don’t care, daniel,” she tells him, and she definitely isn’t lying— he had never heard her sound so bored, apart from the times daniel had tried to organise date nights that were more.. him. not a good memory. “remind me what the first line of the handout says?”

daniel frowns out of confusion at the question, but obliges anyways. he grabs the sheet of paper from in front of him, opening it up and reading it out. “dear parents of—”

“there!” she shouts, daniel flinching at the sudden loudness. “parents, daniel. she is not their parent. never has been, never will be.”

daniel exhales deeply from his nose. fuck. he should’ve seen that coming. what happened to letters saying ‘parents or guardians’? he shakes his head, trying to think of a response.

but he doesn’t need to, as she speaks up again. “we aren’t discussing this any more now, daniel. break the news— although it really isn’t much of a newsflash— and then start organising your outfit,”

and then the line fell flat.

daniel places his phone on the counter, before allowing his head to fall into his hands with a heavy sigh. he was feeling many emotions. confusion— about the whole thing. upset— he wasn’t able to get his side in. anger— over the newsflash comment. you had come a long way with his kids, and be had a controversial opinion on who was a better mother figure to the two.

————————————

“you can’t come tomorrow.”

the words feel like a stab in the heart when you hear them. daniel had sat you down in the living room after the kids had gone upstairs to play, and told you that he needed to talk to you.

you assumed it was serious, but you didn’t think it was this.

“what?” is all that falls from your lips, as you’re too shocked to form a proper sentence. daniel isn’t even looking at you, he’s more focused on picking his the nail of his index finger.

“you can’t— you can’t come tomorrow. i’m sorry, i know it’s quite late to tell you, but.. yeah,” he trails off, voice low. he still isn’t looking at you, hasn’t done since he asked you to sit with him. it feels dismissive, it feels wrong. it feels like a completely different person in front of you.

“have i done something? we were so excited to bake with the kids and sell their cakes,” you plead, reminding him that just yesterday, you were both so happy about the event.

“look— it’s.. it’s a parent event, yeah?” daniel lets out, cringing at his words. he hates that he’s listening to her, he doesn’t even agree with the decision, but something is telling him he has to.

then again maybe he shouldn’t, because the moment he finally looks up, he sees the saddened look on your face. he couldn’t read every emotion you seemed to portray— you looked upset, hurt and maybe.. betrayed? fuck.

“and— and please believe me when i say you do such a great job looking after them,” he starts, raising his hands as he goes to ramble out something to save his ass.

but you interrupt him with a dry laugh, shutting your eyes as you take a deep breath in. your head falls, and you stare down at your trembling hands that lay atop your thighs. suddenly your vision gets blurry and— oh, the tears have started.

daniel’s heart breaks as he sees the tears welling in your eyes, and he reaches out to comfort you. he wasn’t expecting it to be reciprocated well, but he wasn’t expecting you to completely pull away from him.

“sweetheart—” “don’t sweetheart me, daniel,” you snap, licking your suddenly dry lips. “i thought— i thought that maybe..” you started, daniel’s heart cracking even more at the wobble in your voice. “fuck— i really thought things were moving into a new chapter. i thought that the kids were seeing me as something more than just.. a babysitter. i thought you were starting to see me as something more than a fuck every now and then, like it was in the beginning.”

daniel gapes at your words, and shit. he hadn’t even thought about how the whole situation would have looked without context. but then again, would it have been better with it? it was too late to find out now, anyways.

“no— no, you know it’s not like that,” he tells you firmly, going to reach a hand out for you to comfort you, but he was taken aback when you abruptly stood up.

“i think i’m going to go,” you told him, not allowing nor wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say. as soon as you walked out the living room, he could only stare at the floor in disbelief.

he was trying so hard to obey to his ex, that he was completely disregarding you— his current partner’s— feelings. what the fuck was wrong with him?

he was brought back to reality when you had shouted upstairs to the kids, telling them you had to head back to your own house tonight— that there was some leftover work you had to do. daniel turned his head to the side, watching as his kids ran downstairs to give you a big hug, whining about how they wanted you to stay.

you didn’t even spare him a glance as you said your goodbyes, and he felt like the slammed front door was the only goodbye he’d be getting.

he had really fucked it.

okay honestly i did NOT expect it to get to 1k words.. LOL. angst just really draws me in and i get carried away!! thank you 🫠 nonnie again for this wonderful idea, you’re a godsend<3<3

part 2, perhaps? 👀

[faithshouseofchaos]

Max' older brother who charles has had a crush on since they first met, where charles figures out that older brother has been holding back in raceing so their dad focuses on him so he doesnt hurt max, and charles is in awe because older brother could have made it into formula 1 a while ago and charles doesnt think hed be able to do something like that if it were him, so charles decides to help male reader as much as he can without being noticed.

I had someone else try and write this to see if theyd been as enthusiastic as you in writing it but no its like they didnt understand the ask @/playinbillie if you want to see what they wrote. Also this was kinda one of the two stories i had for you i didnt actually know the pairing i wanted for this one so i just made it charles, but the other is a oliver x kimi x male reader.

.

Unspoken sacrifice — Charles Leclerc x male!reader

Word count— 1777

Fluff slightly angsty

The sound of the engines roaring around the track echoed through Charles' chest as he sat in the stands, his gaze fixed on the cars speeding past. But his attention wasn’t on the race; it was on him—Y/N.

Max's older brother. The one who could’ve been great.

For years, Charles had watched from the sidelines as Y/N, despite his obvious talent, kept himself from rising through the ranks of racing. Every time they’d go karting, every practice session, Y/N would leave everyone in the dust—except for Max. The family dynamic was always clear. Their dad, a former racer himself, was invested in Max. Obsessed with Max.

But Y/N? He was always the silent presence in the background, holding back in ways that didn’t make sense to Charles at first. There was something about Y/N’s racing that seemed... off. Too controlled, too careful, like he was playing a different game entirely. Charles hadn’t realized why until recently.

It was after one of the practice races, as he sat next to Y/N on the cool metal bleachers, watching Max celebrate his victory with their dad, that it clicked.

“Y/N, why didn’t you go for the win?” Charles had asked, his brow furrowing.

Y/N gave him that knowing smile, one that always seemed to hide more than it let on. “Because he needs to be the one who shines. Max... he’s the one Dad focuses on. You know that.”

Charles stared at him, confused. “But you— you could’ve taken that first place. You’ve always been better than me, better than Max.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted toward the ground, his voice quiet. “Sometimes the best thing you can do is step back.”

Charles frowned, his mind racing. “But why? Why hold back? You could’ve been in Formula 1 by now. Why give that up?”

Y/N was silent for a moment, the weight of the years they’d spent together suddenly sinking in. “Because, Charles, if I push too hard, Dad would want me to push Max harder, too. And Max isn’t ready for that. He’s not me. I’d rather see him succeed than risk seeing him burn out.”

Charles was stunned. He hadn’t realized how much Y/N had sacrificed—not just his dreams, but his entire future—for the sake of his younger brother. It wasn’t just about racing. It was about family, about love, about keeping Max safe.

And it broke Charles’ heart.

The thought of his older brother never having the chance to race for real, to chase that Formula 1 dream, made him feel a sharp ache in his chest.

"That's... that's really something, Y/N," Charles said quietly, feeling an overwhelming surge of admiration for the older brother he'd never truly understood before.

Y/N shrugged, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s what family does, right? You put them first.”

But Charles wasn’t sure if that was enough anymore.

He’d never be able to do what Y/N had done. He would never have the strength to hold back when it mattered, to throw away his own potential for someone else. Y/N had given everything, and Charles had only just realized it.

And now, watching Y/N quietly fade into the background again, Charles made a decision.

“I’m going to help you, Y/N,” Charles said suddenly, surprising even himself. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. I won’t let you fade into the background.”

Y/N looked over at him, a surprised yet knowing look crossing his face. “Charles, you don’t need to—”

“I know,” Charles interrupted, his voice firm. “But I want to.”

Y/N gave a small chuckle, ruffling Charles' hair. “You don’t have to do anything for me, kid. You’ve got your own career to focus on.”

Charles didn’t reply, his mind already planning how he could work in the shadows, how he could help his brother rise again without anyone noticing. Without Max ever knowing.

He wouldn’t let Y/N’s sacrifices be in vain.

And maybe, just maybe, they could still achieve the dream Y/N had set aside for so long.

Over the next few weeks, Charles found himself subtly changing the way he approached his time with Y/N. Every practice session, every karting weekend, he was paying more attention—not just to his own racing, but to his older brother’s every move.

It wasn’t hard to see how much Y/N was holding back. He wasn’t just playing it safe; he was actively limiting his own performance, choosing more cautious lines, braking earlier, and settling for second or third place when he easily could’ve taken the win.

It frustrated Charles more than anything. Watching Y/N squandering his potential, doing exactly what he’d done his entire life: taking a step back for the sake of someone else.

And it made Charles feel helpless. He wanted to shout, to demand that Y/N race to his fullest, that he deserved more than the life of a background player. But he couldn’t. He understood now why Y/N was doing it. He’d made that sacrifice for Max—and maybe even for their father. It wasn’t just about being in the spotlight; it was about keeping the family dynamic intact.

But Charles wasn’t going to let it go on forever.

One night, after a particularly difficult race where Y/N had barely edged out Max for a second-place finish, Charles made up his mind. He needed a plan. He needed to help Y/N, even if he had to do it in secret.

"Y/N," Charles said casually as they were cleaning up their gear, the two of them alone in the garage. Max was off with their dad, discussing strategies for his next race. "Have you ever thought about going to some of those off-season testing events? The ones where they bring in reserve drivers, or... younger talents?”

Y/N gave him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. “I’ve been to a few. A long time ago. But you know as well as I do, they won’t give me the time of day. Not with Max in the picture.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Charles smiled, trying to hide the excitement bubbling up in him. “What if I can get you into one of those events? Just a test run, no pressure. I’ll set it up.”

Y/N gave him a bemused look. “And how exactly are you going to pull that off? You don’t have the connections—"

Charles leaned in closer, his voice low but confident. "I do now."

For the next few weeks, Charles worked quietly behind the scenes, making calls and sending messages to everyone he knew—engineers, team managers, even his own contacts within the F1 world. It wasn’t easy. Y/N wasn’t exactly a household name, and most people were only interested in the young stars, not a 25-year-old with years of untapped potential. But Charles didn’t care about the odds.

He couldn’t let Y/N’s talent slip away, not when he knew what his brother could truly do.

It was a month later when Charles finally received the response he’d been waiting for—a private testing session for a mid-tier team looking to give fresh talent a shot. It wasn’t Formula 1, not yet, but it was a step in the right direction. A foot in the door.

He waited until the perfect moment, when Y/N wasn’t expecting it, and told him about the opportunity.

“Y/N, I got you a test with an F1 team. You’re going to drive at their private session next week.”

Y/N blinked, looking at him as though Charles had just said something absurd. “What?”

“I did. You’re driving for them next week.”

At first, Y/N didn’t believe it. He laughed, like Charles was making a joke at his expense. But the more Charles pushed, the more he explained how hard he’d worked to arrange it, how he’d bent a few rules and called in a few favors, the more Y/N’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief to... gratitude.

But even then, Y/N hesitated. "Charles, you know I’m not—"

“You are ready,” Charles cut him off, standing firm. “I know it. I know you could’ve made it into F1 years ago if you’d wanted to. I won’t let you give up on it.”

There was a long silence. Then, slowly, Y/N nodded, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. "Alright. But you better not tell Max about this. He’ll never forgive me if he finds out.”

Charles grinned. “Deal.”

The week of the test, Y/N’s nerves were palpable, though he tried to hide them. As they stood by the track, Charles watched him suit up, a wave of pride crashing over him. His brother was about to show the world what he could really do—and no one would know who had pushed him there.

Charles knew it wasn’t enough just to get Y/N the test. The hard part was making sure Y/N knew he had someone in his corner. Someone who believed in him—not as the background player or the second-best brother, but as the talented, driven racer he’d always been.

The test went better than Charles could have hoped. Y/N drove like he was born for it. Fast, fearless, and precise, he outpaced every expectation. By the end of the session, the team’s engineers were already talking about bringing him back for more testing.

But Charles didn’t want to get ahead of himself. This wasn’t the finish line. This was just the beginning.

As they packed up to leave, Y/N clapped him on the shoulder, a grateful, somewhat overwhelmed look in his eyes.

“Thanks, Charles,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what to say... I didn’t think I’d ever get a shot like this.”

Charles smiled, the weight of the unspoken promise hanging between them. “You don’t have to say anything. Just keep driving. I’ll make sure you get there.”

The next few months passed in a blur. Y/N’s performance in the test had caught the attention of several teams, and before long, he was back on the radar. Charles helped when he could, keeping things quiet and making sure that Y/N’s success stayed under the radar. Max never knew what had really happened. And Y/N, though hesitant, slowly began to believe that maybe—just maybe—he could make it to Formula 1 after all.

But it wasn’t just about racing anymore. It was about a bond between brothers, one that went beyond the track. A bond that said: I’ve got your back, no matter what.

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 1)

I was so excited to hear this Takeover since it is only Sonic and Shadow talking to each other and answering question. It is one of those times where you get to see their dynamic without anyone else's input.

Since I feel like I could write an essay about these two, I decided to instead put all my thoughts into bullet points, this being Part 1 of my list:

First of, congratulations to Shadow for hosting the Takeover! Shadow sounds so proud of having managed to take over the channel and having gotten a whole year for himself. At least until Sonic reminds him that he is also there.

Why does Sonic's mind immediately jump to ''marriage'' when he hears the word proposal? Is he still bummed over the fact that he didn't think of proposing to Shadow?

I never thought I'd live the day to hear Shadow saying ''Sonic x Shadow''. I know it's referring to the game, but shippers are going to have a field day with this.

Shadow finally got his #AskShadow. Sonic is not happy to lose to him.

The best way for Sonic to annoy Shadow is to just be around him, with Sonic adding how he'd slowly take his time when they're racing and drag it out, much to Shadow's chagrin. God, I love how Sonic trolls Shadow.

Sonic doesn't know about Doom Wing... and he forgot about Black Doom! X3

I love how Sonic's idea in a body swap scenario with Shadow is to brag about himself, while Shadow's idea is to tell everyone how Sonic is stupid... and more importantly, telling that to Amy. Sonic sounds really flustered, and while I get the Sonamy joke... I'm pretty sure they threw that in because they knew the Sonadow fans will go wild over this.

There you have it folks! Shadow doesn't hate Tails, but he will beat him up if he stands in his way. I also love how Sonic immediately jumps to Tails' defense - big brother gotta protect his little brother.

Sonic loves the journey, while Shadow points out how you need to learn from the experience to not make the same mistakes. I love their philosophy, since they mesh so well together... and it also feels as if Sonic wants to go on a journey with Shadow.

I love the scenario of Sonic and Shadow babysitting Cream and them arguing over their methods (Sonic, the twelve scoop ice-cream cone scenario is really specific).

Did Sonic just invite Shadow on an ice-cream date? As Cream's babysitters, but nonetheless, it is a date. And he also knows what Shadow's favorite ice-cream flavour is.

Okay, start the counter for how many times Sonic attempts to convince Shadow to go out with him.

I love how Sonic knows how to challenge Shadow and Shadow falls for it despite his reservations, even if it's something silly like a thumb war. Sonic knows exactly how to get under his skin and Shadow just goes along with it, much to his chagrin. X3

Sonic, Shadow and Silver have a Big Brother, Little Brother relationship! Love how they're ready to help him at any point of time and how Shadow respects Silver.

So, Sonic forgot about Elise? To note Sonic 06 technically did happen, but the universe did get reset.

I adore that Shadow acts like he doesn't care whether he's Sonic's biggest rival, but the moment Sonic starts trolling him by placing him between Zavok and... Dodon Pa? (What?) - Shadow gets irritated. It's obvious that Shadow wants the recognition of being Sonic's main rival, and knows Sonic is messing with him.

Did Shadow just laugh at the Joe Mama joke?

Shadow correcting Sonic's Macarena bit is hilarious, especially since neither of them know the lyrics. Also, obligatory Macarena singing is obligatory.

I love how Shadow shares Omega's ''enthusiasm for blowing things up''. We saw him enjoying himself blowing up G.U.N. property alongside Omega and Rouge in Sonic X Shadow Generations: Dark Beginnings, so I'm not surprised. Sonic then immediately figures he also needs to hang out more with Omega,... perhaps in hopes to get closer to Shadow?

Shadow pointing out how Tails is the reason why Sonic's always in trouble is not wrong. These two can be a disaster when together as siblings tend to do.

''Shadow, have you ever given Sonic a present on his birthday?'' ''No, my presence is more than enough.'' There are several things to discuss here:

Shadow is willing to buy Amy a present in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, but couldn't bother get anything for Sonic, which is hilarious. Especially since we know that it was Rouge who convinced him to go to Sonic's birthday by promising him a rocket.

Shadow arrived at Sonic's birthday just after he was traumatized by watching Gerald and Maria return to their own timeline, knowing this was the last time he saw them again. I doubt getting a present for Sonic was on his mind at that time.

Shadow claims his presence is enough of a birthday present. I interpret this as him claiming that he is Sonic's birthday present and you can't stop me.

Sonic teasing Shadow about the Hot Honey concert is so hilarious... until Shadow reveals they're going on another concert, and Sonic's mood drops. Honestly, Sonic, if you want to go to a concert with Shadow, ask him out!

Sonic being so intrigued and even saying that he's jealous over Shadow smiling in Big's presence, and then suggests a fishing trip with all three of them. Not only does he want to see Shadow smile again, but he is still persistent about getting his date.

Shadow chooses to save Sonic from danger because he knows Sonic will get himself into trouble, so he needs keep an eye on him. This is completely out of Sonic Prime and I'm loving it! It really shows that Shadow cares about Sonic.

Sonic isn't too enthusiastic about going with Amy on shopping trips. Shadow, on the other hand, just buys what he needs, which is understandable... Sonic then immediately uses this as an opportunity to invite him on a shopping date, even saying how he'll make it fun. Shadow immediately accepts the moment Sonic turns it into a race.

They mention the matching outfits (possible reference to Sonic Speed Simulator)! Sonic believes they have similar tastes, Shadow calls it a coincidence and insists it means nothing, which Sonic doesn't buy at all.

''But if we do ever go to a party, you know I'm picking the outfits.'' Sonic is still desperately trying to get that date and Shadow is not budging. These two sound like a married couple.

I love how Shadow respects Sonic enough to refuse beating him in a swimming competition, even if he reasons that it's because Sonic would drown, so he wouldn't be able to see the look of the defeat on his face.

Sonic immediately mentions a ''plummeting to Earth contest'', which is just... woah! I didn't expect him to go that far. Shadow gets an UNO Reverse on him by teasing him about needing floaties. Go Shadow!

Sonic keeps his chest fur short to stay aerodynamic and run laps around Shadow. You guys do know that hedgehogs circle around each other in order to court?

Frontiers!Sonic voice is back! Shadow sounds baffled. X3

So, Classic Sonic is just chilling in the room. Shadow likes him because he's silent, though. I suppose Modern Sonic is taking notes... or not.

#Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 2)

#Sonic Cyber Revolution (Masterlist)

[cliosunshine]

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐈𝐈

Jason Todd x dragon trainer!reader

Summary: after a portal mysteriously opened in your world, setting all of your dragons loose, you must find a way to take them all back home before it's too late and before you catch feelings for a certain cute guy in a red helmet

Warnings: none, slight mention of mythological creature abuse, Jason and reader begin to bond

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: second part to my first ever fic! I was happy so many of you enjoyed it, please let me know if you'd like a third part <3

As you walked around the cave, all you could do was admire the advanced technology surrounding you. You were craning your head up to get a better view of the animatronic T-Rex, a cup of tea in your hand. It was kindly offered to you by what you could only assume to be Batman’s butler, Alfred. The old man had kind eyes and also gave you a slice of pecan pie, which you really couldn’t refuse, especially after everyone in the room heard your stomach grumbling.

“So, tell me,” you started to say, swishing the amber liquid in your cup, “how can we find a way to get me and my dragons back home if we don’t know who opened the portal in the first place and where it was activated?”

Batman let out a contemplative hum, his back turned to you. He was sitting at the console typing away. “We need to check all of the security cameras in the city and also take a look at the air’s static and electromagnetic radiations that have possibly interfered with the electronic devices in Gotham”

The others were in the room as well, each one of them with their brows furrowed, having clearly switched to ‘professional’ mode, as you liked to call it.

With their domino masks and helmets gone, you could see how the three young men – Nightwing, Red Hood and Robin – starkly resembled Batman. You didn’t know why they decided to reveal their identities. Thinking it over, you realised they actually didn’t since you couldn’t recognise them and they hadn’t given you their real names. It probably figured that since you came from another universe altogether, you’d pose no threat to their identity.

Your gaze lingered on Red Hood’s face. He had a rugged yet defined look to him that didn’t let your eyes glance away. Be it the greenish eyes, the white streak on is hair or the scar on his neck, but you couldn’t look away. You must’ve been staring pretty intensely since he lowered his gaze onto yours, a slight blush creeping up his neck and covering his ears.

You quickly looked away, your own face heating up in embarrassment at being caught.

Jason cleared his throat, trying his best not to let a chuckle escape him at your flustered reaction.

Cass raised a brow at you two, tilting her head to the side curiously.

“We should go out and stop the dragons before they cause even more damage,” quipped Dick all of a sudden, quickly rising to his feet with newfound energy.

You clasped your hands together, nodding in agreement.

“Yes! We should-”

Roarrr

Your brows furrowed at the noise. It clearly came from the batcave, but that wasn’t a voice you recognised at all.

You looked at the others with a puzzled expression. They all seemed rather calm and even amused by the sound.

“This way, Goliath, please, use your legs for once in your life-”

You turned to where Robin’s voice came and your expression lit up upon seeing the cutest and fluffiest red dragon just mere meters from you.

“Aww who’s this now?” you asked as you approached the creature.

Robin pushed the dragon towards you to no avail and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.

“He’s- Goliath-” he explained between pushes, clearly out of breath.

The dragon eyed you warily.

You smiled softly at him, extending a hand for him to sniff, “He can probably smell the other dragons on me,” you explained as you saw his ears perk up upon smelling your skin.

He gave you a look of approval and you began stroking his red fur. It was far softer than you had anticipated and it had a weird feeling to it. You pulled your hand back, examining it.

You grimaced as you saw your entire hand covered in a shiny, slippery substance.

“Why is he covered in oil?”

Robin gave you a pleading look for half a second, before regaining his usual stoic composure.

“He’s been itching a lot for the past few weeks and we figured that-…uhm…the best way to treat him was to put an ointment on his body,” he explained, your wild out gaze on his making him freak out internally that he somehow messed up.

“Poor Goliath,” you cooed at the dragon, scratching his chin. You were grateful that you couldn’t bring Obsidian in the cave with you or he would have thrown a jealous fit. You continued your ministrations as you gave him a once over. His skin was reddened because of the itch and the ointment and he continued to scratch his ears.

“I think he may have a skin infection,” you diagnosed, cleaning your hands with a tissue Robin gave you. “If I were at the sanctuary, I would make him a sage compress and given him a two-week treatment.”

You sighed in contemplation, wondering what to do.

Robin came over to you, a map in his hands, “Gotham’s botanical park is a few blocks away from here. Nobody’s there during the night so maybe we could break in and get the ingredients you need.”

You raised your brows at him, amused by the fact that a vigilante would actually commit a break in and theft.

Sounds of agreement followed his proposition and you could only nod along.

“We can drop by and get the ingredients while we search for the other dragons,” suggested Nightwing, looking over at you. You nodded again.

“Great then,” he said, clapping his hands once, “We need to separate so we can cover more ground,”

Immediately hands flew up and shouts were exchanged about who was going to team up with who.

“I wanna go with the bat!” snickered Spoiler, “I can’t wait to see him try to catch a dragon”

Batman still had his back turned, but was definitely listening to the conversation because his shoulders stiffened.

“No, I must go with Batman, I’m Robin after all-”

“You wouldn’t even tease him like I would!”

The bickering stopped as everyone’s attention snapped onto Orphan, who was signing something.

“What did she say?” you asked, not being able to understand her and honestly just having learned a few signs for one of your deaf dragons, nothing more.

Nighwing beamed, “She said that you and Hood over here should team up and search for both the dragons and the herbs together”

Oh.

You and Red Hood both looked at each other and you suddenly registered what was bound to happen.

You and this incredibly attractive stranger on Obsidian’s back.

Oh fuck.

You laughed nervously and he seemed to mimic you.

“Uhm, alright then,” you squeaked out, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, even Batman’s.

“Off you go, then, shoo,” Nightwing escorted you to the exit of the batcave, earning more than a few grumbled cusses from Red Hood – or should you just call him Hood?

You hardly managed to choke out a “goodbye” before the door closed centimetres from your face.

“What a dickhead,” said the vigilante next to you, this time with only his domino mask on, “I apologise on his behalf- he doesn’t know when to shut up,” he says with an irritated groan.

You chuckle at that, reassuring him. As you approached your dragon, you glanced up at him once more, taking in how his sharp features contrasted greatly with the soft curls of his black hair.

The moonlight gave him a sort of vampiresque look and you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes seemed to…glow? It seemed as if his blueish-greenish eyes did a complete 180 and became this neon green colour.

You narrowed your eyes at that, continuing to walk.

Meanwhile, Jason side eyed you the entire walk back to Obsidian.

His mind wandered as he tried to come up with possible explanations about this whole situation. Who were you and where did you even come from. He wasn’t buying the whole “Oh, I come from Earth!” thing and neither were his brothers. Maybe there was a possibility that you truly came from a parallel universe were apparently dragons existed, but then why hadn’t they had at least one encounter with these anomalies before?

He thought back to Superman and Krypton. Although it probably wasn’t the exactly same thing, he guessed that if Bruce was allies and friends (although he’d never admit it) with Clark, then anything was possible.

He also found you really pretty and not alien-looking at all, but that’s beside the point.

His eyes wandered back to the lasso on your utility belt. He had sworn that when it was up in the air, swinging above your head in loose circles it looked exactly like Wonder Woman’s.

He had to ask you about that later. For now, he could only grief his bike even further as he took a good look at the dragon in front of him that looked like it wanted to tear his head off.

He could only reciprocate the glare as your back was turned to both of them, fishing out your list of ingredients that were needed to make the compress.

“Ok, so” you started, oblivious to the death stare contest between Jason and the dragon, “are you ready for a once-in-a-lifetime experience?”

Jason looked at your excited expression and gulped nervously when your dragon huffed begrudgingly, clearly not wanting to let him on.

“You sure about me getting on this thing?” Those were fighting words for the dragon, who shrieked offended at being called a thing.

You tried to not worsen things further, putting your palm out in dissuasion, smiling nervously.

“He can understand your every word, Hood” you explained, your nervous and apologetic tone prompting Jason to see in the corner of his eye how the black dragon huffed in agreement, the smoke coming out of his nostrils making him wince.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly, “Sorry, I didn’t realize”

You waved him off with a smile, “It’s all good. Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

Jason took a second to think to himself – have I ever rode a horse before? - . He didn’t know if he had no memory of doing so from all the concussions he’s had this year alone or because your gaze was making him slightly nervous. Yeah, it was probably the latter.

“No,” was all he manged to blurt out, really not wanting to get on your dragon’s back.

“Good, because it’s nothing like it!” You laughed out, your shoulders relaxing, “I feared you would’ve been one of those people who tried to get Obi moving by slightly kicking on his stomach because trust me – it would’ve ended badly”

Jason didn’t find humour in that, but chuckled along nevertheless.

He watched as you hopped on your dragon’s back with elegance and precision, not a single movement wasted. He also took notice at how Obsidian helped you up by lowering one of his wings. He put his helmet on, missing your disappointed look at his now covered face.

“Come on, take my hand and put your right foot on Obi’s wing bone” you instructed as you pointed at where your foot previously was, your other hand outstretched for him to take.

Jason looked at your hand, then at your face. He looked at your hand again.

You couldn’t possibly lift half his body weight up with a single hand, right? A hand that was significant smaller than this, nonetheless.

“Are you sure about this? I’m a big guy, I don’t want to – Oh shit!”

He didn’t finish his sentence as you bent down to grab his hand and Obsidian nudged his foot on his wing, only to lift his whole body up as if he weighted nothing and fling him up in the hair. Jason screamed as he tried not to fly right into the bush behind you. He thankfully didn’t as your tight grip on his hand prevented him from becoming the next rocket man of Gotham.

He landed right behind you, his whole body shaking as he tried to regain his composure.

“Don’t worry about me, Obi does all the heavy lifting,” you said as you laughed so much that tears started to form at the corners of your eyes. Your dragon seemed to mimic your laugh with huffs and puffs as he moved his head up and down with closed eyes.

Behind you, sitting with an unamused expression and arms crossed over his chest, Jason had a half-mind to just ditch the two of you and walk to the botanic garden alone.

Your laugh quieted down and you looked back at him, this time with a genuinely apologetic look in your eyes.

He lifted the corners of his mouth ever so slightly, thankful for his helmet covering his face.

At least someone had the guts to mess with him like that.

“Hold on tightly. I’m warning you, I’ll try to go as slowly as I can but Obi doesn’t like men that much and will actively try to throw you off, so it’s better if you hold onto me, that way he won’t do it,” you told Jason and he glanced down at the dragon, who was already looking at him with an already mischievous look in his eyes. Fucking hell. He hoped to survive his first ever dragon ride.

Jason lifted his hands that were previously on his lap and carefully held your waist, only his gloves and a few layers of clothes separating your skin from his. He swore he could feel the warmth radiating from your body.

“I said tighter, Hood,” you told him in a firmer tone, to which he responded by getting closer to you and pressing his chest to your back, his arms now circling your waist tightly.

He could feel your heartbeat picking up significantly and smiled to himself.

“O-okay, that’s better,” you managed to squeak out before tapping your dragon’s neck once.

The sudden movement made him spread out his wings and soon enough you found yourselves up in the air, taking in Gotham’s skyline from above.

Jason couldn’t help but bring you in even tighter, trying his best not to hinder your mobility as you tapped Obsidian’s ears to signal when to turn, opting your practiced tapping signs rather than having to shout out directions, now that you had someone else riding with you.

“Is this the place?” you turned around towards Jason as you got closer to a sign that had “Gotham Public Botanic Garden” written in dark green letters.

Jason nodded, not being able to utter a sound as the proximity between you two made him nervous. He was accustomed to being held from behind when he rescued civilians and tried to take them someplace safe, but to hold on to someone and trust them with his life as he travelled on a dragon’s back? Yeah, that was a new one for him.

You patted Obsidian’s back twice, prompting him to land near the entrance. Thankfully no one was in sight as Jason figured you would’ve gotten more than a few odd looks.

He was the first one to hop off the dragon’s back, already missing your body’s warmth as he tried to hold on to whatever remains where left of it on his leather jacket.

You then slid down, petting Obsidian’s snout with tenderness and placing your lips near his spiked cheek, “Thanks, Obi. Now let’s go, we need to find quite a few things to help Goliath out.”

As you made your way through the various greenhouses, Jason walked by your side and Obsidian on the opposite one, protecting you from harm.

If he could say one good thing about that damn dragon, Jason would praise him for his protectiveness over you. He noticed how, from the very start, he always kept his eyes trained on you, not missing a single sign of discomfort and immediately taking action when he felt like you were being threatened.

Other than that, he was a complete jerk.

You continued to walk in peaceful silence that was only interrupted by you telling him you found another herb needed for the compress.

When you had almost gone through the whole list, Jason spoke up.

“How do you know so much about dragons?” he asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

You smiled fondly at nothing in particular, as if reminiscing some good memories.

“You see,” you continued walking, your gaze never leaving the herbs in your hand, “I was absolutely distraught at how the majority of the people where I come from treat animals that aren’t your usual house pets, especially dragons. They would more often than not abuse, torture and kill them just for fun or to boast to others how they managed to kill a dragon-” you cut yourself off with a shaky breath, anger evident in your voice and your eyes.

Obsidian nudged your arm with a sad face, letting out a low grumble and you smiled weakly at him. Jason wanted to put an arm around your shoulders and pull you close to him, but he restrained himself.

“I found Obi one morning while working out in the park,” you continued, “and he was so cute, sitting there in that box that he accidentally had set on fire, so chubby and round with those big amber eyes- gosh he was adorable,” you chuckled, a single tear managing to escape and running down your cheek. Jason’s hand twitched by his side.

“I took him home. My parents were seething with rage at the thought of me taking care of a dragon, an animal everybody in our community despised. So I left home and went to live with my best friend, Katie, in a house near our hometown’s lake and from there, piece by piece, we learned more about dragons as we rescued them.”

Jason stayed silent, your words making him see you in a new light. He admired your strength and perseverance, your will to not give up and go against your parents to do what you knew was right. He saw a lot of himself in you and he liked that.

“That’s incredible…wait, I never got your name” he paused embarrassed, having completely forgotten to ask your name at the batcave.

You smiled softly, not a hint of offence in your kind eyes, “No biggie,” you shrugged light-heartedly, “it’s Y/N”.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks”

You stayed like that for a while, content in the silent agreement you both had settled upon. Jason liked you. you weren’t over the top like his siblings were, but also not a complete recluse who disdained human contact, as often found himself to be like. You were…you. And he liked that.

Soon enough, you had gathered all your ingredients and were getting back onto Obsidian’s back. This time the dragon was much gentler with Jason. He probably felt the shift in demeanour you and him had during the walk and eased up on him. Jason was grateful for not getting hauled up like a ragdoll a second time.

As you were back up into the air, a sense of tranquillity engulfed the both of you before a faraway shriek reminded Jason that you still had another dozen or so more dragons to find and bring back to the manor.

Exchanging a look with you, he observed you directing Obsidian to where you had heard the sound, before a blaze interrupter your path and a pair of glowing eyes were set on the three of you.

Jason’s blood ran cold and his mouth moved faster than his thoughts could as he pointed a gun at the fire-spitting dragon.

“That’s the fucker that melter my bike!”

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 19: Did You Mean That?

Joel confronts your shared past and potential future. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 18, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 6.6k

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter

Joel was frozen for longer than he was proud of, staring at the place you’d left him. 

I fucking heard you. 

What the fuck did that even mean? Heard what? 

He looked back toward Sarah’s room. He shouldn’t just leave her here by herself but he considered it all the same. He’d just… he’d go after you, make you talk to him like he should have done all those years ago. He wasn’t going to just let you disappear again, not this time. 

Instead, he called you, still standing on his front stoop, still considering chasing after you. It rang twice but then you sent him to voicemail. 

“Fuck!” 

His grip got tight on the phone but he resisted the urge to hurl the phone at the brick of his house. 

“Dad?” Sarah peered at him from around the doorway, her eyes somehow seeming especially wide. 

He sighed. 

“Yes, baby girl.” 

“You and Aunt Goldie were really in a fight, huh.” 

He sighed again, looking at his daughter even though it only made him feel worse. She loved you so much, you were the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother and Joel had fucked that up, too. 

“It’s… it’s complicated, baby girl,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go inside, it’s getting late, you should get ready for bed…” 

“But,” she huffed. “Dad, it’s Goldie. You can’t just let her leave, she’s family!” 

“I know,” he said, a hand on her back as he guided her back inside. “Not gonna just let her go, don’t worry. I just… need to figure out what to do first, OK?” 

“Promise you’re not going to just not talk again for years?” She asked, looking up at him. “Because - sorry, Dad - that was bullshit.” 

“Hey,” he said. “Language.” 

“Dad.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you’re right. It was bullshit.” 

He texted you while Sarah got ready for bed but you left him on read and he ground his teeth. He read his daughter a chapter from a book and resisted her begging to have him read another one before tucking her in, thankful that she still wanted him to do this at all. 

“Hey Dad?” She said as he went to leave. 

“Yes, baby girl?” 

“You’re going to talk to her, right?” 

He sighed. She sounded so hopeful. 

“I’ll fix it,” he said. “Promise. Love you.” 

“Love you too,” she said, sounding more relaxed. 

He closed the door behind him and went to the living room, pacing for a moment. 

I fucking heard you. 

He tried to remember the conversation with Ricky all those years ago, not something he’d really thought about in so long. 

Other things from that small window of time had dominated Joel’s memory. He remembered trying to find the words to talk to you, trying to come up with a plan for every possible outcome. If you wanted him, too, then he would figure out a way to be there for Tommy and his mom from afar and go with you. If, heaven forbid, you were pregnant, he would do everything to make sure you could still go to school and still be everything you were meant to be while he took care of the rest. If you wanted nothing to do with him… that had been the one scenario he hadn’t come up with a solution for. Of course, that had been the one he’d been left to reckon with. 

He remembered how he felt then, how desperate he’d been. But he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said to fucking Ricky, something that had apparently stuck out in your mind so much that you’d moved across the country without a fucking word. He went over it again and again but couldn’t remember it, even though it felt like his fucking life depended on it. 

Eventually he tried to call you again but it only rang once before you sent him to voicemail. 

He listened to your outgoing message, bright and cheery, flexing his hand again and again as he waited, impatiently, for the beep. 

“Goldie,” he said when it finally let him record a message. “Not letting you walk out, I’m gonna keep calling. Just… pick up, baby. Please.” 

He hung up and immediately called again. Two rings, then voicemail. He called again. 

The fourth time, you finally answered, your voice sharp and harsh. 

“What!” You snapped. “What more do you want from me?” 

“I want to talk to you,” he said, straining to keep calm. “I don’t know what you mean, I don’t remember what the fuck you’re talking about, I…” 

You laughed once, derisively. 

“Of course you don’t,” you said. “You wouldn’t, would you? Because I was always just another girl to you, wasn’t I? Why would you remember…” 

“No,” he cut you off. “No, that’s not…” 

“I need some space, Joel,” you said. 

“I’m not losing you again, Goldie,” he said, harsher than he really meant to. “Please, let me just…” 

“If you don’t want to lose me then do what I’m asking you to do,” you said. “I need space, OK? I can’t just do this with you, I can’t… just don’t call me or text me or whatever, just give me some time.” 

“Goldie…” 

“I mean it, Joel,” you said. “I need space.” 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Fine,” he said. “I…I can do that.” 

“Thank you,” you said. “I’ll talk to later.” 

“Will you?” He asked, probably rougher than he should have. 

“Eventually,” you said. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice thick. “Yeah, OK.” 

You hung up and he sighed, sinking onto the couch and cradling his head in his hands for a moment. 

He was on the edge of losing you again, he could feel it. He couldn’t let it happen, not this time. He started thinking again, just like he had all those years ago, trying to think up contingency plans and ways to work through this without you leaving but, really, that’s what it always came back to. He’d do anything - he’d never touch you again, he’d tolerate your shitbag husband, he’d watch you live a life he was agonizingly separate from - if it just meant that you stayed. 

Joel got himself a drink, which quickly became two and then three, staring at the ceiling, wondering just how long he was supposed to stay away from you this time before he passed out on the couch. 

When he woke up the next day, time seemed to crawl. He couldn’t just ignore you.  You were in everything, it seemed. Sarah showed him the books you’d gotten her, excited about reading them. He reviewed his business plan again and again, looking at your notes in the margins. He put on a Longhorns t-shirt and remembered you sitting at his kitchen table, building out your syllabus for the year. 

Even Tommy noticed a difference when he was at work on Tuesday, seemingly short tempered and impatient. 

“You gonna tell me who pissed in your Cheerios or you gonna leave that a mystery?” Tommy asked as they leaned against his truck during a coffee break. 

“What do you mean?” Joel frowned, staring down at the paper cup and thinking about how you took your coffee and wondering what was he supposed to do with that knowledge if you were just gone now.

“I mean you’ve been biting people’s heads off all week,” Tommy said. “I mean, you’re always an asshole but you’ve been in rare form man.” 

“Tommy…” 

“Don’t feed me some bullshit, either,” he interrupted him. “Know you too well for that.” 

Joel looked at Tommy for a moment before he sighed and it all came spilling out of him - prom night, what had been happening between the two of you the last few months, the moment in his kitchen, what you’d yelled at him over the weekend, all of it. 

“Jesus,” Tommy said when he was done, just blinking at him, dumbfounded. “I… fuck, man. I always thought there was something between you two but… holy shit.” 

“I don’t know what the fuck it is she’s talking about,” Joel said. “I talked with Ricky back then but fuck if I can remember what it was about, that was more than a decade ago, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

“I mean… do you know how she feels?” Tommy asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah,” Joel scoffed. “Yeah, I think she’s made that perfectly fuckin’ clear.” 

“Has she?” Tommy said. “Because - and maybe you just didn’t mention it - but I don’t think you actually talked about it. Ever. Not once.” 

Joel frowned, looking at the ground, going over everything in his mind. 

That couldn’t be right, could it? 

It sure seemed like you’d talked about it. Maybe not explicitly, but everything you’d said pointed to you seeing him as a friend. You said you wanted to be with someone you could love and that wasn’t him. The first time he’d slept with you again, you asked him not to call you baby and he’d all but begged you to let him. He’d had to fucking comfort you the morning after the concert, tell you that it didn’t mean anything so you didn’t panic because being with him freaked you out that much. You’d never said it, not in so many words, but you didn’t need to. 

“Maybe you should ask her,” Tommy said when Joel had been quiet for too long. 

“Tommy,” Joel groaned, rolling his eyes. “I can’t just…” 

“Can’t you?” Tommy said. “I mean… shit, man. You already blew it all up, what else you got to lose?” 

Tommy’s words were still in Joel’s mind when he left the job site that afternoon, going home to get cleaned up before going to the bank for his business loan appointment. 

What did he really have to lose? He could at least tell you how he felt, a thought that made his chest tight but brought a sense of relief, too. He’d been holding this in for so long now. It seemed like loving you had become a part of him, one that he was used to keeping to himself but one he didn’t want to hide anymore.

He’d told himself for years that he’d loved you quietly because it’s what you wanted. You weren’t interested, it was unfair to put his feelings on you. Even when you were a country away and not speaking with him, he found it strangely comforting to know that while it might be because he’d caved to his baser instincts and slept with you, it wasn’t because he’d pushed his feelings on you. He had regrets - he’d have given anything to take back that night if it meant you’d just talk to him again - but at least he knew how he felt about you hadn’t been the thing that had driven you away. 

Could it really be possible that not telling you had been the thing that sent you running from him? Had he really wasted years of his life not having you all because he’d been too afraid of actually fucking saying it? 

He put on his best clothes - wishing he had a suit for the first time in his life - and took a deep breath, looking at himself in the mirror. It felt like his whole life was riding on this, everything he could have sitting there, just out of reach. 

He’d never been worthy of you before. Back when he met you, he was barely passing his classes, going nowhere fast. Doomed to spend his life in his hometown, doing some job to get by while trying to keep his kid brother’s nose clean. He hadn’t gotten much better since, staying in the first job he could get, doing his best to raise the child he’d made by accident, trying to make something of himself as he could. It was nothing compared to you. But if he could manage this, actually do something real and tangible, maybe he’d feel worthwhile. 

Joel drummed his hands on the steering wheel as he drove, one of the Taylor Swift songs from the concert he’d gone to with you and Sarah coming on the radio and he remembered looking at you that night, remembered how much he wanted to kiss you in a way that actually meant something. He had to do this. He had to. 

His stomach was in knots as he sat in the bank waiting room, one foot bouncing as he tried not to crinkle his presentation and application in his hands. He wished you were here. Why was he doing this on his own? What made him think he was even fucking capable of this without you? 

After what felt like a small eternity, a woman named Audrey brought him back to her office and Joel took a deep breath before walking her through his business plan. 

His heart was pounding the entire time and there was something perverse about talking through a future that you weren’t somehow a part of. He walked Audrey through the financial plans, what the next five years would look like and there was the nagging thought at the back of his mind that he should have talked with you about all of this. How money would be tight for a while, how he’d be extra busy, how much he appreciated the way you’d supported him through all of this so far. He never could have done this without you pushing him, encouraging him, helping him navigate the business world. It felt like your success, too, when Audrey set his presentation down on her desk, nodding. 

“Well, Joel,” she said, looking at him with a smile. “I think we have everything we need. Congratulations, you’re getting your loan!” 

Joel just laughed for a second, looking next to him quickly before remembering that you weren’t by his side. 

“Thank you,” he said. “This is… thank you very much.” 

“Looking forward to doing business with you,” she smiled. “Give me just a minute and I’ll be back with some papers so we can get things going.” 

Joel took his phone out and stared at his text message conversation with you, the last thing he sent still “I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell you that he’d done it. He was a business owner, he was going to be something, he was becoming someone that Sarah was going to be proud of and it was all because you’d come back into his life. You were who he wanted to share this with and he couldn’t. 

Audrey gave him the paperwork and he went through it page by page, more than a little reminded of when he got his mortgage and felt like he was signing his life away but with more optimism about his future this time. 

About halfway through the paperwork, though, the pen started skipping. He tried wetting the tip of it, scratching on a corner of the paper but he couldn’t get it to write smoothly again. 

“Do you got another one of these?” Joel asked, holding the pen up. “Can’t get it to work…” 

“Oh yeah, sorry about that,” Audrey said, looking around her desk, including at an empty pen cup. “Let me just…” 

She opened a desk drawer and took a few things out, piling things on her desk - a purse, water bottle, a book. 

Joel cocked his head at the book, the spine of it familiar. So familiar that he couldn’t help but laugh. Of course you’d be here, too. 

“What?” She asked as she found a plain, white box and pulled out a handful of pens with the bank’s logo on the side. She dropped them into the pen cup and held one out to Joel. 

“Oh, nothin’,” he said, taking the pen and nodding at the novel. “Just… my friend, she wrote that book. Funny seeing someone read it.” 

“Wait, really?” She asked, her face lighting up as she held up your book. “You know who wrote this?” 

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “Yeah, she’s my best friend, known her since we were 15. She’s… she’s amazing. She teaches now, over at UT.” 

Audrey set the book down, leaning over the desk with her arms folded in front of her like she was going to tell Joel some kind of secret. 

“OK can I ask something?” She asked. “Sorry, this is probably hugely unprofessional but I am obsessed with this book, I can’t put it down and my book club is going crazy. Is any of it true? The falling in love and things ending like that? It seems like it has to be at least somewhat based on her life, I don’t see how someone could write this without knowing it, you know?” 

“Oh, uh,” Joel cupped the back of his neck awkwardly. “I actually… haven’t read it?” 

“Oh,” she said, sitting back a little, looking let down. 

“Sorry,” Joel said. “I’ve tried and I know it’ll be amazing but it’s just too weird for me…” 

“No, I’m sorry,” she laughed a little. “I overstepped, I shouldn’t have assumed…” 

“I should read it,” Joel said quickly. “I got it at home, maybe I’ll give it another go now.” 

“You should,” Audrey said. “It’s really, really good.” 

The new pen worked and Joel finished the paperwork, staring at his signature on the last page a  little too long. He handed the pen and papers back to Audrey. 

“You can keep the pen,” she smiled, taking the pages. “Let me make copies of these for your records but otherwise, congratulations, owner of Miller Brothers Construction and Contracting!” 

Joel had a bubble of pride in his chest as he drove home, one that seemed too big to keep contained and, against his better judgement, he called you. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected, if he thought you were going to send him to voicemail, if you were going to answer and let him actually say something to you or what. 

What he didn’t expect was Gale. 

“Hello?” 

Joel just blinked for a second, recognizing the man’s pompous voice even from just the one word. 

“Is this Joel?” Gale - fucking BRAD - said. He took his silence as a yes and laughed. “Was wondering if I’d hear from you. Don’t worry, she’s with me, back where she belongs. Thanks for looking after her while I was gone, though. Appreciate it.” 

“Lemme talk to her,” Joel said through clenched teeth. 

“I don’t see why that’s necessary,” he said. “Seems like she doesn’t want much to do with you these days. Think you blew it. Thanks for that, too, by the way.” 

“We’re just…” 

“You’re just nothing,” Gale cut him off. “You were nothing but a childish distraction for her. She went running back here when things got hard - which I take my part of the blame for - and she needed a project to keep herself busy but she doesn’t need you anymore. So go back to the little life you’re meant for and leave us be. She was always too much for you and this place, anyway.” 

“No,” Joel said sharply. “No, you put her on the phone, put her on the phone right now!” 

“Can’t do that,” Gale said. “But I’ll tell her you called. Take care.” 

The line went dead and Joel threw his phone against the dash so hard the screen cracked. 

“Fuck!” He yelled, smacking his hands against the steering wheel. He wasn’t going to lose you, not again, not like this. 

He ignored Gale. Instead, he drove to your house, pounding sharply on the door, panting for breath as he did but you never answered. 

So he went to Anna’s next. He only needed to knock for a minute before she opened the door, Ellie’s beaming, chubby face happy in her arms. 

“Hey Joel,” Anna smiled at him. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Here to see this one?” 

Ellie squirmed in Anna’s arms, cooing and reaching for Joel and he laughed once, he couldn’t help it, before holding his arms out for her. Anna handed him her daughter and Ellie giggled, immediately reaching to tangle her tiny fingers in his curls. He smiled at her for a moment, marveling at the little girl who’d brought you and him together in the way it felt like you were always meant to be.

“Is she here?” Joel asked, bouncing a little with Ellie, watching her smile, her little body a grounding force that eased his racing heart. 

“Oh,” Anna frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. “No, sorry, she’s not here too often anymore, just a few times a week… She moved back home, I thought you knew that?” 

“No, I did,” Joel said quickly, looking to Anna and offering a finger to Ellie for her to gum at. “She just… wasn’t there, tried callin’ her but…” 

“Oh,” Anna pulled her phone out, looking at the time. “She might still be at the school, I can call her for you…” 

“No,” Joel said quickly, not wanting to get your sister involved in the mess of whatever the fuck was going on between the two of you. “Don’t… Don’t worry about it, sure I’ll talk to her eventually.” 

“OK,” Anna said, still frowning. “Look… It’s not my business but… Is there something going on with you two?” 

Joel just looked at Anna for a moment, wondering if he should tell her, too, because fuck it, why not just let the whole world know how much he’d fucked up with you.  

But she beat him to it, going from a frown to an absolutely glowing smile in no time at all. 

“Oh my God.” 

“What?” He asked, adjusting his hold on Ellie. 

“You love her!” She sounded practically giddy. “Oh my GOD I knew it! You LOVE her! Have you told her? Does she know? Oh my GOD, JOEL!” 

“I… I haven’t exactly said it,” Joel said, his cheeks getting hot. “I don’t want to make it her problem, I don’t want to get in the way of her being happy, I just… I want to be there for it.”

Anna just looked at him for a moment before shaking her head a little. 

“Is… Is she happy with him?” Joel asked, watching your sister closely. “Is he what she wants? I didn’t know her when they were really together, I just… it seems like he holds her back and that he’s bad for her and…” 

“Joel, did you read her book?” Anna cut him off. 

He frowned. 

“What? What does that…” 

“You wanted to know if he’s what she wants,” Anna said. “She’s never going to actually say it, you know that. At least not to you or to me, she’s always going to try to seem like she’s OK and handle it herself until she can’t and even then she’s not going to actually fucking say it, Joel, but she will write it. She always writes it. Read the book, Joel.” 

He gave Ellie back to Anna and went home, trying to focus as he made Sarah dinner and helped her with her homework. 

Read the book. Just read the fucking book. Was that all it would take? Could he even do that? If fucking Brad really was what you wanted, could he really sit and read hundreds of pages about how much better your life had been when he wasn’t in it? 

He’d never been able to manage it and it wasn’t because he didn’t want to know you through your words and it wasn’t because he didn’t like your writing. It was because he didn’t know if he could stomach reading something you wrote while you were in love with someone else. 

But… Anna was right. He knew that. If he wanted to know the truth of any of it, he’d have to read it. So, after he tucked Sarah into bed, he sat on the floor, staring at the box in his closet that held the two copies of your book like it was daring him to actually confront his feelings for a change. Because that had always worked out so well for him in the past, not like every fucking time he’d resolved to actually talk to you he hadn’t found you loving someone else. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, opening the box and pulling out the books. This time, though, he picked the signed copy, the one he’d never tried to read before. There was something different about holding this copy, knowing that you had once, too. He ran his hands over the cover and the spine reverently for a moment before he leaned his back against the wall of the closet and opened the book. 

Joel had to force himself to read past the first few paragraphs, his stomach in knots the entire time, but, after a while, he fell into it - to the point that he almost forgot that he was reading your book. 

He’d known, from what little he’d managed to read in the past, that the book started in Austin, he just hadn’t expected the story to linger there.

But it did, the narrative following a girl named Cressida. She started out as a quiet, introspective high schooler who had become unlikely friends with a football player named Eli, a friendship that felt so like his with yours. They knew each other, understood each other, their worlds seem to revolve around each other. It seemed natural that it led to them sleeping together. But instead of the immediate implosion that had ended your relationship in real life, theirs devolved over time. Cressida came back to him again and again, the two of them winding up loosely connected every time a relationship of Eli’s fizzled out, her clinging to a heart wrenching longing that hurt to read, one that her friend seemed shockingly oblivious to.

Eventually, though, things came crashing down. This was different too, though, because it ended not with her vanishing but him, a car accident claiming Eli’s life when Cressida had finally resolved to tell him how she felt. They buried him in a sunny corner of the graveyard just before graduation and Cressida, it seemed, never really moved past it.

The other three-quarters of the book followed her as she tried – desperately, devastatingly – to live again, to get over the love she’d never really had to begin with, to find some place to root herself outside of that sun-drenched grave in her hometown.

She never really managed it, the ending almost painfully unsatisfying but feeling true. She’d become something – Cressida delving into the business world instead of the creative one as you had – and she found success away from home but her mind kept going back to that place and that person. She’d had relationships but, when her last boyfriend had proposed, she couldn’t bring herself to say yes. It had felt like a lie, to tell someone she would love him above all others when she’d never love him more than the memory of the boy who had been gone for years. He’d died at the worst time, the part of her life that would always be on a pedestal no matter what she did. Nothing and no one would ever compare and she was stuck, still going back to him again and again even though he was cold in the ground.

The last chapter closed with her bringing home a man who reminded her of her friend, something charming about him that took her back to that brighter place for a while. But when he fell asleep next to her, she had to confront that hollow feeling in her chest. In the last moment of the story, she bought a plane ticket to go back to that sunny grave site, something about the calm that fell over her when she decided to go back making it seem like that grave was her resting place, too.

Joel just stared at the book when he read the final words, the last pages flopping over, revealing your picture on the inside flap of the dust jacket. That knowing smile and piercing gaze gutted him then, no longer the taunt and temptation of knowledge they had once been.

Was Anna right, was this the truth of it? Did you write out your real feelings? Had he really gotten everything this fucking wrong? Had he really spent years wishing things with you were different when they’d been different all along?

He got out his phone and ignored the fact that it was 4:30 in the morning and called you. You didn’t answer. It didn’t even go to voicemail, the phone ringing once before he got some message saying the number was unavailable.

“Fuck,” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He wasn’t positive but, based on his experience trying to track down Sarah’s mom years ago, that meant you’d blocked his number. It’d be just his fucking luck that he thought - hoped? - that, maybe, you felt the way he did at the same time he lost you for good.

He sat there with his eyes closed in the glow of his closet light, next to the box made up of the history of you, trying to pick through his memory from all those years ago, searching for some sort of guarantee that the book was based on what happened between the two of you back then.  

At some point, when he was swallowed by his memory of you, he fell asleep. Maybe it was the book, maybe it was the fact that he’d been sifting through ancient history when exhaustion finally caught up with him, maybe it was your words still ringing in his ears, but he remembered then. 

In his dream, he was back under the bleachers with Ricky, pacing to work out his nerves. He talked to his friend - the one who was more experienced, the one who wasn’t reckless, the one who would understand exactly why he was so afraid of what he might have just done to you. 

But, most importantly, he remembered exactly how that conversation had ended. 

It’s Goldie. I wish it were anyone else. It’d be better if it were anyone else.

“Dad!” 

Joel jerked awake, the book still open in his hands, your signature there for him to see. 

I fucking heard you. 

Sarah pounded on his bedroom door again. 

“Dad, come on!” She yelled. “I’m gonna be late!” 

“Shit,” he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and checked the time before calling to his daughter. “Two minutes, baby girl!” 

He got up as quickly as he could, his legs tingling from his awkward sleeping position on the floor of the fucking closet. 

Joel got changed quickly, barely paying attention to what he was putting on.

He’d had the answers sitting there for years, he’d just been too afraid to look it in the face but he had and now he knew. He knew how you felt - how you must have felt, why else would his misunderstood words have driven you away? - he knew how much time he’d already fucking wasted by being a coward, he knew it all now. 

He just didn’t know what the fuck to do about it. 

Joel got Sarah out the door quickly, barely paying attention on his drive to the school. He couldn’t just give up. He already refused to lose you, not again, but now it would be impossible. You were so close, everything he’d ever wanted there in front of him but just out of reach. Even if you’d moved on now, even if you were happier with fucking Brad, he had to tell you. He owed both of you that much. 

“Bye Dad!” Sarah poked her head between the two front seats and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

“What was that for?” He frowned, turning to look at her. 

She just shrugged and smiled. 

“Just seemed like you needed it,” she said. “Love you!” 

“Love you too!” He called after her as she hopped down from the truck and slammed the door behind her with a little too much force, waving behind her as she ran to the building. 

“Alright,” he took a deep breath, looking at the clock on his dashboard. Just after 8 a.m. He’d start at your place because he wasn’t sure what time you went to campus this semester. But he was going to talk to you. He was going to talk to you and he was going to tell you how he felt and he was going to do it today. “I’m comin’, Goldie.” 

You weren’t at your place when he got there. He tried not to think about if it was because you’d spent the night with fucking Brad, if you’d gone to his hotel and had never even been here. Instead, he went to campus. He wasn’t sure where you’d be teaching right now but he was pretty sure you wouldn’t be in your office. You always had morning classes with a break in the afternoon. 

“Excuse me,” he said to a random passing college student. “I’m lookin’ for… shit, probably creative writing? Or literature? What buildings are those?” 

“Oh, um,” the girl looked around quickly. “I’m a physics major but I know I had an English class in that building over there last semester? You could start there?” 

She pointed to a building in the distance and Joel kept his groan to himself. He forgot how fucking huge college campuses were. 

But he couldn’t just sit and wait. He needed to find you and he needed to do it now. 

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a wave and already starting to jog for the building. “Appreciate it!” 

But you didn’t have a class in that building. At least not at that time of day. He knew because he looked in all the lecture halls. You weren’t there. 

He tried two other buildings after asking for directions - no luck - before checking his watch. If your schedule was anything like it had been the semesters before, you’d be in your office soon. That, at least, he knew how to find. 

He jogged there, resisting the urge to run because that would probably make him look utterly insane, and threw his arm out to catch the elevator on its way up. 

“Floor 10, please,” he said to one of the college girls looking at him funny as he panted for breath. She did as he asked, though, and he marveled, for a moment, at just how fucking young college kids seemed to him now.

He closed his eyes and focused for a second, trying to figure out exactly what to say to you, but hearing your name pulled him out of his head. 

“I don’t think they’re still like… together together, though,” the girl who’d pushed the button said. “Like I know they were married but she said he was visiting. He’d live here if they were married, right? Besides, I really don’t think her husband would be asking for my number with his wife there, would he?” 

“I dunno,” the other girl shrugged. “He’s just… isn’t he old? Like old old, not hot old.” 

“I like them old,” the first girl giggled. “They know what they’re doing then.” 

The elevator chimed and the girls got off and Joel’s heart was beating so hard he could feel the blood in his body. You’d brought fucking Brad here and he’d hit on one of your fucking students - one who looked so young Joel never would have looked twice at her if he saw her on the street. Right in front of you, from the sounds of it. That’s who you’d chosen, that’s who you’d felt like you deserved because he hadn’t opened his fucking mouth years earlier. 

When the elevator made it to floor 10, he squeezed out of the doors, not willing to wait for them to open all the way, and ran to your office. 

“Excuse me,” the girl behind the front desk said as he went past her. “You can’t just…” 

“It’s fine,” he said, catching the door as someone came out of the hall where your office was. 

“No, wait!” She called after him but he ignored her. 

He ducked around other professors, dodging them and their questions until he was at your door. 

It was closed but he didn’t bother to knock, throwing the door open to find you there, standing in front of your desk in the arms of your fucking husband as he kissed you. 

Joel moved so fast that neither you nor Gale had noticed he was there but he couldn’t just stand there and watch that fucking guy kiss you, not like that. 

Without really thinking about it, he ripped him away from you, just catching a glimpse of the shock on your face as he punched Gale in the head, sending him sprawling into your desk. 

“Joel!” You yelled before grabbing his arm and pulling him back before he could hit your goddamn husband again. “What the fuck are you doing!” 

“Sorry, baby,” he said, shaking the feel of the punch out of his hand, his knuckles raw. “I couldn’t just watch that fucking guy touch you like that.” 

“Well, it’s really not your business how he touches me!” You snapped, shoving him back. “You don’t get to just come in here and hit people because you’re not getting your way anymore!” 

“That ain’t what this is,” he said, taking you by the shoulders, something grounding in the fact that could feel you again. “Baby, I read your book…” 

“Congratulations!” You snapped. “What, do you want a cookie because you finally got around to supporting me?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “Did you mean that? What you wrote, was that…” 

“What does it matter!” You asked, your eyes searching his face. “Why do you care! It’s ancient history, it doesn’t…” 

“It does matter!” He held you tight, wanting to kiss you more than he ever had before. “It matters because I love you, I love you so much, I’ve loved you since we were fucking kids, I love you so much that I think it might kill me if you don’t let me just say that to you at least this once and if you feel that way, too…” 

“You need to leave,” Gale - who Joel had all but forgotten about - said, trying to position himself between you and Joel. “And take your hands off my wife.” 

“Oh I haven’t even fuckin’ started with you,” Joel said, rounding on him. “You’re a fucking predator, chasing after her fuckin’ students while you’re here with her? Doing with them what you did with her, that it? Lucky I don’t beat the shit out of you…” 

“Joel, I…” you began, but you didn’t get the chance to finish, Gale pulling you back from Joel and going to hit him. 

Joel didn’t give him the chance, shoving him away from you before punching him again. Gale fell, landing on your desk again with a sharp crack. 

“Joel!” You yelled. 

He didn’t get a chance to respond. Instead, he got pulled back, security guards dragging him into the hall and away from you before he knew if he had a shot at really having you for the first time in his life.

A/N: FUCK YOU GALE!

Sorry, I've been picturing that moment since I first thought up the fic. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Taglist: @kaseyconnour

[t3a-tan]

I need to see James scolding Oliver and taking care of him after what happened with the human kid. James could have the responsible role for once in his life 😏

Happens directly after this!!

Oliver is certainly due for a bit of pampering. Enjoy! ^^

---

“May I have some ice please?”

James yelped at the sound of Oliver's voice, slamming the fridge door shut to reveal the borrower standing there on the counter, looking as nonchalant as usual. But there was something off about his body language… he raised an eyebrow, seeing how his friend was favouring one side and holding his ribs.

“You're hurt.” It wasn't a question. James wasn't stupid— it didn't exactly take a detective to figure that out.

Oliver nodded, wincing slightly again as he breathed in. Now that the adrenaline was no longer running as readily through his system it hurt much more. Even though his legs weren't injured, it hurt to stand— like holding up his own weight irritated the bruises around his midsection.

He glanced down and lifted his jumper slightly, revealing the dark purple marks that had formed. He felt some fascination, looking at those finger shaped bruises, but mostly it just hurt.

James gasped, his hands reaching down and quickly but gently scooping Oliver up into them as he raised the tiny man to his eye level.

“Bloody hell— you're as purple as a blummin blueberry, mate..!” He pointed out, fussing over the injuries with careful fingers, trying to figure out where they ended. They seemed to cover his whole torso. “What the hell happened??”

Oliver groaned a little, pushing his jumper back down and waving off James’s concerned fingers.

“It is still very sensitive…please be gentle, James.” He scolded lightly, finding that even the smallest accidental pressure sent an stabbing ache throughout his body. He shakily sat up on his forearms, looking up at his friend's apologetic and concerned gaze.

“It was…a child. She was much too young to be on her own, and so I accompanied her until her mother returned. Nothing is broken.” After a few beats of uncertainty Oliver added, “I think…”

“You think!?” James exclaimed. A sigh escaped his lips as his free hand reached up to scratch at his facial hair, brows furrowed. “This is severe, Oliver. An injury like that would have most humans in the hospital.”

The borrower huffed, clearly embarrassed by all of the fuss, but he didn't tell James to put him down.

“I am not a human. I am a borrower. We have better immune systems and our bodies heal faster. I will be fine once I get ice.” He rebutted. The finger behind him curled over and began to rub at his back, making Oliver inhale sharply. At first it hurt, but after a few seconds it felt pleasant and he couldn't help but lean back into the sensation.

James's brows furrowed further, a concerned frown on his face as he continued to gently stroke his back.

“Mmm…no. I'll get you the ice, mate, but until that's all healed I don't feel comfortable with you flying around and whatnot.” He knew Oliver wasn't stupid and would not do things he didn't think he was capable of doing with those injuries, but still. James's finger stopped rubbing at his back, not wanting to go too hard and make the bruise spread.

He could see that Oliver was shaking with effort just to hold himself up. If his ribs were broken, he really needed to rest and not move around too much. But for as sensible as his friend was, James also knew him to be stubborn.

“I have too much to do… I need to update the files I just went and checked the houses for before I forget, and I need to make blackberry jam before the blackberries deteriorate too much and—”

A thumb came up and covered his mouth before he could finish, and Oliver shot the human an unimpressed look for the interruption. He knew that if he tried to move it away James would oblige, but he didn't really have the energy to lift his arms without it hurting.

“Ah ah. I know you like to keep to your schedule, but it's not the end of the world if you don't. You're overworking yourself. Let me take care of you— at least for a few days— okay?” He removed his thumb after saying his piece, watching for Oliver's answer.

For all the time he had known the borrower, he had learned a lot about his personality and how to tell when something was wrong. Oliver liked to act like he had everything under control at all times; always keeping a cool head and thinking logically— but the reality was that he was just as fragile as any other borrower.

James didn't care to baby him. Oliver was, after all, an adult with his own life and way of doing things. But there was a point where he thought it was best to insist that Oliver accept that he needed help.

Of course, if he insisted against it James wasn't going to hold him against his will— but he would definitely complain about the decision.

Oliver squinted up at him, his hair dishevelled from earlier, and pain radiating all around his body. He knew that his friend wouldn't dare force help upon him, but he also knew that if he refused he would just worry him in the process.

“Alright. Those are acceptable conditions… a few days.” He agreed, nodding his head and releasing a sigh of exasperation as he lay back instead of holding himself up. He shut his eyes, recognising how exhausted his body felt after the hour or so of constant play and man handling.

Although he didn't regret it, James’s more tender and aware hands were a welcome change. With any other human Oliver always had to instruct them on how to hold him correctly— and deal with the consequences when they simply couldn't get it right. With James…he was always careful. Oliver didn't have to worry about anything; he could just close his eyes, relax, and rest assured that his grip would never become too tight or invasive.

James let out a sigh of relief when Oliver relented, and seeing how he relaxed; clearly drained from what he had gone through; James’s thumb lightly stroked his shoulder in a gesture of support.

“Thanks.” His thumb moved away again, not overstaying its welcome as he instead bent down to open the freezer, rummaging around. “Let’s get you some ice then. I could swear I have something for bruises in the first aid kit, I'll just have to have a bit of faff for it…” 

Oliver turned onto his side, eyes still closed as he got a bit more comfortable.

“Mm…don't worry too much if you don't. Bruises like this usually stop hurting after a week unless the bones are bruised too…” He assured, waving a hand dismissively, not wanting James to go too out of his way for him.

James raised an eyebrow down at the borrower he was currently cradling in one hand, holding him out of the way of the freezer's cold chill.

“How often do you get hurt like this? Be honest.” He wasn't scolding him, but it did upset him to think about how many times Oliver must have been through this before for him to know that.

Oliver hummed in thought, opening his eyes after a few moments and looking up into the brown eyes above him.

“I'd say between one and two times annually. You know I cannot stand by and watch someone else suffer… The poor girl was only four, she can hardly help it that she didn't know her own strength, James. She took to my instructions fairly well, considering that fact.” He defended.

“Jesus Oliver, you could die! Come on, mate. This isn't healthy— I know you don't like to do it, but sometimes you just have to leave things be. Save yourself the pain.” He shook his head, focusing on the freezer again to find the little plastic cubes he kept so that he would have something closer to Oliver's size. He picked one up and shut the freezer. “Was she alright at least? Nothing I need to report?”

Oliver nodded once more.

“She was fine. It wasn't a serious situation, just a moment of forgetfulness on her parents’ part. I saw no signs of any maltreatment, and she seemed to be at a normal development for a child that age. Speech, movement…all fine.” He assured.

James tore off a piece of kitchen roll and wrapped it around the cube before offering it forward to Oliver gingerly. The borrower took it, wincing at first as the cold made contact with his marked skin before relaxing, allowing it to numb the area.

“I was about to make some lunch. I have leftover curry that I was gonna heat up with some microwave rice, if you want to join. Chicken korma.” He offered, opening the fridge again next and taking out the tub of curry and setting it on the side. “I think I have a pack of naan…somewhere…”

“For as much food as you have, you really should keep things more organised, James. If you don't know what you have, you'll end up throwing away things you've forgotten about when they don't keep.” Oliver scolded lightly.

James gently poked Oliver in the cheek with his pinkie as he let out a gasp of indignation.

“Oi! You're starting to sound more and more like my mother every time you stay here.” He responded in mock offence, although the grin of amusement made it obvious he was only joking. Oliver had learned that was a sign of his sarcasm, and James was delighted to see the slight smile on his face too. “You want korma or not?”

Oliver let out a small chuckle. Although it hurt to laugh, it also felt nice and warm. James's humour, although difficult to comprehend at first, it was now something that the borrower greatly appreciated. He nodded.

“Alright. That sounds good.”

[fxstpace]

how you get the girl (teaser)

summary: when you lose a bet against your brother and he forces you to go on a blind date, the last thing you expect is to find your ex-boyfriend at your doorstep, with a bouquet in his hand and a confession on his lips.

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, brother’s best friend!au (ft. brother!joshua hong) teaser word count: 0.6k

↳ warnings: profanity (full warnings tba)

“Hi,” he says. “Thanks for the shower.”

“No problem.” You swallow the hitch in your voice, gripping the chopsticks in your hand tightly. “I hope the water was warm.”

“It was.” Jeonghan hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering all across your kitchen before finally meeting your gaze. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m just making ramen. Couldn’t find anything else, sorry.” 

You hate the way your throat dries and your mouth clams up. You rest your hip on the counter, keeping your body angled sideways so you can keep one eye on the stove without appearing rude. All these weeks, and Jeonghan still manages to render you speechless. It’s almost ridiculous.

He jerks, a movement bordering a shrug and a grimace. It’s rare to see Jeonghan so awkward, rarer still to see him floundering for words. If there’s one thing Jeonghan is, it’s a smooth talker. He can charm his way into anything, putting that honey-rich timbre and smooth baritone of his voice to good use. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but,” he finally says, “I put my jacket to dry by the washing machine. The rest of my stuff is in the hamper.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. Of course he remembers the exact layout of your apartment—he had been there when you went house-hunting, after all—but it still serves as a sharp reminder to what you used to have and everything you couldn’t salvage. You give the ramen a small stir.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk.” Jeonghan sounds casual, but you know better than anyone it’s just feigned. “Because of the rain, and all.”

“...Right.” You turn off the stove and carefully tip the ramen into two bowls. 

“How have you been?”

You force out a chuckle. “That’s redundant, Jeonghan.”

“Just being polite.” He is still calm, and it irritates you.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Jeonghan lets his head drop, his long bangs falling onto his forehead. He’s let his hair grow out; it almost brushes against his shoulders. He still has the same lean, lithe figure he’s always had, though. It’s slightly disconcerting—familiar yet foreign at the same time.

He moves to lean on the counter opposite you, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t meet up with an old friend?”

“We both know your only friend is Joshua.”

“Ouch.” The laugh he barks out is dry. “I have lots of new friends now.”

Your fingers curl into your palm, nails digging into your skin. A tense silence fills the space between you both. Mechanically, you hand him a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks. He takes them wordlessly, nodding his thanks. 

You pick up your own bowl and walk towards your small dining table. You don’t gesture for Jeonghan to follow—you know he will, anyway, just like how he walked into your life with no warning. Your first bite of ramen nearly burns your tongue. You bite back a yelp. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jeonghan warns, a hint of a smile on his lips. You glare at him and it vanishes immediately. “Sorry. But I’m serious—how have you been? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Still the same, I see,” he says, chewing around a mouthful. “I’ve been good too, thanks for asking.”

“You’re an asshole, Jeonghan.” Your grip on the chopsticks falters. They clatter onto the table, but neither of you pay any mind to it. 

Jeonghan rubs some broth off the corner of his mouth, finally averting his gaze to his bowl of ramen instead of looking at you. You sigh, fighting the urge to crawl back into your room and pretend this isn’t happening.

↳ a/n: thanks for reading! please send an ask/reply if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

[swtsupernatural]

D.W || MYSTERY SPOT

Content Warning takes place a few weeks after 'Mystery Spot' 3.11, swearing, dean being dean, knives, and mentions of dean's death from 3.11.

Summary Angst, slow burn i think - Days have gone by and everyone in your town seem's to be on loop and you're the only one aware. Just as you're about to break down, two men in an Impala show up to lend a hand.

Ask @almostegg / @almosteggs : The brothers visit a new town that's stuck in a time loop. No one there is responsive and simply do their daily routine over and over again. Reader is the only one aware of what's happening and she is trapped within the town.

W.C. 2,200 words

A.N. first ficcc so excited to finally get this up. enjoy <3 - claire

Gunnison, Colorado. It was meant to be a shortstop for the Winchester boys, mainly for gas and food. They were on the way to a hunt in Utah with what they figured was a Banshee, based on the news they’d heard at least. It was early November, and the temperature was declining everyday. People strolled through the small town in coats and scarves, cheeks pink from the cold. Dean could even see heat steaming off of Baby as he parked her at a random gas station.

“Oh, shit,” Sam muttered, his eyes leering over his book to see the bright orange symbol on Baby’s dash. Dean had just finished filling up his car and was inside the gas station purchasing a few bars and snacks from the teenager at the front. Sam came up behind his brother, his jaw clenched.

“Don’t tell me,” Dean muttered, tossing a random credit card to the cashier. 

“Car needs an oil change.” 

“Oh that’s just freaking great,” Dean turned to the cashier, a frown on his face. “Where’s the nearest car shop, kid?”

“It’s Steve’s Auto Parts, just down Terrace street on the left, but it’s closed right now.”

“Of course it is,” Dean signed. He looked at Sam through his brows before looking back at the kid. “Nearest motel?” 

“Now what, we just sit around all night until that damn shop opens in the morning?” Dean said through his teeth, tossing his back on the left bed. 

“Well, maybe we can actually get some sleep tonight. Relax, Dean, we’ll be on the road tomorrow before seven.” Sam searched through the restroom for supplies. Motel stops were the time to take things like towels, soap, and other stuff they could throw in Baby’s trunk in case they needed it. Sam sighed, finding nothing in the room except cracked walls and a small slab of used soap. “M’ gonna ask the front desk for some stuff, be right back.” Sam passed flickering hall lights, hearing conversations of guests through the thin walls.

“Good evening, sir, how may I help you?” 

“Hi, I just need some stuff for our room, thanks.” The woman at the front desk handed Sam two toothbrushes, some toothpaste, and a couple towels.  

“Have a goodnight. Oh, I completely forgot when you checked in.” She reached below the desk, opening a few drawers before handing him a pamphlet. “If you’re looking for some places in town to visit, here's a guide.” The town didn’t often house anyone but locals, not having a large population or many visitors at that. It seemed like everyone knew each other. 

Sam nodded, “Thanks, goodnight.”

“Have a great night, sir.”

The next morning the two woke up at six, the motel alarm blaring an ugly, distasteful BEEP-ing sound. They both packed the little they had swiftly, heading out though the creaking door. At the front desk, the same woman from last night stood stock-still; that same fake-looking smile on her face. 

“Goodmorning, folks, how may I help you?” 

“Just checking out,” Sam put the keys on the desk. She nodded, grabbing the keys, and packing them behind the desk. Suddenly, her face lit up as if she had just remembered a forgotten thought.

“Oh, I completely forgot when you checked in.” She reached below the desk, opening a few drawers before handing him a pamphlet. “If you’re looking for some places in town to visit here's a guide.” 

“Oh, thank you, but I already got one last night,” Sam smiled. She stared at Sam blanky.

“Have a great day, sir.” He nodded with tight lips, grabbing Dean’s arm and leading them outside.

“Dude, she said the exact same thing to me last night when I came down for stuff.” Dean shrugged.

“Probably just her regular spiel, you know how those jobs are.” Sam lowered his brows, his gaze on nothing in particular. 

“I don’t know, it was just weird…” Dean shrugged, “Who cares as long as we're out of here within an hour.” He focused on the road, more preoccupied with fixing Baby and getting on with the case they were supposed to be working on. A few minutes later, a large, rusted sign reading ‘Steve’s Auto Shop,’ came into view, the blue and red paint chipped away from weather and old age. Dean parked his car and walked hastily inside, Sam on his tail. 

“Hey!” They heard someone yelling. Inside, a woman stood at the front of the store, waving her hands frantically in the man’s face. She couldn’t have been much older than Sam. “Dad, this isn’t fucking funny, seriously.” The man stared at her blanky, before looking up at her, as if just registering her face.

“Hey, Honey, how can I help ya? Shouldn’t you be at school, it’s Monday.”

The woman groaned, her hands flying to cover her face in frustration, “Dad, it’s Thursday. Please, I’m begging you, stop this, whatever is going on, please…” Dean got closer and saw tears in her eyes. He approached her tentatively, making his voice known first.

“Hey,” the woman jumped at Dean’s voice, but she quickly looked relieved to see him, though Dean was sure they’d never met. She walked up to them impatiently, looking both of them up and down skeptically. “Are you real? You’re not…from here. You can see me right, hear me?” 

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re uh, real. What’s the matter?” Sam said gently, coming closer to her and Dean tentatively. She stared at Sam, then Dean, and sighed a heavy exhale. Dean knew that exhaustion she was feeling, he’d felt the same way before.

“Are you guys visiting?” They both nodded. “How long?” Dean explained how they had come last night and only meant to stop briefly, but was having car troubles. Usually he wouldn't give strangers his life story, especially in his line of work, but this woman was obviously in distress. An odd sort of distress. A, ‘supernatural problem’, sort of distress. She nodded, like she was trying to calm herself down enough to explain what was happening.

“I…I’m going to sound insane.” Sam and Dean gave each other a knowing look. Definitely their type of problem. 

“Trust me.” Sam interrupted. “We’ve probably heard weirder.”

“I don’t know…I woke up Monday and everything was normal. Tuesday, I woke up the same alarm, everyone was acting weird, like, repeating the same few things. And Wednesday it was the same, and I thought it would change today, but I feel like I’m going insane. I mean, my own father doesn’t recognize me, no one does. It's like they're all stuck. But I’m not. Heard that kind of crazy?”

Dean laughed, “Actually, yes. Uh, we might be able to help.”

“You’re serious?” She looked up at Dean, like she was finally seeing him, her eyes leering over his intensely green eyes and old brown jacket

Sam nodded, “This might sound even crazier, but we guess this is our buddy. Sounds like we’re dealing with a trickster.” 

“So…who are you guys?” 

“I’m Dean, this is Sam. We kinda deal with this type of stuff.” 

“What? The same day over and over? That kind of thing?”

“Not exactly, but I think we can help. I had to deal with this same thing a couple weeks ago.” She surveyed them once more, finally extending her hand, first to Sam.

She told them her name, and they replied this theirs. “Nice to meet you. Really nice, if you’re who you say you are.” She brushed her hair out of her face, walking outside, the boys following behind her. “That your car?” She asked. 

Dean nodded proudly. “Yeah.” 

“Nice.” Dean smirked, giving Sam a wink. Sam rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. 

“So,” Sam walked closer to you, saying your name, “Has anything crazy, other than this loop, happened yet? Like…someone getting hurt or…dying?”

“What the hell? No,” she stared at Sam with wide eyes. 

“Just asking,” Sam said, glad that at least she didn’t have to go through what he went through in his time loop. Dean sighed, not sure how he could get out of this. Last time Sam was stuck in one of these, he wasn’t aware of what was happening. Now the three of them were fully conscious and he still didn’t know what to do.

“We think you’re in a time loop,” Dean finally said behind her shoulder, making her turn her head slightly. Damn, they were tall. And this one was really cute…Jesus, she was stuck in a time loop, or something, and she was undressing this guy with her eyes. Not that he seemed to mind. 

Sam cleared his throat loudly and Dean and Y/N looked forward to Sam. “So, are there any odd sort of tourist attractions around here?” 

She shook her head, “No.” 

The brother looked into space, deep in thought before she decided to show them around, maybe give them ideas of what they could do.

“C’mon, let me show you what I mean.” She walked them through town, the same peoplee from yesterday strolling around town with scarves and coats alike. Suddenly, a hand sprung on Dean’s chest, shoving him to the side, a flower pot breaking where he stood. He looked to the side and saw her. “Sorry!” A woman from the apartment building yelled. Y/N mimicked her, a “sorry!” slipping from her mouth. They kept walking, and she prevented them from walking on the road, despite the crosswalk sign clearly flashing white. A car sped past, a police car following close behind. The boys kept walking, following her into a coffee shop.

“I’m gonna order a matcha, the woman behind me is gonna get a black coffee, and the man after her is gonna get a latte.” She ordered, waiting for her drink next to the boys, the woman behind her ordering a coffee, black, and the man following her ordering a… “Green tea, please.”

“Wait, he…” he winked at her, before looking at Sam and Dean with amusement on his face. Sam was on him in an instant, pulling him around the corner of the shop. “What, doing this to random innocent people, now, huh?” His face turned into a twisted smile that made Y/N’s stomach turn. The man’s face began to shift into a completely different one. He was still a person, but a nonidentical one.

“What the hell…” she backed up near Dean, and he put an arm in front of her space, the other arm reaching slowly for his knife.

The man smiled, “guess again, sweetheart.”

Dean lunged this time, his knife pressed even closer than Sam’s.

“You get her out of this before I end you here, and now.” Sam was next to her now, letting Dean take out his own anger on the trickster. Sam was almost still. The being under dean’s knife had left Sam alone and broken after dean ‘died.’ It was the worst time of his life. Losing Dean had turned him into a monster, and he hadn’t even told Dean everything.

“What did she do to deserve this mess, huh? Fuck with us all you want but she’s not a part of this.”

The man slimed in Dean’s grip. “You’re right. She’s not. I just…well, I got bored! Spun a wheel, of sorts, and landed in this town. Fate may have it that she won my good graces.”

“Get her out of here before I carve that stupid smile right out of your face.” 

“No can do, son. I’m having too much f–” Dean’s knife was in the man’s chest instantaneously, twisting like a dreidel before Dean forced it out of him.

A car passed, their brights flashing on the three, and next thing she knew, Y/N woke up in her bed, just as she had the last few days, her clock reading; ‘Tuesday, November 3rd, 2008.’ 

“Holy shit.” Something stirred on her floor, and before she could properly think, her knife under her pillow was on the figure in an instant. 

“Dean?” she had lunged at him, her blade nearly pressing into his throat. “What happened?” Dean looked at her with wide eyes. “This is how you repay me for saving your life?”

Sam, from the other side of her bed, laughed as he stood up. His face was beaming, smiling happily at the clock,“You broke it, Dean. She’s out of it.”

“Oh my god.” She released the knife from her hands, tossing it god knows where in her room before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, her breath tickling Dean’s neck, making him feel things he’d rather not admit. Dean smiled, helping her stand.

“Anytime, Y/N.” They stared at each other for too long once again, her eyes less shameless than before, causing Sam to speak up. 

“We should go…soon. I’ll go get the car. Be back in 30.” She smiled wondrously at Sam, but missed his wink to Dean as he left her room. It wasn’t common that Dean got with girls Sam was a fan of, but he did like Y/N. He’d give them a small slice of time together.

“So. 30 minutes?” Dean said too close to her ear for it to be friendly, smirking and showing his pretty teeth. She nodded, her face heating up.

“The clock’s ticking, Dean. We should get this started.” She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, the other curling in his hair as they fell back on the bed. Maybe Dean wasn’t in such a rush to get to Utah.

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

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, angst, 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: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.

“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”

“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”

Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.

“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.

“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.

But you did it with a grin. You were the President.

Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.

“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini— if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”

During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.

“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”

“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.

You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.

You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.

“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”

ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.

It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.

Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.

“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”

The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.

Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.

He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.

Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.

To Madam President,

I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

The next step was trickier.

Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.

“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”

Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”

Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”

Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.

The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.

Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.

“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”

Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”

Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”

The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”

Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.

Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.

Dean Winchester.

You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.

You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.

Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.

“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.

“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—

“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”

The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.

“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.

Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”

“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.

“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.

Then he swallowed. Shit.

But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.

Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.

“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.

"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"

Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.

“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.

Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.

"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.

The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.

“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.

“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.

You had to do that too, just to be clear.

“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”

Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.

But this answer was simple.

“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.

He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.

“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”

As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.

His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—

“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.

“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.

“Jerk.”

The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.

Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.

“Austin!”

The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.

You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”

The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.

By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”

“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.

“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.

“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.

Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”

“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.

“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”

“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”

Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”

“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.

Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.

Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.

You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.

Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”

“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”

“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”

She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.

Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.

You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.

Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”

Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”

Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”

You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”

“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”

The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.

The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”

Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.

The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.

You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.

Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”

“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”

Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”

You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.

“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”

“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”

Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.

You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.

You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.

“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.

You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.

“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.

Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.

As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.

“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”

Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”

“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.

“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”

Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”

Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”

Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”

Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”

The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.

If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.

When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”

Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?

“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”

“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.

“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ‘dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”

Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”

Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”

Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”

“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”

You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”

“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.

“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”

You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”

“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”

“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.

Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.

But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.

“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some…tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”

You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”

“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.

You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”

Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”

“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.

Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.

“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”

“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”

You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”

“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”

Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”

Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.

The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.

Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.

Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.

Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.

“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”

Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.

“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”

Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”

As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.

“Uncle Dean!”

“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”

Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”

Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”

“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.

It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.

The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.

“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”

Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”

“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”

“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”

“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”

Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”

“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”

“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”

Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”

Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”

“I do,” Dean admitted.

“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”

Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.

“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.

As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.

NEXT UP:

“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.

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@cheynovak @bitchykittenconnoisseur @underground-secret @heartiella

@bollzinurmouth @globetrotter28

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[robinsegghead]

Danny's Daycare Part 19

Masterlist Shortly after Danny and the boys had left everyone gathered in the cave. Those who hadn’t known about the Phantom/Danny situation were filled in so they could discuss what they’d learned that night as well as summon Phantom to tell him what they’d found. Dick was listening intently. Despite reading the files shortly before their company arrived, Dick wanted to be sure he had all the facts.

“So,” Steph frowned. “We’ve got a ghost king who’s claiming a branch of the American government called the GIW has been trying to experiment on and kill his people, a law called the Anti-Ecto-Acts which means it’s legal for them to do said experimenting and killing, and Danny who supposedly knows the ghost king and is affected by the law that makes him legal property of the government?”

Bruce nodded. “We are still trying to understand Danny’s connection to all of this and how it is that he’s affected by this law- as far as we can tell he’s entirely human. We aren’t sure how he would have come into contact with enough ectoplasm to deem him a ‘ghost’ but-”

Jason cleared his throat, effectively cutting Bruce off and silencing everyone in the cave. “I… may have left out… some details.”

“Oh no,” Tim cuts in. “Tell me you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Bruce sighed, already clearly tired of this back and forth.

Tim crossed his arms and glared at Jason. “That Danny’s died before?”

That set everyone off. Dick himself didn’t know what to do with that information. He’d watched all night as Jason smiled at Danny, thinking no one would notice, and then he’d watched as Jason scolded the family for prying (he was right to do that they could obviously see Danny didn’t want to answer their questions) and chased after Danny when Santiago had dragged him off. They’d spent a lot of time outside before coming back in and everybody could tell something had changed. 

They were both more relaxed, stood slightly closer together, their eyes lingered on each other when they thought no one was looking, and Jason was actually laughing along with the family! It had been a long time since he’d seen little wing so happy and he wasn’t ashamed to admit; he’d gotten emotional about it. He didn’t want to think anything was up with Danny, he wanted to imagine Danny had a nice normal life, a good family, and a personality that would bring some happiness and normality to Jason’s life.

“What do you mean, Tim?” Bruce asked, cutting through all the other raised voices.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “When Kon came over he- well he wanted to see if Danny was hiding anything on his person. I’d filled him in a bit about the situation and he’s heard me trying to figure out what Danny’s deal is for a while now so he used a bit of X-ray vision and that’s why he dropped the pie. ‘Cause Danny’s got an autopsy scar.”

The cave was silent, everyone that’d been looking at Tim promptly looked towards Jason, waiting for an explanation. Jason swallowed visibly. “I… didn’t know that.”

“That he died or that he had an autopsy scar? ‘Cause it sounds like he’s got a lot more scars than that, Kon was… Kon said he’s only seen scarring that bad on people like us- vigilantes.” Tim pointed out.

Jason sighed, sitting a ways away from the family- a habit he’d picked up after coming back and needed to physically distance himself from them when he got overwhelmed. Dick had always hated how far his brother kept himself from them, tucking himself away behind an immovable wall, keeping his real feelings and thoughts blocked off, for his and their protection.

But instead of remaining apart, staying at the table he’d first sat at- that they’d all avoided in order to give him space- Jason stood and moved closer, closing the circle the family had formed. “I’m friends with Danny in and out of the mask.” He started, crossing his arms to protect himself from the closeness. “He’s told Jason some things and he’s told Hood some things and I…. didn’t feel right telling you all of it.”

“We need to know everything you know about him Jay-”

“No. You don’t.” Jason says firmly. “I will tell you what I’m comfortable telling you and then we can summon Phantom. Maybe he will tell you more, maybe he won’t. Maybe if you show up at his apartment in your tall, dark, and gloomy costume he’ll tell you what you want to know- but I’m not telling you everything he told me in confidence just to satisfy your curiosity. Didn’t you learn anything from dinner tonight?”

And- yeah, that was fair. They hadn’t been as nice to Danny as they should have, and while it was obvious in hindsight that they’d backed him into a corner, Dick really had just wanted to get to know the man. Danny was an enigma. Someone who’d befriended Damian, who’d brought down Jay’s walls, who’d expressed interest in Tim and his life, Danny was a good guy. Dick wanted to know everything he could about that man.

Bruce sighed, relenting, and Jason started talking. “I don’t know about the scarring. I do know he… died a long time ago.” The room tensed, Dick tensed. “He came back different- like me. But not- not like me. He was confused when I asked about Pit rage stuff. After coming back he did the whole teenage vigilante for a while to protect his town. He gave that stuff up a while back, traveled for a while, and ended up in Gotham.”

“Do you know who asked him to come here?” Tim interjected, getting the room's attention. “He said he was here as a favor. He said a friend asked him to come to Gotham and help out and that’s why he’s here. Do you think it was Phantom?”

Jason shrugged. “Phantom said they knew each other, he’s the ghost king and Danny was an undead kid vigilante who fought ghosts to protect his town. It’s possible I guess.” 

Tim had returned to the batcomputer, typing quickly and looking for something specific. Dick noticed Jason’s hand was shaking, clinging to his bicep in an effort to stop it and keep people from noticing, but Dick saw it. He was no Bruce- certainly no Tim- but he was a good ass detective and he noticed a lot more than some people thought. Especially when it came to the emotional state of his family members.

(Call it being an empath, call it a trauma response to Bruce’s emotional constipation his whole life, whatever, Dick could read emotions in others almost as well as Cass could read body language. He couldn’t always interpret exactly what it meant, but he noticed the little things. Jason’s hands shake he’s angry- usually when he’s pit ragey.)

Clapping his hands together, Dick tried to bring the mood up a bit. “Well, should we all change and get ready to summon Phantom? Where better to get our answers than directly from the horse’s mouth?”

“And then he asked Jason on a date!” Santiago finished.

“Come onnnnn.” Miguel groaned, smacking his head against the headrest dramatically. 

Danny wasn’t sure why Miguel seemed so upset by this news or why Santiago was so happy about it but he tried not to think about it too much as he pulled the car onto their street and felt a pulling in his gut.

“I don’t know what you see in him, Danny-” Danny felt Miguel’s eyes on him as he cut off. “What’s wrong?”

Concentrating on staying where he was and getting the boys home safely, Danny began to sweat. He could refuse the summoning if he wanted, push it away entirely and get rid of the sickening tug, but he really needed to figure out what Hood had gotten done concerning the GIW. So instead of outright refusing, he delayed, speeding up the car. “‘M getting summoned.” He managed, turning another corner sharply.

“Now?!” Santi shrieked as the car took one more sharp turn into their parking lot and came to a sudden halt.

Shutting off the car and hopping out, Danny gestured for them to follow. “Come on, quickly.” The tugging in his gut was starting to hurt and he wondered why he hadn’t just given Hood his Phantom number the last time they’d spoken. Tucker made you a Phantom phone specifically for this purpose! 

Once he’d ensured the boys were in their apartment safely, he allowed his transformation and the summoning to sweep over him. Relief washed over him as he felt his body be swept away before settling into a dark cave. Looking around, he found computers, weapons, vigilante gear- was he in the Batman lair?

“It’s called the Batcave.” Hood snorted. “Hey Spooks, mind turning down the light show?”

Oh, right. Letting the bright light that appeared every summoning, Danny floated closer to the ground and took note of all the vigilantes around him. He hadn’t exactly expected… well, all of Gotham’s vigilantes to be there during his next summoning. “Anything for you, Hood.” He winked towards the crime lord, earning him a scoff from Robin. 

“King Phantom-”

“Just Phantom.” Danny cut Batman off- Ancients he interrupted Batman. “I’m not really into the whole formality thing.”

Batman dipped his head subtly. “Phantom, Hood informed us of your situation and to say I was shocked was an understatement. I have a meeting with the Justice League scheduled for tomorrow to relay everything we know and figure out a plan to repeal the Anti-Ecto-Acts as quickly as possible.”

Danny nodded slowly. “I must admit, I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve acted. Nevertheless, I and my people extend our gratitude.”

“Why wouldn’t we act quickly?” Nightwing asked.

Pursing his lips, Danny crossed his arms. “Batman is paranoid, untrusting, and hates metas in his city unless they’re Signal.” He pointed at the yellow hero lazily. “And technically? Ghosts aren’t even metas, we’re other. Different. Wrong. Wasn’t sure how you’d all feel about that.”

“Batman would never allow such crimes to continue!” Robin snarled.

Danny’s lips quirked up, he liked Robin, despite the kid's snark. It was part of the appeal really, he had strong opinions and wasn’t afraid to share them. He’d quite enjoyed sassing his rogues throughout his vigilante career.

“Robin.” Batman scolded.

Shrugging, Danny leaned back, still floating, hands behind his head. “I don’t mind, I like a kid who speaks his mind. But how would I know that? I’ve never met Batman before. I must do what’s best for my people.” He frowned, losing a bit of the lazy look and growing more serious. “Keeping them confined to the Realms is no longer the best course of action. And unfortunately, Scarecrow’s little stunt the other night has lit a fire under my ass so to speak.”

“Language.” A couple of the vigilantes chimed in, almost like it was a habit.

Danny frowned. Hadn’t he just heard that-

“Why has Scarecrow’s attack moved things up?” Spoiler asked.

How much did he want to tell these people? For now, he wanted his identity to remain a secret, too risky to reveal himself, but he wanted the GIW gone and for that he’d need to be as honest as possible. “Danny Nightingale,” he started, catching the shift in the cave’s atmosphere. “Is a… personal friend of mine. He’s been in hiding from the GIW for five years now. The attack has unfortunately… alerted the GIW and others to his location.”

“What reason does Danny Nightingale have for hiding from the GIW?” Batman asked.

Had… Had Hood really not told them? He knew Hood was a good guy, but to keep private the things Danny had shared with Hood even after everything that had happened… It warmed his cold heart. “Hood… did not tell you?”

Red Hood crossed his arms. 

“Danny died when he was fourteen.” Phantom tried for nonchalance. He hated talking about it- all ghosts did- but he didn’t want them to know he was uncomfortable. “He was brought back to life when, during his death, his body was flooded with ectoplasm. His body was killed and brought back until neither side won and he ended up half dead half alive.” He let that sink in.

“How the fuck-”

“That’s not poss-”

“Nightingale-”

“Enough.” Batman stated. Once everyone quieted down a bit, he turned to Phantom. “How is that possible?”

Phantom had touched down to the ground at this point, standing between Red Hood and Signal. He shrugged. “I don’t really know, it just is. The… electricity killed him but the ectoplasm kept him alive and afterward he remained alive and dead at the same time. Schrodinger’s boy if you will.”

“You know Shcrodinger?” Signal breathed, not really asking Phantom but more himself.

Phantom intended to answer the question, maybe with a joke or maybe just plainly, but he was stopped in his tracks by Red Robin’s next question.

“But what about his autopsy scars?” Red Robin said seemingly before he could stop himself.

Danny’s head whipped in his direction. “What?” He snarled.

Red Robin glanced at Batman, swallowed, and looked back at Phantom. “Um- a- a friend of mine- superboy, he accidentally used his X-ray vision and he… saw…” He trailed off, possibly noticing Phantom’s less than friendly air. 

He’d risen again, floating a couple inches off the ground and crossing his arms to hide the shaking in his hands. Maybe if he… if he told them… they’d understand just how bad the GIW was. The final nail in the coffin. He’d met a lot of these vigilantes before, they seemed nice enough, besides, how long did he really think he could hide the truth from them? As long as they didn’t know he was Danny, as long as Danny didn’t have to look them in the eye and pretend he didn’t know they knew, it’d be fine.

“It is not an autopsy scar.” Phantom managed to say.

Red Robin frowned. “But he said it was-”

“It is NOT an autopsy scar.” He said, pressing his eyes shut tight, voice commanding. Waiting for his rage to settle a moment, he continued. “It is a testament to how far the GIW will go to get what they want.” He looked each vigilante in the eye (sort of), waiting for it to sink in. “Autopsies happen after you’ve died. I assure you,” He inhaled sharply. “Danny was very much alive- and awake- when that happened.”

“What the fuck.” Red Robin breathed. Phantom waited, unsure of what was about to happen. Red Hood was frozen, his toxic ectoplasm signature flared as his fingers stretched for his guns.

Spoiler gasped. “That’s fucking-”

“Vivisection.” Robin finished coldly.

Everyone’s reactions were similar; anger, despair, confusion. Batman pinched the bridge of his nose, Robin lowered his katana, jaw dropped slightly, Red Robin was clearly having some kind of inner war, Signal and Spoiler looked between each other and Black Bat who had been staring at Phantom since he’d arrived, and Nightwing- was he crying? It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Danny was sure he heard a sniffle from the man’s direction.

“When-” Batman growled, clearing his throat. “When did this happen?”

Phantom considered him. Why did it matter? They couldn’t go back and make it unhappen. “Shortly before his eighteenth birthday.” That was all he needed to say. So why did he find himself continuing? Saying more than necessary? “He was discovered by some local ghost hunters, drugged, restrained, and experimented on for-” he caught his breath, hesitating only a moment, but Black Bat seemed to catch it. “For almost two months. The-”

“FUCK!” 

The group startled as something shattered across the cave. Startled, Danny turned to Hood who’d grabbed the nearest thing and thrown it across the room- hitting a glass window around what seemed to be a med bay. The man breathed heavily, his toxic ecto-signature continued to rise. 

“Hood-” Batman started.

Phantom cut him off. “Hood. Relax, Danny’s fine.” He pushed as much Safe-Protected-Healed-Calm-Relax into his words as he could and it seemed to work, the man’s shoulder untensed a bit and his hands stopped resting on his guns. Phantom could feel everyone’s eyes on him but he didn’t want Hood to feel them so he continued. “I’m not going to let anything happen to him, and if you lot do your job right, the GIW won’t be able to try anything ever again.”

It was touching that Hood was angry on Danny’s behalf, but he didn’t need it- not really. He wasn’t as naive as he’d been five years ago- wouldn’t let anyone close enough to trick him again. He’d warded the apartment he lived in heavily, no one with ecto-weapons could get inside, he’d warded it against specific people as well- Jack and Maddie, the GIW agents he knew of, Vlad, the list went on. 

“Who were the ghost hunters?” Red Robin asked, typing on the batcomputer furiously.

Danny wanted to be mad about the question (how dare he ask about them, the people who’d ruined him, who’d  taken all his trust and cradled it close to their chest with loving smiles only to crush it under their boot and cut into it and-) but it effectively took everyone’s attention away from Hood, allowing the man to calm down without anyone staring at him. Phantom closed his eyes and took a deep breath before admitting to a truth he’d run from for years. “His parents.”

~~~~~

Damian was having a good night overall. He’d invited Nightingale- well, the Nightingale’s, he supposed, over and got to spend a great deal of time with Miguel and Santiago. Santiago was a bit younger than Damian and  they didn’t have much in common, but the boy's love of animals allowed them to maintain conversation throughout the night. Todd had been acting strange throughout dinner and in the barn, but Damian had shrugged it off, it was Todd after all. He was fine.

Later in the night Drake’s paramour was also acting strange but Damian did not care. He’d enjoyed showing Miguel and Santiago around his home, introducing them to his animals, and talking with them extensively about the concept of vigilantes, heroes, and anti-heroes. 

When they’d all been called into the cave and he’d been filled in on the conversation with Nightingale at the dinner table, he’d felt confident that Phantom would be able to answer their questions. Nightingale had an aversion to talking about his past before Gotham, specifically his hometown and his parents, and while Todd made an excellent point about all of them having complicated relationships with parents, it made them all curious about what could have caused Nightingale’s complicated relationship with his parents.

After all, it was unlikely his parents were assassins, or circus performers who’d been murdered, or a supervillain, or had sold him out to the Joker who killed him so-

“His parents.”

Okay so the likelihood that his parents were in fact supervillains and had sold him to someone evil was actually very high. Throughout the entire conversation Damian had felt his blood pressure rising. Nightingale was one of the few respectable people he’d met since moving to Gotham. He was intelligent, kind, good with animals and kids, and respected those around him.

Who in their right mind would hurt Nightingale intentionally? He heard his sentiment echoed around the room as his family processed what exactly Phantom had just admitted. Drake’s incessant tapping on the keyboard had stopped, his jaw clenched tight in a way that mirrored father’s expression. And yet, despite how upset everyone looked- Richard’s expression made him wonder if the man might be crying- Cassandra looked sadder than them all.

Her ability to read body language was one he’d long coveted, but in that moment he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Phantom’s body language was saying. 

“You can look, but you’re unlikely to find anything about them.” Phantom continued. “I’ve had my best people wipe anything about Danny’s hometown from the internet. They built his new identity and he is here under my protection.”

“So you are the friend who asked Danny to come to Gotham and help out?” Brown asked.

Phantom gave a strained smile. “As a matter of fact, I am not. Danny does whatever he wants, I simply… gave him a new identity to do so. Not that I did the hard work, Technus and a friend of Danny’s did that.”

Damian wanted to know everything about Nightingale. He didn’t want to know anything about Nightingale. Two sides of his desire warred inside him. His desire to know everything about everyone at all times fought his side that wanted to believe someone as kind as Nightingale had never suffered such hardships.

He knew that sentiment was childish, he wasn’t a child, but why must every kind person he meet go through unimaginable pain? 

“We must bring his parents to justice.” Damian gritted out.

Phantom gave him a sad look. “Unfortunately, everything that both his parents and the GIW did, are completely legal. Due to Danny’s death he both produces and consumes ectoplasm. Until the Anti-Ecto-Acts are repealed and Ectoplasmic beings are protected, nothing can be done.”

“But once we do, we must bring his parents to justice. Who are they? What are their names?” Damian demanded.

Giving the same sad smile, Phantom shook his head. “Until the Acts are overturned and protection is given to all ectoplasmic beings I will not be giving out that information.” Damian started to speak but Phantom spoke over him. “I really must be going- I was in the middle of something when you called. If you give me your phone Hood, I can give you my direct line instead of my summoning line.”

Todd, who’d calmed down from his earlier tantrum, handed his phone over immediately and watched as Phantom typed in his number presumably.

“If you have more questions, message me.” He directed to Batman, handing Hood’s phone back. “And if you ever need something handsome, call me.” He winked before a swirling green portal opened behind him and he sank back into it as it swallowed him.

Once the portal had disappeared, Damian looked to his father who was deep in thought. Typically the entire family would start talking, petering, asking questions, all at once, but for once, they were all quiet, waiting for Batman to say something.

“I have a meeting with the Justice League tomorrow, we will discuss all of this including what we’ve learned tonight. Hood, if you wouldn’t mind giving me Phantom’s number so I can invite him to the meeting, I would appreciate it.” Father moved towards the computer where Drake was still working. “I want everything you can find on Daniel Nightingale’s original identity, where he’s from, his parents, everything.”

“B, I’ve been working on this for months I can’t-”

“Red Robin.” Father spoke lowly. “Do what you can. I want tabs kept on Danny Nightingale at all times, we have no way of knowing how fast the GIW will work to get him back. No one goes alone, we patrol in pairs until this is sorted, understood?”

Everyone nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Damian had to agree with their sentiment. He had no desire to be held back from patrolling his own route solo but knew there was no getting around his father’s paranoia. 

“Uh- I work alone.” Thomas said, raising his hand uncomfortably.

Batman considered this for a moment. “Check ins with Oracle every fifteen minutes- no exceptions.” 

Thomas sighed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah okay.”

“Father, this is ridiculous. Surely the GIW is not such a danger to us?” Damian understood caution, but this was a bit much- bordering on how he behaved when Joker was loose.

“Actually-” Todd scratched the back of his head, his helmet held under his arm. “Technically a lot of us probably fall under the GIW guidelines. I definitely do with the whole ‘dead then not’ thing, and you and Cass grew up around the pits- it’s pretty likely we all have a bit of an ecto signature or whatever.”

Father grunted. “Patrol in teams. Check ins every fifteen minutes. Do not approach unknown’s alone. Understood?”

“Yes, father.” Damian replied emotionlessly.

He’d find whoever had done this to Nightingale and he’d make them pay for it.

~~~

“Miguel? Santi? I’m back!”

Danny had portalled back to his apartment, changed into comfier clothes, and made the short trip across the hall to the boys’ apartment. They’d given him permission after the incident with their bio dad to walk into the apartment without knocking but he still made sure to announce himself when he did.

Something in the apartment was different though- colder- and dread settled in his stomach when he received no response.

“Boys?” He turned the corner into the living room. “I’m ho-”

“Oh hey, Danny, you look young- it’s like looking into a mirror. Ten years ago.”

Prev. Next