#needed humans to come up with plans for him
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leviathanxprincess · 1 day ago
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Introducing Homicipher Characters to Your Plushies - Pt. 1
The Homicipher Characters come to you in hopes for whatever insanity they plan to drag you into, you instead have a different plan! Showing them your plushies!
Based off my series for the whb devils ! Consider this is scenario where you brought them back to your world with you and they understand your language fully now and vice versa !
Notes: Some very light suggestive content. Gender neutral reader ! This round of characters includes: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Chopped. Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood, & Mr. Machete !
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Mr. Crawling
Honestly you could do anything and it would just make him love you more.
But especially in this case!
He will sit and listen intently to every last thing you have to say about your plushies!
And he's memorized all of their names for you!! He knows which ones are your favorites and which ones you find the most comforting when you're upset.
He thinks you're so cute when you talk about them too!
He gives you and your plushies pets as you talk about them!!
Squishes your cheeks, you're the most adorable person to him and he's glad you shared with him such an important part of your life.
Will go out and find even more plushies for you. He would do anything for you after all!
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Mr. Scarletella
If I'm being honest you could honestly talk about anything and he would just listen.
It wouldn't matter the topic. You wanna talk about your plushies? Then yeah of course he's gonna listen and eat up every detail.
He loves seeing your smile, and admittedly he does get a bit of cuteness aggression from it so prepare yourself for that lol.
However.... He does get kind of jealous of them too.
What do you mean he's not the only being you've given names to? Not to mention the amount of attention and affection you give to them.
Yes, these aren't living creatures and he knows this but he can't help himself!
He gets irritated about it, if you notice his jealousy right away and stop and give him attention then he'll get over it quick.
If it takes you longer to notice however. Things might end up requiring a much more bigger solution than just a few kisses and cuddles.
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Mr. Chopped
They're very cute!! He likes your plushies and how excited and cute you get when you talk about them!!
But... They're not as cute as him, right?
Expect to be showing him an equal amount of attention as you are your plushies as your introducing him to them.
He just gets so grumpy and jealous way too easily.
He very much requires you to gush about him just as much as you gush about these inanimate objects.
And as long as you do so he is pleased and content and can live in harmony with your plushies.
He takes note of the names and while he might not remember every last detail, he does like talking to you about them!!
He knows it's an easy way to make you happy and he very much likes making you happy!!
However you'll never know that sometimes when you're not looking, he's glaring at them.
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Mr. Silvair
While I don't think he really cares that much about the plushies, he is interested in humans. And you.
So he'll listen. It gives him a bit of insight to how not human minds work, but specifically yours.
This odd cute stuffed creatures bring you immense joy, he's not sure why, but he knows it does and he would like to know why.
Honestly it doesn't really matter what you do, everything to him provides him with more research.
That being said, it's not like it ends up being solely about his research.
He does end up finding himself being oddly endeared by your behavior and how happy you when talking about your plushies.
He's taking to placing them on your whenever you're upset or need comfort. Especially since he knows it works.
He can soft and sweet sometimes. At least when it comes to his favorite human, of course.
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Mr. Gap
The idea came to you when you saw him peeking out of a dark gap that was in your plushie pile!
He came to ask one of his typical questions, but you didn't let him get a word in!
You immediately just picked up one of your plushies and started talking about them!
He doesn't really quite find anything interesting about the plushies, but he is interested in you so!
He will listen to what you have to say. And he does know some of your plushies by name after you tell him about them.
Will occasionally show up with plushies he's found that he thinks you will like.
Of course you need to give him your heart to have them though!
You won't?
Well... he guesses he can settle for a kiss or something instead....
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Mr. Hood
He doesn't quite fully understand your deep attachment to these objects, but he'll support your love for them fully.
We already know he's a good teacher, but he's also one of the best listeners as well.
He will sit for however long it takes for you to share with him all of your plushies and their names and even lore if you have that for them as well.
He does find it rather endearing, even if he's not quite sure why he enjoys you talking about something for so long.
Will pat your head occasionally, if only he had a head that you could see because if he did he would have the softest smile on it as he watches you talk.
Truly experiencing you share this with him just puts an even deeper desire in him to protect you from any and all harm.
He will make sure and be guaranteed to protect that bright, beaming smile on your face that you have in this moment. At any cost.
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Mr. Machete
He does not give a shit.
Or at least that's what he says.
And well, to be fair, he is annoyed by your focus on these cute nonthreatening soft things instead of just sparing with him or something.
Don't ask him if he's jealous of your plushies, he'll deny it to ends of the earth.
Ignore that he's been acting grumpy since.
Just give him a little extra attention and he'll be fine.
Also seems like the kind to get cuteness aggression. But his cuteness aggression just leads to him wanting to fight you. And bite you. Maybe some scratching too. Basically he's not gonna be nice about it and just give you squeezing hugs or something lol
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itsa-me-lily · 2 days ago
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First of all, anyone with pets, this fic may fuck you up. It fucked me up and I wrote it. So please keep that in mind before reading this fic. This is for sure some of my own personal trauma I used to flavor this, that and my tears.
Second THE PIGS ARE OKAY IN THE END I PROMISE, spoilers I know but I felt like I needed to put that in advance
Third here is the other Military Program Spouse stuff
Fourth @nightunite I want to blame this on you but this is honestly all me
Content warning; anxiety, panicking, pet illness, discussion of pet death, concern that violence has been committed against reader, concern that reader is injured, angst
You were not a woman who needed her husband, but fuck was this a time you wanted him.
You had suspected something was up with boys. You couldn't tell if they were eating, and neither would come running to the edge of their enclosure to greet you when you came home. You tried not to panic, tried to ignore the tendrils of anxiety that wrapped around your lungs to strange them. This time was different. You weren't some kid who just graduated college and didn't have a clue. You knew better this time.
So you mixed up your CritCare, made the next available appointment with their vet, and remained determined that everything was going to be fine.
Then the wheezing started.
You had been on the cusp of sleep, your phone mocking you with the announcement of one am. You knew you needed to sleep, and yet you hadn't been able to. In the dark you could admit that you were scared. And that you had a reason to be.
You hadn't made the pull out bed, instead just planning on sleeping on the couch as is, incase something happened. You're thankful you had. It made scooping both Jiji and Tombo to abscond to the bathroom easier, the three of you sitting against the door as the hot running shower filled the tiny room with steam. It would help. It had to.
Only it didn't. Ten minutes later and they still sounded so terrible. You could feel the fear starting to churn your stomach. What if you couldn't fix it? What if you were too late again and-Your breath hitched as you tried not to spiral. It had to be different this time but-your eyes burned as you tried to ignore the urge to cry. You were so alone. Simon was out on some overnight lieutenant training, and you were alone in your bathroom with your boys who were absolutely everything to you and they sounded so sick and what if you couldn't make them, what if it was just like last time where you tried and tried and it still didn't make them any better and you lost them and-
You can't help the sob that ripped out of your chest, holding the boys a little tighter. You needed to do something. You have to do something because your boys needed you to. Sniffling, you tried to unlock your phone to check where the ER vet is, only it opens to the conversation you had with Simon.
'If anything happens call Soap.'
You were sure that Simon had probably meant if there was some sort of human emergency, when he had offered up his best friend, but you were desperate. Without really thinking about it you were dialing the Scot, breath hitching as you tried to get it under control. The endless ringing just made the anxiety wring your insides. You were about to give up when at the last second a voice came on the line, disoriented and thick with sleep.
"'ello?"
"J-Johnny?"
You hadn't meant for your voice to crack when you said his name, but just hearing another person meant that you didn't have to try this alone and the relief that crashed over you made you a little weak.
"I need help."
Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish, liked to think that he was a man prepared for anything. He was a solider, a demolition expert, he could make anything blow with just the right amount of faith, trust, and c-4. He was ready to fly out to whatever corner of the world needed him to kick ass.
He was not ready to hear Ghost's wife, which that was an odd sentence in and of itself, almost crying down the line as she called him in the dead of night. You hadn't even finished saying his name and Johnny was already rolling out of bed, looking for anything to throw on.
Image after terrible image flashed through his mind as he heard your plea for help. Had someone broken in? Were you hurt? One awful thought struck him of you cowering somewhere until the person determined to get revenge on Ghost found you. No. He couldn't panic. You already sounded distressed and he couldn't help you if he lost his head. Johnny was a professional.
"Hen, need you to tell me where you are."
"At-at the house-"
"Is anyone else there?"
"N-no."
Johnny would have sagged with relief if he wasn't so busy shoving his feet into his boots and already halfway out the door. Not a break in, at least as far as you were aware. It didn't rule out you being hurt though.
"Listen I'll be there in ten, don't move."
"But the boys-"
Looking back, Johnny probably should have let you finish before ending the call, but in his defense he had a twenty minute drive to cut in half, and an LT to notify. He wasn't really sure what the relationship between the two of you was, but he had been there the night Ghost had overheard some private talk about you, and Ghost hadn't taken kindly to it.
Of course, the private needed to be socked a few times given what he was saying, but still, as far as he had known his LT hadn't even wanted to be in the spousal program until Price threatened him with extra psych meetings. Then next thing Johnny new Ghost was defending your honor and asking him to keep an eye on ya when he was out of town. So whatever the hell was going on between the two of you, Johnny wasn't going to fuck it up.
Which was how he was now at the closest emergency vet visit, trying to keep you from crying further while someone looked at your guinea pigs. Even he could admit the poor guys had sounded awful in the car.
He had tried not to push, even if he had been frustrated when he had first arrived at Ghost's home. He had spent ten minutes driving like the devil was chasing him, imagining you laying there with a broken neck or worse, and you had been perfectly fine, standing there at the door talking about needing a vet.
Johnny had had half a mind to give you an earful of what constituted as a past midnight call for help, but before he had the chance to, your face had crumbled and it was over for him. He was taking you and two guinea pigs to the vets.
He watched as you picked at your cuticles, seeming to need some sort of distraction, though he couldn't tell how well it was working given the way you seemed to be staring at the floor. Just as he was about to reach out to stop you from making yourself bleed for the third time, his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He was pretty sure he knew who was calling at this hour.
He didn't even bother checking the ID before answering, stepping away, not that you noticed.
"Hey LT."
"Status report MacTavish."
"Missus is okay. The wee ones got taken back. Now we're just waiting."
"...Thank you Johnny."
That was unexpected. Sure Ghost wasn't a complete bastard, but the genuine gratitude that came through the line was...shocking. He didn't know if it was for driving you while you were upset or even just being there. He wasn't sure if Ghost even knew.
"Any time Simon."
"How is-"
Johnny didn't mean to cut the man off, but a man in mint green scrubs had come out calling for last name Riley, and he didn't want to leave you alone to get whatever news was coming.
"They just called for us. Update you later."
He probably shouldn't have hung up just like that, but well he figured Ghost would appreciate the dedication to keeping you upright this evening.
It was an upper raspatory infection, is what Soap told him the vet had said. Simon didn't know how two guinea pigs who never left the house got infections like that, but according to Soap who had said according to the vet, that you had caught it early enough and a course of antibiotics would help.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he remembered getting Soap's messages, at first the worry that something had happened to you, and then the concern later when it was clear that it was the pigs.
Simon knew you had some sort of trauma in regards to them. There was no way that the level of hypervigilance you had in regards to them wasn't. He had seen it other service members before. Hell he lived it, that constant nagging feeling that if you weren't aware of everything all the time, then something was going to get you. It hadn't been until he had asked about the two wooden boxes on your nightstand that he had started to understand.
You'd had two other guinea pigs before, pets you had gotten to sooth the loneliness right after college. And of course you loved them, loved them just as much as you loved your boys now. Only you hadn't known then what to look out for with sick guinea pigs.
Simon could remember the sad look in your eyes as you had brushed your fingers along the top of one wooden urn. You had tried so hard to nurse them back to health, did everything you could, went to the vet as often as you could afford to, but you had been trying to catch up to a loosing race. Simon had pretended not to notice how you had tried not to let any tears spill over as you explained it all to him. So now, with Jiji and Tombo, he could see how that would probably send you spiraling.
Really he owed Soap at least a drink the next time they went out, even if at four in the morning the Scot had tried to brush off any gratitude from when he reported to Simon that everyone was back home where they were supposed to be. He knew he didn't say it enough, but Simon was grateful that Soap had his six, and in this case yours.
Pulling up to the driveway, Simon braced himself for whatever laid waiting for him at high noon. It was the best possible anticlimactic. You asleep on the couch clear bags under your eyes, and two little pigs poking their heads out of their hideys to see what was going on now.
Making his way over he knelt down next to the cage, watching as Jiji stuck his head out a little further to even accept the gentle brushing of Simon's finger. The antibiotics must have already been helping.
"Alright you two, it's time to get better now. You can't go breaking your mum's heart."
Edit;
Jiji and Tombo make a full recovery and are back to being their adorable menacing selves in no time. Baker thankfully never got sick because he was being quarantined due to the ringworm
Also this is incredibly emotional for me, because I loved all my boys I've had, and I'd do all over again, the medication runs, vet visits, syringe feedings, if it meant that they got better. So even if it's in this world, to have piggies get better means a lot.
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lumitoiile · 1 day ago
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xiao : [crapbag.]
☆ — fluff; he takes care of you while you're sick. gn! reader (no pronouns.)
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"achoo!" 
you sniffle, nose red as you stare up at your ceiling in annoyance. ugh. you've been bedridden all morning, sneezing and coughing up a fit. you can't even remember how you got sick in the first place... it's all a blur. your head feels light and your thoughts have started to grow delirious. 
"this sucks," you groan, reaching over for a tissue on the nightstand and nearly falling off your bed in the process. why'd you have to get sick today, of all days? you'd been planning to visit xiao this afternoon, but...that's obviously out of the question now, given the circumstances. you barely even had enough energy to walk to the bathroom this morning. 
you sigh, leaning back onto your pillow after loudly blowing your nose. after trying your best to make yourself a little more comfortable, you gently hover your hands over your eyelids, keeping them shut. mmn...cold hands. that feels nice. a yawn escapes your mouth, satisfied tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. "i wonder what xiao's up to right now," you whisper. 
well, it’s not like the two of you are particularly close or anything—you hardly even qualify as friends, and knowing him, no progress was going to be made there any time soon. ‘human interaction is quite troublesome,’ so he says. but something about him feels…lonely, in your eyes. or maybe it’s sad? you can’t tell. it’s hard to get a good read on that guy, mister ‘i don’t feel emotion like you mortals do.’ 
“it’s you.”
you jolt at the sudden voice, sitting upright and frantically scanning the room for its source. and low and behold, there he is, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. uh oh. he looks irritated.
”xiao…?” you blink a few times, rubbing your eyes to try and convince yourself he’s actually real, standing here before you. up until he spoke, you hadn’t even heard or noticed him. “wh—where the hell did you come from?”
he lets out a tired sigh, gold eyes narrowing. “you called out my name, did you not?” he says it like it should be obvious. “but you don’t seem to be in any danger…why have you summoned me?”
”what are you—“ oh. that’s right, you remember him saying something about that…whoopsie! you give him a sheepish smile. “s-sorry,” you mutter, voice raspy and laced in sick. “it was an accident. nothing's wrong, j-just feeling a little under the weather is all. you should leave before i get you sick too…”
he looks like he wants to roll his eyes. “you shouldn't worry over something so foolish. we adepti do not get sick," he scoffs. 
you nearly facepalm. ah, right. he said pretty much the same thing about sleeping a little while ago. regardless, you stumble out of bed, struggling to steady yourself as you plant your feet and lean onto the nightstand. "i still don't want to give you any of my icky germs. you should...you should go."
you're tempted to start pushing him toward the door, but that would defeat the purpose of trying to keep your germs away. he notices this and stares at you for a moment before letting out another sigh, speaking in a low voice. "you're in no condition to be left here alone."
"w-what are you talking about? i'm completely fine," you lie, holding back a wicked cough and chuckling awkwardly. "really, you don't to stay here. its...not even that bad! see?"
his gaze on you is intense and his eyebrows furrow. "your complexion is scaring me. please sit down."
"i'm telling you, i'm fine—" you try to take another step toward him, as if to prove that you're capable of doing so, but the archons don't seem to be on your side today because your knee gives out and you fall over again.
oh shit.
xiao's at your side in an instant, catching you and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding your own over his neck as he keeps you steady. "i told you," he scowls, eyes narrowed. "you need to be more careful." 
you start hastily start sputtering out apologies, but he pays you no mind as he effortlessly lifts you back onto your bed, pulling his touch away quickly as if he might hurt you somehow. "just—stay here. don't move," he mutters. "i'll...look after you."
your heart nearly stops and you start to feel your face getting warm, though this time it isn't from your sickness. did you hear him correctly? "y-you don't have to do that! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself...really, i'm sure you have other things to do."
he doesn't say anything. instead, he takes note of your red face and leans a little closer, very carefully brushing his fingers against your forehead. this, of course, only makes your cheeks heat up even more. he frowns, oblivious to your embarrassment as he pulls away. "you seem to have a fever...have you taken any medication?"
you nod, face flushed. "um...yeah, i took some a little while ago. i really am fine, you don't need to—"
but he's already dashed off to who knows where, the sound of rummaging through cabinets and water running easily heard from down the hall. he returns a moment later with a cold wet rag, wrung out for your use. he stares at you awkwardly for a moment before handing it to you. "...here."
you give him a soft smile and take it from him, gratefully draping the rag over your forehead with a content sigh. "whew. that feels...a lot better, actually...thank you. the cold feels nice."
he nods, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "do you...need anything else? can i perhaps make you something?"
you bite back the urge to snort. "what, like cook? you know how to cook?" 
his expression changes, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was nearly pouting. "i'm not incompetent. of course i can cook. though i'll admit, it isn't particularly my favorite thing in the world. its not like i have any need for food in the first place."
you let out a soft chuckle. that's right...he doesn't need to eat. strange. he seemed awfully happy back when you made him that almond tofu...well, as happy as he can get, at least. he's so pissy all the time.
you nod at his question. "i was gonna make myself some soup earlier, but..." you shrug. "i've been stuck in bed all day and never actually got around to it."
"soup..." he gives you a single nod as he walks away back into your kitchen. oh, jeez. here we go...you call out a thank you as he leaves, really hoping he wasn't lying when he said he could cook. you can hear the opening of cabinets as he rummages through your stuff, looking for everything he needs.
a moment later, you call out to him again. "hey, xiao?" 
he stops what he's doing and the noises pause, perking up at the sound of his name. "yes?"
you smile softly. "please don't burn my house down."
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sankta-wraith · 1 day ago
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I’m about halfway through season three, and I’d just like to take a moment and look at how losing Rose has changed the Doctor.
First the obvious things: he’s more serious. During his time with Rose, he was mostly cheerful, funny, and generally quite positive. There were a few darker moments, but for the most part he had a pretty sunny personality, especially when he was with Rose. In season three, while he still tries to maintain his happy personality, he occasionally slips into melancholy and his cheerfulness often feels like a bit of a facade. This isn’t to say that there aren’t moments when he’s genuinely happy, but they seem to be far less frequent than the durst two seasons. He smiles less. He doesn’t have as many quips. He’s barely laughed at all. But that’s to be expected. He just lost someone he loved; it makes sense for him to be more withdrawn and sad.
The thing that struck me the most was how reckless he’s become. He’s always been a bit reckless, but he’s also tried to avoid things that will most likely kill him. He might be constantly getting himself into very dangerous situations, but he (almost) always thinks of some way to not die. (I think it’s because he knows that if he dies the Time Lords die with him, but that’s a different post.) In season three, he’s practically suicidal. So far, he’s allowed himself to come dangerously close to death at least five times, some seemingly without expecting to survive.
First was in episode one, when he let the Plasmavore drink his blood so she wouldn’t register as human on the scanner. He had no companion at the time, so he couldn’t have expected anyone to come for him. Even if someone had found him, they would have needed to do a blood transfusion, and since he’s not human it’s unlikely that human blood would save him. (I’m actually not sure how he survived that. Martha gave him CPR, but that didn’t fix the blood loss issue.) Even knowing all of that, he still allowed the Plasmavore to drain his blood without hesitation. He technically could have regenerated, but that didn’t seem to be part of his plan. I’m still not quite sure how regeneration works, but I’m pretty sure he has to be conscious for it to happen, and he was definitely unconscious when Martha found him.
The second time was when the Carrionite did he voodoo doll thing. This is admittedly a weaker example, since he does have two hearts, but I’m not entirely convince that he knew he’s be able to restart his other heart. He can clearly survive with just one heart (at least for a little bit,) but it significantly weakened him and it’s unclear how long he would have survived it. Had he been unable to get both hearts working, he probably would have died later when his remaining heart gave out under the strain, or been finished off later by the Carrionites and unable to defend himself. And yet he seems remarkably unconcerned, even when he realizes what she going to do. This isn’t to say that he wasn’t worried, but maybe not as worried as he should have been.
Third is when he willingly offers himself up to the Daleks, fully expecting them to kill him. This is one of the best examples, because he is 100% convinced that they are going to kill him. He’s so convinced that it actually comes as a shock when they decide not to kill him on the spot. Sacrificing himself makes sense in this situation, but it was a bit shocking how fast he agreed. I had expected to frantically try to come up with a plan, or at least to try fighting, before he decided to sacrifice himself. I certainly hadn’t expected him to straight up tell them to kill him.
Fourth was when he put himself in the direct path of a lightning strike/gamma ray burst on the off chance that some of his DNA would get transferred. Again this is an excellent example because not only did he put himself in its path, he actually held onto a lightning rod and wouldn’t let go for the duration of the gamma ray burst. There’s also the small fact that said lightning rod was on the top of the Empire State Building, and if the lighting and radiation hadn’t killed him a fall probably could’ve. That is literally the definition of suicidal.
The fifth and (so far) final time was when he, once again, sacrificed himself to the Daleks and demanded they kill him. Yes he knew that the Dalek-humans had some Time Lord DNA in them, but he still couldn’t be sure it would be enough. If you still don’t believe that he’s suicidal, I think seeing him stand in a room full of people with lasers/guns and telling them all to kill him should convince you. If even that doesn’t work, then you should consider the fact that the last three all happen in the same episode.
Let it never be said that losing Rose didn’t affect the Doctor.
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jiminy-crickets · 1 day ago
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saw the tags on your rb, and as a fellow "connor bedard has autism" headcanoner, i would love to know more of your thoughts 😈
it's less of a headcanon and more of a divinely correct vibe check. but like am i wrong...???? although I do see it more as they're the same flavour of ND with different presentations, like Connor is hyperfocus ADHD, and Macklin is inattentive (this comes from someone with mixed presentation ADHD¹, they also tried to diagnose me with austim but my legs were too long i make eye contact BUT!!! 93rd% "indicating that Cassie has many behavioural characteristics similar to youth diagnosed with ASD." raaaaa 💪💪💪 93% is an A!! i ace even the tests i fail!!!) Plus his rigidity with his diet, is bonkers for someone that young (and it's been going on since he was like 14-15)
Like especially with the way that Connor's constant practicing, after practice until the zamboni kicks him off, and then on off days and optional skates hiding his gear to make him take days off?? that is pretty classic hyperfocus ADHD. And especially with the way he blames the teams loses on himself, like please sir seeing you in the mirror is not good for my health!!
And with Macklin, people often mischaracterize inattentive ADHD with not being motivated or good at routine and while yes those two things are a normal part of human life, and more-so with ADHD, he has shown many times how deeply he cares about hockey........ but I think (and also remember i am projecting) his father being THAT hands on with him and his brothers training (even now which yuck, you have your own job get your grubby paws off of your kid's job) has made him unable to self propel, and get himself into that routine? (AND AGAIN I AM PROJECTING) like something Macklin has said a few times is how the shift to a pro-hockey schedule has been hard, and yes it is an adjustment, but he has been essentially living away from his parents for YEARS, two years boarding at Shattuckk, one year (presumably) billeting in Chicago while playing in the USHL, and one year in college at BU, and I think the real shift is that... daddy is planning his workouts again, full time not just summers (also, the travaling doesn't help) AND THAT (i am projecting) is HELL to someone who built a routine, and any hope of getting back into one was dashed when he went of IR for his hip after one game. the boy needs CONSISTENCY!!!!! And until they get him 1) away from his freak father who has his hands al over his development plan, and 2) on simple routine with max five types of days (home game, home practice, home rest, away game, away rest) he will not get situated.
BACK TO BEDARD <33333
the man loves rules and procedures. him at his first training camp all doe eyed and "wanting to make the team!" so much that Kyle Davidson... maybe it was Luke Richardson who said it...??? either way his coach or his GM pulled aside his MOTHER to tell them that they needed to start looking at apartments. Before getting drafted it was never "when" it was "if i get drafted".... like dude.... it's gonna happen! Whenever he get's sen't to the box its always a "they hate me, don't they know I am unable to break rules!! not because they don't apply to me but because I can NOT break rules!" vibe (I am only kinda projecting on this one)
and I do think the type of media around them during their developmental years up has affected them, Macklin's media was always focused on his father, which reinforced his reliance/dependence on him, whereas Connor's was focused on him which encouraged him to focus on himself and what HE can do to improve.
also Connor has that DOG IN HIM
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^ connor bedard real not fake (also my childhood psychologist had this PROMENENTLY displayed in her office and i think seeing it every two weeks had an adverse affect on me)
¹ and a bunch of other learning disorders, dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyscalculia, audio processing disorder, also anxiety, depression, and cutie patootie disease (fatal 😔)
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hollowsart · 3 days ago
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Thaal Sinestro of Korugar
-cracks knuckles-
Here's ALL of his lore that I cooked up:
(warning for: the sheer ungodly length of this, mentions of death, and a low-key humorous mention of alien physiology at the end cuz I couldn't help myself--)
(Some of this might still be a slight work in progress and/or may be subject to change later on. I'm not sure yet.)
-----
Backstory:
It wasn’t supposed to end that way. He wanted her to be safe and far away from the threat of action. Unfortunately.. he had made a mistake and it cost him greatly. Both heart and mind.
The loss of his wife.. the loss of his best friend, Abin Sur’s sister.. it caused quite the disruption in their friendship.
Some time well after that horrible event, Sinestro and Abin got into an altercation. An argument while out on duty. Abin had heard of Sinestro’s plans, but he didn’t agree with them. Both men were already still rocky and broken from the loss of Arin. So, when Sinestro was plotting some way of utilizing his GL powers to enforce order and protection.. no matter how unreasonable. Abin Sur lashed out. Calling him crazy, delusional, that nothing will ever bring her back.
Sinestro.. well.. he wasn’t thinking and without any ill intention.. he attacked Abin Sur. He only wanted to try and reason with him. He didn’t mean to do it.. but a stray blast from his ring managed to wreck the ship they were traveling in.. and the blast severely damaged Abin Sur.
..Sinestro fled the ship in horror, not seeing the fate of his friend as the ship hurtled down to a particular blue planet. The thought of having presumably killed his own partner and friend on top of having already dealt with the loss of his wife.. well.
That absolutely destroyed him. Shattered him so deeply.. he’s grown distant. Disconnected and apathetic. Bottling up, locking away, and throwing the key away with his emotions..
This was the beginning of the end of his GL career.. and the lead up to him being picked up by the Yellow Corps. The immense fear and angst building up inside him being strong enough he found a new life with the Yellow Lanterns. However, he couldn’t take the life and went rogue. Taking the ring with him and starting his own little sect.
----
imagine. some late series episode that ends with a little close up of some guy who looks a bit like Vincent Price for some reason lowering his newspaper and staring in Guy & Feste's direction as they head back home for the day after having a chat at some outdoor cafe.
you don't know who this weird guy is until it's later revealed that it was Sinestro. He ALSO used his ring to go incognito and appear human so as not to attract any attention while he "stalks" Guy & Feste for some reason idk I didn't think this far.
---
it kinda adds weight to the act of killing him. but like.. it probably killed Sinestro, too.. to do it. maybe it was an accident..? unintentional… during a fight.. and Sinestro was hiding it. and although Guy reminds him of Abin Sur… he hates Guy because he reminds him of Abin Sur and what he did to him. like a weird sort of "reincarnation" thing?? if that makes sense??
Guy being so angry at Sinestro for what he did feels almost cathartic for Sinestro cuz he knows he deserves it.
---
Sinestro sees occasional visions of his wife and friend begging and pleading for his help that will never come. This fuels his fear to power his ring. he needs fear to wield it. and that is a big fear. the repetitive action of losing his wife and friend and not being able to do anything about it.
---
Miscellaneous:
Soranik Natu was given the Natu surname as she was raised by another family. whether on Ungara or Korugar is undecided, but she does keep it.
Sinestro was unable to continue raising her as he was in no condition to do so, and Arin was.. well. out of the picture.
Sinestro sees Soranik and hears her name and he knows that's his daughter and he feels sick. She looks like her mother, he can see it. There's the underlying fear of what she may think of him and how much she may take after him. He is very aware of the terrible things he has done but he is blinded, in a sense, thinking what he is doing is for the greater good. to protect people..
To protect Soranik.
From a fate that fell upon Arin Sur and many others.
---
Soranik is like a combination of the two. her horns are smaller and so are her ears. she has tiny "tusks" (fangs?) compared to her mom.
but she also has elements similar to her dad.
also I can't help but think about Sinestro saying he wishes for his daughter to not become like him, but to instead become more like her mother. honor her memory. it's a terrible loss for the universe for someone like Arin Sur to no longer be in it..
---
I 100% want there to be a moment in an episode where Sinestro's backstory is revealed. like… his life he had up to when Guy first met him. We get to see just how tragic his backstory is.
There's been some subtle little hints here and there before, like someone from on Oa hearing Guy make a remark about Sinestro's weird earring and they tell him what they know.. how it's actually something very meaningful, a combination of two races and their culture. how it is a show of respect and mourning..
the mourning rituals of both Ungarans and Korugarians came together when Sinestro lost Arin. The piercings worn by those who lost a partner from Korugar.. and the wearing of a specific flora from Ungara..
Sinestro's mournful earring has a unique flora depicted hanging from it. A custom metal made to resemble that flora from Ungara.. to honor the memory of Arin Sur. He wears it always except when bathing or resting, but he keeps it with him ever so close at all times.
Should he lose that earring at all… well…
we might just see Sinestro become a Red Lantern.
---
I do kinda like the idea that Ungara and Korugar are relatively close planets with their own races inhabiting them. and because of this, the two races are uniquely compatible, genetically speaking, which leads to how Soranik Natu was born at all when Thaal Sinestro got with Abin Sur's sister, Arin Sur. Sinestro & Arin were the first ones to discover this.
Also, Ungarans are taller than Korugarians. Soranik stands a little taller than Sinestro.
Sinestro is 5'5" (average)
Soranik is 5'9"
Arin & Abin Sur: 6'6" 6'8" (average)
---
(Warning for alien physiology talk & humor)
what if Sinestro has never seen a human before and the first time he sees Guy shirtless in the Oa locker room he notices Guy only has 2 n1ps and Sinestro is like:
"Only 2? However will you feed all your young? Surely they should starve with such a lack of bodily provisions."
And Guy stands there extremely confused. Asks him what in the ever-loving heck he's talking about. Sinestro responds by merely removing his own clothes and presents his 8 n1ps.
Guy is understandably disturbed by the implications now registering in his mind.
If Guy ever mentions pregnancy, Sinestro responds "The women carry the young and the men provide for the young. ..What does your kind do? Don't tell me the women do all the work and that you're utterly useless? You humans are quite the odd creature."
Guy is very much offended.
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anemonelovesfiction · 3 days ago
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Use Your Words
Lo’ak x Fem Human Reader x Tsireya
Warnings ⚠️: Established Relationship (between Lo’ak and Tsireya), Virgin! Reader, Fingering!, Eating out! (Mostly) Voyeur Lo’ak! (Except you know he’s there, and he speaks)
MDNI 🔞
Reader (you) has a tendency to stare at and avoid Tsireya outside of a group setting, so she gets asked why she does this, but you can’t come up with a clear answer, so Lo’ak and Tsireya coax the answer out of you, but you avoid answering her, so her and her mate figure out a plan to get you to use your words
Translation Station
Olo’eyktan: Clan Leader
Marui: Home
Tsmuke: Sister
Tawtute: Sky Person (human)
Sa’nu: Mum, Mommy
Tsakarem: Tsahik in training
Irayo: Thank you
Marui: Home (in Metkayina)
Srane: Yes
Paysyul: Water Lily
Tewng: Loincloth
Yawne: Beloved
Syulang: Flower
Tswin: Neural Queue
Word Count: 5.9 k
My fingers worked diligently as they continued braiding the leather bracelet in my hands, weaving the braids tightly together to maintain its shape, my mind working a million miles a minute as I attempt to finish this bracelet while watching the beautiful goddess before me. Her hands coming to squeeze her hair from the excess water it was carrying, watching as the water dribbles down her forearms and drip off her elbows, eyes shamefully looking between the valley of her breasts and watching as the water glides down her cleavage.
I feel a heavy heat settling on my face right as Lo’ak comes into view to greet her, my eyes finding my fingers as they continue weaving through the bracelet I planned to give Tuktirey for her birthday, noticing that my weaving looked consistent. A sigh leaves my lips as I find a natural stopping point, wanting to pick back up at a later time to give my fingers some much needed rest, and possibly stop myself from continuing to stare at the teal woman several feet away from me.
“You stared at her for less time.”
I looked back up to see Neteyam side-eyeing me, a small smirk playing at his lips as he looks at me, eyes turning back on his own work, he was attempting to make a proper courting gift for one of the girls in the clan that had managed to capture his attention.
After his almost fatal attempt being deemed heroic by the Olo’eyktan of the Metkayina, most girls decided it was the appropriate time to flaunt themselves and their skills toward Neteyam, in hopes of being chosen as his mate and having the ultimate bragging rights. But very few had decided to keep their distance from him, one of which had managed to capture his heart, as she treated him with a kindness that wasn’t out of pity.
“Why don’t you tell them how you feel?” He asks as he snaps me out of my own thoughts. The beach was in perfect view from the marui we resided in, which is why Lo’ak had decided to run off the second he’d seen Tsireya coming up the shoreline, feeling myself ducking my head out of embarrassment as I came to realize I’d been staring at them again.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoff at his words, physically turning my body to face his to prevent myself from zoning out at the two on the beach, jealousy filling my body as I think of how easy it is for them to be together, regardless of how different they were from one another.
“What?” He asks at his own suggestion, stopping himself from working on his craft as he turns his head to look up at me, shrugging his shoulders as he notices nothing wrong with the question he’s asked, it warmed my heart that he thought of me as his family enough to not notice the obvious difference.
“It’s sweet that you think of me as your tsmuke, Neteyam, but you have to be honest with yourself and remember that I’m tawtute, not na’vi.” I stated.
“You might just be surprised if you put yourself out there.” He speaks while shrugging his shoulders, it almost sounded as though he’d been alluding to something but I couldn’t help the eye roll piercing through as I shake my head at the same time.
“When are you finally going to tell Ayari you like her?” I asked, flipping the script and watching as his once cobalt blue skin flushes with a purple tinge, a blush covering his features and I couldn’t help but let a smile cover mine.
“At least I’m working on it.” He stated simply before going back to work on his craft.
_________
“Pff,” I huff as I begin to think about Neteyam’s suggestion earlier, I had currently been walking toward Ronal’s healing hut with a heavy basket in my hands, struggling to carry it with all of the contents inside, but it was mostly my fault I’d been in this situation in the first place.
I had lot’s of plants whose healing properties were needed for the Tsahik and instead of placing them in my human sized basket to make two trips, I’d selfishly placed them in a pattern where none of them would get smushed, in a Na’Vi sized basket instead, using my hip to hold onto the bottom as my hands struggled to carry the sides.
I would have also been a panting mess had I not been stubborn, I refused to show anyone around me any weakness and had to pretend I was doing just fine, I’d gotten several double takes as the people had seen me walk around the woven walkway, the bouncing action making carrying the basket almost unbearable, but now that I was feeling the sand in my toes and the hut was in view, I couldn’t turn back.
As I approached the hut with the basket barely in my grasp I wondered how I was going to get through the curtains without taking the entire length of them in with me, but by some miracle, or Eywa selfishly listening in to the thoughts of my mind, they were split down the middle as a teal arm had held them out of the way, as I look up to excuse myself to whoever was above me I tense, the basket nearly dropping before my fingers flexed and grasped them harder.
“How are you carrying that?” Her voice was mixed with confusion and awe a she steps out of the way, keeping her hand on the curtain she had held and gives me a walkway toward the desk I usually set my basket on.
“You have decided to become efficient, Y/n.” Ronal was quick to spare a glance at me before settling her mortar and pestle down, she appears to have just finished cleaning it as she stretches, her hands placed on her lower back for some support, I’m sure her pregnant belly was heavy as she lets out a content sigh, I ignored her comment.
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” I replied almost automatically, not wanting to have ignored Tsireya’s comment as I answered her mother, but truly not knowing what to say to answer her question, but by the looks of it, it appeared as though she would be leaving soon either way, but I held my breath out of my own anxiousness.
“It is appreciated.” Ronal answered as she stands from the chair she had been sitting in, her sigh being an indication that she had been done with whatever task she had been working on, ready to begin the next.
“I will see you later, I must go meet with your father, Y/n can help you put the herbs away.” She is quick to answer and I can feel the hairs on my body stand at attention at her remark. How was I supposed to spend the entire afternoon helping Tsireya put stuff away when I couldn’t hold a proper conversation with her outside of the group setting?
“Alright Sa’nu,” She replies to her mother as I stiffly turn my neck over to watch as Ronal gingerly takes Tsireya’s cheeks in her hands, leaning down to kiss her daughters forehead, my cheeks growing hot at the display of affection between the two, my face turning back immediately as my hand reaches out to fiddle with the herbs and plants in the basket.
_________
I could only focus on properly picking the herbs apart as I placed the stems into one basket and the leaves in another, eyes scaling the stems gently before moving onto the next, ensuring that each leaf has been plucked off and each stem was bare.
The leaves from the herb I currently had in my hands were used in cooking dishes to enhance the flavor of the dish itself, kind of like a seasoning that was favored here, the stem, however, is ground up into a paste using an oil to help break it down. Since I was not the tsakarem I was not allowed to tamper with the mixings and makings of the medicine they used, but I could help around with organization, stocking, and plucking.
I’d been sitting silently as to not interrupt with Tsireya’s concentration, but it was proving to be difficult as I’d often find myself looking up to steal glances at the beautiful teal woman, grateful to Eywa that she had not captured my stare with her own, slight sweat starting to build on my brow as I nervously plucked along and settled the stem into its basket, feeling her hand touch mine as she had taken that opportunity to grab more stems for the paste she was making.
My hand is quick to move back but her light hearted laughter is what catches me off guard, I had not expected to hear such a melodious sound so early in the afternoon, my eyes curiously reaching up and feeling my body freeze as I met hers.
“If I didn’t know any better I would assume you disliked me,” She speaks as she places the few strands of stem she had grabbed into the mixture she held, moving the pestle along the shape of the mortar to grind the stem down.
I had no idea if I should fake a small, laugh, or think of a response to her words, kind of sitting there and staring at her like an idiot seemed to be the only option I had at that moment, but I wasn’t expecting her to end up looking back at me and watch her smile drop as I stared at her, was I being a creep?
“Is that why you don’t speak to me when we are alone?” She asks as if a sudden realization had hit her, her ears lowering slightly as she asks her question and I could only stupidly stare at her, uncertain of what to say.
“I guess I hadn’t realized I did that,” I hadn’t meant for those words to leave my mouth, it happened to be the first thought to run through my head, and unfortunately out of my mouth. I could see as Tsireya looks away from me, shaking her head slightly as she smiles, focusing on the paste before her.
“Lo’ak believes I am crazy for thinking you avoid me.” I could feel my eyes widen at her confession as she had stated it so evenly, no wobble detected in her voice. I could only swallow as her eyes meet mine again, the smile she had never leaving her lips, and I could feel my breath being taken away at that moment, a slight burn in my chest the longer I stared at her.
“I-“ I stop myself from speaking as I attempt to draw in a breath at the same time, feeling that burning sensation going away before clearing my throat.
“I don’t mean to avoid you.” I answered her again but felt my voice quiver and wanted to punch myself for having shown too much emotion.
“Why do you?” She asks and it felt like a punch to the gut and I hadn’t expected her to be this bold with her questions today.
“…” What do I say at this point, I avoid you because I like you, but I also like the guy I grew up with at the same time because my mind does not comprehend how to like just one person?
“I have to go-“ I mutter before standing abruptly and leaving the healing hut. Feeling as though the air from the hut was too hot, the sweat running down my forehead wasn’t helping cool my skin, until the breeze calmed me down as soon as I was out of the hut.
_________
“So this is where you’ve been hiding out, huh?” Lo’aks voice breaks me out of my concentration and I can feel my heart begin to race, I’d decided against going to dinner to avoid Tsireya once more, not wanting our conversation to pick up where it left off, especially if Lo’ak was around, that would be embarrassing.
But I’d also taken the opportunity to avoid Lo’ak as well, since I’d had an inkling that Tsireya may have told him what had happened, leading the two of them to confront me together, and that was a bridge I wasn’t willing to cross.
“Wasn’t feeling good,” I muttered past my lips without sparing him a glance, lying to him as I answered, finally realizing that my fingers had stopped braiding the bracelet I wanted to finish for Tuk, trying and failing to remember which strand went next.
“You’re lucky I pay attention.” He mentions as he squats in front of me, sliding something my into my lap, my eyes snapping up to meet his, moving my gaze to settle upon my lap and seeing a slice of fruit there, I couldn’t bring myself to concentrate, bracelet me damned, I’d lost my place with it anyway.
I could see his hands meet one another as he interlocks his fingers from the corners of my eye, I could feel his stare burning holes at the top of my head, feeling a heat rise up to my cheeks, choosing to not say another word as I couldn’t think of anything smart at the moment.
“Irayo,” I surprise myself by breaking the silence, not having realized I’d spoken until the heat rose to my cheeks once more.
“You look fine to me,” He replies to my previous comment about not feeling well. I could only stare up at him through my lashes as I attempt to scramble my thoughts for a reasonable lie.
“Think before you speak, Y/n.” He warns and I felt as though I had been caught in a lie- which I had been- I could only duck my head and avoided eye contact with him, unsure of what to do with my hands and kept them by my side, the juices of the fruit starting to stain my thighs as I left it there.
“I didn’t want to go to dinner.” I only feel some relief for revealing half the truth, knowing he was going to question me, not knowing how to respond to whatever question he’d have.
“Why did you not want to go to dinner?” He asks, one of his brows raising in the process, I could feel the shame start to swallow me whole as I bit my lip, not wanting to answer.
Because I was avoiding your mate didn’t sound like a practical answer, but his gaze was too intense to look away from.
“Because I wasn’t feeling goo-“ I started by going with the first thought in my head, not getting far enough to complete the sentence as he cuts me off with an eye roll and a stern voice.
“Try again.”
I scoff at his words and let a nervous laugh escape my lips, disbelief filling my features as I look back over at him, his face looking unamused.
“Lo’ak, I’m telling the truth-“
“So this is where you disappear to, I would have thought you went chasing after Tsireya.” Neteyam jokes as he enters the marui, and I couldn’t have felt more relieved that he’d walked in at that moment.
I could feel the anger radiating off of Lo’ak as I feel my shoulders relax, thankful that Neteyam had chosen that moment to walk in, I don’t think I could have faced telling him the truth.
_________
The cool breeze into the night had scattered across my skin as I sat on the beach with my toes buried in the sand. My hair had been flowing freely as each curly strand decided to dance in its own way, I allow a sigh to pass my lips as I stared out into the water before feeling the weight of a familiar hand drape itself across my shoulders.
I turn my head with a soft smile, he returns the smile but it does not meet his eyes, his brows furrowing as soon as he’s sat right beside me.
“What is it?” I asked without having to dive too deep into the question, knowing he was going to understand what I meant, I’m thinking his talk with Y/n did not go very well. I reach over to grasp his hand in mine and give him a reassuring squeeze.
“She avoided answering my question.” He stated somberly, I could see him tighten his jaw as soon as his mouth closed and I could feel his frustration.
“What do you think we should do?” I asked as I sat beside him, face turning back to the lapping waves of the ocean, the splashes calming me down enough to return my breathing to normal.
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” He asks as he lets my hand go, and places them on his head as his knees come close to his chest, his thoughts must be going wild right about now.
“I dreamt about the three of us together and it felt right, I believe it was a sign from Eywa, so I told my mother about it-“
“You told your mom?” His was in disbelief, his legs outstretched immediately as he looked at me with widened eyes, I would have laughed had it not been a serious conversation.
“She said she would keep it between us, and she is tsahik, she confirmed that it must have been a sign the great mother provided for me, but was very disturbed about it being a tawtute…” I trailed off
“But the true question is if she feels the same,” He stated, uncertainty filling his voice as he speaks, my heart hurting as I wanted to comfort him.
“I know she does.” I reassured him as I began to think of her avoiding me at dinner, had she not already had feelings for us she would have showed, without the fear of our conversation continuing, and she would not have run off in the first place.
“Well then,” Lo’ak seemed to have a sudden mischievous glint in his eye. “Whats the plan?” He asks as a smile starts to grow on his face.
_________
Learning to ride on the back of an Ilu was difficult. When I started learning, I had to be partnered up with someone who could connect to the beautiful creature in the first place, but everyone usually went too quick causing the water to shoot up my nose regardless. But whenever I rode with Kiri -or that one time I went with Tsireya- they made the Ilu move slower, and I felt like I could enjoy the breath taking scenery before me, and those were the moments I often cherished.
But I’d made the mistake of allowing Tuk to take me for a ride not too long after she had learned how to ride an Ilu, the others were taking a leisurely swim as they watched her take the Ilu out for a spin.
But the moment my head finally broke through the water, I was a mess, my mask had become dislodged -like it usually did when people rode their Ilu too fast- and water had shot up my nose, leaving a burning sensation behind as I attempted to empty the water from my mask before reattaching it to my face, a seemingly never ending cough taking over.
“Oh my-“ I’d heard Kiri through my coughing spell, attempting to take a breath but failing as another cough was in the way.
“Tuk!” I could hear Lo’ak’s accusatory voice as I felt someone lifting me out of the water, my body going limp against theirs as I searched for warmth, my coughing starting to calm down as the breaths were finally reaching my lungs.
“I didn’t mean to!” I could hear her whine, a soothing hand being placed on my back as it runs in gentle circles in an attempt to calm me down, finally feeling a deep breath and sighing as I had stopped coughing.
“Thank you,” I mutter at the person who was carrying me.
“You could have taken it slower,” Lo’ak was still going at it with Tuk and it actually caught me by surprise as he was usually laid back, I would have expected him to have been laughing along with Ao’nung.
“I told him to go slow!” Tuk whines back with her brother.
“Do you feel better?”
I go rigid as I realize whose arms I’m and feel a sense of urgency to disappear, maybe even dive back into the water and swim away, but there was no use as she’d out-swim me.
“Mhm,” I answered as I nod my head that was still on her shoulder, feeling as my tummy filled with warmth as my anxiety started to sky rocket.
I could feel her hand leave my back, placing it on my bum to get a better hold on me, but I could have sworn it was done on purpose and feel my face growing hot, all of the loudness between Tuk and Lo’ak had gone away as all I could focus on were her hands on my bottom.
“Come on Tuk, just leave it,” I could see Kiri dragging her away from the corner of my eyes as Tuk sticks her tongue out at her brother, but that just meant I was left with Tsireya and Lo’ak. I bite back a groan as I wished Neteyam and Spider were here, swiveling my forehead onto Tsireya’s shoulder and closing my eyes, taking in a big breath and knowing what was coming.
“Are you okay?” Lo’ak asks me and I can feel my heart quicken in my chest off his voice alone, I’m certain I would have started shaking had Tsireya not been holding me, her body keeping me warm.
I could only nod my head against her shoulder not daring to look back at him wanting to remain hidden from their stares.
“Use your words,” Lo’ak coaxes, the water indicating he began stepping closer as it sloshes a bit, going still as I feel a four-fingered hand on my back.
“Srane,” I answered nervously, still hiding my eyes from the pair.
“Good.” He answers before taking his hand off of me, just when I think I’m home free I feel his hand underneath the chin strap of my mask, my face being pulled away from it’s hidden spot and coming to face his.
“Now tell me,” He begins as he slightly tilts his head to the side.
“Are you avoiding us?”
_________
Fangs found their way onto my neck as they scraped along my pulse point, goosebumps being left on my body as they dragged deliciously on my sensitive skin, my head lolled to the side as I allowed Tsireya to mark me as she wished.
I couldn’t keep my hands to myself and gasped as she started to suckle on my pulse point, my hands being woven into the ringlets of her hair as my nails felt her scalp, a soft hiss coming from her mouth as she dug her fangs into my neck lightly.
“Careful,” Lo’ak’s voice makes me open my eyes, mine making contact with his, my lip coming between my teeth as I attempt to focus on him.
“Maybe she doesn’t want me to be careful,” Tsireya speaks, bringing her hands from my cheek down my arm, goosebumps left in their wake as I shiver.
“Do you paysyul?” She speaks as she addressed me this time, but before I could even think of what to say, her mouth is back on my neck and a moan is escaping my mouth.
“See?” She teases him with her words as her lips trail down toward my collarbones, teeth lightly nipping the area and causing my skin to erupt in a new set of goosebumps, my eyes travel toward Lo’ak to see his jaw hardened as he looks at the back of Tsireya’s head, his eyes trailing over toward mine before settling a smirk on his features.
“Do you?” He repeats the question smoothly, it has heat rising up to my face and I felt guilty for not responding verbally, just a quick tip of my head as I closed my mouth, having wondered if I’d looked stupid for leaving my mouth open after moaning.
“Hmm.” He hums as he looks downward, his eyes moving up to look at me through his lashes. “What does that buy her, darling?” He asks aloud.
Before I could attempt to figure out what he’d meant when he said that, a stinging sensation burns my bottom as the sound of a slap resonates within the walls of their marui. A shocked gasp leaves my lips just as Tsireya chuckles, my hands finally coming free from her hair as I laid them next to my body to support myself, knees buckling a little.
“You have to use your words with us, paysyul.” She comments before kissing down my chest and reaching the valley of my breast, my top stopping her from being able to do that.
My eyes hadn’t left Lo’ak and I watch as he raises a brow at me, silently wondering if I had gotten past my shock and understood what Tsireya was telling me, I could feel her eyes staring holes into my head as well, I move my head towards her and feel my face heating up once more.
A flurry of unrecognizable shapes were felt across the skin of my waist as she impatiently waits for me to say anything, but my mouth had suddenly dried up, and my tongue felt like lead.
The top I wore was easy to take off, it was the same fabric as my tewng was, only big enough to cover my breasts, but it was tied on my backside, something I wasn’t sure she knew how to take off.
“Please take my top off,” I finally spoke, breaking through the silence and feeling her finger grasp the string tying my shirt onto my body, the fabric loosening its hold on me, I shrugged my shoulders and feel the fabric bunch up as it slides off of them.
She surprises me as she grasps the fabric and gently pulls it away from my body, the act alone making my nipples stand at attention as she discards the cloth, all without taking her eyes off mine.
“Go ahead.” Lo’ak instructs his mate and I feel as her arm glides up from my waist and onto my breast, giving it the slightest of squeezes, a surge of warmth traveling down toward my cunt. She smiles as her fingers grasp my nipple and give it a twirl.
My body twitches at her touch, her other hand coming up toward my other nipple and repeating the process, my gasp cutting through the silent marui.
“Why don’t you put her in your mouth, yawne?” Lo’ak suggests as he stands behind her, my eyes moving to meet his figure as he stands with his hands behind his back, his eyes on his mate.
Before I could even move my eyes toward Tsireya to watch her movements, I feel a sense of warmth wrapping itself around my breast, her tongue having flicked my nipple as her other hand continues to tease the other.
“Tsireya,” I gasp and buck my hips against the thigh she’d managed to wedge there, a moan ripples past my lips at the sensation.
I can hear -and feel- her hum of approval before feeling her hand abandoned the nipple she’d been toying with, taking her mouth off the one she’d been licking, and trading places, another gasp and low moan resonating within the walls of the marui.
Her tongue had flattened once she reaches my nipple before twirling it with the tip of her muscle, my hips wanting to feel the relief they did, but she had moved her thigh, a chuckle coming from her as she realizes what I’d tried to do.
“Please,” I whined pathetically before hearing Lo’ak hum, my eyes had shut on their own without my knowledge until I opened them back up to see him with a smirk on his face.
I’d already started panting from the attention Tsireya had been giving me, but I was desperate to feel more.
“What do you need?” Lo’ak’s voice was deeper than I’d ever heard it before, it had my arousal spiking as I let out a short moan in response to his question, he only retaliates by squatting down on his feet, arm reaching out to touch my thigh.
His big warm hand was suffocating my thigh, he could easily grasp it if he wanted, but he didn’t, and I could hear a whine coming from the back of my throat at the contact.
“Use your words, syulang.” He speaks clearly just as Tsireya pops off my nipple, my eyes falling onto hers as I’m sure I looked a mess.
“I want you to eat me out,” I gasp at the words coming from my mouth before seeing the beauty before me smile sweetly.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She admits before her hand trails down toward my waist, tickling my sides as she does so, a light laughter bubbling from me and it helps relax my nerves, her fingers work quick and my tewng is off.
I could feel the heat rise to my face as my legs come to a close, her hands resting at my thighs and prying me open, a whine beating its way past my lips.
“Don’t hide yourself, you are beautiful, paysyul.” She mutters as she leans down toward my face, her head making contact with my mask, one hand coming up and tapping on it gently, letting me know to hold my breath, and once I inhale the mask comes off and her lips are in mine as she kisses me, my hands coming up toward her cheeks as her tongue swipes my lips.
I nervously open my mouth to give her access and am met with a sweet flavor on her tongue, she must have been eating fruit before whisking me up from the water.
I can feel her hand trail up my thigh and gently stuck her finger inside, her kiss muffles my moan as she sticks the entire length of her finger into my wet pussy, my legs closing around her arm as her tongue dances around my mouth.
“You feel incredible mama’s,” Lo’ak mutters in a breathy voice, but my brows furrow in confusion, breaking my kiss from Tsireya to look toward him, noticing his tswin is connected to Tsireya’s, he must have done that while I was distracted. I take the opportunity to slide my mask back on and take a deep breath, chest heaving slightly at the long breath hold I’d done.
“Oh,” Tsireya mutters as her finger stops its movements, she has a certain expression on her face that causes me to look down between my thighs.
“Look at you,” Lo’ak coo’s, a smile spreading on his face, but my eyes trail back toward Tsireya’s teal hand, a bit of blood was staining her palm, but it’s source was coming from me.
From our human biology classes that Lo’ak often snuck into just to hang out with Spider, he knew exactly what this blood meant, as the one learning about woman’s anatomy, I knew what this meant too, but Tsireya was surprisingly calm.
“How sweet to think you’ve been waiting for us all this time,” He snaps me out of my thoughts enough for me to feel Tsireya had started to slowly move her finger again.
I could feel my face heating up again, but for two reasons, because of Lo’ak’s words and because of the pleasure Tsireya was starting to bring to me.
“I think she can take another,” She stated rather confidently as she attempts to bully a second finger in.
“Easy baby,” He stated as she finally manages to shove her second finger in, my body clenching down rather harshly at the sudden intrusion.
“Ohh,” I groan as she gently moves her fingers inward, it seems like forever before she reaches the hilt, but once she does, I can feel a heat coiling in my belly.
“How does that feel?” She asks as she leans over to kiss my jaw, her fangs starting to scratch me lightly, her kisses driving me crazy as she continues moving her fingers inside of me.
“Ahh, ‘Reya,” I whine, her mouth back on my neck, suckling my pulse point as her fingers start to speed up. I could feel myself spreading my legs wider to give her easier access.
I open the eyes I didn’t know I’d closed up until that point, watching as she shuffles her body closer toward mine, I could feel her breath fanning over my cunt and all I could do was squeeze in anticipation.
“Go ahead.” Lo’ak’s voice cuts through my thoughts once more and I look downward, capturing Tsireya’s eyes with mine just before she leans down, placing my clit in her mouth and giving a small suckle, with that my head is thrown back and my back arches, bringing my cunt closer to her.
“Fuck,” Lo’ak grunts.
Tsireya doesn’t stop her ministrations as her fingers start plowing through me, her mouth starting to work on overdrive and I can just feel her smirk on my pussy.
“Please-“ I whine as I begin to grind my hips against her face.
“Please what?” Lo’ak stated rather harshly.
“Please make me come,” I moan as my hands come out from underneath me, placing them on Tsireya’s braids as I attempt to bring her face closer toward my cunt, humping her face -regardless of my knees buckling at this point- in an attempt to coax my orgasm out
“Thats hot.” Lo’ak comments and I finally open my eyes to witness him palming himself through his tewng, the tent in his loincloth being a big distraction to me, feeling as her fingers change pace and move quicker.
“Fuck!” I gasp as the coil in my belly tightens further, the feeling of comfort being brought to me through Tsireya’s ministrations, my fingers tightening over her scalp and letting my pathetic moans loose for the two of them to hear.
“Thats it baby,” he encourages the both of us with his words while continuing to palm himself through his loincloth, his hand working faster, the size of him being visible through the fabric and my mouth watering at the sight of him.
“Go ahead and come, syulang.” Lo’ak mutters and I couldn’t help but listen as my body writhes against his mates fingers and mouth, feeling absolutely high as I rode the wave of my orgasm.
I felt on top of the world the moment I gave in and came around her fingers, my cunt squeezing them for all their worth, becoming a panting mess as I come down from my high.
I look over to see a satisfied Tsireya coming up from my cunt, juices soaking her face, her fingers finally coming out of me at that moment, a bit of blood still covering them. I turned my face toward Lo’ak to see the prominent boner in his tewng, mouth watering at the sight of it before asking.
“Do you need some help with that?”
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liminalpebble · 13 hours ago
Text
Stray (A Lokitty Tale): Winter Blues
Hi, my darlings, since we all could use a little (or a lot) of cozy emotional comfort during these difficult times, I wanted to offer you just a bit of Jotun Loki/Lokitty fluff. This does take place in the Stray universe, in the middle of the story, but you don't need to have read that series to read this.
For a quick, tl;dr summary: human lady in 70's Seattle takes in Loki (disguised as a kitty) after his D.B. Cooper stunt, adorable shenanigans ensue.
Here's the series link
Lokitty/Jotun Loki x human shop girl reader
cw: Talk of depression and loneliness (remedied, of course, by our favorite handsome icy boy). The biggest hazard is the tooth-rotting fluff. Enjoy.
“Come on!” you grumble to your elderly space heater, giving it an encouraging pat on the side. Luckily, the coils eventually rouse themselves into a faint orange glow. You breathe a sigh of relief and sit cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, staring daggers at the broken radiator which the landlord never really plans to fix.
The newly-adopted black cat pads towards you and immediately curls into your lap with a graceful slinky twist. You slide your hand gently over his silky fur, feeling the knots of your anger and frustration gradually loosen.
“Sorry, buddy,” you say to the cat, who fixes you with his stunning aquamarine eyes. “It's not usually snowing like this yet, or quite this cold. I guess the whole city is stuck inside.”
Loki gazes up at your face. Bathed in the warm amber glow, the contours of your cheeks, lips, and lashes look like a work of art to him.
She's so lovely. I hope some day I can tell her so...really tell her so.
But beneath your loveliness, he can see the circles under your eyes, the way you rub your temples and slump your shoulders, the way the growing darkness (literal and metaphorical) are weighing on you. You gather him up in your arms and sling an afghan around your shoulders, shuffling towards the window. He watches as a bittersweet grin spreads over your features.
“At least it's kind of pretty, isn't it? And at least I have you, little friend.”
He purrs contentedly as you scratch lightly between his ears on your journey to the couch. Loki watches with concern as your silence gradually turns into the telltale gasps and sniffles of tears. He flinches slightly as the salty drops hit his fur.
“Oh. Sorry, kitten,” you say, sniffing and swiping a hand across your cheek. “I just...god, I'm so tired and...and so alone. It feels like all the cards are stacked against me sometimes. My paycheck barely keeps us here...shitty as the place is. I'm just so frustrated, and tired, and angry, and afraid....and sad...and...”
You shiver. “And cold.”
His paw pats gently but insistently on your hand. You feel crazy even thinking, not for the first time, that it's as if he understands you. Those bright, clear, eyes seem so wise and perceptive. You'd swear he's trying to comfort you.
Sweet human. If only you knew how much I care for you. I'm the god of outcasts. Appropriate, I suppose, as I'm always being cast out...but not by you, my sweet human because you are special...unique. I wish I could hold you. I wish you could understand me.
And then, he considers a way. It's a way he's used cautiously only once before, uncertain of how it might affect his precious human, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He smiles to himself and nuzzles his velvety head against your arm.
Patience, human. Your savior is here, you just don't know it yet.
----
It's an absolutely adorable habit, your little naps in the evening. Or, at least, Loki thinks so. Sometimes, he'll even join you under the tattered old throw blanket to sleep against the undulating warmth of your body.
He joins you today, but not to sleep and not just to use you as a heating pad. The little cat pulls the blanket carefully up and over your shoulders by his teeth, ensuring that you're warm and comfortable (all the while cursing his lack of opposable thumbs). Then he settles himself in between the curve of your neck and shoulder, holding one delicate paw against your temple. A green glow shudders through the little creature and flutters around your head like glitter swirled in water.
----
Your vision is foggy at first as your eyes blink open. Initially, everything is a mass of pearlescent white and a pale aquamarine (a shade you could swear you know from somewhere). As your eyes open wider, and the fog clears, you begin to orient yourself to the sharpening view.
You're standing in the center of a clearing, in a dense snow-covered forest. It's a far cry from the filthy gray slush of downtown Seattle. This snow is a shocking white, glowing, even in twilight. The vast crystalline carpet unfurls beneath you as the sky above dances with northern lights. All you can think, for a long suspended moment, is that this place is ancient. You breathe in and it hits you; the complex aroma of pines and evergreens which have been there long before you were born, and somehow you know, deep in your bones, that this is a magical place.
To your surprise, you don't feel at all cold. Your body is swaddled in rich furs and draped in lush velvet, keeping you warm as you observe it all. Everything is quiet, draped in the muffling blanket of snowfall, and you feel your breathing quiet in kind.
The crunch of footsteps catches your attention as a figure moves gracefully, deliberately, towards you. It glides, back lit, from the inviting amber glow of a wooden lodge where candles sparkle and flicker in every window.
You guess that this mystery person must be over eight feet tall, broad-shouldered and sure-footed, striding through the ice and snow easily as a cape of regal black fur dances around him. As he nears, you see a pair of majestic onyx horns rising from a crown on his noble head.
Closer still, you see his skin; a striking cobalt blue moving against the snow, and his eyes; two crimson rubies cutting through dusk like stars.
Finally, he stands before you, and though you know you should be afraid, you feel only curious and struck by his otherworldly beauty. He acknowledges you with a bow and the sharp lines of his cheeks raise to show a wide, striking, smile. His teeth are as white as the snow itself.
Loki extends his huge hand to cradle yours and you feel your heartbeat kick up with the thrill of it. As it is so often with dreams, it doesn't occur to you to ask where you are, or how you got here, or who he is, or even if he means you harm. You simply trust this beautiful creature of a man before you.
“Come with me,” his deep voice invites, and you accept, taking his offered arm as if you were a princess at a ball.
---
He opens the enormous doors and steps aside for you to enter. The entire cottage (or really, more of a Viking longhouse, if such a thing were made cozy) was perfumed by a roiling fireplace, giving off a toasty, woody incense, like honeydust.
The stranger removes his hooded cloak and impressive crown. He smiles that same charming smile and runs a hand through his long hair, as black and shiny as raven feathers. It occurs to you that this regal being seems nervous, downright boyishly giddy, around you.
“Please. Make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing magnanimously to the plush velvet couches with their layers of warm furs and quilts. You nod and gladly obey, lulled and comforted by the heat as if sinking into a warm bath.
The giant returns with two warm mugs (one the size of a pot, and one of normal size) of something delicious and spicy-smelling, then settles beside you in the heat of the crackling fire.
“Thank you,” you say, reaching for the cup and enjoying it's warmth against your palm. Finally, your rational brain kicks in and you ask, “Where...what is this place? I'm...dreaming?”
He laughs, a deep rich baritone chuckle, and you think it might be the most beautiful thing you've ever heard.
“In a sense.” The corners of his crimson eyes crinkle as he smiles and says, “Your body is asleep, yes. But I'm real...this place is real.”
“And...not to seem rude, but you are...?”
He finishes a sip quickly and politely dabs at his lips before speaking, “Oh yes, I suppose this form must be rather...exceptional...to you.”
You sigh and nod with a smile, relieved that he was the one to address the elephant (or rather, the frost giant) in the room. Meanwhile, Loki thinks that this shy smile must be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
“I'm a frost giant...a Jotun. King of Jotunheim, actually...not to brag,” he says with a flirtatious wink.
He chatters on genially, careful not to give you time to ask his name. “I've brought you here because you deserve some kindness. You've taken in a creature quite sacred to us and cared for him diligently, asking nothing in return.”
You're about to speak but you're momentarily distracted by the beverage you've just sipped. It might be the most delicious thing you've ever tasted; sweet and rich and spicy. You make the rather absurd mental note to ask the King of Jotunheim for his mulled wine recipe. That thought alone makes you chuckle.
“What is it, darling?”
“It's just...all so strange and...wait, are you trying to tell me that my stray cat is a sacred creature?”
“Well, yes. All cats are. But that one is very special, in particular. Some day, you'll find out why.”
He sets his mug down with surprising dexterity, considering his size, and continues in a more somber tone. He takes both of your hands in his and scoots closer. He smells subtly of mint and pine, and his mere towering presence sitting beside you, curled around you, makes you feel safe, protected.
“I know that you are in need of some kindness, some hope, and I'm here to tell you there is good yet to come. There are splendid things yet to come. I know you're exhausted, sad, and frighted. It pains me to see it, but I know you're strong.
“I don't feel strong,” you admit, bowing your head toward you lap.
His long finger slides gently beneath your chin, lifting your face to meet his kind ruby eyes.
“Please, meet my gaze. It's a pity to hid that lovely face from my eyes.”
God, he's charming. Are all frost giants just oozing charm like this, or is it only their king?, you wonder, as your cheeks begin to burn brighter than the fireplace.
He wraps one strong arm around you and assures you, “Needing some kindness or help doesn't mean you are no longer strong. Everyone gets lost sometimes. Everyone stumbles and needs some tenderness occasionally.”
You give him a wry smile. “Even you, Your Highness? I find it hard to imagine that the world could make you feel small."
He laughs, then he kisses your hand in a gentlemanly gesture that has chills running down your spine; chills that have nothing to do with his slightly chilly skin.
“Even me,” he whispers as he strokes your cheek. The comforting touch melts you into his arms, into the comfort him, of this place, and you dare to put you head on his shoulder. He strokes your back and pulls a blanket more closely around you, then says lightly, “you know I'm actually a runt, for a Jotun. I often feel small. It's all a matter of perspective.” He breathes deeply and you feel the smooth waves where you rest against him. The sound and feeling join the crackle of the hearth in a sweet lullaby of sensation.
You close your eyes and whisper, “I wish I could just stay here.”
“Ah, but you can't, darling. I'm sorry. But you can visit. You must live your life because there is so much good yet to come. In the meantime, know that I'm your humble guardian, always.”
He sees the sorrow in your eyes and decides to ease it with humor. “Besides, who would feed the cat?”
You laugh, your face lights up, and it utterly melts him.
He moves in very gently and cradles your face as your eyes close in anticipation. Planting a light chilly kiss against your eager lips, he whispers, “Time to wake up, my dear.”
-----
You open your eyes to your lamp lit living room and sigh at the vivid memory of your lingering dream. As you stretch, the cat hops away from you with an indignant little chirp. How dare you remove his warm seat!
As a peace offering, you kiss his velvety head and scratch between his ears before rising to your feet. You know it was only a dream, but it's left you feeling better, more hopeful.
Silly, you think, silly brain...putting me on a date with the King of Jotunheim. At least it made me feel better, anyway, imagining some kind of magical guardian angel.
As you cross the room, still yawning, you stop in your tracks. Right before your eyes, the radiator softly tings and hisses into life, sending warm balmy air into the room after weeks of cold. You step nearer, gingerly, as if it might be possessed. How can it possibly be fixed?
On the coffee table beside it, There's a piece of rather fancy looking antique parchment with a delicate cursive skating across its surface. You hold it up to your face and read the title at the top.
Jotun Mulled Wine (courtesy of His Majesty)
A recipe...for mulled wine...from...
You feel the wheels of your mind trying desperately to gain traction and explain this, but you're interrupted by the cat, begging to be held again.
You oblige him, holding tightly to him like a security blanket. When his blue-green eyes meet yours, you finally say, “Well kitten, this is all pretty weird. I guess I found this earlier and forgot, but it sure did give me some wild dreams.”
You chuckle at his sassy mews as you cut carrots and begin to heat up a skillet.
As you walk to the kitchen, feline in tow, you say, “Christ, here I go, talking to the cat again.” You pause and smirk playfully to your companion, “Say, kitten...did you know that you're a sacred animal?
Well, obviously, Loki thinks, I'm a god.
“I love you, you cocky little jerk.”
I love you, too, pathetic little human.
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magicaldestinyharmony · 1 day ago
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In Life and In Death
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male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 3
CW: mentions of death, whipping, drugs, human trafficking, gambling, human hunting and murder.
WC: around 2k words
A/N: I have finally finished potion number 3 in this series!
[Part 1] [Part 2]
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Your eyes flutter open. Once you glimpse the sight of your all-too-familiar ceiling, you deadpan. What do I have to do to stop this? You sigh and cover your eyes from the onslaught of the sunlight. 
You're so sick and tired of it at this point. Waking up, working and spending so much effort to survive, only to fail and end up dead in the end.
You groan and turn on your side once you remember the date. You're starting to hate this number. No matter what you do, you pick up the calendar to see it there, in its black, bold glory.
Aida should be coming in anytime soon. You sigh when you hear the well-timed knock on your door.
“My lady?” Aida opens the door carefully, scared of waking you up. “Are you up? It's time for breakfast.”
A puff of air escapes you again. “I'm up, Aida.” you invite the maid inside your room.
“Oh, good. Let's get you ready for breakfast.”
“Do I have to, Aida? Can't I just have it in bed?” you plead.
Aida’s brows furrow in confusion, “ Well, I guess you could miss. However, may I ask, is there a particular reason?”
“I'm just tired,” of life, of death. Of everything really.
Aida nods in understanding and leaves to fetch your breakfast.
Aida pins the last decoration in your hair and steps back, “Ta-da! What do you think, my lady?”
You glance at yourself in the mirror, uninterested. You've been through this so many times that the glamour of dressing up has lost its allure.
You hesitantly walk down the stairs, reluctant to see your father. If you didn't already hate him, you downright loathe him now.
Everything plays exactly as you recall. Yet when your eyes meet Lucca's, you're hit with an idea.
Why didn't you think of this before? Instead of taking care of Lucca now and letting him die later. Why not make him indebted to you? Thwart your father's plans so Lucca can keep his life and you can keep yours.
With this new drive fueling you, you approach him, “Hello. Are you alright?”
Lucca watches you in silence. You reach out to him, “Are you alr-”
Lucca smacks your hand away. The sound echoes throughout the entrance hall and you cringe in pain.
The noise turns the count's attention towards you. He smirks at the scene in front of him. You pale under his scrutiny and cold gaze. 
“Well, well, well, I see that you dared to injure a Balcom, boy.” The man takes sick pleasure in watching both children cower before him.
“For injuring my precious daughter's hand, you will receive 15 whips.” a creepy grin creeps onto your father's face.
Little tremors shake your body. Lucca did nothing wrong. He doesn't deserve this. “W-wait! It-it wasn't his fault!”
“I see,” your father nods in consideration. “You have a compassionate heart, daughter of mine.”
Your father pats you, “But,” his voice turns cold, “Compassion gets you nowhere in life. Do you still want to stop his punishment?”
Your father's pats turn into an iron grip on your head. He tilts his head, prompting your response, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-its's the Balcom way, right?” the automated response rolls off your tongue while you shake in fear.
Your father smiles, “Good job.” he gives you one final pat and turns to a maid, “Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.”
With that, your father departs, leaving deadly silence in his wake.
◇◇◇
Who knew that standing in front of an office could be so nerve-wracking? After taking another deep breath, you hesitantly knock on your father's office.
The door cracks open to reveal your father’s loyal aide, “My lady? What do you need?”
“Can I see father?” you mutter out.
“Let me ask the count,” the aide turns around, leaving you in front of the door.
He returns shortly and ushers you in. “So, what do you want?” your father asks without looking up.
Gathering your courage, you say, “I want that boy.”
Only then does your father look up, “That boy?”
“Yes. The boy you brought in this morning.”
Your father scratches his chin in thought, “And what will you give me in return?”
You gulp. You expected him to say that. Your father is known for not giving without taking. “I'll give you information about House Devoy. Pivotal information.”
“Oho, and is this information credible?”
You nod. “Very well. When will I receive this information?”
“I will have it ready in two days,” you confirm.
“Alright,” your father's gaze turns into a glare. “But if your information turns out to be wrong, you won't escape punishment.”
“Understood.” you bow and leave.
Once the door to your room closes behind you, you collapse in relief. Let's hope that the information you remember from your past lives is enough to save your neck.
You bring double the amount of bandages and ointment on your nightly trip to the dungeons. With the extra abuse Lucca went through today, courtesy of yours truly, you certainly needed more.
After bribing the guard and gaining access to Lucca's cell, you get to work on treating his wounds.
As soon as Lucca feels the cold, stinging sensation of the ointment, he opens his eyes. You make eye contact. He glares at you. You shake your head, ignoring him and continue working.
Once Lucca's last wound has been patched up, you leave the bread you got him and stand up to leave.
You feel his gaze on you the whole time, trying to size you up. “Why do you care?” you barely hear him whisper.
“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care.” you firmly say.
Lucca scoffs but makes no further comments. You shrug, used to his apathy. This time you were able to leave without any incidents.
◇◇◇
The next morning, you hand a list of everything you remember about Count Devoy to your father. You pray that the information is good enough to keep you and Lucca alive.
You were informed by your father's aide that processing and proving the intel you gave will take some time. Three days to be precise. But you weren't allowed to have Lucca till after. Bastard. You were sure your father took pleasure in tormenting his kids.
Whatever. It was nothing new. It was well-known that your father was a repulsive man. At least to people with a strong sense of justice.
Your father sickened you. He doesn't hesitate to dabble in the illegal. Unlicensed auction houses, drug selling and human trafficking are just some of the things that your father does.
The problem is that he enjoys doing these things. His hobbies are no less disgusting. He enjoys gambling, the company of many women and hunting.
Not your typical animal hunting. He hunts slaves. Buys them then releases them into a forest on the territory to be hunted.
Yet, somehow, his reputation is still intact. Your father spends lots of money to keep his activities under the rug. In fact, he's so well regarded that if someone speaks up, they'll be immediately ignored and silenced. Voluntarily or forcefully.
You shake your head in loathing. Dwelling further on this will only cause a bad mood.
Instead, you opt to go for a walk in the hope that the wind blowing through your hair will calm your turbulent thoughts.
At dinner, you were surprised to find yourself seated to the right of your father. You can practically feel the hatred rolling off your half-siblings.
According to noble etiquette, during a meal, the household's head sits at the head of the table. Dubbed as the seat of honour.
The next most important person is seated to the right of the seat of honour. Then the third most important to their left, then the fourth on the right and so on.
In a highly competitive family like yours, getting the seat on the right of the head’s seat essentially means the favour of the count. Not a position you necessarily want.
The meal proceeds in suffocating silence. The only sounds are the clinking of plates and spoons echoing in the room.
At the end of the meal, your father makes a comment that you wish he never uttered, “I'm very pleased with you.”
As soon as he leaves, your half-siblings look at you with obvious murderous intent. Bastard. You were convinced that your father thrives on the discord between his children.
As the fifth daughter, your chance at succession is practically non-existent. Sitting at the right of the seat of honour and getting a compliment from the head suggests that you're participating in the fight for succession.
So all in all, your father raised the risk of your death. Not a good thing.
◇◇◇
You were incredibly relieved when your father finally handed Lucca over to you. You hope that avoiding your father from now on will reduce the attention on yourself.
While Aida and the family doctor gave Lucca a checkup, you gave orders to other maids to set up the room beside yours for him.
You make sure the room is immaculate. The last thing you need is Lucca feeling compelled to kill you over an improper room. With instructions in place, you meet up with Aida in front of the infirmary. 
“How is he?” you ask, once you reach her.
“The doctor said he's severely malnourished and suffering from multitudes of wounds.” Your maid dutifully replies.
You grimace, “Is it serious?”
“Some of them are,” Aida says, sullen.
You frown, “Let me see him.”
Aida nods and opens the door to let you in.
You blink your eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the window across the room. Shielding your eyes, you notice that the whole room is made from walnut. The desk and chair to your right are cluttered with paper and books. The left side of the room houses a table and a modest library. The table has what you assume to be a mix of herbal plants and medicine concoctions on it. A small table and seats are tucked at the back of the room. Overall, it has a warm vibe to it.
You turn to the bed sitting in the corner beside the window. Lucca sits on it, white sheets tucked around him, staring out the open window, the white sheer curtains fluttering around him. The wind flows through the window, taking his silver strands for a ride. He looks dwarfed in the bedding, his arms look scrawny and pale against the white of the sheet. His body is littered with bandages. 
Your heart lurches at the sight. While nothing justifies him killing you over and over again, you realize that he was just a kid. Is a kid. He lost his family overnight, endured abuse from the Count and fought demons as the Divine Warrior. It was no wonder how the kid ended up the way he did.
“Are you done staring?” Lucca speaks without turning around.
You answer his question with a question, “How are you feeling?”
Lucca shrugs and you sigh, exasperated at his non-answer.
Pulling up a stool beside the bed, you stare at his small frame again. A child should never have to undergo such hardship.
Another breeze streams through the open glass panes, ruffling your hair and blocking your vision for a moment. Moving your strands away, you notice that Lucca has finally faced you. You grin, loving the feeling of the air in your hair and the fact that he’s finally looking at you.
It feels somehow freeing to feel the flutter of the wind caressing you. You hold Lucca’s gaze, smiling, hoping that he shares (or at least) feels your joy.
When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to face the lush green visible through the window. Lucca doesn’t turn away, keeping his eyes on you. The silence feels liberating. Now, at this moment, you aren’t a murderer and his victim. You are just two children enjoying the wind. So you don’t say anything, content to watch the birds drift from branch to branch while Lucca watches you.
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cal-daisies-and-briars · 3 days ago
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Okay Cal I’ve taken some time and calmed down and now I’m so very normal about this news. Nico’s back well isn’t that nice. I feel so very casual about that. Just :) so :) normal :)
First theme this round is non-human Buddie!
🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲 (IM OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE!!!! Really loving Buck’s hearing loss story and can’t wait to see where you take it! And I’ve got Thoughts™️ about how it might play into the Diaz family magic… It seems like you’re doing the publish once it’s all written thing again - how many chapters are you planning on having?)
🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️(IM INTRIGUED!! And lol this emoji has bracelets on the arm that totally reminded me of Buck’s line arm tattoo so it’s meant to be! There’s so many interesting directions I feel like this one could go and I’m very excited to watch it play out!)
-PCA <3
HI PCA! So happy you're so excited for Nico.
In the meantime, the creature fics!
96 for 🌲 (THANK YOU!!!!! That makes me so happy. I'm really pumped for this one. I want to hear your thoughts! Yes, publishing this once it's all done. I have a ten chapter outline!)
---
It’s not for very long. Buck said the appointment shouldn’t take more than an hour, plus driving. No biggie. Eddie can handle that. He’s an adult. 
He tells himself the fear is that when he’s alone, something will happen. He’ll cover his house in more leaves and turn more and more into an animal until he loses his human mind. His back will become completely hollow like in all his nightmares. He thinks his fears are rooted in pragmatism. But when Buck is actually gone, the truth of it becomes clear. 
It’s painful. 
Buck being gone is actually physically painful for Eddie. He doesn’t know why. He gets this ache all over his body. This gripping sense of panic and nausea combined. He can hardly function. He needs Buck to be back. He needs to not be alone. His brain sort of abandons reason and starts spiraling to some dark place where he’s forever shut out from any sort of human interaction forever. Where he is utterly isolated. 
He doesn’t just think of Buck. He thinks of Christopher, hating him. His team at work, thinking he abandoned them. Adriana, missing without a trace. Shannon, dead. He starts to shake. It feels like some sort of withdrawal; or at least what he imagines that would feel like. He needs some sort of company. Anyone. Anything. Most of all, he needs Buck to come home. 
There’s a knock on the door around the time Eddie is expecting Buck to get back. If Eddie was in his right mind, he would know it’s not Buck. He would know the door is unlocked, and Buck can walk in. He would know that Buck has keys, regardless. 
Throwing aside any sort of precaution or rational thought, Eddie hurries to open the door. He doesn’t have much in the way of a disguise to conceal himself. He’s still wearing Buck’s sweatpants. Nothing for his face. He doesn’t even think about it. What he must look like to someone who isn’t expecting to see it. 
He’s surprised to see that it’s Tommy at the door. Arms crossed, angry impatient look on his face. Tommy, Buck’s boyfriend. He’s probably here for Buck. But he’s Eddie’s friend, too. Maybe he can keep Eddie company until Buck gets back. 
Not single thought of his own protection in his head, Eddie throws open the door. 
“Hey, Tommy,” he says. “What’s up, man?”
Tommy looks furious and confused. He looks Eddie over, eyes scrunching with confusion. 
“Where’s Evan?” He demands. He blinks a few times. Rubs one of his ears. “I know he’s with you and… And I…”
“Buck isn’t here right now. Should be soon. Do you want to come inside?”
“Do I…” Tommy’s eyes sort of glaze over. It’s like watching drugs settle in. The anger all but evaporates from his face. “Yeah, Eddie. Of course I want to come in.”
Eddie is pleased. That’s good. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He can already feel the pain in his body beginning to subside. 
“Come on, man. I’ll get you a beer,” Eddie says. No matter that it’s eleven in the morning. 
“I’d love that,” Tommy says. 
He leads Tommy inside towards the kitchen. He grabs two beers from the fridge. He doesn’t think about the tail creating a strange bulge in the back of his pants. He doesn’t think of the fact that he’s wearing Tommy’s boyfriend’s pants. He doesn’t think of anything and Tommy’s not reacting to anything. It all must be fine. 
When he turns around to hand Tommy the beer, Tommy takes a step towards him, leaving very little room between him and the fridge. Eddie feels a bit cornered. 
“Uh, hi?” Eddie asks. He tries to give Tommy the beer but Tommy doesn’t take it. Won’t even look at it. 
“Eddie, I think we should talk,” Tommy says.
Eddie gets a bad feeling. 
“Okay… Uh, sure. About what?”
“Us,” Tommy says. 
Eddie coughs a little. “Us?”
“You and me,” Tommy says. 
“What you and me?” Eddie asks.
Tommy smirks a little. “What we could be to each other.”
Eddie blinks. “Uh… Friends? Friends with someone very important  in common?”
Eddie might be feeling a little out of it lately, but he’s not insane. 
“Oh, come on, Eddie,” Tommy says. “You had to know there was something between us. If you hadn’t been seeing that woman. What was her name?”
“Marisol?” He asks. Or Kim? Both? Jesus, he’s a mess.
---
66 for 🧜‍♂️ (YAY! Thank you! I am excited to reveal my - and Annie's - plans):
---
He knows that it changes you. In lots of strange ways, some small and some large. 
“I’d had an accident not too long before that,” Chimney says. “Nearly died, myself. But… I don’t know. It’s different for Buck. Especially about Bobby. I think he’s just jealous you’re the new, shiny person on the team.”
Eddie is hardly new and shiny. Buck just doesn’t know that.
Eddie nods. “I’ll… Well, I’ll try I guess. To get on his good side or whatever.”
“I don’t think he has a bad side,” Hen says. “Just be patient. He’ll come around.” 
Eddie holds onto this promise. Hopes that it’s true. And really, really hopes his suspicions aren’t correct. 
🌻
Things get worse. 
There’s some downtime in the shift. Eddie decides to hit the station gym. Unfortunately, Buck is already there with Chimney. He considers turning around and walking away, not wanting to deal with the guy more than he needs to. But he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t want to be scared off in his own workplace. Not again. 
So Eddie starts on the other side of the equipment from Buck. The punching bag. He gets a conversation started up with Chimney. They talk about the firefighter calendar, which Chimney wants a spot in. Something Buck doesn’t seem thrilled about. It’s clear Buck wants to win, from all the absurd selfies he’s been snapping. 
“Are you gonna submit photos, Eddie?” Chim asks. “Be honest, you’ve probably got washboard abs under that shirt. You submit one of those classic shirtless suspenders photos and you’re a shoe in.”
Ha. No. Abs? Sure. A shirtless photo? No way. 
Across the gym, Buck makes a frustrated noise. Mutters something under his breath. Eddie doesn’t hear it, but he gets the tone. And all he can hear is the sound of someone suggesting he isn’t man enough for the competition. Whether or not it’s what Buck says, it’s what Eddie takes in. 
So he sort of snaps. 
“What’s your problem, man?” He demands, marching over to Buck at the weights. 
Buck looks up at him. He seems surprised to have been confronted. Surprised, but not unwilling to rise to the bait. He stands up, gets close to Eddie, peacocking his considerable height. He’s not that much taller than Eddie, but it sure feels like it, in this moment. 
“Okay. You.” Buck says, voice low and tight. “You’re my problem. Your comfort level.”
Eddie’s comfort level? Is he serious? He’s been doing everything he can to make Eddie uncomfortable. Is Eddie, what? Supposed to know his place? Stay silent and in the background because he’s different? How does Buck even know that he’s different? 
“You’re-you’re not supposed to walk in here like you’ve been here for years,” Buck keeps going. “It’s meant to be a getting-to-know-you period. You’re meant to respect your elders.”
“You’re not his elder, Buck,” Chimney interjects. 
“I don’t know how old you are,” Eddie replies. “But I’m not a probie. I’ve been a firefighter-paramedic for six years. But if you have some sort of prejudice that makes you think I’m not fit for the job-”
“Wait, what?” Buck interrupts. “Prejudice?”
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waynes-multiverse · 10 hours ago
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Ooooh, Arty! I'm so excited for this series (and your FBI one, which I'm hopping into next) 😍 You know I'm obsessed with those things 😂👏
Let's jump into it! 🍿
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.
I can see why she'd need a bodyguard. Girl, you can't be sitting in a bar as a presidential candidate. Please tell me Secret Service has eyes on this "madwoman" 😂
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.
Yup 💯💯💯 Although, I don't think Shurley's up for the job... 😒
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).
Bella sounds like me 😂 Are we redheads all the same?
You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.
I love when authors add (funny) information in parentheses or strike words through! It adds so much comedy and is my favorite kind of writing style 🤍
That means you got… 64% of the vote
Whoa! You can almost call that a landslide! 🥳
Suck it, Amara 😝
You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.
Dude, she's winning in, like... life 👀
But there's something missing... Ah yes! Who will be the First Gentleman? *coughs*
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And please tell me the girls are moving with her into the White House. I'd die 😂😂
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“I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant.
Oh dear God, no... 😂 I had a feeling when she snuck up on me in this paragraph lmao
But is she okay? Why do I get the sense her eye bags don't come from being overworked? Is someone threatening her? Trying to gain access to Mme Pres. through her? I'm on alert! 👀
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.
That is a fair assumption 😅 Only one dude would be this crazy to apply to the freaking White House as personal bodyguard to the freaking president 🙈
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A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery
Jesus effing Christ...
I wonder what really went on there? Can't imagine Dean, even AU!Dean, to be this damn cold-blooded without a somewhat (we do forgive him a lot) sound reason
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.
Chills! Literal chills! 👏
“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”
Uhm, sweetie...? You feelin' good? 😂
I love how his whole plan rides on "oh, I can get pardoned if I work for the president" 🤣 Dream big, I guess
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.
That sounds almost like one Russell Shaw 😏 (Which makes sense, considering they're both the same person – thanks Jackles 😂)
neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.
You did good, boo 😘👏
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.”
A realist, you might say 😂
His lawyer might eat his own ass after he gets out 🤣🤣
“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles
I love her! She treats him like a human being already, and not like a murderous animal 🤍
He’s not being a perv.
Mmm, I don't quite believe you, Mr. Winchester 😅
“But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?”
Ah! And suddenly, it all becomes quite clear. Of course he did all this crazy shit for Sammy. And I bet Sammy, the prosecutor, just loves the fact that his brother is a hitman in prison 😂
You’re. Hired. He could die.
Arty, if this is foreshadowing, I will kill you. Hope you have your bodyguard ready 😝
That whole reunion with Sam made me tear up for real 😭 That was so sweet and genuine!
“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”
Yes. Just been there last week again 😂
Her family also seems so sweet. She needs a good support system with this job, and it seems like she has that 🤍
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.
I died somewhere while reading this paragraph 🔥🥵🫠
Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?”
I'm with Steph on this one. Ben Affleck? Ew.
And I have a feeling those walls aren't as thick as the girls believe they are 😂
“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled
DECEASED 🤣🤣🤣 Bella should join the PR team!
That whole conversation has me rolling on the floor, girl 😂 There were so many gems here 🤍✨
“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.”
Joking or not, I can't believe Sam's entertaining this idea and encouraging him to hit on the president (and his only ticket outta prison) 😂
Wonderful first chapter, babe! 👏👏👏 So stoked to see where this goes, to have more wild girl chats, and more romantic as well as sexual tension! 😏😍
𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1
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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
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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.
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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?”
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.
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“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.
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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.
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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.
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TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff
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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨
𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝
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clownowo · 1 year ago
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Guardian of the Eastern Gate and the One Entrusted with a Flaming Sword by God: Principality Aziraphale
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starry-bi-sky · 4 months ago
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Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au
"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"
Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.
He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.
It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.
Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.
It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.
Because it really only meant one thing.
Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.
Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.
Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.
This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?
It would be a firestorm.
One that Vlad is not keen on starting.
It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.
It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.
His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.
"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.
Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.
He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.
The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.
He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.
"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.
Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.
But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.
Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.
"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."
Bastard.
For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.
But, well.
They all have their dark secrets.
And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.
"I see."
#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc au#danyal al ghul au#dpxdc ficlet#dpxdc fanfic#i was hit with this idea two hours ago and was hit with the intrinsic need to write it down#parental vlad masters#protective vlad masters#vlad is currently going 'OH? OH YOU ABANDON AND REPLACE **MY** SON??? MURDER. DEATH. BEES UPON YOUR FAMILY'#but he's also still like. evil. much less of a creep! but evil. so he comes off a bit possessive. which was intentional.#vlad's reaction is kinda valid if it was accurate and bruce DID willingly and knowingly abandon danny. except he didn't. he has no idea#danny is even alive. vlad doesn't know that tho. we all love a good reasonable misunderstanding :]#hc that vlad needs a cane as a human because the ecto-acne that killed him fucked his nerves up a bit as a result and now he's got a bad le#and is also immunocompromised. which had a slight hand in his 20 year isolation thing.#stillborn? no still born au#stillborn danny au#stillborn danny#vlad masters#this may or may not be canon to the au im still thinking about it#vlad acknowledges that danny is formiddable but he's also not wrong that a media shitstorm like that would hurt him considerably.#diamonds are the toughest known material to man and yet it still shatters like glass when put under pressure. vlad's right he's fragile#ummm anyways yeah Vlad finds out first and promptly decides to go 'oh okay so fuck you personally actually. keep your replacement child'#he has No Plans on telling Danny what he learned mostly for the obvious selfish reasons and also bc yeah. this is gonna hurt danny#ITS NOT FUN IF IT ISNT A LITTLE TOXIIIIC#i absolutely know that vlad only swears in deserts which is why its important that i have him call bruce wayne a bastard directly.
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luck-of-the-drawings · 3 months ago
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OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#cw blood#cw gore#jrwi suckening#jrwi suckening spoilers#vex waylin#viv waylin#MY FAVORIT EP!! HAVNT SEEN IT IN FOREVER THO BC WELL. IM BUSY. SO BEAR W ME IM RUNNIN OFF ALOTTA MEMORY FUMES#ALSO EDIT BC FUUUCK I HADMORE TAGS BUT TUMBLR FUCKEN ATE EM. OH WELL. MY DMS R OPEN IF U WANNA UNLOCK RAMBLES.#I LOVE THE WAYLIN TWINS SSSOO FUCKING MUCH IM SO!!! CURIOUS ABOUT THEM!!! WHO WERE THEY WHEN THEY WERE HUMAN? HOW LONGVE THEY BEEN ARND?#I LOVE IT WHEN PPL SAY ITS LIKE THESE TWO WERE MADE FOR MMEE BC YES!! YES!! ITS EVERYTHING I COULD EVER WANT FROMA CHARACTER!!!#I LOVE THEIR RED WHITE N BLACK COLOR SCHEME. I LOVE HOW THEYRE BOTH SO INTELLIGENT AND GENIUS N YET THEYRE DUMB AS FUUUUCK#COOOMICAL SUPER VILLAINS. OOH ILL GET YOU NEXT TIME SHAMIA SHAMAI!!! HOW DARE YOU FOIL MY PLAN!! MY PLANS OF MUTILATING AWAKE N ALIVE PPL#COMICAL AND YET. GENUINELY HORRIFYING. VIV CAN MAKE UR BONES EXPLODE JUST BY THINKING ABOUT IT. VEX CAN BECOME SOUP#WHY DONT WE TALK ABOUT THAT MORE? THE TURNING INTO RED MEAT SLIME?? METAL AS FUUUCK. I ALSO LOVE HOW SCARED THEY GOT SO QUICKLY#THIS LIL FUCKEN RRRRRAT COMES IN. AND WELL. HES JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHERS. WE FUCK HIM UP N TOSS HIM INTO THE SUN N LET HIM BURN#SURE HE HAD ONE MORE TRICK OF REBELLION UP HIS SLEEVE BUT THE SUN HAS TAKEN HIM NOW. ITS FINE. WE'RE FINE. HEY IS THERE SMTH IN THE CEILING#OHHH WE KILLED HIM ONCE N HE CAME BACK. WE KILLED HIM AGAIN N TOOK HIM APART BUT THEN HES BACK?? HE GETS AWAY AND THEN. COMES BACK. AGAIN.#WE CANT GET RID OF HIM. THAT FOUL SHAMIA SHAMAI. A MOUSE IN OUR KITCHEN. FUUUUCK HES GONNA SPREAD DISEASE! KILL IT! KILL IT!! AAAUUGH FUCK!#I LOVE THAT THE WAYLIN TWINS AGREED TO HELP THE BLONDE TWINS MOSTLY ON THE BASIS OF 'IT WOULD BE FUNNY' BUT ALSO#OOHHH WE ARE SO CLOSE TO REACHING SOMETHING TO MAKE HIM NNEEVER FUCK WITH US AGAIN. HIS ILLUSIONS WILL HAUNT US NO LONGER#THEY WERE SSSOOO PARANOID W ALL THE CAMERAS AND BOMBING THEIR OWN LAB AND RUNNING AND RUNNING AND GETTING AWWAY FROM THIS FUCKEN! MOUSE!!!!#OHHHH I THINK IM RUNNIN OUTA ROOM so ill talk about da art real quick.BEEN WORKIN ON THIS FOR A WHIIILE.ALOTTA THESE were started when the#ep came out.so OLD!! BUT DONE!!and im very very happy w my colors n gore n EXPRESSIONS!! the top right corner comic keeps making me chuckle#I ALSO rly love the lil convo between arthur n viv.theyre SO CUTE TOGETHERR they should go ona museum date together or somethin#they need more time to just talk abt da World together.ALSO CAN I BE PETTY.I MADE ARTHUR UGLY CORRECT-STYLE#THESE BOYS KNOW NOTHING OF UGLY.I MADE THE VAMPIRIC FLESH EVOLVE N ROT N BLOSSOM AND THERE IS SQUIRMING WITHIN THE TENEBRAE#UHHH IEAH THIS GUY W A ROTTED N DISTORTED FACE WALKS INTO MY BIKE STORE IEAH IM SCREAAAMIN LIKE WADDA HELL!! MONSTOR!!!
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writingescapades · 1 day ago
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Ooooh, I always considered MC being the one that gets hurt, and it never occurred to me that Rafayel would cease to be in becoming a full god....
Hold on, new theory!
So, what if during the rite, MC realized that the Rafayel she knew would cease to be and that the Sea God would come into existence. To prevent that from happening, she did or said something that caused the rite to fail. The Lemurians don't know what happened because it's not in the tome or someone removed that bit, but MC took the blame, the "betrayal", and the Sea God cursed MC to forget everything and be a witch in the abyss?? Cut to however much time later and Rafayel comes to witchMC and frees her at the cost of his life, and we get this story.
Maybe the reason why Rafayel says in the recent arch that their story is doomed is because he knows that they will always lose each other when he becomes a full god. Maybe the god needs a human devotee for the rite because he needs the emotion of love? Devotion and love weave in and out in Rafayel's story, so I wouldn't be surprised if there is commentary on how love and devotion and one and the same. Maybe Rafayel and MC are doomed to fall in love, but once the sea god emerges, the vessel becomes a part of the sea god and the human is cast off / killed?? Maybe that's why Rafayel values every moment with MC and yearns to constantly be around her. He's not clingy, he's doomed to only a few months, maybe years with her. The only way to make it last longer is through this reincarnation misery, but each time she forgets, so they can never really reunite long enough before time is up again. Their love is doomed in 2 ways. The first due to time, and the second because they are always sacrificing (and thus, hurting) themselves so that the other may live. Maybe that's why he's so desperate to rewrite the story and break the cycle.
And I agree, Rafayel is a distrusting person. What I mean was that he is not so open with his distrust. Like he acts shady and asks indirect questions. He reads people amazingly well. It's only really with the MC that he bluntly asks her questions on whether she would hurt him and such, which if you think about it, you do need to trust someone well enough to ask them such questions directly. It's a really good narrative technique to show that despite his distrust and distant personality, Rafayel does trust the MC the most out of everyone in his life. But I find a difference between the questions he asks that test MC, and the moments of intense emotions where it almost feels like it's not Rafayel asking, but someone else. It's still Rafayel and still his thoughts and emotions, but almost like there is an increased pressure to express them quite unlike his usual methods. The reason why I said it's the sea god is because of the latest chapter where we immediately feel the intensity of the sea god. I hope that makes sense.
Of course, this theory has a lot of holes
If Rafayel knows he'll die when the sea god awakens, why does he go through with it, especially in the latest chapter? Does he still intend to die? (He probably has an ace up his sleeve, but what's his plan for MC?)
Still don't know how his bond with her works because it literally broke whatever hold the sea god had, and it remains intact despite all their rebirths.
I understand why Rafayel is so distrustful, and he has a right to be. But also, if he has all his memories then he would know that the MC never once betrayed or hurt him, so why then does he question her so much. I feel there is more to this distrust.
I keep seeing people saying MC betrayed Rafayel in the past, but I don't understand??? Where?? When??
MC offered her heart when he asked for it. He was the one who refused to accept.
MC was banished to abyss with no memories and made the potion because she thought he was going to drink it. But he made MC drink.
Even when he erased their bond, she remembered and found him again.
So whyyy??? When was the betrayal?? I'm really asking cause I don't get it, did I miss something? Are we reading the same thing?? I think neither MC nor Rafayel ever betrayed the other??
Also, the same thing with the resentment. Where is the Rafayel resents MC is coming from?? Rafayel's resentment looks more like towards his duty as the sea god and the responsibilities that were put on him from the moment he was born. Not towards MC??? He put up a wall not because he's angry at her but because he knows everything will be against them and maybe if she stays away from him she can be happy??
He wants her to remember him because he loves her, but also he doesn't want her to remember because what if she blames herself, what if she's still willing to die for his behalf. He thinks she must be the one who resent him, so why is she trying to get close, why is she acting so naive?
What is all these slander?????
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longagoitwastuesday · 3 months ago
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I have learnt things about Geto that I wish I could unlearn
#I think I'm getting about the same amount of spoilers as a few weeks ago except now I understand them#But like. I expected so much of him#Seeing gifs of that one scene in which Gojo gets distracted because of Geto almost made me watch this a year ago#Geto was actually my favourite character in that one JJK fanfic I read that I mention so often even if he had literally one scene#I know so much of the emotional turmoil and conflict in JJK and Gojo in particular depends on him#And you're telling me he's Thanos?#I learnt a few days ago that everything pretty much happens in one year. That there's one year between Geto's death and Gojo's#I thought it would be like ten years. Ten years of the act haunting him#But no? So it's not a broken teenager who has these ideas and is killed by another teenager to stop him?#It's a what? ~30yo man saying Light levels of stupidity? Even worse perhaps?#Goodness I hope this is not so. I hope this is better written than what I am seeing#Because goddammit I can't do it. It would kinda ruin every emotional scene from then on?#That one scene I was so looking forwards about patting Gojo's back or whatever. The one in which Gojo gets distracted. It just. I don't know#I won't be able to be moved if Geto doesn't work xD#I was fearing I wasn't going to like him a lot because my expectations were big but oh my god please not like this#This is way worse than I expected. Someone tell me he actually makes sense. What's the point of this whole political play#in which no one is fully wrong and no one is totally right otherwise? What is the point of the haunting. This feels just idiotic xD#And I don't care about the traumas and all that. That works for the teen not the ~30yo man#It would have worked if Gojo would have killed him like 1-2 years after everything not like a few months ago. Last winter#After like ten years a 30yo man should have realised this plan sucks.#Even if it's utilitarian. Who is going to make clothes? Buildings? Streets and railways? Bread??? Go have a talk with Nanami please#We have been told there are not a lot of jujutsu sorcerers. How are you going to fulfill all those needs out of nothing?#And even if it were little by little so the needs could be getting fulfilled little by little too#If you decimate humans won't that cause more curses? I guess he's thinking on the long run but still this plan seems like a mess#I hope it makes more sense than it's looking it will make because of my god this would truly be the last nail on the coffin xD#I am being more and more tempted to get to Utahime and then just drop this. This is breaking my heart xD#It could be soooo good and it always almost is#And then. AND THEN. Abfksbfndbfkan#Jen pick me up. Come solve this. I am scared xD#I talk too much
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