#that they both sense when the other is in danger (or going to be)

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[auroras-zenith]

what doesn't kill you // prologue

you had your whole life planned out for you; start an agency with your best friend, scale the charts and make japan your bitch. but when a tragic accident leaves you incapacitated and out of a job, you find you just need to start fresh. you cut ties–and for two years, you've all but disappeared. until they need you again and come knocking at your door.

bakugo x retiredpro!reader

next

It didn't make sense, the way you and Bakugo worked.

See, for everyone else in his life, he seemed to gravitate towards people opposite his nature.

Take Kirishima, for example–the blonde's best friend and wingman since high school. It was obvious how they clicked. The red heads steady, calming tendencies serving as the anchor to Bakugo's ship, lost in the storm of his brash, reckless ways.

The same could be said about nearly every other person in his life.

All but one.

"Yeah? Try me." He hissed, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. The telltale scent of burnt caramel had already begun to propagate through the street.

"Dynamight- stop! Don't engage with the villain! Detain without injur–"

"Shut the fuck up, Deku!" Bakugo spat, ripping his comm off and tossing it to the side. "This extra wants to go, so let's go!"

"Hell yeah!" You grinned cockily, appearing at his side.

Where the world served to calm Bakugo Katsuki, you were the opposite. You were the oil, and he the flame. It shouldn't have worked.

But it did.

The world could say what it pleased about the two of you. At the end of the day, it was undeniable that you were an effective pairing on the battlefield.

"Start an agency with me." He demanded that foggy high school day, staring at you with such intensity anyone else would've confused it for a glare.

"Why should I?"

"Who else could keep your dumbass in check?"

You hadn't spoken for a week after that. He had spent those seven days sulking around–temper even shorter than usual, Kirishima tailing him, apologizing on his behalf.

"Because I can't do it without you."

"Sorry?" You asked, looking up snootily. You had heard him–he wasn't exactly a quiet person after all–and he knew it. The small quirk upwards in the corner of your lips gave you away.

Still, he humored you, rolling his eyes. "I can't do it without you." He huffed, louder this time. "I can't start an agency without you by my side."

Two of Japan's up and coming heroes–and boy were they coming in hot. Dynamight and Cordelia. Two wildly talented people on the battlefield, fearsome as they were reckless.

"Congrats, L/n." Kirishima smiled proudly, raising a glass.

You smirked fondly, lifting your own to meet his.

He was here for Bakugo, but it was nice to see him nonetheless. It was odd; despite the individual bonds you both shared with Bakugo, the two of you had never built a close friendship of your own. You simply enjoyed your respective time with the blonde, each holding respect for the other's unique relationship with the hot head.

"Thanks, Kiri." You grinned, taking a sip from your glass.

"To the Dynadelia agency!" A voice shouted over the chatter, a glass seen lifted over the sea of people.

The crowd erupted into noises of approval–hundreds of drinks lifted into the air.

"That's for us." Hot breath tickled the back of your ear.

You scoffed playfully, grinning wildly as you turned to face the voice. "Really? Couldn't tell."

"I'm serious, N/n. That's us. We did it."

You softened. "Yeah. Yeah, Kat. We did."

There was no stopping the two of you after that. The Dynadelia agency quickly rose to the first ranked agency in Japan, fourth in the world, each of you easily securing spots number two and four on the Japanese hero charts.

You didn't spend all your time together. You were both far too chaotic for that. Instead, you often found yourself allied with Deku and Shoto, and he with Redriot.

But when the two of you met on the field, boy were you unstoppable. Each a raging storm, fueling the other as both charged head on into danger.

"And another victory for pro hero Dynamight and the Dynadelia agency. As we hurtle into a dangerous, villain filled world, we thank our heroes for all..."

You hummed as you brewed yourself a pot of coffee, the news playing in the background as it covered your partner's latest tussle with a villain.

The finished mug was warm between your hands as you moved to sit on the couch.

You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to appreciate the slow day. It was warm inside despite the rain that could be heard pelting the floor just outside the window.

There was something so soothing about your cozy apartment on days like these. The plants that hung from the ceilings, the skylights overhead, and the mantle where you had placed old photographs of your high school days.

It was so authentically you.

"Could Cordelia and Dynamight be more than just partners on the battlefield?"

You paused your thoughts to tune back into the news, giggling as you heard the speculation. It was nothing new. The whole civilian and media world assumed the two of you were together–and even amongst those who knew you well, your friends and family all joked about the same.

It was obvious to the world that the two of you liked the other; and had since high school.

Maybe one day you'd settle down together. Retire and raise a family. But for now, you were both far too deep into your careers for anything as serious as that–and you were quite happy being his best friend.

You felt a buzzing in your pocket and set down the cup of warm coffee in your hand. Speak of the devil. You grinned as you answered.

"I just got home. You missing me already?"

"Fuckin' Deku's getting his ass kicked. Shoto too. Get over here."

You could hear sirens blaring in the background as he breathed heavily into the mic. It wasn't every day that someone could take on Japan's top three heroes and live to tell the tale, let alone leave them scrambling for more support.

"Tell them I'm on my way. Are you with them?" You were already up, coffee long since forgotten as you grabbed your costume, comm and phone.

"Shitty hair and I are about to take over while they handle evac."

"Be there in five."

You barely heard his affirmative before he hung up, screaming orders. It wasn't unusual for calls like this to occur, but something felt different about this one. Worse, somehow.

You sprinted out the door, whispering a thank you to the heavens as you stepped into the heavy rain.

The ground lowered away almost immediately, quirk like second nature as the water around you propelled you level with the clouds.

"Cordelia," they called you; heart of the sea.

a/n: been on my mind for a while so why not hehe

taglist: none yet

permanent tags: none yet

[revelboo]

Writer please take time but when your up for eat I'm eating up rumble, skyfire, thundercracker and soundwave love to see more when ur up for it ♥

Bad Idea Pt 10

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Head back against his berth, his tendrils slide against the sides, coiling restlessly. Because you’re moving against him in your sleep again. You’re sprawled against the mesh of his throat at the moment, your face and one arm right under his chin so he can feel your warm breath on him. Can’t move you without waking you and he’s reluctant to disturb you as you make a low noise and shift again. He’d figured out pretty quickly that you squirm about in your sleep and that he needed to pin you with his servos. Once he’d even come out of recharge to find you somehow sleeping on his visor. But as your mouth brushes his mesh, his tendrils curl up.

• “Five more minutes,” you groan as you’re woken to Soundwave hooking a tendril around you and dragging you from your warm spot. “Soundwave.” You’re not above whining, because surely it’s not time to get up yet. But then he’s hauling you up in that tendril to dangle over his visor. “Come on,” you protest, arms trapped at your sides before he reaches up the other tendril, a grasper gently tapping your nose. More affectionate than a reprimand, then he lifts his head enough to brush his visor against your cheek.

• Even though you’re huffing at him, there’s no real annoyance in your mind that he can detect. Just a sleepy affection as he sits up and slides off his berth with you still trapped in the coil of a tendril, little legs kicking when he turns you upside down. Now you’re wide awake, squealing his name and Lazerbeak lifts his head, armor panels flaring in irritation. Disgusted with both of you. Pretending to forget he has you, he drifts about the room looking for his data pad, listening as you start laughing at him.

• All the blood’s going to your head as he very slowly swings you around, long arms reaching to open drawers and dig around. “Okay, okay. I’m awake!” That head turns to look at you, tilting slightly as he pulls you to him to gently bump his visor against you like he always does and you manage to brush a kiss against him instead, still laughing. Warmth spreading through you as he presses you to the warm mesh of his neck. There’s an odd sense of disappointment when he finally lowers you back to his berth. You know he’s leaving you for the day and that he has things to do. “Stay?” You ask, head tipping back to look at his face even though you know he won’t. He can’t.

• Don’t you know how badly he’d like to? Laying his hands on the berth on either side of you, he leans down until his visor is almost touching you. Trying to figure out how to tell you what he wants to without a voice. Instead you reach up to touch him and press another soft kiss against him. “Just come back soon, okay?” Always, little one. That warmth that is you slips into his spark, even more dangerous than the chaos of your thoughts because it can unravel him so easily.

Previous

[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Villains x Reader

You're the new hot and smart underling

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

The Joker

- From the moment you joined the Joker’s ranks, his interest was piqued. Your sharp mind and striking presence stood out amongst the usual riff-raff. “A diamond in the rough!” he declared with a manic grin. Though he initially treated you like any other henchperson, his curious glances and the way he leaned in during conversations hinted at deeper intrigue.

- The Joker quickly made it a point to test your intellect. He threw out riddles mid-conversation, asked for your input on his chaotic plans, and watched with delight as you matched his wit. When you pointed out a flaw in one of his schemes—something no one else dared to do—he clapped his hands and cackled. “I like you,” he said, the words dangerously lighthearted.

- He couldn’t resist pulling you into the spotlight, often assigning you the most high-profile tasks. “Let’s see what you’re really made of!” he’d say with a grin that sent chills down your spine. Success was met with a rare approval, while failure earned a manic lecture or a laugh that felt more threatening than amused.

- Over time, his obsession with you became clear. He’d show up unannounced while you worked, circling you like a predator and commenting on how “refreshingly unpredictable” you were. His attention was both a blessing and a curse, offering protection but also putting you in constant danger of his volatile whims.

- The other henchpeople noticed the Joker’s fixation on you, leading to whispers and jealousy. Some even tried to undermine you, but the Joker put an immediate stop to it. “Nobody touches my little genius,” he’d hiss, his voice icy before switching back to his signature grin.

- Despite his madness, there were moments where his attention bordered on genuine. He’d hand you a gift—a macabre joke of a trinket—and watch your reaction with keen interest. Yet, his affection always felt like a game, a dangerous dance where losing meant the stakes could turn deadly.

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Harley was instantly drawn to you when you joined the gang. “Ooh, fresh meat!” she teased, her Brooklyn accent thick with mischief. It didn’t take long for her to notice your sharp mind and how you carried yourself with confidence. “Smart and hot? You’re a triple threat, sugar!” she exclaimed, clearly intrigued.

- Harley loved testing your limits, throwing you into chaotic situations to see how you handled them. Whether it was a high-speed getaway or negotiating with rival criminals, she’d watch you with sparkling eyes, clapping her hands in glee when you exceeded expectations.

- Her flirtation was constant and shameless. She’d saunter up to you during planning sessions, twirling a strand of her blonde-and-pink hair. “Y’know, if I wasn’t with Mistah J, I’d have to snatch you up,” she’d say with a wink, though you couldn’t always tell how serious she was.

- As your competence became undeniable, Harley began to rely on you more and more. She’d drag you into her schemes, insisting, “You’re my good luck charm!” She’d giggle when things went awry but always trusted you to pull them back together.

- Harley wasn’t above showing off for you, either. During fights or heists, she’d go out of her way to make dramatic, acrobatic moves, casting a playful glance your way afterward. “Betcha didn’t know I could do that, huh?” she’d say, grinning ear to ear.

- Beneath her bubbly exterior, Harley grew genuinely attached to you. She’d seek you out during quiet moments, talking about everything from the stars to her favorite cartoons. “You’re somethin’ special, y’know?” she’d say softly, her tone unusually serious before covering it with a laugh.

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy noticed you the moment you walked in. She had an uncanny way of sensing power, and there was something about your intelligence and charisma that intrigued her. “You’re not like the rest of them,” she said with a sly smile, her green eyes piercing.

- She tested you in subtle ways, asking for your opinion on her environmental crusades or challenging you with complex tasks. When you provided thoughtful, insightful answers, she found herself impressed. “Hmm, perhaps you’re worth keeping around,” she mused, though the glimmer of approval in her gaze said more.

- Ivy quickly took you under her wing, ensuring you worked closely with her. She’d often call you to her greenhouse, watching as you moved carefully among her plants. “You have respect for life,” she’d note, almost to herself. Her approval felt rare and precious, like sunlight through the trees.

- Her fondness for you grew in small but significant ways. She’d casually offer you gifts—rare flowers or herbs—claiming they were “just leftovers.” When you thanked her, she’d wave it off, but the faint smile on her lips betrayed her pleasure.

- Ivy’s protective instincts soon kicked in. If anyone in the organization dared to disrespect you, they’d find themselves tangled in vines before they could blink. “No one touches what’s mine,” she’d declare, her voice cold and commanding, though she never elaborated on the claim.

- Despite her aloof demeanor, Ivy valued your presence deeply. In quiet moments, she’d open up about her dreams of a better world, her voice soft and wistful. “You understand,” she’d say, almost vulnerable. “You see the beauty in the chaos, just like me.”

Bane

- Bane was initially skeptical of you. Beauty and intelligence were rare qualities among his recruits, and he wondered if you were too good to be true. “Prove your worth,” he demanded, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. His voice was calm but carried the weight of a challenge.

- You quickly earned his respect through your sharp strategies and unflinching determination. Bane valued strength, both physical and mental, and your ability to stay calm under pressure impressed him. “You are more capable than most,” he admitted, a rare compliment from the man who broke the Bat.

- Bane began involving you in higher-level plans, seeking your input and trusting your judgment. “You think like a tactician,” he observed, his dark eyes studying you intently. His approval felt earned, a testament to your hard work and resilience.

- Despite his stoic demeanor, Bane showed his care in subtle ways. He ensured you were well-protected during missions, assigning his most loyal soldiers to watch your back. “Your mind is a valuable asset,” he’d say, though his actions hinted at something more personal.

- Over time, Bane’s respect for you deepened into admiration. He found himself drawn to your unwavering determination and the way you carried yourself with quiet confidence. “You remind me of someone who fights for what they believe in,” he said once, his tone almost reverent.

- Bane’s connection to you became undeniable when he began sharing fragments of his past. “Strength is forged in pain,” he told you one night, his voice low and reflective. “You understand that. It’s why you belong here—with me.” His words carried a rare vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the mask.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- Jonathan’s first impression of you was clinical curiosity. Among the sea of his mindless minions, your sharp intelligence and composed demeanor were a breath of fresh air. He observed you silently for days, cataloging your behavior like a subject in his experiments. “Fascinating,” he murmured to himself when you solved a problem no one else could.

- He wasted no time putting your mind to the test, assigning you tasks meant to break weaker recruits. When you succeeded with ease, he became both intrigued and slightly unnerved. “You’re more resilient than I expected,” he remarked, his tone bordering on admiration, though his calculating eyes betrayed his constant evaluation.

- As you gained his respect, Jonathan began sharing his philosophical musings with you. “Fear,” he’d say, leaning closer, “is the only true motivator.” He watched your reactions intently, searching for a flicker of agreement or defiance. Your willingness to engage in these debates only solidified his growing fascination with you.

- Over time, he involved you in his experiments, valuing your input on the effects of his fear toxin. He’d watch you work with a rare, quiet intensity, occasionally breaking the silence to ask your opinion. “Tell me,” he said once, “what do you fear most?” The question lingered in the air, more personal than professional.

- Jonathan’s protectiveness over you grew subtly. If anyone questioned your methods or competence, he’d silence them with a single glare. “This one,” he’d say, his voice cold, “is not to be underestimated.” His approval came sparingly, but when given, it felt like a hard-earned triumph.

- Despite his detached nature, Jonathan found himself drawn to your presence in a way that surprised even him. During his quieter moments, he’d share fragments of his past, his voice tinged with bitterness and vulnerability. “Perhaps,” he said one night, almost to himself, “fear isn’t the only thing that defines us.”

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- Harvey noticed you the moment you joined his organization. Half of him admired your intelligence and poise, while the other half—gruffer, more distrusting—demanded you prove your loyalty. “Let’s see how you handle yourself,” he said, flipping his coin. Heads, you were given a chance; tails, you were thrown into the fire.

- Your quick thinking and unshakable composure soon won over both sides of Harvey. He appreciated your ability to adapt to his volatile moods, navigating his dual nature with surprising ease. “You’re good,” he admitted one day, his scarred side smirking while the unscarred side gave a small nod of approval.

- Harvey began relying on you for more than just grunt work, bringing you into his inner circle. He’d consult you during planning sessions, flipping his coin before agreeing with your suggestions. “You’re smart,” he said, his voice laced with reluctant admiration. “Almost too smart for your own good.”

- Despite his hardened exterior, Harvey showed glimpses of softness around you. On rare occasions, he’d let his guard down, speaking about the struggles of balancing his two selves. “You think it’s easy?” he asked one night, his voice raw. “Living with two voices in your head?” He didn’t expect an answer but seemed comforted by your understanding.

- His dual nature extended to how he treated you. On good days, he’d praise your work and share a drink with you, his charm shining through. On bad days, he’d lash out, only to apologize later. “You shouldn’t stick around someone like me,” he muttered once, his good side conflicted while his bad side growled, “But you will.”

- Over time, Harvey’s admiration for you turned into something deeper. He became fiercely protective, warning anyone who dared to question your loyalty or competence. “This one’s mine,” he’d say, the flip of his coin deciding whether the threat ended there—or escalated further.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- Edward immediately gravitated toward you when you joined his crew. Your intelligence was obvious, and he couldn’t resist testing it. “Riddle me this,” he said with a smirk, throwing out puzzles and watching with delight as you solved them with ease. “Finally,” he exclaimed, “someone worthy of my brilliance!”

- He quickly made you his personal protégé, dragging you into his elaborate schemes and assigning you tasks that required both wit and precision. “Don’t disappoint me,” he warned, though the gleam in his eye suggested he didn’t expect you to. Your successes only fueled his ego, making him more confident in his choice.

- Edward loved showing off around you, often monologuing about his genius or presenting you with his latest riddles. He craved your approval, though he’d never admit it outright. “You see it, don’t you?” he’d ask, leaning closer. “How much smarter I am than everyone else?”

- As your bond grew, Edward became more possessive of your time and attention. He’d grow irritable if you worked with anyone else, muttering about how “inferior minds” didn’t deserve your talents. “You’re wasted on them,” he’d say, his tone dripping with disdain.

- Despite his arrogance, Edward valued your opinions deeply. He’d often ask for your input during planning sessions, genuinely considering your ideas. When you outsmarted him in a rare moment, he was equal parts annoyed and impressed. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he grumbled, though his smile betrayed his pride in you.

- Beneath his bravado, Edward harbored a genuine fondness for you. In quieter moments, he’d confide in you about his insecurities, his voice softer and more vulnerable than you’d ever heard. “Do you think they’ll ever truly understand me?” he asked once, his question laced with an uncharacteristic hint of doubt.

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- Oswald was skeptical when you first joined his ranks. He’d seen plenty of attractive recruits come and go, and he assumed you’d be no different. But when you demonstrated your sharp mind and ability to navigate his world, he quickly took notice. “Hmm,” he muttered, adjusting his monocle. “You might be more useful than you look.”

- He began assigning you more important tasks, watching closely to see how you handled yourself. When you not only met but exceeded his expectations, he couldn’t help but be impressed. “Well, well,” he said with a smirk. “It seems I’ve underestimated you.”

- Oswald had a flair for theatrics, and he loved dragging you into his schemes. He’d show off his wealth and power, often treating you to luxurious dinners or gifting you extravagant trinkets. “Consider it an investment,” he’d say, though his smug grin suggested otherwise.

- Over time, Oswald’s respect for you grew into admiration. He appreciated your loyalty and competence, valuing you as more than just another underling. “You’ve got potential,” he told you one night, his tone unusually sincere. “Stick with me, and you’ll go far.”

- Despite his ruthless nature, Oswald showed surprising protectiveness over you. If anyone dared to disrespect or threaten you, they’d find themselves at the mercy of his sharp-tipped umbrella. “No one crosses the Penguin,” he growled, his eyes cold. “Especially not someone under my wing.”

- Oswald’s attachment to you became evident in his quieter moments. He’d share stories of his past, his voice tinged with bitterness and longing. “The world never gave me a chance,” he said once, his gaze distant. “But you—you’re different. You’ve got what it takes to survive.”

[sankta-wraith]

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.

[scribescrawls]

Transformers One setting, I like to headcanon that the 50 cycles when the High Guard were being hunted down were rough especially as energon no longer flowed. Now imagine soon after the events of the movie when Megatron is with the rest of the High Guard at their new base that’s still half being set up, Starscream or one of the others will just mention something extremely wild that happened to them casually to each other that it makes Megatron go “that can’t possibly be real” or “for your sake I really hope you’re lying”. For instance, imagine Starscream trying to actually impart some surface survival skills to their new leader and points to a set of weird looking plants/grass growing out of the planet and Starscream is like “if you’re ever extremely desperate and stranded with no energon sources wandering wastelands on the brink of shutting down, you can eat these as a last resort. It will give you the energy to stay online, but be careful. It’s best to only consume it if you have someone with you who can tie you up and carry you. I recommend taking shifts so you can keep moving forward”.

Megatron, confused: Wait why would I need someone to tie me up and carry me?

Starscream: Side effects. I mean it about it being a last resort. It makes you not yourself. Feral, aggressive, and a potential danger to both yourself and others. Then the hallucinations start setting in. You start hearing and seeing things. The visions are different for everyone, but rarely are they pleasant. And the feeling of it finally burning out of your system at the end hurts like a glitch.

Megatron: How do you even know for sure that’s what it does?

Starscream: First hand experience. But one day it could save your life so remember it.

Megatron, doubtful if Starscream is telling the truth, but morbidly curious: What did you hear and see?

Starscream: Have you ever seen the dead come back to life wrong and their face plates slowly melting off as you hear the dying screams of bots long past?

Megatron: No…

Starscream: Let’s try to keep it that way.

He wonders if maybe Starscream is just messing with him or trying to scare him about the surface, but then he turns his head to see Shockwave and Soundwave nodding seriously and confirming Starscream’s statements.

Shockwave, referring to Starscream: I used to have dents in my old arm from when he bit me under its effects. Of course I can’t show you since that was on my old arm before I lost and replaced it later down the line.

Megatron: Wait that’s not your original arm? What happened to it?

Shockwave, casually with no context: Oh Starscream cut it off. I don’t hold it against him though, it was the logical thing to do at the time.

Megatron is just like wtf were you guys doing in those 50 cycles?! In what circumstances does cutting off someone’s arm make logical sense?! Poor Megatron is probably wondering if it’s not too late to run back to Iacon.

I just like the idea that during those 50 cycles the High Guard were going through the Horrors™.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Frayed Edges

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be so in love and so… ignorant of the roles you had to play, which lead to you breaking up. But that didn’t seem to keep you away from each other since you now act as Bucky’s nurse whenever he gets hurt. Based off my mini fic here.

Stitched Together | Pull the Thread | In Stitches | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

He was pissed off. His entire body hurt and he was really pissed off.

Sam dropped him off at your place. Bucky didn't want to deal with anyone else right now. He told Sam he'd call him when he'd need to get picked up.

He limps up to your door, grimacing at every move he makes. The stab wound in his stomach hurt like a bitch and he needed your help ASAP.

He knocks on your door, ringing the doorbell with urgency. The door swings open and your eyes widen, "Holy shit, Bucky!" You pull him inside and he groans in pain.

Bucky takes a quick glance at your table, seeing two sets of plates set out, "You expecting someone?"

You open your mouth to reply and there's a knock at your door, "Shit," you murmur, "Go to my room. Don't make a sound. Hurry!"

He obeys without a word. As soon as your bedroom door closes, you rush to your front door and pull it open, "Hey, dad! Sorry, was in the bathroom."

"It's alright, Bug," your dad kisses your head and enters your home, the bag of takeout in his hand. You take the bag from him and head to the dining table.

"Nice! Sushi!" you feign excitement, silently praying that, for whatever reason, your dad doesn't go to your room to find your ex boyfriend, now mob boss, bleeding on your floor.

"You still like the dragon roll, right?"

"Yup!"

"Good," your dad joins you at the table.

"Um, I have to finish some online training class really quickly and then I'll join you in a bit."

"Yeah, yeah. No problem. Go finish up. I'll be here," your dad waves you away and you rush to your bedroom, locking it behind you.

You head to the conjoining bathroom, as see Bucky cleaning his wound. “Why the fuck did you think coming here was a good idea?!” You whisper angrily at the bleeding mob boss in your home.

“I didn’t know your dad was coming over!” Bucky loudly whispers back in response.

“Exactly! You didn’t know which is why the smart thing to do would’ve been to call or text me to let me know you planned on coming!”

The mob boss scoffs, “Well sorry, I was a little too busy trying to not to die from a stab wound!” He gestures to his punctured skin.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh, “Out of nights you get hurt, it had to be the night my dad and I have dinner together.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “My bad. I’ll make sure to schedule my stabbings at a more convenient time.”

“Idiot,” you mumble as you grab your first aid kit from under the sink, and gesture for him to sit on your toilet.

You work in a quick and efficient silence. Bucky doesn’t make an effort of conversation because he knows you prefer silence when you work.

Despite your annoyance with him, you're still gentle. You apologize for the stinging of neosporin.

He watches you with an observant gaze, a softness in his eyes. A sense of longing fills him in the pit of his stomach...or maybe that's the feeling of the needle you're sewing him up with.

Bucky still can't believe this is where life has lead you both. You help save lives, he, on occasion, ends lives. You're light, while Bucky lives and works in the dark.

He knows coming back into your life was dangerous, but he couldn't help it. He just missed you so much and was desperate to have you back in any capacity. Even if he can't have you the way that he wants.

You finish up, taking off the bloody gloves you wore and throwing them into the trash, “Stay here. Take some meds. I’ll check up on you, but please be quiet. If dad finds you, he’ll kill both of us.” You state with concern and seriousness.

He nods and gives you a shy smile, “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Go enjoy dinner with your pop.”

You stand with a sigh, “Just text me if you need anything. I’ll pretend it’s America or something.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Bucky says as he slowly stands from your toilet after you stitched him up.

He watches as you quickly clean up and exit your room. He listens to the distant sound of you and your dad talking.

Bucky’s shoulder slumps as he lets out a shaky sigh. He wishes it never came to this, sneaking around and pretending like he still didn’t love you.

Because he does. He always will, even if you two are now worlds apart from each other, on opposing sides, never meant to be.

[livmightlive]

LU Soul Eater AU: Four

I must admit, Four has a really edgy 2014 lab AU that I spent too much time thinking about. I did have fun though so here’s his backstory and a trigger warning for unethical human experimentation. I don’t think it’s anything more graphic than what would be in Soul Eater.

A small disclaimer: I’m going mostly off of what I remember from the manga for any sense of canon, I haven’t had the privilege of playing the game yet. 😔

I think I mentioned before, but each of Four’s colors are a different type of knife. Together they’re able form the four sword.

Green is a machete. 

I decided on that for him because I think that machetes look really dangerous, showing up in a lot of horror media, and can cause a lot of harm, but that is not what they are meant for. Machetes are meant for clearing bush and foliage away to clear paths through forest or jungle. They can be used to obtain resources. A trailblazer or leader might use this knife. Green grew up with his father who was a captain in the royal guard. Green was being groomed as a weapon for the Princess Dot. Upon manifesting as a machete, a lot of people, especially Green’s own father, were disappointed and believed him to be a poor weapon for a princess looking crude and brutal. Together, Dot and Green proved the masses wrong, with them both proving themselves as leaders before fighters. 

Vio is a throwing knife. 

Vio is a child runaway. I can’t figure out what would be a good reason for him to run or what his family would be like, but I imagine he learned a dangerous secret. I also like to think that despite Vio being very smart, he can be unreasonable and is able to rationalize himself into making bad choices. He’s a throwing knife because it takes a lot of learning and skill to be able to wield a weapon such as that. It also takes something crazy to throw your weapon away from you and be able to rely on it to return. Vio can be recalled by his meister, but it has to be of his own accord. He can also control his flight to some degree. Up until the events I’ll describe in a minute, he had never been wielded before.

Blue is a trench knife.

In the background of the events during my story, there’s a war raging in the background that’s much more prevalent in Warrior’s story. This has caused a lot of children to be orphaned, Blue included. He grows up in a poorly funded orphanage and gets into a lot of fights growing up. I chose a trench knife for Blue because it is a very brutal weapon, something which I think he can be. It’s also a weapon that when you use, you know that you are aiming to really hurt your opponent and that you have to get really close to do so. There are also two main ways to use a trench knife, the blade, ofc, and the brass knuckles which I think kind of show how Blue thinks outside the box, especially in combat. It’s also a weapon that’s mean to be used when your back is against the wall.

Red is a Switchblade.

Red also grew up in an orphanage also due to the war. He and Blue grew up in the same place but weren’t close with each other. He definitely grew up more of a lover having a high level of empathy. Despite being picked on, maybe bullied a bit, Red is the type of person who never wants to hurt somebody else even in self defense. I chose the switchblade for Red because it kind of conceals its nature most of the time hiding in a sheath. A switchblade is a weapon that has to be used in close quarters, but unlike Blue’s trench knife, the opponent might not even recognize it as a weapon until it’s too late. Switchblades are spring loaded and fast, but by pressing a button, the user has a lot of choice before they use it. I think Red would be able to stop himself from being triggered in his weapon form if he tried hard enough.

All of the four were born in the same year, all being roughly the same age. (Yay this means I can choose their zodiacs!) When they were all 11, each of them were kidnapped in the same winter by a witch called Vaati. Vio was first, being a homeless child he was hungry enough to be lured in by the prospect of working for food and board. This later would be something he feels ashamed of thinking himself more clever than that. Next would be Red who thought he was helping an elderly woman carry her groceries home… into a dark alleyway. Blue would be next, probably just being classically kidnapped after he poked around somewhere shady. Green would be the last, going on a personal mission to investigate the rapid disappearance of kids from the city he lived in. 

Vaati is a witch who is trying to make weaker weapons stronger in order to arm the army of the ancient evil (ganon) that he and many other witches are trying to revive.  For his first experiment, he wants to fuse several small/young weapons into one big stronger one. He chose the four because they’re young enough to be malleable but old enough to actually be able to turn into their weapons. They also conveniently have a lot in common, age, gender, and weapon type which Vaati thinks will make it easier to fuse them.

Vaati begins a series of experiments that don’t really seem to make sense to the four. He’ll force them all to work together to complete puzzles only to rip them apart for the next few. Vio, who’s been there the longest, plays along well knowing what to expect. Green, who’s been training already for a long time, doesn't struggle too much with physical or mental challenges. Red and Blue however struggle a lot causing Vaati to use crueler and crueler experiments to get them to obey.

Vaati’s struggle with Red and Blue resides in that Blue fights back the most and is actually quite brawny for a tween and Red won’t fight at all refusing to take his weapon form and even if he does, he won’t unsheath. Blue is something Vaati must subdue and break in. Red is something to trigger. He routinely exposes them to extreme temperatures, Blue the cold and Red the heat, and subjects them to frightening simulations. (I’m basing this off the manga with blue being frozen, red in the burning village, the giant poe)

Most confusingly, he makes the four wield each other which is not natural/impossible for weapons to do. Vaati achieves this with the help of magic.

Vaati works using his own son Shadow as an assistant. Shadow is a similar age as the boys and enjoys the power he gets to lord over them. Secretly, he’s really happy to have so many other kids around. That being said. He hasn’t been properly socialized so his idea of trying to play with them is just by mildly tormenting them. 

Vio is the first to start befriending Shadow. Like in the manga, he does this with the intention of later betraying him, planning on using him as means to escape. He unexpectedly begins to genuinely like Shadow and starts to experience extreme guilt in thinking about what he’s going to do. Nevertheless, Vio begins to start faking Stockholm syndrome. This is really confusing for the rest of the boys. Blue thinks that Vio is bad person and is actually siding with Vaati. This leads to a fight between them that results in Vio being separated from the rest of the boys. (I didn’t mention it but they’re usually locked in the same room between experiments.) Red believes that Vio actually has Stockholm syndrome and feels really bad for him. Green can see through Vios' plan but just thinks that it’s a really bad idea. He doesn’t say anything though because he doesn’t want to ruin it for him just in case it does work. 

Red is the next to befriend Shadow, though it’s unintentional. Despite everything, Red does his best to remain kind, maybe not so much to Vaati, but to Shadow, sure. Red thinks that Shadow is just a brainwashed kid, which he’s kind of right about. Shadow starts to like Red because he’ll go along with any game he wants to play. 

Green falls after Red gets more chill with Shadow. The games they play look fun and Green really didn’t have a lot of chances to play growing up. He starts to take a page from Vio’s book, trying to pry information where he can from Shadow. Somehow he feels less bad about this than Vio does. 

Blue thinks everyone is going crazy in here so he takes to verbally bullying Shadow whenever he swings by. Shadow, being a weirdo, thinks that it’s a form of banter so he just bullies Blue back. Unexpectedly, and to his own horror, Blue finds it really fun to be able to have a witty back and forth with somebody who can match his level.

Shadow for the first month or two is really his dad kidnapped people his age. It’s so FUN having people to play with! He even has a best friend now in Vio. He doesn’t really think about the implications of his dad hurting his new friends, and his role in that, until they start acting different. 

Vio starts having panic attacks (out of nowhere!/s) and can take hours or even days to calm down rendering him unable to even speak. This is the first thing that rattles Shadow. It’s the first time he felt hurt seeing somebody else hurt. His attempts to calm Vio down begin selfishly, wanting him to stop acting weird and to start acting like his best friend again. Eventually it turns into genuine and raw concern. Shadow, for the first time, feels bad because somebody else does. He starts just really wanting Vio to be okay. 

His other playmates start breaking down too. Red is too exhausted now to play. He sleeps most of the day away and when he’s awake he’s too shaky and weak to do anything. Blue becomes dissonant, stuck staring at walls. He won’t respond to even the strongest of Shadow’s remarks. Green is caught between caring for the other two. He becomes too busy to try and pry information out of Shadow.

Then a day comes where Vaati gathers each boy and throws them into the middle of a collection of runes drawn on the ground with a combination of their blood. A flash and they’re all rendered into their weapon states, unwillingly. After a few moments there’s another flash and only a single weapon remains. The Four Sword. When the weapon takes its human form back, only one terrified boy stands sharing features of the four that formed it. 

Despite Vaati’s satisfaction, Shadow feels that something REALLY wrong just happened, and it did. He later visits “Four. Four is shell shocked, barely able to walk, confused, and really, REALLY scared. He looks at Shadow and begs him to let him out. Shadow obliges.

Picking up the newly formed Four sword, Shadow vanquishes his own father and runs with his new friend Four. Shadow was greatly wounded in the fight, his father cursing him to never stand in sunlight. Four is traumatized and so confused. He decides to go to Green’s father, now technically Four’s father, unsure of where else to go. 

The two boys tell the story to Four’s dad and a proper raid is unleashed on Vaati’s lab, leaving out the parts where Shadow was Vaati’s accomplice for most of the time. No body is found. Four’s father tries to defuse him, which just terrifies him. Shadow gets some medical treatment but most people don’t want to treat him, as he was Vaati’s son. 

Four’s father, unsure what to do with two traumatized children, dumps them on his father, Four’s grandfather who lives out of town as a blacksmith. There they all heal and after a few years learn to defuse. They’ve all spent so much time together though that they can’t bare to part. They are literally part of each other now. Green’s father decides to give them all knight training and Shadow learns how to wield each of them and Four properly. They all know how to wield each other too but this is uncanny for a lot of people. Weapons wielding weapons… 

Shadow goes missing at the end of a dangerous mission. All too soon, Four is called to accompany 8 others on a holy quest. He sets out determined to save the world and his best friend. 

And that’s Four 😭 goodness that ended up a lot longer than I expected. 

Please, and I’m begging 🙏🙏🙏, let me know what you think, your own headcanons, critiques, questions, ANYTHING. And who you’d like to see next! 

Thank you 💕

[emmersonisdesperate]

This post wasn't supposed to be about Regulus "don't fucking touch me" Black and James "unless it's me :3" Potter. This wasn't a Jegulus post at ALL, idk how I forgot the main point.

Regulus Black and Physical Intimacy pt.2

The Slytherins and James were hanging out in the common room.

Barty and Pandora were slightly at a distance, conducting and inventing dangerous magic spells together. Evan was closer but he was mostly on babysitting duty, making sure they don't go too far.

Dorcas was curled on an armchair adjacent to the couch, re-doing her essay as one does. Normally she'd join them but she considers this area of magic 'beneath her'.

After what has been hours of Regulus upstairs with his brother (5 minutes), James perks up on the couch when he sees the pair of brothers come down the stairs.

They were talking to each other, well, bickering was more accurate but they seemed relaxed, as normal siblings should be. James' heart melted, he wants to see more of that.

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Tiramisu."

Regulus says as if that explained anything.

Pandora perked up.

"Tiramisu? You brought food?"

That brings both Barty and Evan's attention onto them.

Sirius shoots them an apologetic look.

"Sorry, no food here."

The trio visibly deflates.

James clears his throat, bringing attention back to the original topic.

"What about Tiramisu?"

Sirius smirks while Regulus grumbles, crossing his arms.

"Not Tiramisu exactly, but he was banned from using forks with Tiramisu, you know?"

Intrigued, Dorcas puts down her scroll, sensing she was going to hear something Regulus wouldn't want anyone knowing. Always trying to find something incriminating.

"No, I did not know that, he was banned?"

"Well, not anymore but when he was like, so much shorter than this--" That gets him a kick on the leg but he marches on. "--we'd have Tiramisu for dessert every meal, his favorite."

James and the others can't help but coo, imagining a Regulus that barely reaches the table, looking forward to what was probably his favorite part of the meal.

"...I--Merlin, you guys are terrible."

Sirius sighs once the coos settle down, then continues.

"It was just a regular family dinner? Or there was some event? Celebration? Anyways, the whole family was there."

Regulus goes to sit next to James, close enough for their thighs to touch and James immediately feels like he could explode, like a supernova.

"And obviously that means we're going to have annoying aunts and uncles bothering us. So that night, I think Aunt Druella was the one fussing over Regulus? I can't remember what she was saying though but it got Reggie all red and fuming."

Hearing the name of their aunt, the rosier siblings were fully attentive to Sirius, dropping their experiments. When it became clear his partners were no longer into it, Barty had no choice but to be attentive too.

Regulus crossed his arms, appearing displeased as he recalled the memory.

"She kept insinuating I was a girl. My long eyelashes, my big eyes, my little body, my pretty face."

Sirius cackles.

"Oh that's right, Reggie hated being compared to a girl back then."

"... still does."

Barty mumbles as he recalled a painful memory in fourth year. He learned his lesson then.

"So of course, he retaliated. He stabs her in the thigh. With a fork."

Barty wheezes. Sirius joins in too, laughing. Regulus smirks, smiling fondly at the memory.

"Oh everyone's reactions--it was gold! It was the first time dinner became so silent besides well, her screaming!"

The other four were stunned into silence until Evan broke it, followed by Pandora.

"Hold on--you stabbed Aunt Druella?! As a kid??"

"How have we never heard about this??"

Sirius waved them off.

"They made her keep quiet about it, said it was her fault for bothering Reggie when he was oh so troubled for Hogwarts next year."

Barty wasn't surprised at this level of casual violence in their family, Pandora and Evan weren't surprised they made her keep quiet or that the Black brothers were recounting the memory like it was your usual nostalgia.

Dorcas and James however, could only stare in silence. A bit of fear from James.

"So that's why his fork privileges were taken away, but only for Tiramisu."

Sirius then joins Regulus and James on the couch, sitting next to his brother once he was done artistically recounting the tale of Regulus and Forks with Tiramisu.

He raises an arm to wrap around Regulus while their friends watch in horror as the brothers make physical contact.

"Although now that I think about it, he could still use forks to eat anything else and he always had knives."

Regulus allows himself to be pulled into his brother's embrace, neither noticing how the room has fallen into an awed silence.

"They wanted to fuck with her. Announcing they were going to take away my forks for Tiramisu every time? But still giving me forks and knives anyways?"

Regulus snorts and Sirius grins, squeezing his brother into his arm.

"Yeah, that's where you get your mean streak from."

"Accusations."

Regulus blinks innocently.

By then, the brothers realized their friends and even some other Slytherins were looking at them calculatingly.

"Uh, what's up guys?"

Dorcas lifts her gaze from the arm around Regulus's shoulders, to Sirius, then turns to her friends with confirmation if they were on the same page, then back to him.

"Uh."

Very eloquent, Dorcas Meadowes.

The others and her were staring at the arm with poorly hidden envy. They never got to touch Regulus so casually besides a very rare forced hug on birthdays and they were literally his best friends!! Of years!!

James glares at the arm, seething in jealousy. He wasn't faring much better either. James has to wait or ask for permission if he wanted to touch Regulus and he thought that meant he was quite close to him!! He's the boyfriend!!

They all did, because any attempts at touching him would come with a very-mellowed out violent response. But if it were any one else, Regulus would not hold back.

But here was Sirius Black! The man Regulus hated with all his heart only a couple weeks ago! Cuddled up against their Regulus! And him looking right at home there!

And yeah, they get it, Sirius was probably Regulus's entire world growing up in a house full of assholes, so of course Sirius would have exceptions.

But what the fuck!

Barty and James groaned, Evan huffed, Pandora pouted, Dorcas just shot them a look.

Oblivious Sirius just stares at them and chooses his peace.

"Alright, I'll go bother Peter then."

Once Sirius leaves, the eyes turn to Regulus. He blinks innocently.

"You."

James says with as much accusation he could put on his voice.

"Me?"

Regulus says as he slips a hand in James'. Suddenly, James can't remember what he was mad about.

"Nothing, you look lovely."

It was now James' turn to be stared at.

Regulus black and Physical Intimacy

*Pandora struggles to catch up with regulus so she reaches a hand out to grab his shoulder*

*Regulus smoothly dodges her hand like a cat and turns around*: sorry, I was distracted, did you say something?

*Pandora stares at her outstretched hand, slightly offended*

-

*Dorcas offering a drink*: Try it, it's actually surprisingly good.

*Regulus stares at her hand that's fully wrapped around the cup*

*Grabs the bottom of the cup with a down-side up hand-claw, then corrects his grip when it's fully out of her grasp*

Regulus, completely serious: well, it smells good, can't be truly awful.

*she stares at him with partly hidden judgement*

-

Regulus: Crouch, do you remember what professor Binns meant by this phrase?

*Barty uses this chance to get physically closer, attempting to wrap a hand around regulus's shoulder*

*A stinging hex is thrown his way and narrowly misses*

Barty, sighing: well, worth a shot

-

*Evan and Regulus reading together*

*Evan raises a hand to poke at Regulus's cheek*

Regulus, without missing a beat nor lifting his eyes from the book: no

*Evan slowly retracts his hand*

-

James: regulus...

*Regulus hums in answer*

James: can I touch you?

Regulus: you know the rules, in public only I initiate.

James, whining: but you never touch me

*Regulus rolls his eyes and stretches out a hand*

*James stares at it, confused*

Regulus, obviously teasing him: Oh, so head scratches aren't enough I take it?

*James, because he's not an idiot to haggle, immediately settles under the offered hand*

[deathbxnny]

Ooh ooh i love your headcanons, would it be possible if i request some headcanons of Capitano, Baizhu and Childe with a Jingliu!Reader please?

Genshin men with a Jingliu!Gn!Reader. | Capitano, Baizhu, Childe

Here you go, Anon!!<3

Content: Angst, Reader is a bit unhinged, battles, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》CAPITANO

He knew you from way before your nation fell. You were a legend. A well-known and respected warrior who carried themselves with pride at all times. Your blade never rusted nor dulled. You were strong. And he looked up to you for as long as he could remember you.

But alas, the curse had even gotten to you. It didn't rot you from the inside out but instead corroded your mind permanently. Nothing you did was as clean or precise anymore. You were unpredictable and near unhinged at times, your bloodlust a tragic insult to your previous legacy as you yearned for battle. He entertained you in such moments often, just to keep you from hurting others.

Your memories have faded even for him, but that doesn't mean that he isn't willing to remind you of anything you want to know when asked. He's patient and calm, knowing that deep down, you were still stuck in a never-ending battle, but this time against yourself.

Since there is no cure for either of you, you've become content in eachothers company. You are kind and soft whenever you aren't lusting for death and carnage, so life isn't all too terrible. You lead troops at his side and train them to perfection naturally.

Capitano is thankful for every moment you decide to spend at his side, as that way, he still at least has one good thing going for him in this cruel world.

》BAIZHU

He met you in terrible condition, as you were suffering from severe side effects from your condition. It took him a while to figure out how to heal you the best he could and eventually settled on simply blindfolding you to alleviate the pain and sudden outbursts from you. You didn't leave after you got back onto your feet and stayed at his side ever since.

You made his life a lot brighter and warmer than it previously was. You were kind and patient with his condition, even visibly concerned for him on days when he could barely stand. You both know that his end was near, yet yours would eventually come too. In a way, you both found yourselves to be equals in that sense, which made your bond grow stronger.

Your bloodlust and need for battle make you very unpredictable and even dangerous at times, but he has learned how to deal with it perfectly over time. He's in fact the only one that can make you snap out of it when needed.

With that said, neither you nor Qiqi are permitted to run around Liyue alone together. One of you would always forget what you even went out for to begin with, whilst the other would ponder about life philosophies and completely derail your quest of getting the thing you were even sent out for. It was a mess every time, and he decided that the chaos was just not worth it...

》CHILDE

You had met during one of your unpredictable outbursts. A violent battle ensued, and by the end of it, he felt a connection to you that left him breathless. He could tell that you were a warrior, a very skilled one. And so, he stuck by your side ever since, never letting you shake him off until you've accepted his place at your side.

He's perhaps the best person to end up with due to your need for battle and blood. Your outbursts are handled with concerning ease every time, as he enjoys the thrill of it. He loves the way you don't hold back, never the one to acknowledge that you truly didn't have control over it to begin with.

Childe begs you to train with him and to teach him everything you know. He's very much obsessed and doesn't hide it either, to say the least. Daily hard-core workout sessions that last far into the night are definitely the norm for you both... but what he begins to eventually enjoy the most is how kindly and lovingly you treat him afterward. Your patience and gentle self were deeply appreciated by him.

He brags about you to everyone and everything that his ears, his family, friends, and colleagues become near sick of him by the end of it. But he is just so thankful to have you and wants to make sure you know this.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hope ur day is going well! just wondering how to write a mystery (i think that's the genre of my book) and if it has a different structure than a regular coming-of-age story

Writing Notes: Mystery Novel

Mystery writing is a subgenre of fiction writing that relies on clues and suspense to captivate the reader.

Here are a few tips for creating an unforgettable mystery story:

Read other mysteries often. Great mystery novels are full of writing advice if you pay close attention. Read classic mystery books and short stories as well as best-selling crime fiction from new writers. Once you reach the end of the book and the mystery is revealed, return to the first page. Start over, noticing how and when the author shared clues and used misdirection to both untangle the mystery and heighten the suspense.

Know every detail of the crime. Whether you’re writing a murder mystery or the story of a bloodless crime, the misdeed at the heart of your mystery story drives the narrative. Before you get far along on your first draft, outline everything about the crime. Map out the who, what, where, when, why, and how. Great mystery writers also research the crime itself—whether it’s poisoning or pick-pocketing, know the mechanisms at play.

Open with intrigue. Mystery readers want to be dropped right into a thrilling tale of bad guys and red herrings, cliffhangers and diligent sleuths. Many crime novels open on the crime itself, then move forward or use flashback to keep readers enraptured as the main character begins their hunt for a masterful thief, deranged serial killer, or whoever the villain may be.

Construct convincing characters. Many of the best mystery books, detective novels, thrillers, and whodunits focus on strong character development. Remember that you are dealing with human beings, not stereotypes. Your main character, whether they are amateur sleuth or professional detective, functions as the eyes and ears of the reader and therefore should be both relatable and fallible. Your bad guy should also be complex and have clear motives.

Make a list of suspects. Writing mysteries is like crafting puzzles, and the most vital piece of the puzzle is typically the criminal’s identity. A great mystery will introduce several potential suspects over the course of the narrative. In fact, many of the best mystery tales allow the reader to meet the actual culprit early on, giving them time to doubt their guilt. List your suspects and explore their possible motives before committing them to paper.

Lean into your locations. Whether your setting is a small town or New York City, use the natural atmosphere and attributes of the place to enhance action and intrigue. The contrast of dastardly deeds happening in unlikely spaces can enhance the sense that danger lurks around every corner. Moving between interesting locations where important plot points take place can make a mystery novel all the more gripping.

Let the reader play along. Good mystery writing shows instead of tells. You want to use descriptive writing to create scenes that allow your reader to explore and discover clues—even those that your main character might miss. Rather than explain what’s happening and why, keep the reader in the center of the action, invested in the stakes of the story like it’s real life. Give your readers a chance to put together the puzzle themselves.

Avoid using "get out of jail free" cards. While it’s important to push your characters to the edge and have them encounter obstacles that seem completely impassable, don’t then undermine all your hard work by introducing an implausible deux ex machina that miraculously saves the day. If you don’t resolve your roadblocks logically and in a way that’s consistent with your story, then you’ll lower the stakes for your characters and lose the ‘buy in’ of your reader.

Misdirect your reader. The mystery genre is filled with false clues, known as red herrings, that lead readers down the wrong path as they’re trying to suss out the truth. That misdirection is part of the fun, upping the suspense and building engagement as your audience runs into sudden twists and dead ends in tandem with your sleuth. The last thing you want is for them to figure it all out when there’s still more story to tell.

Rewrite, then rewrite some more. Most creative writing benefits from a second draft and that’s especially true in mystery writing—all the more so if this is your first novel. Remember how you reread those classics and bestsellers after you knew how they ended? Employ that same strategy with your new mystery. Examine your pacing and redistribute your clues to build to the stunning conclusion that you’ve already written.

The only rule is originality. Looking for some hard-and-fast do’s and don’ts? Bestselling author Anthony Horowitz won’t divulge. “If you ask me what are the do’s and don’ts in writing a whodunnit or a murder mystery? Quite simply, there aren’t any. Never constrain yourself. It is by doing the don'ts and not doing the do’s that you will write the completely original book for you – and find success.”

Examples. Ways a Villain could Justify Committing a Crime:

righting a prior wrong

revenge (the victim deserved to die)

vigilante justice (the criminal justice system didn’t work)

protecting a loved one

restoring order to the world

James Patterson's Tips:

Know your Genre. Do your reading and glean inspiration, then build on the story, modernize the setting, and breathe new life into a fresh plot with unique characters. Learn what’s been done and then ask yourself “what’s a new twist on this?”

Set Up Compelling Questions. If you’re going to keep your readers along for the ride, you have to give them something to grip on to. Identify a handful of questions that pose an intriguing dilemma. E.g., Who would do such a thing, and why?

Raise the Stakes. Then Raise Them Again. Another way to keep your reader intrigued and going along with you is to keep raising the stakes. First, set the foundation of the story with the hook. Then, add more details.

Keep the Reader Guessing. When James feels a story is lagging, he builds in misdirections or red herrings. Don’t be afraid of misdirections, he says, because they’re actually very true to real life. Most detective work, amateur or otherwise, inevitably leads to some dead ends or wrong alleys.

Maximize the Effect of the Reveal. The entirety of a mystery or suspense novel is leading up to the big reveal—but don’t reveal everything all at once, or too quickly. Instead, create a scene that lets you slowly “milk” the reveal. James suggests feeding out little clue after little clue or tidbit until voila, the mystery is solved. It’s not always easy to keep plotlines straight in your mind, so build out your outline by adding three or four bullet points of clues you can give your readers about how the book will end. Add these to existing chapters if you feel that they wouldn’t spoil the surprise.

Some Subgenres of Mystery

Cozy mysteries often take place in small towns, frequently featuring charming bakeries and handsome mayors. Though the crime is normally murder, there’s no gore, no severed heads in boxes, and no lotion in the basket. As a result, there are rarely any traumatized witnesses or family members in these murder mysteries — making cozies perfect for a gentle fireside read. Example: the Miss Marple series by Agatha Christie.

Police procedurals commonly center on a police investigation. They feature realistic law enforcement work, such as witness interrogation and forensic science, and require a great deal of research to convince seasoned readers of their authenticity. Example: Tana French’s Dublin Murder Squad series.

Noir detective novels. Most associate “noir” with black-and-white films of cynical gumshoes and femme fatales — but did you know that dark, gritty noir novels came first? Their flawed characters and complex plots are renowned for leaving readers in the grey. (Did the investigator do the right thing? Was the culprit really evil?) The crime may be solved by the end, but the mystery itself is rarely so open-and-shut. Example: The Postman Always Rings Twice by James M. Cain.

A suspense mystery is all about high stakes and unexpected twists — elements that make it nearly impossible to stop reading. The mystery builds throughout the narrative, clues are painstakingly planted to divulge just the right amount of information, and things are constantly edging towards a dramatic, often shocking climax. Example: Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ⚜ Some related posts:

Writing Tips: A "Convincing" Mystery

Traps to Avoid When Managing your Clues

Detective or Crime Stories

Hope this helps with your writing & hope you have a lovely day/night yourself!

[goodqueenaly]

What do you think the tone of Cersei's and Jamie's chapters will be in Winds of Winter? Will they be somewhat apocalyptic?

I’m not sure if “apocalyptic” would be exactly the word I would choose, if only because, well, there is a literal apocalypse coming courtesy of the Others sooner rather than later. However, if by “apocalyptic” you mean “momentous”, “catastrophic” and “foreboding imminent disaster or final doom”, then I very much agree. Cersei and Jaime I think are both hurtling toward a terrible, shared climax, one that can only end, as foretold long ago, in violence and death.

For Cersei, I think the tone of her chapters may be briefly triumphant, but will be overall characterized by increasing paranoia of the people and events around her. Though I very much believe Cersei is going to win her trial by combat (whatever her feelings might be toward the trial itself, especially if Lancel is the Faith’s champion), and may have a moment of celebration and validation as a result, Cersei I think will not at all believe her problems are over. The murder of Kevan (likely to be read by Cersei, as prophesied by Varys, as a conspiracy by the newly minted Hand Mace Tyrell), combined with the likelihood that Margaery and her cousins will be acquitted by the Faith, will I think convince Cersei that the fatal (in every sense of the word) danger she believe Margaery poses to her and Tommen is very much still active. Moreover, that internal threat Cersei is going to believe she still faces from the Tyrells (and, not entirely unrelatedly, the Faith and its High Sparrow) is going to be exacerbated by the approaching external threat of Aegon and Arianne. As a result, I think Cersei’s chapters are going to reflect her increasing anxiety and sense of oracular doom - as she realizes (I think) that Arianne is the younger and more beautiful queen, and as she eventually realizes that it is her own once-beloved twin that will fulfill the valonqar prophecy. Speaking of whom …

I find it a bit more difficult personally to predict the tone of Jaime’s chapters, if only because I’m not sure what precisely Jaime’s takeaway will be of his portion of Lady Stoneheart’s plot (especially given that, at least until this point, he’s not quite come to terms with the injustices committed by his father and his family’s faction, himself included). Nevertheless, I do think we’re going to see a tonal shift to determined, resolute fury once Jaime learns about the outcome of Cersei’s trial - which is to say, when Jaime realizes that Cersei has, officially, taken the position that she never so much as looked at Jaime with impropriety (and been legally recognized as such), ostensibly to save her own skin. All of Jaime’s bitter reflections from AFFC and ADWD on Cersei’s infidelity, and all of his murderous musings, are I think going to crystallize into a singular sense of purpose - to return to King’s Landing, not to rescue Cersei as she begged in her letter, but to kill her. And if you need a sense of how dark and disturbing a tone such a moment could have … well, just read about the almost identical murder of Marguerite of Burgundy in The Strangled Queen.

[griffinborn]

ARCANE ENDING ANALYSIS

****obviously SPOILERS ahead****

Everyone is debating whether jinx is alive or dead so here’s my thoughts first I’m going to try and explain my view on WHY jinx is alive but made to look dead and then I’m going to prove HOW she is Alive. And why air vents have nothing to do with it.

WHY JINX IS ALIVE

With ARCANE coming to an end we are to believe that The piltover part of the show is over, the reason?

Well… we all think this season felt rushed, the beats didn’t land properly and character development felt shallow. That is because it was rushed it’s been 9 years since they started writing this story arc and they wanted to end this story arc that had to end at this point in this way.

if they could have produced the more quickly over a shorter period of time they would have streched the arcs and have had better pacing but it’s a long time and they wanted to move on to the next arc of this universe.

That doesn’t mean this is the last we’ll see of these characters or even piltover as a lot of piltover champions haven’t been introduced because this wasn’t the arc for that yet. We get hints of that as we see sevika become a councillor but be met with distrust and being looked down upon so now the class division and healing will go on in the background as we explore different parts of runterra (cause the writers don’t have the competence to write engaging happy stories).

The characters will come back to begin the next arc of their character growth.

Take Vi for example she is not even a person in her own right, right now she’s just ‘dirt beneath Caitlyn’s fingernails’ that does not seem like a fulfilling way to live your life for anyone. But makes sense for Vi, she needs to grow relax not be a person for a while because for her being a person means sacrificing everything she is to save others live for others but she’s never successfully done that she needs to do that live for someone else (1 person- cait) be successful in protecting them so she one day live for herself, find herself, find the meaning of being a person, her own goals. Till now we haven’t seen the story of Vi - just Powder’s sister her keeper since the first scene when she became wholly responsible for her a role that Vander did nothing to deter her from but pushed more heavily onto her.

And we kinda got a happyish end for jinx, NOT because she died so is free, NO, but because she finally got to save Vi not just from death but also stop Vi from killing herself (cause that’s what she has doing staying on that ledge not because she thought she could save Vander but because she left his dead body behind once). Show her that she has to rise above her self sacrificing bulshit, cause that only works when she is the only one protecting others not when she is fighting with others together, cause in those scenarios if she puts herself uncaringly in danger someone else will protect her and get hurt doing so.

She is alive but more importantly ready to go go on a journey of self discovery and define for herself her identity (herself not silco as Vi’s sister but not one dependent on her) away from Piltover and Zaun. Truly find herself, and be ready to come back on her own terms not bcz the outside forces dictate it.

HOW IS JINX ALIVE

I want to preface this by first cursing the guy responsible for camera work on Ep9 May seven generations of your family cry tears of blood!!

it was so hard to figure everything out!

let’s start with our North Star the stationary point around which everything revolves.

You’ll understand that in a moment.

I’ll like to draw everyone’s attention to this Frame.

Aww… Sob.. jinx hugging Vander while she kills them both… 😢 Forget that focus on the background!

the glowing runes the circular shape with an opening in the middle in 3 rings like oh? The hex gate beam!

but that could just be a pretty backdrop yeah I wouldn’t believe that even if this was the first time I was seeing it but it’s not. We’ve seen it before…

here

Here

Directly followed by

then after cutting to jayce and victor in the tunnel, different backgrounds for a sec but none of them from a consistent camera angle

and we’re back here again

Then another cut to jayvik, them finally entering the sphere, and again different backgrounds for jinx/vi/vander

and then? We’re back here again

And it’s here that jayvik enter

Disrupting the vi/jinx/vander fight and creating the ledge.

now the North Star why do I mention it? Because the existence of the gate itself is not enough to prove that the hexgate turned on, so what is?

let’s go back to the image of the blast

Notice that rune in the corner?

that’s also a repeating marker it first appears not when we get the first look at the inside of the hex gate where where jinx/Vi/Ekko/Vander have crashed but after jayvik have started their ascent and the tunnel lights up.

and again when jayvik finally enter the sphere

and again after Viktor has blasted through the ledges and is exiting the sphere

notice the lack of light entering the scene from the hole created by Vi/jinx/ekko But in all these instances the rune has the top horizontal straight line facing away from the tunnel but when the explosion happens the line is facing inwards towards the tunnel that means a the rune turned in its casing implying that a mechanism was activated.

vs

also notice how the tunnel is between the tube on which jinx lands and the ledge vi and vander land on no way that somebody moving like this

will fall towards the centre of the tunnel.

also take these 3 frames

vander gets a hold of jinx

cut to vi coming to rescue

Back to vander with jinx in his grasp turns his head towards incoming vi

The camera in the first and second image is the same, a split second has passed but the background changed.

because the sphere started rotating the moment the tunnel light up the first time, the first time we see the North Star.

Let’s have a positive outlook for the future and until then see you all on ao3

P.S. - If you think my theory makes no sense or the evidence is insufficient or disapproved do let me know….

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map pt. 38

"I'm just trying to get home - out of the Sea of Monsters," you explain. "We were told if our ship capsized and we survived, it could bring us underwater to the portals or whatever that can get me home."

A SOUND STRATEGY.

"Thanks!" you reply. "We were looking for a big shark named Lord Ironteeth who could do it, but got lost in the fog and crashed onto your island - err, or rather onto you, I suppose."

APOLOGIES. I TRY TO KEEP OUT OF THE WAY WHEN I NAP, BUT IT'S GOTTEN HARDER WITH AGE.

You nod as if you know what the crocodisle's going through, despite obviously having no frame of reference for this sort of thing. "You don't happen to know a way for me to get home up here on the surface, do you?"

THERE ISN'T ONE. ALL THE KNOTS LIE BELOW. NOTHING THAT CAN'T SWIM DEEP IS ALLOWED TO LEAVE THE SEA OF MONSTERS. I'M SORRY, HUMAN, BUT UNTIL YOU CAN DO THAT, YOU'RE STUCK.

"Shoot," you sigh. "Well, could you maybe help us? You seem big enough to capsize our boat."

IT HAS TO BE REAL PERIL FOR YOU TO GROW FROM IT, HUMAN. AND I DO NOT WANT TO HURT YOU.

"Aw frick," you sigh again. "So it's Viking rules?"

PRETTY MUCH, YES, VIKING RULES.

The crocodisle slowly unfurls its body, knocking your boat loose without sending it spinning, and then calmly swims up so its head is side by side with your ship.

BUT LORD IRONTEETH WILL LIKELY DO IT. HE HAS BEEN MENACED BY HUMANS BEFORE, AND HAS NO GREAT LOVE FOR YOUR KIND. I CAN POINT YOU IN HIS DIRECTION, BUT THE MAELSTROM THAT FOLLOWS HIM IS DANGEROUS. YOU WILL NEED TO KEEP YOUR WITS ABOUT YOU.

"That's be real helpful, thank you!"

NO PROBLEM. ANY FRIEND OF A CHILD OF SYCORAX IS A FRIEND OF MINE.

With imminent peril no longer imminent, you finally register what that phrase means. "Child of Sycorax - you mean Calibani? Is that what she is, a sycorax?"

NO, SYCORAX IS A SERPENT AND A SHIP-BREAKER, A VAST AND CROOKED CREATURE.

The crocodisle's eyes close in pleasant remembrance.

SHE IS A DEAR FRIEND. IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG SINCE LAST I SWAM IN HER WATERS. PERHAPS IT IS PROVIDENCE THAT HER CHILD WOUND UP ON MY SHORE.

Calibani leans out over the rail, her ear-like fins perked up with curiosity. "How do you know I'm her daughter?"

The crocodisle regards her quietly for a moment.

THERE IS A GREAT DEAL OF FAMILY RESEMBLANCE, EVEN IF YOU ARE MUCH SMALLER.

You look at Calibani and see her smile grow wide and warm. "I have family," she says quietly. "I have family!"

Seeing her so happy warms your heart, only to send a jolt of anxiety through you as you remember what your goal is. "I'm trying to get home," you repeat to the crocodisle. "But... I don't want to leave this place... to leave her forever. If I go home, is there a way I can return?"

The crocodisle's eyebrow shifts, making it look almost apologetic.

DO YOU KNOW HOW YOU GOT HERE?

"...no."

THEN YOU PROBABLY WON'T BE ABLE TO RETURN ONCE YOU LEAVE.

You heave a great big sigh and look down at the sea, realizing that your hope for the best of both worlds isn't well-founded. "I suppose that makes sense." As you try to think of some way you can compromise, a thought occurs to you. "Have you seen any other humans on the sea? Maybe some who've managed to survive out here?"

NOT MANY THAT LAST. THERE IS ONE GROUP OF HUMANS I'VE HEARD OF. THEY LIVE IN A METAL SPHERE BENEATH THE WAVES, DEEP IN THE DEPTHS. I HAVE BEEN TOLD THEY SHOULD BE AVOIDED, FOR THEY MAKE MUCH MISCHIEF. THEY'RE CALLED THE SPINDLE.

That last word definitely rings a bell, but not one you want to focus on at the moment. "What about islands? Are there any big islands we can find - ones with food, and shelter?"

NOT MANY, AND NONE NEAR. YOU ARE IN THE SEA OF MONSTERS, AFTER ALL. IT IS A PLACE FOR THINGS THAT SWIM FIRST AND FOREMOST.

You nod. "Thanks, you've been really helpful. You're... one of the nicest people I've met out here, honestly."

The crocodisle nods and nudges your boat a bit.

VERY KIND OF YOU TO SAY SO. GO FORWARD IN THIS DIRECTION, AND YOU WILL FIND LORD IRONTEETH. I WISH YOU LUCK, HUMAN, AND YOU AS WELL, CALIBANI, CHILD OF SYCORAX. MAY THE TIDES TURN YOUR WAY.

Then, with a swift yet graceful motion that miraculously does little to churn the ocean in its wake, the massive reptile slides under the skin of the water and dives deep into the depths of the ocean, disappearing from sight and leaving your boat free once more.

Calibani turns to you. "You want to come back?" she asks, her voice quiet yet intense with longing. "To... to see me?"

"Yeah," you admit easily. "You're my friend, Calibani. I want to get home, but... I don't want to lose you to do it."

She stares at you, her eyes wide and slightly watery. "Really?"

As you realize you've stumbled into an intimate discussion, you consult your compass on how to proceed.

(I know we already did a conversation update this week, but if you want to suggest some angles for our sailor to take this talk too, feel free)

[luxheroica]

under your tree (2/3)

Part 2/3 - our Ekko, Jinx, and the tree.

Part one

Also on AO3

---

He drags her off that ledge by stealing seconds and finding the right words, and once he’s pretty sure she won't blow the both of them to smithereens he holds out his hand to her. 

Ekko doesn't think it's possible but Jinx takes it. Holds onto it. Her grip is so slight he thinks she might slip away, but as long as he's holding her hand it means she's still here. 

“Come with me?” he asks. 

She doesn't protest. He isn't sure if it's assent or empty resignation. He's not sure if she knows which one either. 

He doesn't know what's happened to her while he was gone. He hasn't seen her since the fight on the bridge, and the only reason he knew she was still alive was the Enforcers were still looking for her. If she were dead it would have been sung from the rooftops. 

Jinx is… broken. Not in the way she usually is, mad and manic and dangerous and wild and the creature who replaced the girl he once knew. She is silent, and her cheeks are streaked with black tear tracks. 

Ekko takes her to the only place that makes sense. The place that has always represented healing and light for the undercity for him. 

He takes her to the tree. 

Nobody stops him–he’s Ekko, and he’s returned from the dead, and nobody wants to question him– but the other Firelights scatter when he walks in with Jinx. 

This raises the first reaction he's had out of her in their long walk. She snorts. “So, this is your little hideout,” she says, looking around. “Aren't you worried I'll come and blow it up?” 

Ekko looks at her sidelong. Maybe before he left and came back. Maybe before he found her like this, with her eyes bruised and her voice faint. “Nah. That's not gonna happen.” 

That earns the ghost of a smile from her. “Just wait– the day’s still young.” 

He leads her further into the Firelights camp, and she takes it all in with a wide and hungry expression. Her gaze roams over the tree, green and live giving and towering over everything. Her fingers intertwine stronger with his as she takes in the camps all around. 

She stops dead when she sees the memorial wall. 

Ekko can see her tracing each of them with her eyes and her lips. Claggor. Milo. Vander. Benzo. Vi. 

Powder. 

He doesn't say a word, and for a long time she stands there in silence. Just staring and taking it all in. For a moment he wonders if he's sent her on another spiral, if he's going to have to play another game of chicken with a bomb meant to end the both of them. 

“You really think I'm dead, huh?” 

Her voice is light and contemplative and whatever reaction he was expecting it wasn't this. He’s wondering if it would be better to apologize or try to explain, when Jinx blows out a breath. 

Her hair runs away from her exhalation. “Not that I would disagree.” 

“Powder’s gone,” he says. “But you're still here, Jinx. And I'd like you to stay.” 

She hasn't taken her hand from his. Jinx’s fingers curl. “Huh.” 

He’s willing to stay there as long as she needs, hand-in-hand and staring at the memorial wall. He meant it when he said that he gave up on her once, and he isn't going to do it anymore. 

“Would you mind?” she asks at last, looking up at the painted faces. “If I added to it?” 

Ekko is surprised, and reluctant to leave her alone just now– but he nods. “Sure,” he says. His fingers slip from hers and she doesn't move. “Let me go get some paints. Be right back.” 

She doesn't even nod. He's not even sure she's listening. But he goes as fast as he can to gather up his paints and brushes and run back. He's not entirely sure she'll be there when he gets back or whether he’ll find a black scar on the ground. 

Jinx is still standing there transfixed by the wall when he dumps the painting supplies at her feet. 

“Thanks,” she says, and she spends some time picking out the paints she wants and then hoisting herself up and picking an empty spot on the wall and starting to sketch. 

Ekko watches until she turns back to him with a roll of her eyes that's the most normal thing he's seen from her all day. “You can stop hovering like a weirdo, you know. I promise not to blow anything up.” 

Thus (mostly) reassured, Ekko leaves her to her painting. A couple of the other Firelights express concern at her presence, but he talks them down. She's not a threat to them, not like this. 

And it's time he started trusting her. 

Jinx is still painting when exhaustion overtakes him and Ekko at last can't keep his eyes open and longer and he falls into a much needed sleep. 

Hours later he starts awake. He's sure that Jinx is going to be gone when he rushes to the memorial wall, but she's there and sleeping under a thin blanket she scavenged from somewhere. Ekko lets out the breath he's been holding. 

There are two new figures on the tree. Both are drawn in bright colors– clashing and complimenting his realistic style with neons that nearly hurt the eye. Both figures are nonetheless unmistakable. 

One is Silco, and for a moment it feels wrong to see his face on a memorial alongside so many of his victims. But, he thinks, Silco was no less a victim of the undercity. He had hope for a bright future once. Who is this paint depiction hurting? 

The other one is a young girl Ekko doesn't recognize. At first he thinks that it is Powder, that Jinx put herself on the tree– but no, it’s someone else entirely. There's brown mixed in with her violently blue hair, and he never saw Powder wear that helmet. 

He traces her lines, wondering who she was. Why Jinx felt compelled to draw her on the wall. 

“Her name was Isha.” 

Ekko turns around to see Jinx waking up and watching him with wide eyes. He steps away from the wall and towards her. 

“Who was she?” he asks gently. 

At first he thinks she won't answer. That she can't. He won't press her if she doesn't want to. 

“A friend,” she says at last. “Just this kid I knew. She followed me around like… some lost puppy. I ran with her for awhile. Begged me for the blue hair like she wanted to be me, like being me was so great. And then she…” 

Jinx clutches at her wrist, her fingernails digging deep into skin. 

“I'm sorry,” Ekko says, approaching gently. 

“Yeah, well, I shoulda known it was coming. Everyone around me dies, remember?” 

He thinks that she will stop him when he takes her hand and gently prises her fingers from where they are digging deep furrows in her wrist. Instead she just stares, eyes wide. 

“I'm not going anywhere.” 

Jinx looks askance at the time travel device resting on his hip. “Yeah, well it helps when you can cheat.” Then her eyes fix on it like she's really seeing it for the first time, and her gaze narrows. “Who was it, this person who taught you there was something worth building?” 

Ekko chuckles. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” She folds her arms over her chest in open challenge. 

“Sit down,” Ekko says, and to his amazement Jinx obeys by flopping down next to him. He joins her in a cross-legged position as he thinks about what how to begin this story. He hadn’t planned on telling her– there's parts of his journey to that other world that are too personal. “She was you– or, well, another you. From an alternate universe.” 

Jinx snorts. “Yeah right.” 

“I told you you wouldn't believe me.” 

“Oh, I believe you about the alternate universe part. That's just the kind of wild shit that happens in this city. But me, helping you? That's rich.” 

Ekko wonders how to explain that other Jinx who never became Jinx, who still went by Powder, who still had most of her family. “Vi was dead, in that other universe. She died young, before everything that happened. And it changed a lot of stuff– Zaun was finally independent and standing on its own, Vander and Silco made up– they were married and running the bar together.” 

Jinx makes a face. “Eugh.” 

Ekko laughs. “Believe me, it was weird.” 

A ghost of a smile flits across Jinx’s lips. “It makes sense though. Vi created the Jinx, so if she died before she could do that…” 

Ekko doesn't bother untangling whatever's going on in her head. “And you were– happy. Two dads who loved you, and you had friends, and we were all gunning for this science contest. And you were helping me– or well, she was helping the other Ekko, actually– to build an energy device.” 

Jinx tilts her head at him, disbelieving but still listening. “Science contest? And I was in it?” 

“Yeah.” Ekko strokes the edge of his time travel device. “Trying to invent something that would help the world. Milo and Claggor had this plant thing that was cleaning up the air, and the other me wanted to build an energy device, but he couldn't do it without your help. She– you– ended up doing like half of the work.” 

He sees the way her eyes trace him hungrily, like she doesn't quite believe him but desperately wants to. 

“Why'd you leave?” 

Ekko turns to her, surprised. 

“I mean it sounds perfect– other than Vi, I guess. I wouldn’t have wanted to come back to this shitty universe, except I guess I would have probably fucked that one up too.” 

“Because you needed me,” Ekko says. When she raises a skeptical eyebrow he realizes what he said, what it implies. He flushes. “I mean, you all– this universe. And that place, it wasn't mine. I was just borrowing it for a while.” 

“Smooth, brain-boy.” Jinx snorts. Then she rocks back so she's staring up at the murals. “What was she like, the other me?” 

“Like you,” Ekko says, and she blows out a breath in disbelief. “I'm serious. Maybe she was more stable– she had people around, people who loved her– but she liked to mess with people, and she liked bright colors and tinkering with things.” 

“Lucky her.” 

“There was a dance, and she wore all this bright makeup, it was neon blue but then there was like this gradient of colors, and… I couldn't help but think, Jinx would totally wear this, if she ever had an occasion she wanted to dress up for.” 

Jinx levers herself up on her arms. Scornfully asks, “Ok, was I like your date to the dance?”

“Uhh…” 

“Seriously Ekko, what the hell? Did you ask me out in another universe, who does that?” 

“You were my girlfriend so it's not like I had much choice!” Ekko defends himself without thinking. Then he cringes. “I mean she was his– the other Ekko’s– girlfriend.” 

Jinx taps her fingers on the metal of the platform, thinking. She looks at him askance and he can’t tell what’s going on in that head of hers, but he feels like she’s sizing him up. “You don’t say.” 

“I didn’t mean to bring it up,” Ekko says. “I didn’t want you to think I came looking for you only because, well– of her. I came looking for you because it’s you. I gave up on you once, Jinx– I’m not going to do it again.” 

She tilts her head at him. Considers him for a long time. “Would you kiss me like her, Ekko?” she asks, almost too quiet to hear, but the words reverberate in his chest. “Like I’m someone who deserves–”

He cuts her off, surging forward to smash his lips to hers. Jinx is surprised, her eyes wide and her whole body tense. Ekko presses, cradling her face like she’s something precious and hard to hold, and she is– his explosive girl, always slipping through his fingers. 

Jinx responds at last, surging forward and nipping his upper lip with her teeth. He responds by opening his mouth so she can tease him with her tongue. 

At last they break apart, although Ekko doesn’t let go of her face. He only stares at her, amazed that out of every possible universe they’re here. 

“You know, I always kind of liked you,” he admits. 

Jinx smirks. “Did you now?” And she pulls him in for another kiss.

[waynes-multiverse]

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*

And please tell me the girls are moving with her into the White House. I'd die 😂😂

“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 🙈

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

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

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

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

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.

“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”

“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”

Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.

“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.

“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.

But you did it with a grin. You were the President.

Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.

“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini— if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”

During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.

“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”

“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.

You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.

You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.

“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”

ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.

It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.

Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.

“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”

The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.

Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.

He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.

Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.

To Madam President,

I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

The next step was trickier.

Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.

“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”

Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”

Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”

Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.

The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.

Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.

“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”

Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”

Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”

The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”

Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.

Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.

Dean Winchester.

You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.

You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.

Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.

“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.

“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—

“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”

The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.

“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.

Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”

“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.

“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.

Then he swallowed. Shit.

But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.

Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.

“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.

"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"

Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.

“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.

Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.

"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.

The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.

“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.

“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.

You had to do that too, just to be clear.

“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”

Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.

But this answer was simple.

“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.

He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.

“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”

As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.

His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—

“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.

“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.

“Jerk.”

The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.

Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.

“Austin!”

The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.

You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”

The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.

By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”

“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.

“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.

“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.

Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”

“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.

“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”

“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”

Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”

“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.

Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.

Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.

You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.

Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”

“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”

“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”

She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.

Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.

You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.

Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”

Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”

Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”

You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”

“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”

The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.

The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”

Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.

The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.

You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.

Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”

“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”

Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”

You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.

“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”

“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”

Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.

You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.

You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.

“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.

You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.

“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.

Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.

As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.

“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”

Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”

“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.

“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”

Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”

Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”

Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”

Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”

The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.

If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.

When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”

Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?

“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”

“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.

“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ‘dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”

Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”

Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”

Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”

“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”

You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”

“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.

“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”

You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”

“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”

“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.

Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.

But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.

“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some…tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”

You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”

“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.

You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”

Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”

“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.

Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.

“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”

“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”

You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”

“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”

Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”

Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.

The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.

Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.

Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.

Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.

“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”

Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.

“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”

Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”

As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.

“Uncle Dean!”

“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”

Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”

Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”

“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.

It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.

The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.

“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”

Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”

“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”

“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”

“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”

Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”

“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”

“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”

Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”

Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”

“I do,” Dean admitted.

“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”

Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.

“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.

As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.

NEXT UP:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@cheynovak @bitchykittenconnoisseur @underground-secret @heartiella

@bollzinurmouth

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝