#who murders an assassin in broad day light like that

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 3

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, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, post shower!dean, reader thirsting over Dean, very not professional stuff, Dean being a thirst trap, besties being besties, attempted murder by proxy, 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: Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz (ft. Yacht Money)

reformed symbol

It was late. The type of late where the world outside was swallowed by silence, the soft hum of the White House barely a murmur against the quiet of the night. The only sound that accompanied you as you worked in your bedroom was the faint clicking of your pen as you reviewed the never-ending stack of paperwork. You’d taken on more than you had anticipated since you’d assumed the presidency, and though your mind begged for rest, the tasks never seemed to slow down.

Tonight, you’d chosen to forgo the usual formal attire in favor of something more comfortable—sleep shorts and a loose pajama shirt, your hair loosely pulled back from your face. The outfit was an indulgence in practicality, something that allowed you to focus on the task at hand without feeling confined. Yet, even in these less-than-presidential clothes, you still felt the weight of the power you held. You had to.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you closed the last of the files in front of you. It was time to call it a night. As you gathered up your papers, you noticed something out of place—the jacket of Dean’s suit hanging over the back of one of the chairs. Dean.

You hadn’t seen much of him lately, but you were well aware of how easy it was to get lost in the day-to-day of your duties. His presence had become as much a part of your routine as anything else, though, unlike the paperwork, his presence made you… distracted.

You picked up the jacket, noting how perfectly it had been tailored to his broad shoulders. Dean looked good in that suit. Too good. But you weren’t going to let yourself dwell on that now. He was probably fast asleep by now, after all.

With a soft exhale, you turned to leave your bedroom. You could return the jacket to his room—he was likely asleep by now, probably in his bed, far enough from the office to miss your small intrusion. As you walked down the hallway toward his quarters, you couldn’t shake the lingering sense of curiosity about what was behind that closed door.

You reached his office, noticing that the door was slightly ajar. Of course, Dean never really seemed to care about privacy—either that, or he simply had no awareness of his own effect on people. You peered into the room, making sure he wasn’t awake, and decided to step in.

You wanted to be the considerate one—this wasn’t about your attraction to him, not entirely. You were the President; you had a job to do. So, with that in mind, you walked into the room and began to place the jacket at the foot of his bed. As you did so, you froze.

The bathroom door opened.

And there he was.

Dean.

The man was standing in the doorway, only a towel wrapped around his waist, his damp hair falling in wet curls around his face. His sharp jawline glistened with droplets of water, and his bare chest—oh, his bare chest—was the epitome of muscle and power. He was a goddamn vision in the soft light that filtered through the curtains. Your heart skipped a beat, and it was as though your brain had temporarily short-circuited, unable to process the sight before you.

He hadn’t noticed you yet.

You froze. He froze. The two of you stood there in the doorway for a moment, each unsure how to move, unsure how to act. Your breath caught in your throat.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean’s brow furrowed in surprise as he stepped back from the doorway, eyes widening slightly. His expression quickly morphed into a mixture of confusion and, dare you think it, amusement. “Well, this is awkward.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how completely unprepared you were for this moment. Your fingers fidgeted with the collar of his jacket as you offered an awkward, half-hearted smile. “I—uh—I came to bring your jacket back,” you said, your voice sounding far too casual for the circumstances. “I didn’t think you’d still be… up.”

Dean chuckled softly, running a hand through his damp hair as he took a step toward you. His muscles rippled under the dim light, and you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the defined lines of his chest and abdomen. You forced yourself to look away, but it was hard.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on having company,” he said, voice low and rich, like velvet. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you, and for a split second, you felt his eyes trace over your form, not lingering on the obvious—your face—but rather… everything else. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at that.

“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you stammered, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to focus. “I’ll just—um—I’ll just leave this here.”

Dean stepped closer, his proximity making the air thick with tension. “You’re not interrupting,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now. “It’s just…” He paused, his eyes flicking over you once again. “Well, this is… unexpected.”

It was impossible not to feel self-conscious now. The way his gaze moved over you—it wasn’t just lingering. It was studying, savoring. A shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear the frantic beating of your heart.

Your hands shook as you gently placed his jacket on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore. Why did you feel so… flustered? This wasn’t a presidential matter. It wasn’t official business. It was a man in a towel and a woman in sleepwear, both with an undeniable tension hanging in the air. You swallowed, trying to control your racing pulse.

“Dean,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You should… probably put some clothes on.”

Dean didn’t seem bothered by your comment. If anything, the grin that crept onto his face only deepened the tension. He looked you over again, eyes softening as his lips curled into something dangerously close to flirtation. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” he asked, his voice dripping with a teasing undertone.

“No,” you said quickly, far too quickly, and you mentally cursed yourself. “No, of course not. I was just… returning your jacket.”

“Mm-hmm.” Dean’s eyes darkened, and you could tell that he was amused. “You’re sure you didn’t come in here for something else?”

You stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was now. The heat from his body seemed to radiate through the space between you, and it was enough to send your heart racing again. You cursed yourself internally—this was Dean. He was your bodyguard, and you were his charge. There was no room for these kinds of distractions.

“No,” you said, more firmly this time, even though your voice still betrayed you. “Just your jacket.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, still holding that maddeningly confident smirk. “Alright then.”

The moment stretched out, the awkwardness thick in the air as neither of you seemed to know how to proceed. The words didn’t come easy now, and all you could focus on was the man in front of you, his damp skin gleaming faintly in the low light, the way his eyes seemed to burn into yours.

“Well,” you finally said, your voice sounding smaller than you’d intended. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

Dean nodded slowly, his smirk never faltering. “Of course. I’ll let you get back to it.”

And yet, as you turned to leave, there was something in his eyes—something that made you second-guess your exit. Something that made your pulse quicken once again.

“Goodnight,” you said, your voice soft as you gave him a brief glance over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he echoed, his tone far warmer than before, his gaze lingering a moment too long.

And as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t stop the rush of heat that spread across your cheeks. You had no idea why you were so flustered, but you couldn’t deny the undeniable pull that had just passed between you.

You silently cursed your attraction to him, but deep down, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Dean Winchester was proving to be one hell of a distraction.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the Oval Office, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The White House, as ever, was buzzing with activity, but inside the small dining area where you sat with Bella and Steph, it was just the three of you. Or, rather, it was supposed to be just the three of you.

You sat at the table, your breakfast half-finished but completely ignored. Your fork hovered in the air, the scrambled eggs barely touched. You’d barely registered that you were supposed to be eating. Your mind was elsewhere—on him.

Dean.

Your bodyguard.

Last night had been… distracting. A complete and utter disaster in the form of a ridiculously handsome man stepping out of the shower in nothing but a towel. And those eyes. Those dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to strip away any composure you had left. Your cheeks were still flushed thinking about it. You had tried to push the memory out of your head, but it clung to you like the scent of a perfume that wouldn’t wash away.

The way his damp hair fell over his forehead, the droplets of water glistening on his skin, the way his towel clung to his hips—God, your body had gone completely still in his presence, and not in the way you were used to. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t rational, it was just hot.

You hadn’t even managed to get a proper word out, your mouth practically dry as you stood frozen in place. He’d looked at you, looked at you as though you were the only person in the room—and maybe you were.

You tore your gaze away from your plate for the hundredth time to look at Bella and Steph, both of whom were now watching you with amused expressions, one of them leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table.

Bella smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up with you, huh? You seem like you’ve forgotten we exist.”

Steph, always more perceptive than Bella, grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Girl, you’re miles away. We could’ve talked about anything, but you’ve been staring at your eggs for, like, the last ten minutes. What’s going on?”

You swallowed thickly, trying to maintain your composure, but the truth was, you couldn’t focus on anything other than Dean. You hadn’t had a moment like that in… well, ever. You’d been attracted to men before, but this? This felt different.

Your hand unconsciously reached for your glass of water, but it wasn’t until you noticed Bella and Steph looking at you with knowing smiles that you snapped out of it. “What?” You almost jumped out of your skin, hoping they hadn’t noticed how lost you’d been.

Steph raised her cup of coffee and sipped it lazily. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if your brain checked out of this conversation completely, or if it’s just playing hooky.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your skin suddenly feeling like it was on fire. You couldn’t lie to them—not really. Not when they had that look in their eyes. They weren’t stupid. They knew something was up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—uh—saw him,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “I saw him after he got out of the shower last night.”

Steph’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait… what? You saw him? How much did you see?”

You quickly pressed your hands to your face, feeling the heat of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to. I just went in to drop his jacket off, and the door was open and—he was right there.” You cringed, realizing you had practically sounded like an untrained schoolgirl.

Bella raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. “Okay, okay, so you accidentally walked in on him after he showered and he was… what? Naked?”

“Well, not completely,” you muttered, the embarrassment quickly turning to something else—something much more distracting. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “But he was wearing just a towel. And—God, it was—” You could feel yourself getting flustered, your thoughts stumbling over each other. “It was like being hit by a freight train. He’s—he’s so damn hot.” You could feel the heat pooling in your chest.

Bella and Steph exchanged looks before both of them leaned forward, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Wait,” Bella said, her voice dropping dramatically. “So, let me get this straight. You saw him like that… and you’re just sitting here, pretending it didn’t melt your brain?”

You swallowed, leaning back in your chair, trying to gather yourself. The truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his towel had clung to his waist, the faint droplets of water still clinging to his skin, the way his eyes had locked onto yours, making your heart race in your chest. “I—I don’t know what to say. I just—I didn’t expect it, okay? He’s Dean. My bodyguard. He’s… well, he’s Dean. And I just—” You cut yourself off, embarrassed that you were so clearly fumbling.

Steph was practically glowing, her face alight with a mixture of amusement and admiration. “Okay, okay. So tell me this, though. How did he look? Like… was it as good as the pictures?”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the table again, trying to hide your smile. “Better,” you admitted, unable to help yourself. “He’s even better-looking than his photos.”

Bella burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Girl, you’re down bad. And I’m here for it.”

Steph joined in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is so much better than I imagined. I’m living for this moment.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hide the way your stomach flipped at the thought of Dean in nothing but a towel. “I just—why does he have to be so distracting?” You didn’t even realize you’d spoken the last part out loud until it was too late.

Steph and Bella both looked at each other with knowing smirks.

“You like him, don’t you?” Bella teased. “You’ve got it bad. I see it.”

You groaned, slumping into your chair in frustration. “I don’t know what’s happening,” you admitted, rubbing your forehead as if trying to erase the images of Dean from your mind. “I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. I’m the President, for God’s sake.”

Steph reached across the table, patting your hand sympathetically. “Hey, you can’t help who you’re attracted to. But you are the President, so maybe take it slow, huh?”

You sighed again, your mind too clouded with thoughts of Dean, his strong arms, the way his voice had sent shivers down your spine. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll try.”

But deep down, you knew you were already too far gone to try and play it cool.

You were definitely down bad for Dean Winchester.

The small, sterile room Dean called his quarters in the White House was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. The night outside was dark and still, the corridors beyond his door silent as most of the staff retired for the evening. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, his boots kicked off and his tie loosened, staring at his phone as it buzzed against the nightstand.

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

He hadn’t heard from Benny in a long time, but he wasn’t surprised to see the name now. If anyone could track him down, even inside the fortified walls of the White House, it was Benny. They had history—decades of shared jobs, secrets, and scars. Though Dean had walked away from that life, Benny had stayed behind, carving out his own path in the underworld.

Dean picked up the phone and answered with a quiet, “Benny. Long time, brother.”

The familiar Cajun drawl on the other end was as smooth as whiskey, tinged with a low, almost conspiratorial urgency. “Dean-o. You’re harder to reach these days. Guess it’s what happens when you’re babysitting royalty, huh?”

Dean let out a short laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up? Didn’t think you’d call just to catch up.”

There was a brief pause, static crackling faintly in the background. Then Benny’s voice dropped, serious now. “I wouldn’t be callin’ if it wasn’t important. Figured I owed you a heads-up.”

Dean straightened, his instincts kicking in at the sudden change in tone. “What kind of heads-up?”

Benny sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. “Got approached by some of Frank’s men. They wanted me to take out a contract. A big one.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. His jaw tightened, his grip on the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He didn’t need to ask who the target was. He already knew. “You’re telling me they put out a hit on the President?”

“Yup,” Benny said, almost casually. But there was a current of tension beneath the calm. “Offered me a fat stack of cash to do it, too. Told me you’d gone soft, that you were playin’ house with the lady in charge and had betrayed the whole damn network.”

Dean swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. “And? What did you say?”

“I took their money, of course.” Benny chuckled lightly, but there was no mirth in it. “But relax, brother. I ain’t gonna do it. You know me better than that. Hell, I’d never hear the end of it if I put a bullet in your boss. Not that I’d wanna.”

Relief flooded Dean for a moment, but it was short-lived. The implications of what Benny was saying hit him hard. “Why the hell did you take the money, then?”

“Because it buys me time. If I’d said no, they’d just go to the next guy in line, and that guy might not be as nice as me. This way, I can stall ‘em. Play along for a bit, give you a chance to get your house in order.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

“Listen,” Benny interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You know how these things work. Frank’s boys are pissed, Dean. They think you flipped, and that ain’t something they’re gonna let slide. I don’t think I’m the only one they reached out to. They’re throwin’ money around like it’s candy, and you know what that means.”

Dean did. It meant a dozen guns aimed at the same target, and not all of them would hesitate.

“They’re gonna come for her,” Benny continued, his voice lower now. “And when they do, they ain’t gonna stop until someone cashes the check. You gotta be ready, man. Watch your six. Watch hers.”

Dean’s stomach tightened at the thought of you—working late into the night as you always did, pouring over documents, your brow furrowed in concentration. You were tough, no doubt about that, but this was a whole new level of danger. He didn’t like the thought of you being a target, vulnerable to the same ruthless world he’d worked so hard to leave behind.

“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Benny replied. “You’ve got somethin’ good here, Dean. Don’t let those bastards take it away from you.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, the line was quiet except for the faint hum of static. Then Benny added, softer now, “Take care of yourself, man. And her.”

“You too,” Dean muttered, then ended the call.

He sat there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just his life on the line. It was yours. You—the woman who had somehow managed to earn his respect and loyalty in such a short amount of time, the woman who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had looked him in the eye and trusted him despite everything she knew about his past.

Dean exhaled sharply and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. He needed to focus, to plan. There were too many variables, too many unknowns. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone lay a finger on you. Not while he was around.

The small, sterile room Dean called his quarters in the White House was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. The night outside was dark and still, the corridors beyond his door silent as most of the staff retired for the evening. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, his boots kicked off and his tie loosened, staring at his phone as it buzzed against the nightstand.

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

He hadn’t heard from Benny in a long time, but he wasn’t surprised to see the name now. If anyone could track him down, even inside the fortified walls of the White House, it was Benny. They had history—decades of shared jobs, secrets, and scars. Though Dean had walked away from that life, Benny had stayed behind, carving out his own path in the underworld.

Dean picked up the phone and answered with a quiet, “Benny. Long time, brother.”

The familiar Cajun drawl on the other end was as smooth as whiskey, tinged with a low, almost conspiratorial urgency. “Dean-o. You’re harder to reach these days. Guess it’s what happens when you’re babysitting royalty, huh?”

Dean let out a short laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up? Didn’t think you’d call just to catch up.”

There was a brief pause, static crackling faintly in the background. Then Benny’s voice dropped, serious now. “I wouldn’t be callin’ if it wasn’t important. Figured I owed you a heads-up.”

Dean straightened, his instincts kicking in at the sudden change in tone. “What kind of heads-up?”

Benny sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. “Got approached by some of Frank’s men. They wanted me to take out a contract. A big one.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. His jaw tightened, his grip on the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He didn’t need to ask who the target was. He already knew. “You’re telling me they put out a hit on the President?”

“Yup,” Benny said, almost casually. But there was a current of tension beneath the calm. “Offered me a fat stack of cash to do it, too. Told me you’d gone soft, that you were playin’ house with the lady in charge and had betrayed the whole damn network.”

Dean swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. “And? What did you say?”

“I took their money, of course.” Benny chuckled lightly, but there was no mirth in it. “But relax, brother. I ain’t gonna do it. You know me better than that. Hell, I’d never hear the end of it if I put a bullet in your boss. Not that I’d wanna.”

Relief flooded Dean for a moment, but it was short-lived. The implications of what Benny was saying hit him hard. “Why the hell did you take the money, then?”

“Because it buys me time. If I’d said no, they’d just go to the next guy in line, and that guy might not be as nice as me. This way, I can stall ‘em. Play along for a bit, give you a chance to get your house in order.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

“Listen,” Benny interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You know how these things work. Frank’s boys are pissed, Dean. They think you flipped, and that ain’t something they’re gonna let slide. I don’t think I’m the only one they reached out to. They’re throwin’ money around like it’s candy, and you know what that means.”

Dean did. It meant a dozen guns aimed at the same target, and not all of them would hesitate.

“They’re gonna come for her,” Benny continued, his voice lower now. “And when they do, they ain’t gonna stop until someone cashes the check. You gotta be ready, man. Watch your six. Watch hers.”

Dean’s stomach tightened at the thought of you—working late into the night as you always did, pouring over documents, your brow furrowed in concentration. You were tough, no doubt about that, but this was a whole new level of danger. He didn’t like the thought of you being a target, vulnerable to the same ruthless world he’d worked so hard to leave behind.

“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Benny replied. “You’ve got somethin’ good here, Dean. Don’t let those bastards take it away from you.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, the line was quiet except for the faint hum of static. Then Benny added, softer now, “Take care of yourself, man. And her.”

“You too,” Dean muttered, then ended the call.

He sat there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just his life on the line. It was yours. You—the woman who had somehow managed to earn his respect and loyalty in such a short amount of time, the woman who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had looked him in the eye and trusted him despite everything she knew about his past.

Dean exhaled sharply and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. He needed to focus, to plan. There were too many variables, too many unknowns. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone lay a finger on you. Not while he was around.

The next morning, you were in your office as usual, poring over a mountain of paperwork. The soft sound of your pen scratching against the paper filled the quiet room. You were wearing one of your usual tailored outfits, a blazer and skirt that somehow managed to look both professional and effortless. You were the picture of focus and determination, your brow furrowed slightly as you worked through the endless list of tasks that came with running the country.

But Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Benny’s warning. He stood just outside your office door, his arms crossed, his gaze scanning the hallway for any sign of trouble. His mind was a mess of plans and contingencies, all centered around keeping you safe. He knew the risks, knew the lengths to which Frank’s men would go. And he knew that if they made a move, it wouldn’t be subtle.

He couldn’t tell you—not yet, at least. You had enough on your plate without worrying about hitmen and criminal syndicates. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to protect you.

Inside the office, you glanced up from your paperwork and caught sight of Dean through the glass panel in the door. He was standing there, stoic as ever, his sharp green eyes scanning the hallway with the kind of intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of security whenever he was around. Despite his past, despite everything you knew about him, there was something about Dean that made you trust him implicitly. He was always there, always watching, always ready to step in if anything went wrong.

But there was something else, too—something you tried to ignore. The way your pulse quickened whenever he was near, the way your thoughts seemed to drift back to him no matter how hard you tried to focus. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but the truth was undeniable: Dean Winchester wasn’t just your bodyguard. He was the man who had somehow managed to turn your carefully ordered world upside down.

And now, whether you knew it or not, he was the man standing between you and the shadows creeping ever closer.

Dean’s grip on the hitman’s arm was like iron as he pushed him forward, moving swiftly through the corridors back toward where the Secret Service agents waited. The man squirmed and spat venomous words as they walked, his tone low and seething.

“You think she’s safe with you?” the hitman hissed, his voice cold and deliberate. “You’re just delaying the inevitable. People like her? Too many enemies. Too many people want her gone. She’ll never see it coming.”

Dean didn’t flinch, his jaw tightening as his icy green eyes bored into the back of the man’s head. He didn’t dignify the threat with a response, choosing instead to keep his focus forward, on getting this bastard into custody.

“Face it,” the man continued, his voice laced with malice. “This doesn’t end here. This is just the beginning.”

Dean stopped abruptly, yanking the man to a halt so forcefully that the hitman stumbled. Turning him sharply, Dean grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and pulled him close, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, or her,” he said, his tone a cold growl that sent chills down the man’s spine. “If you so much as breathe another word about her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The hitman sneered, but Dean’s grip was unyielding. He shoved the man forward again, his pace brisk as he finally reached the waiting Secret Service detail outside the orphanage. The agents were already on high alert, their faces tense as they took in the scene.

“Take him,” Dean ordered, shoving the hitman into their custody. “Lock him down. Maximum security. I don’t want him talking to anyone but you, and only when I say so.”

The agents nodded, their professionalism evident as they hauled the man away, but the hitman’s threats lingered in the air. “She’s not safe. You’ll see!” he yelled, his voice echoing down the corridor as he was dragged out of sight.

Dean watched him go, his expression hard and unreadable. Only when the man was gone did he allow himself to breathe, his shoulders dropping slightly as the tension began to ease. But when he turned, his eyes immediately found you, standing near the corner of the room, trying your best to appear composed despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

You weren’t fooling him.

Even from a distance, Dean could see the subtle tremble in your hands as you folded them tightly against your chest. Your shoulders were stiff, your breaths shallow, and though you were making an admirable effort to mask the fear coursing through you, Dean knew better. He could see it in your eyes—the panic, the shock, the fear that you couldn’t quite shake.

Without hesitation, Dean walked over to you, his movements purposeful but calm, his footsteps steady against the polished floor. He didn’t say a word as he reached you, his towering presence immediately blocking out the rest of the world.

“C’mon,” he said softly, his voice gentle in a way you weren’t used to hearing. He placed a hand lightly on your back, guiding you toward a quieter, more secluded part of the orphanage where no one else would bother you.

You didn’t protest, your legs moving mechanically as you followed his lead. The shock was starting to set in now, a cold weight pressing against your chest as the events replayed in your mind. The laughter of the children, the sudden crack of the gunshot, the image of Dean stepping in front of you without hesitation—all of it played in a relentless loop, leaving you reeling.

Dean led you to a small, empty lounge at the back of the building, closing the door behind you to shut out the noise. The room was dimly lit, with a worn-out couch and a few scattered chairs, but it was quiet, and that was all that mattered.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you felt your composure begin to crack. Your breathing hitched, and you turned away from Dean, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to hold it together.

But it was no use. The fear that had been building inside you finally spilled over, and before you knew it, you were trembling, tears welling in your eyes as your body betrayed you.

Dean saw it happen—the way your shoulders shook, the way you tried to hide your face as the tears started to fall. He didn’t hesitate. Closing the distance between you, he gently placed his hands on your shoulders, his touch firm but comforting.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking as you finally let the words spill out. “I— I thought I was fine. I thought I could handle it, but I—”

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” Dean interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moved closer, his hands sliding down to your arms as he turned you to face him. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

The sincerity in his voice was overwhelming, and it broke something inside you. The tears came harder now, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as the sobs wracked your body.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you let everything out. His hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he murmured softly, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as the fear slowly ebbed away. Dean didn’t let go, his arms a steady presence that made you feel safer than you had in weeks.

Eventually, your sobs subsided, and your breathing evened out. You pulled back slightly, your cheeks flushed and your eyes red from crying, but there was a faint sense of relief in your chest now—a sense that, maybe, you weren’t as alone in this as you had feared.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Dean cut you off gently, his voice firm but kind. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve been through a hell of a lot, and you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you met his eyes. There was something in his gaze—an unwavering determination, a promise that you knew he would keep.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean gave you a small, reassuring smile, his hands still resting lightly on your arms. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

But it wasn’t just his words that comforted you—it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you like you were more than just a job. Like you were someone worth protecting, someone worth fighting for.

And in that moment, as the world outside continued to spin in chaos, you let yourself believe him.

The night had settled in around the White House, and the silence in the halls was punctuated only by the faint hum of air conditioning and the distant murmur of security. Inside your bedroom, the air felt heavy, a mix of the warmth from the blankets tangled around your body and the cool unease that clung to you after the events of the day.

Dean had insisted on staying close after the shooting incident earlier, much to your initial hesitation. You were used to being independent, to handling things on your own, but after everything that had happened, his presence felt strangely comforting. So, when he asked if he could move a sofa into the hallway outside your room for the night, you hadn’t been able to say no.

You’d spent the evening trying to act like everything was normal—trying to forget the weight of the threat against your life, to put on a brave face for your staff, and for the children at the orphanage. But now, lying in bed, it felt impossible to escape the fear that had crept into your bones.

You turned over in bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as the darkness seemed to press in on you from all sides. Your mind wouldn’t quiet, the images of the gunshot and Dean rushing to protect you replaying over and over. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness, and each shadow in the corners of the room seemed to take on a life of its own.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud crack of thunder, and you jolted upright in bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t the storm that had startled you—it was the sudden nightmare, the sharp feeling of being hunted, of someone coming for you. You gasped for air as you tried to steady yourself, but the panic only grew, making your chest feel tight and your breathing shallow.

The nightmare had felt so real—the hitman’s words echoing in your mind, the cold barrel of a gun pressing to your temple, the realization that no matter what, you couldn’t escape.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears that threatened to spill. You could feel the familiar panic rising in your throat, threatening to choke you.

"Shit," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your hands over your face as if that could erase the fear. You didn’t want to wake up anyone, especially not Dean. He’d already done so much today—risked his life to protect you—and now you were losing it over a nightmare.

But as you lay there, trying to calm your breathing, you heard a faint noise—footsteps, muffled but steady. Your heart skipped a beat as the door to your room creaked open just slightly.

"Madam President?" Dean’s voice, low and rough, was a whisper in the dark.

You froze. How had he known? How had he heard you? You hadn’t even realized that you were still trembling until you heard his voice, and the warmth of it seeped through the panic that had a stranglehold on your chest.

"Dean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing in here?"

"I heard you," he said simply, his tone steady. "I heard you wake up."

You could feel his presence before you saw him—tall, imposing, yet strangely gentle as he moved toward you in the dark. The soft creak of the floorboards beneath his boots was the only sound besides the steady thrum of your heartbeat.

"I’m fine," you said quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Just a bad dream."

Dean didn’t respond right away. Instead, there was a pause, and then the soft thud of his boots on the floor as he took a step closer. You felt his warmth before he even spoke, his voice rough but kind.

"Can I come in?" he asked, almost hesitant, as if waiting for you to give him permission.

You nodded, even though you didn’t really have to say it. You could feel the tension in the room—the mix of discomfort, vulnerability, and something else, something unspoken. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. There was something in the way he said it, in the way he always said everything. It wasn’t just the bodyguard, the protector—it was Dean.

"Yeah," you whispered, shifting slightly on the bed to make room for him.

The door creaked open wider, and a few moments later, you felt his weight settle beside you on the edge of the bed, his posture tense yet somehow relaxed. His presence filled the space, his scent—leather, soap, and something undeniably him—swirling around you as he leaned closer, his gaze searching yours in the dim light.

"Nightmare?" he asked softly, his voice almost too gentle, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile calm that had settled between you.

You nodded, your eyes flickering to his face, trying to read the expression that was hidden in the darkness. You could feel the vulnerability creeping in again, the fear, but there was something else now—comfort. Safety.

"It wasn’t just the hitman," you said quietly, your voice a little shaky as the nightmare still lingered in your mind. "It was... everything. The fear. The constant feeling that I’m being watched, that I can’t even trust the walls of this place."

Dean nodded slowly, his eyes locking onto yours as if he understood more than you expected. You could see the intensity in his gaze, the way his jaw clenched as he processed your words.

"Hey," he said, his voice steady. "You don’t have to go through this alone."

You shook your head, trying to mask the knot of emotion that was tightening in your chest. "I don’t want to be a burden to you, Dean. You’ve already done so much for me."

Dean’s expression softened, his brow furrowing slightly. "You’re not a burden," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "I’m here to protect you, but I’m also here for you. Whatever you need, I’ve got you."

His words were simple, but they hit you harder than you expected. It was the first time someone had said that to you in a long time, and you realized—more than you’d care to admit—that you wanted to believe him. That you needed to believe him.

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You could feel the weight of it, the quiet intimacy in the space between you. You tried to look away, but your eyes couldn’t seem to escape his. He was so close, just inches away, his warmth radiating toward you, his breath faintly brushing your skin.

You didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but before you could think twice, he was leaning in, his face inches from yours. Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze flickered down to your lips, and for a split second, the world seemed to slow, everything outside of this room fading away.

"Dean..." you whispered, the sound of his name on your lips hanging in the air like a promise.

"Shh," he murmured, his hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender despite the raw intensity between you. "It’s okay. I’m here."

The words settled in your chest, a warmth spreading through you that chased away the lingering chill of the nightmare. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, and all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Dean held your gaze, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to read every unspoken thought running through your mind. There was a tension in the air now, a charged moment that neither of you dared to break.

But then, as if sensing the shift, Dean cleared his throat and looked away, his hand dropping back to his side. “Do you... want me to stay?” he asked, his voice a little gruffer than before. “Just until you fall asleep?”

The offer was so unexpected, so selfless, that you felt your chest tighten. You nodded before you could second-guess yourself, your voice barely audible as you said, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Dean stood, moving to grab a chair from the corner of the room and pulling it up beside your bed. He settled into it with a quiet sigh, his presence a comforting anchor as you lay back down.

“Get some rest,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving you. “I’ll be right here.”

And he was. Long after your breathing evened out and you drifted back to sleep, Dean stayed awake, watching over you like a sentinel. For all the nightmares that haunted your sleep, he was determined to be the one who kept them at bay.

The sun crept over the horizon, its golden light filtering through the curtains of your bedroom as you sat at your desk, absentmindedly shuffling through the stack of documents requiring your attention. But your mind wasn’t on the papers in front of you—it was still stuck on the events of the previous day. The gunshot, the chaos, Dean’s unwavering strength as he shielded you and took down the would-be assassin. You couldn’t seem to shake the residual fear that clung to you like a shadow.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to focus, when the sharp chime of the front doorbell startled you. Glancing at the clock, you frowned. It was far too early for visitors, and anyone official would have gone through the Secret Service detail stationed outside. Curious and slightly apprehensive, you pushed back from your desk and headed downstairs.

By the time you reached the grand foyer, Dean was already there, his tall figure filling the space as he opened the door. A rush of voices greeted him, and you paused at the foot of the stairs, narrowing your eyes as Bella and Steph barged inside, each dragging a large suitcase behind them.

“Oh, good morning, Madam President!” Bella chirped, her bright smile completely at odds with the scene unfolding.

“You look like you’ve been up all night,” Steph observed, her brow furrowing as she took you in. She turned to Bella. “She’s probably traumatized.”

“Absolutely,” Bella agreed, spinning back toward you. “That’s why we’re moving in.”

You blinked, staring at the two women as if they’d just announced they were planning to annex a small country. “Wait, what?”

Steph rolled her suitcase to the side, parking it neatly against the wall before crossing her arms. “You almost got killed yesterday. Killed. Bella and I talked it over, and we decided you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m not alone,” you argued weakly, gesturing to the security detail outside and Dean, who was standing with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “I have, you know, professionals to keep me safe.”

Bella shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing with the movement. “Professionals can’t keep you company at two a.m. when you’re spiraling, thinking about what could have happened. We can.”

Steph chimed in, her tone firm. “We’re not taking no for an answer. And besides,” she added with a sly grin, “your guest rooms are bigger than my entire apartment.”

You opened your mouth to protest further, but the sheer determination in their eyes made it clear that you were fighting a losing battle. Instead, you turned to Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know anything about this?”

Dean’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him since the assassination attempt. “Might’ve mentioned it to them,” he said casually, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Figured you could use some backup.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, caught off guard by the quiet thoughtfulness behind his actions. The corners of your mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile. “Thank you,” you said softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended.

Dean nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring, before stepping aside to let you deal with your unexpected houseguests.

Bella and Steph wasted no time, each grabbing a suitcase and heading for the stairs. “Come on,” Bella called over her shoulder. “Let’s get you set up with some real TLC.”

You followed them up to your bedroom, your protests fading as the reality of their presence began to sink in. While part of you wanted to cling to the independence and stoicism you prided yourself on, another part—the part that had spent the previous night battling fear and doubt—was deeply relieved to have them here.

Once inside your bedroom, Bella and Steph immediately set about making themselves at home. Bella perched on the edge of your bed, her sharp eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress, while Steph began unpacking a small bag filled with snacks, tea, and what appeared to be an entire pharmacy’s worth of calming supplements.

“All right,” Bella said, clapping her hands together. “Talk to us. How are you feeling? And don’t say ‘fine,’ because we know that’s a lie.”

You sighed, sitting down in the armchair near the window. “I’m… managing,” you said carefully. “It was terrifying, yes, but I’m trying to focus on the fact that I’m okay now. And that Dean was there.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Dean, huh? You’ve been mentioning him a lot lately.”

Bella leaned forward, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Oh, is that what this is about? You’re swooning over your hot bodyguard?”

“Bella,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Uh-huh,” she teased, but the playful tone softened as she added, “Seriously, though, it’s okay to feel shaken up. You don’t have to be the President right now. You can just be you. And we’re here for that.”

The sincerity in her voice made your chest tighten, and you felt a surge of gratitude for these two women who knew you better than almost anyone. For all their teasing and antics, they had an uncanny ability to make you feel grounded when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control.

Steph handed you a steaming mug of tea, her expression gentler than usual. “Drink this. And then we’re going to binge-watch something ridiculous until you forget all about yesterday.”

You took the mug with a small smile, letting their warmth and care wrap around you like a shield.

As you settled back into the plush armchair, sipping the warm tea that Steph had handed you, the stress of the morning slowly began to melt away. The soothing scent of chamomile and honey helped ease the tightness in your chest, but the constant undercurrent of unease from the near-assassination attempt still lingered, just below the surface. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the presence of your friends—the comfort they brought was like an anchor in the storm of responsibilities and expectations that weighed on you every day.

As you glanced around the room, Bella was already making herself comfortable on the edge of your bed, her legs stretched out as she scrolled through her phone. Steph, meanwhile, was rummaging through the contents of her suitcase, looking particularly determined as she dug around in the neatly packed clothes.

“Where’s my damn nail kit?” Bella muttered under her breath, sounding mildly annoyed.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Bella was always the one with the meticulous packing. Her suitcase was an organized chaos of products and clothes, but nothing ever seemed to be in the right place when she needed it.

“Why the hell would you put it in my bag?” Steph shot back, not looking up from her task. “I told you to pack your own damn stuff.”

“Oh, please,” Bella retorted, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who accidentally packed your pajamas in my bag last time.”

Steph let out an exasperated sigh, but she didn’t answer right away. Instead, she continued to search through Bella’s bag, grumbling to herself. You could tell this was a typical exchange for the two of them—bantering back and forth in a way that felt both natural and comforting, like the kind of bickering siblings might engage in.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not in there,” Steph finally said, giving up her search for a moment. “You probably packed it in your other bag.”

“You’re impossible,” Bella replied, crossing her arms in frustration. “But, fine, let’s see.” She leaned over, giving a dramatic sigh. “Why did I even bring you on this trip?”

“Because you love me,” Steph said smugly, her hands now diving into the depths of her other bag.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bella muttered, her focus now back on her phone as she scrolled through a feed of photos. “But seriously, where did you put it?”

“Got it!” Steph called out triumphantly, pulling a small, glittery pouch from the bottom of her suitcase and waving it in the air like a prize.

Bella’s face lit up as she clapped her hands together. “I knew it. Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” Steph said flatly, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a small, knowing smile.

“You’re still a pain in my ass,” Bella teased, rolling her eyes as she reached for the nail kit.

Steph responded with a mock grimace. “I’m sure you love it.”

“You’re damn right I do,” Bella shot back with a wink. She turned her attention to you, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Okay, reader, you’ve been through hell today. It’s time for some pampering.”

Before you could even protest, Bella had already pulled out a nail file and was lifting one of your hands, inspecting your nails with a critical eye. “These are a tragedy,” she said dramatically, making you laugh. “We can’t have the President walking around with nails like these. We need to fix that immediately.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning hesitation. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood for a full-on nail makeover. I kind of just want to… relax?”

“Exactly,” Bella said, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s why we’re doing this. You’ve been running on overdrive since the election. You need a break. So, while I work my magic on these nails,” she said, pulling out a bottle of a glittery polish from her kit, “Steph is going to put on one of our favorite shows, and we’re all going to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.”

Steph finally settled down next to you on the bed, flicking the TV remote. “You’ll be fine. You can zone out while I put on F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and we have a mini girls’ night.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your two best friends working together, their playful dynamic soothing you. “You two really do know how to make everything better.”

Bella shot you a grin as she picked out the nail polish color, holding it up for you to see. “It’s what we’re here for, babe.”

As she began painting your nails with surprising precision, you leaned back into the pillows, feeling the tension in your body ease with each gentle stroke. The bright colors Bella chose were a stark contrast to the darker, more somber thoughts that had plagued you earlier that morning.

Steph was already flipping through the episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S., humming quietly under her breath as the opening credits played. “This is just what the doctor ordered,” she said happily, glancing over at you. “You’re going to feel so much better by the end of this.”

The familiar theme song filled the room as the opening scene of Monica’s apartment flashed on the screen, and you relaxed further into the bed, feeling safe and comforted by the laughter of your friends, the silly antics of the show, and the soothing, gentle touch of Bella as she worked on your nails.

“So,” Bella asked casually, glancing at you while she carefully worked on your other hand, “how’s everything really going with… him?” She winked, giggling. “Like, I know he’s your dibs, I respect girl code, but men like him are probably why I’m bisexual.”

You blinked in surprise, though the question didn’t come as a total shock. You knew exactly who she was referring to—Dean. Your mind immediately flashed to the way he’d been there for you yesterday, how he’d protected you without a second thought, his presence a steadying force. He was your bodyguard, yes, but the dynamic between you two had shifted in the past few days. You felt a connection, a bond that went beyond duty or professionalism, and it was hard to ignore.

“I’m… not sure,” you admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “It’s complicated.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the show. “Complicated how?”

You thought for a moment, unsure how much you wanted to reveal. After all, things had barely started between you and Dean. Yet there was something undeniably magnetic about him. “He’s… kind of impossible not to notice. And I don’t mean just because he’s hot—though, that definitely doesn’t hurt,” you said with a slight laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. “But it’s more than that. He’s protective, and he’s smart… and he just gets me, you know? It’s like he’s always there when I need him, without hesitation. It’s… kind of overwhelming.”

Bella smiled knowingly, nodding as she worked on perfecting your nails. “I get it. I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist when he’s near you.”

Steph chuckled. “You’ve got the hots for him, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, but deep down, you knew they were right. “I do,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “But he’s my bodyguard. It’s complicated.”

Bella finished your nails with a flourish, and she leaned back, admiring her handiwork. “You’re allowed to be complicated,” she said softly, her voice warm. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. Just… take it one step at a time. And, in the meantime, let’s watch some episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and forget about the world for a little while.”

The minutes passed by quickly as the hum of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. continued to fill the room, the soft glow of the television providing a cozy atmosphere as you settled deeper into the plush pillows. Bella had finished your nails with the kind of perfection only she could manage, and you couldn’t help but smile at the cheerful colors now adorning your fingers. They were bright, bold, and utterly distracting—just what you needed to take your mind off everything.

Steph, who had been completely absorbed in the show, suddenly glanced at her watch, then got up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Alright, ladies,” she said with a smirk, “time for the next step of the evening’s relaxation plan.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s next?”

With a dramatic flair, Steph marched over to her suitcase and pulled out a stack of fluffy, soft robes. They were as white as snow and looked incredibly cozy, the kind of fabric that felt like it could wrap you up in a warm hug. “Time to trade those outfits in for something even more comfy,” she said, tossing the robes toward you and Bella. “But first,” she added with a sly grin, “we’ll need to change into these in the bathroom.”

You blinked, unsure of where this was going. “The bathroom?”

“Yep,” she said, already heading toward the door with a mischievous look on her face. “One at a time. You go first.”

Bella laughed and stood up. “Oh, I see what’s going on here,” she said with a wink at you. “Steph’s getting us all into these robes so we can feel like a spa day... and so she can make fun of us when we look ridiculous.”

You sighed, but the offer of comfort and relaxation was too good to resist. Besides, you were in no mood to argue. “Fine, I’ll go,” you muttered, standing up and grabbing the robe from the pile. You could hear Bella snickering as she took her own robe and headed toward the bathroom, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment.

When you entered the bathroom, you shut the door behind you and slipped the robe over your shoulders. The softness of the fabric immediately made you feel more at ease, and you couldn’t help but smile at the indulgence of it all. For a brief moment, it was like everything else—everything overwhelming and terrifying—was forgotten. You simply allowed yourself to enjoy the comfort of the robe, the soft scent of your body lotion mixing with the fluffy material.

A couple of minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, still adjusting the robe’s belt around your waist. The others were already sitting on the bed, each of them wearing the same white robe, looking relaxed and... well, a little silly, but in the best way possible.

Steph looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, not bad. You clean up pretty well, President.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Very funny, Steph.”

“Yeah,” Bella chimed in, giving you a teasing smile, “you look like you should be sipping mimosas by the pool somewhere.”

You smirked at her. “I can’t help it if I look good in a robe. Some of us are blessed.”

Steph let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, okay, Miss Universe,” she teased, then immediately grabbed a pint of ice cream from the small cooler beside the bed. “Now that we’re all properly robed, time to enjoy some ice cream. And, of course, time for some serious girl talk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Girl talk?”

“Oh, you know,” Steph said with a knowing look, taking the first scoop of ice cream. “Like, you and your bodyguard.”

You froze, spoon halfway to your mouth. “What?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Steph added, her voice slightly more serious now, though she couldn’t hide the teasing smile. “I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. I think it’s time we have a veryserious discussion about the attraction that’s clearly there.”

You let out a dramatic groan, sinking back into the pillows with a sigh. “Oh my God, not this again. I’m not trying to hook up with Dean.”

Steph’s eyes sparkled. “You don’t have to hook up with him to admit that he’s got you hot under the collar. You’ve barely had him in your sights for a couple of weeks, but I can already tell. You’re into him.”

You shot her a look. “You guys are impossible.”

Bella laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “I don’t know if she’s that into him yet, but I mean, come on. The guy is seriously attractive. Have you seen him without his shirt?”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “Can we please not talk about this? Seriously?”

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were adults here,” she teased, scooping up some ice cream. “But fine, if you’re gonna be like that, I’ll drop it... for now. Let’s talk about something more fun.”

You were more than happy to change the subject, even if Bella’s antics were making the entire situation way more awkward. “Fine. What else?”

Bella shrugged, not missing a beat. “Well, you know what? I met this guy the other day. You’d like him, actually. His name’s Benny. He’s a... well, he’s a lot of things, but most importantly, he’s got this aura of danger about him. You know the type, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in conversation. “Benny?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice lowering slightly as she grinned. “And he’s so hot. I mean, he’s... rugged. Like, maybe a little rough around the edges. He’s got this bad-boy energy, but it’s not obnoxious. It’s... mysterious, you know?”

You could tell by the sparkle in her eye that she was more than a little taken with him. And, judging by the way she was describing him, it seemed like she was intrigued by the idea of the “dangerous type.” You leaned forward slightly, glancing at her curiously. “So, what’s the deal with him? What’s his story?”

Bella didn’t seem at all phased by the sudden interest. “Oh, he’s got history. Some shady business, for sure. But he’s... not exactly the kind of guy who would ever mess with you, if you catch my drift. He’s just got this... commanding presence. Like, I can’t help but feel like he’s the kind of guy who would step in and take care of things if they got out of hand.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by Bella’s sudden enthusiasm. “Sounds like your type.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Steph. You’re just jealous because I met him first.”

Steph laughed. “I wouldn’t say jealous. But, damn, it sounds like Benny’s got a few layers to him. So, what’s his deal?”

“His deal is that he’s complicated,” Bella said, taking another scoop of ice cream. “But it’s a good kind of complicated. I think he likes me, but it’s hard to tell. He’s not exactly the type to express his feelings with words. More like actions, if you get what I mean.”

You could see where this was going. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Oh, it is,” Bella agreed without missing a beat. “But, hey, I like trouble. Keeps things interesting.”

Steph shook her head, her amusement clear. “Girl, you’re too much. But I get it. Benny sounds like someone who can handle his own, which is exactly what you want. That’s your jam.”

You sat back, still processing the conversation. It seemed like everyone around you had their own form of chaos and attraction in their lives—whether it was the obvious pull between you and Dean, or Bella’s own flirtations with a mysterious guy named Benny. Maybe you were just getting older, but you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by it all.

But, as the ice cream melted and the show continued on in the background, you allowed yourself a moment of peace. After everything that had happened, the threats, the danger, and the intensity of your life as President, this—this moment of laughter, of comfort, of friendship—was exactly what you needed.

“Alright,” Steph said, breaking the silence. “Enough about us and our interesting love lives. Let’s focus on you, Madam President. You’re due for a serious pampering session. After all, it’s not every day you almost get assassinated.”

The knock on the door was soft, yet distinct, interrupting the moment of calm you had found with Bella and Steph. You sat up from the pillows, glancing over your shoulder at the door, feeling the peaceful moment shift slightly. Bella, who had been intently watching the television, seemed to notice it too, her eyes narrowing with a grin.

“Who’s at the door?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity, as if she already knew the answer.

“I’ll check,” you said, standing up from the bed and wrapping the robe more securely around yourself. It was a loose, white fluffy robe you had put on after your mini pampering session, still feeling its soft comfort as you crossed the room to the door. Your bare feet made no sound on the soft carpet as you walked over.

You opened the door, not expecting much, but what you saw was enough to stop you for a moment.

Dean stood in front of you, leaning against the doorframe, looking… well, as always, impossibly attractive. His broad shoulders were outlined in a black shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right ways. His stance was casual, but the way his gaze flickered over your body made your breath catch in your throat.

“Uh…” He looked at you, his expression changing from neutral to one of awkwardness, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react. His eyes slowly moved down to take in the sight of you standing there in nothing but your robe, the fluffy material clinging to your frame just enough to remind him of how intimate the situation felt.

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, though you tried to mask it with a casual smile. "Hey, Dean," you greeted, hoping you didn’t sound too flustered. “What’s up?”

Dean shifted on his feet slightly, like he was trying to decide whether or not to step inside or stay outside, the tension palpable between you. "Just checking in," he said, his voice low, almost awkward, as if unsure if he was intruding on something. He looked you over again, his eyes lingering for just a bit longer than usual. "Are you… are you okay?"

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze seemed to rove over you, the intensity of it making your heart race. You raised an eyebrow, hoping to keep the situation light. "Yeah, I’m fine," you reassured him, stepping back to let him in, though you couldn’t deny the way your body was reacting to the proximity. “I’m just relaxing a little, taking a break.”

Dean nodded, but he didn’t move any closer. Instead, he stood there, a little stiff, clearly torn between doing his job and maybe wanting to stay a little longer, just to talk or check in. His eyes flickered down to the floor for a second before snapping back up to meet yours. "Good. Just wanted to make sure," he mumbled, clearly not comfortable with the situation, but still trying to be considerate.

Behind you, Bella and Steph were watching the interaction with all the intensity of spectators watching a spicy scene in a movie, their eyes flicking between you and Dean like they were waiting for something to happen. Bella was the first to break the silence, her voice laced with a playful teasing.

“So… looks like someone’s got a visitor,” she said, her tone full of amusement.

You turned your head, realizing what she was hinting at. “Can you not?” you muttered under your breath, a bit embarrassed.

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not enjoying it,” she teased further, her eyes shifting between the two of you. “It’s obvious you two have chemistry.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the sudden realization that Dean was still standing in your doorway, watching everything unfold. You cleared your throat and quickly turned to Dean, smiling awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry about this,” you said, hoping to change the subject before things got even more uncomfortable. “You know how they are.”

Dean’s lips quirked into a tiny smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No problem,” he said, his tone still a little strained. But you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on you, how they flickered over your bare arms, the way your robe was falling just slightly off one shoulder.

“Right.” You nodded, shifting on your feet, unsure of what to do with this sudden surge of tension in the room. It was like everything had shifted, and neither of you quite knew how to handle it.

Bella leaned back against the bed, looking far too entertained. “Yeah, sure. No big deal,” she said, clearly enjoying watching the two of you dance around each other. “Nothing to see here, just two people who obviously want to kiss each other already.”

“Bella!” you hissed, your face burning with embarrassment.

Steph, who had been watching silently, suddenly perked up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, this is getting good. You guys are so obvious.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying every moment of the interaction. “Come on, what’s the harm in admitting it? We all see it. You two are practically giving off sparks.”

You groaned, turning to Dean for support, but the way he was standing—awkwardly stiff, his gaze not quite meeting yours—told you that he was just as flustered as you were. It was then that you realized you had both been giving off a lot more energy than either of you intended. The sexual tension between you had been growing since he started working for you, but now it felt almost unbearable.

Dean scratched the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well…” He looked at the floor for a second, then back at you. “I should probably… get going.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment at his words, though you quickly masked it. “Of course,” you said, your voice light but your heart thumping in your chest. “Thanks for checking in, Dean.”

He nodded, still standing in the doorway, looking like he wasn’t sure how to leave. The silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the distance between you feeling far more significant than it should have.

Before he could leave, however, Bella’s voice broke the moment. “Oh, come on, don’t leave so soon,” she called out to him with a teasing grin. “Stick around. You’re welcome to join us, right?”

Dean looked at her, his expression momentarily lost for words, and then he glanced back at you, his eyes softening slightly. You caught that look—a look that, if you were being honest with yourself, made your heart flutter just a bit.

“You know,” he began slowly, his voice quieter than before, “I probably should get going. But maybe… I’ll stop by later?”

You smiled, trying to keep the situation light. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, your voice betraying a little more warmth than you intended.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary before he finally turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Bella let out a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself. “Okay, that was definitely hot,” she said, leaning back into the pillows with a grin that practically screamed satisfaction.

You dropped your head into your hands. “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

Steph just grinned, clearly not feeling any sympathy for your plight. “Oh, come on. You two are like the most obvious couple I’ve ever seen.”

“Not a couple,” you muttered, still trying to recover from the awkwardness. “Just… two people who have a lot of unresolved tension.”

“Well, that’s basically the same thing,” Bella said, tossing a pillow at you. “And trust me, honey, it’s not just you two noticing it. Everyone can see it.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, wishing for a moment of peace. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s my bodyguard… and he’s, like, way out of my league.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her tone full of sarcasm. “Out of your league? Please. That man is practically begging for you to make the first move. You think he doesn’t notice how you look at him?”

“I’m not the one checking him out,” you protested weakly.

“Girl, you are so checking him out,” Bella teased, as she reached over and grabbed a fresh pint of ice cream. “But no worries, we’ve got your back. We’ll get you two together. Just wait.”

You sighed deeply, wishing for a distraction. “You guys are impossible.”

“Well, what’s the harm in admitting it?” Bella said with a wicked grin. “You’re both hot as hell, and you’re practically walking around with ‘we want each other’ written all over your faces.”

Steph snorted. “It’s too cute. You guys are so obvious.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the presidential residence, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor of your office. You sat behind your desk, your trusty planner open in front of you as Becky stood to the side, rattling off the day’s itinerary. Her pen tapped against her clipboard, her sharp, efficient tone filling the room.

“All right,” Becky began, flipping a page with practiced ease. “You’ve got a meeting with the Secretary of Energy at nine, then a quick photo op with the ambassador from Sweden at eleven. Lunch is at noon, though I assume you’ll skip eating again.” She gave you a pointed look.

You smirked faintly but didn’t respond.

“After that,” she continued, tapping her pen against the clipboard, “there’s a meeting with the education reform committee, and then—oh, the gardener called in sick. Something about a sprained wrist.”

You paused mid-note, looking up. “The gardener’s off today?”

Becky nodded, her brows knitting together slightly. “Yeah, which means the lawn won’t get mowed, the flowerbeds won’t get watered, and the press will probably have something to say about how the grounds are being ‘neglected.’” Her tone was sarcastic, but her words were pointed. You could already imagine the headlines.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and running a hand through your hair. The lawn might not have been at the top of your priority list, but it mattered enough to make you want to do something about it. The pristine appearance of the grounds was one of those unspoken expectations that came with your role. “We’ll figure something out,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

Becky raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just add ‘landscaping duties’ to your already-packed schedule, why don’t you?” She flipped another page, moving on. “Anyway, after the education meeting—”

The sound of a light knock interrupted her, and you glanced up to see Dean stepping into the room. He moved with that effortless confidence you’d come to associate with him, though there was always an undercurrent of alertness in his stride. His sharp eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice deep and steady, “but I wanted to check in before the meeting with Energy.”

You smiled faintly, gesturing for him to come in. “You’re not interrupting. Becky was just going over today’s schedule.”

Dean nodded, leaning casually against the doorframe. His presence was as steadying as always, though there was something about the way he watched you—like he was always two steps ahead, ready to act at a moment’s notice. It was reassuring, in a way.

You closed your planner with a soft thud and looked up at him. “Actually, there’s something you might be able to help with.”

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“The gardener’s off sick,” you explained, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “Which means the lawn won’t get mowed, and the flowerbeds won’t get watered.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re worried about the lawn?”

You shrugged, a small laugh escaping you. “Not worried, exactly, but I’d rather avoid giving the press another reason to complain.”

He considered this for a moment, then straightened up. “I can handle it.”

You blinked, taken aback. “You?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, his casual tone making it sound like no big deal. “I’ve mowed a lawn before, you know. Not exactly rocket science.”

Becky let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re telling me Dean Winchester, ex-hitman turned presidential bodyguard, is going to play gardener?”

Dean shot her a dry look. “I’ve done worse jobs.” Then he turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. “Seriously, I don’t mind. It’s not like I’ve got much else to do when you’re in meetings all day.”

You hesitated, torn between practicality and the sheer absurdity of the image that had just popped into your head—Dean, mowing the presidential lawn in his usual no-nonsense way. It was almost too surreal to imagine.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, though a small smile was starting to tug at your lips. “It feels a little... beneath your pay grade.”

Dean smirked. “What, you think I’m too good for yard work?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, laughing lightly. “You’re kind of overqualified.”

He leaned against the desk slightly, his grin widening. “Let me guess—you don’t think I can handle it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” he said, straightening up again. “Because I’ll have it done before your lunch meeting. You won’t even notice.”

Becky shook her head, clearly baffled but amused. “This is officially the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I started working here.”

Dean ignored her, his attention still focused on you. “Consider it handled,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then he turned and left, leaving you sitting there with a mix of amusement and curiosity swirling in your chest.

The hum of the lawnmower floated through the open windows of your office as you glanced up from your desk. Dean had offered to take care of the lawn when you mentioned the gardener was off sick. It was a kind gesture, and you’d laughed softly at the mental image of your ruggedly handsome bodyguard mowing the pristine presidential lawn.

Now, though, curiosity got the better of you. With a quiet sigh, you set your pen down and stepped toward the window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, and as you pulled them back, your breath caught.

There he was, Dean Winchester, pushing the lawnmower with ease, his strong arms flexing with each step. His dark t-shirt clung to his shoulders and back, soaked with a light sheen of sweat from the sun beating down on him. The way he moved was hypnotic, the grace of his steps belying the fact that he was wielding a piece of heavy machinery.

You told yourself it was simple admiration for his work ethic. That you were just impressed by how effortlessly he took on any task. But when he stopped the mower, pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, and tossed it onto a nearby chair before grabbing the garden hose, your thoughts betrayed you.

Dean stood there in the sunlight, shirtless, droplets of sweat glistening on his chest and abs as he twisted the nozzle of the hose. You couldn’t stop staring. His muscles rippled as he adjusted the water pressure, the casual, unselfconscious way he moved making it impossible to look away. His jeans hung low on his hips, a dusting of grass clippings clinging to his legs, and you swore you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Enjoying the show?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Bella’s voice. Turning quickly, you saw her and Steph standing in the doorway, matching mischievous grins on their faces. Bella held up a pair of binoculars and wiggled them teasingly.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Steph asked, crossing her arms as she sidled up to the window. “Ridiculously right, you mean. That man is straight out of a Wattpad story, and you know it.”

You tried to play it cool, stepping back from the window and giving them both a pointed look. “He’s just mowing the lawn.”

Bella snorted. “And I suppose he’s shirtless for practical reasons?”

“He’s watering the garden now,” Steph added, peeking through the binoculars. “And damn, is it getting steamy out there.”

You tried to hold your ground, but their playful commentary was impossible to ignore. Bella nudged your shoulder with the binoculars. “Come on, admit it. You were checking him out.”

“I was not,” you lied, crossing your arms defensively.

Steph gave you a look. “Uh-huh. Sure. Look, we get it. He’s a literal walking thirst trap. If I had a bodyguard like that, I’d be weak in the knees every time he said ‘good morning.’”

“I don’t—” You started, but Bella cut you off with a knowing smirk.

“Relax,” she said, handing you the binoculars. “We’re just saying what you’re too proud to admit. Now, go on, have a look. We won’t judge.”

Against your better judgment, you took the binoculars. Just for a second, you told yourself. Just long enough to prove them wrong.

When you raised them to your eyes, the detail was… unfair. Dean had switched to watering the flowerbeds, standing with one hand on his hip as the other directed the stream of water over the delicate blooms. His expression was relaxed, almost thoughtful, as if he were contemplating something far deeper than the task at hand. The sunlight caught the droplets of water spraying into the air, and for a brief moment, it looked like he was standing in a golden mist.

“Wow,” Steph murmured from beside you. “Even through binoculars, that man is fine.”

Bella leaned in, her grin widening. “See? Wattpad story.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, lowering the binoculars and shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”

“Oh, we’re impossible?” Bella teased. “You’re the one ogling your bodyguard like it’s a scene from Magic Mike: Presidential Edition.”

Steph clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s good. I’d buy tickets to that movie.”

You groaned again, but this time it was more amused than exasperated. Bella and Steph had a way of making even the most mortifying situations feel lighthearted, and despite their relentless teasing, you couldn’t deny that they had a point. Dean was… distracting, to say the least.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, setting the binoculars on your desk. “Maybe I looked. A little.”

Bella and Steph exchanged triumphant high-fives.

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” you added quickly. “He’s my bodyguard, not—”

“Not your soulmate? Your future husband? The leading man in your personal rom-com?” Steph finished for you, raising an eyebrow.

Bella laughed. “You’re just in denial. It’s fine, we’ll be here when you’re ready to admit it.”

Before you could respond, a knock at the door drew your attention. All three of you froze, and for a second, you feared that somehow, impossibly, Dean had heard everything.

“Come in,” you called, trying to sound casual.

The door opened, and there he was, standing in the doorway, still shirtless and holding the coiled garden hose in one hand. His eyes scanned the room, landing on you for a moment before flicking to Bella and Steph.

“Just checking in,” he said, his voice low and slightly rough. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah. All good.”

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, and you swore his eyes dipped briefly to the curve of your collarbone, exposed by the loose neckline of your blouse. Your skin felt warm under his scrutiny, and you fought the urge to fidget.

“Cool,” he said after a moment, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. “Let me know if you need anything.”

As he turned to leave, Bella and Steph watched him go with unabashed interest. When the door clicked shut behind him, Bella let out a low whistle.

“That man,” she said, “is going to be the death of you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Tell me about it.”

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

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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[queenofalmosts]

The other week when I was picking my mom up after work I noticed a wanted poster on the light pole because apparently there had been a shooting on that street a couple weeks before... like a woman was sitting in her car waiting to pick up her brother after work at like 5:30pm and someone wearing a hood, a mask and gloves on a scooter shot her and then just rode off. I remember that day bc the street was blocked off and I had to go way around to get to where I pick my mom up like half a block away from where the shooting happened... I heard next to nothing about this until I saw the poster, there was no nationwide manhunt for the shooter, I didn't see it in the news at all. The only reason I knew about it was because I saw the posters on the street where it happened. Like, I sit in my car on that street like 200 feet away at about 5:30pm when I pick up my mother... that could've been me who got shot if i had been there earlier and hadn't gone to the store before going to pick her up so I got there later...

But anyway, my point is, contrast that with the united healthcare ceo's murder... because he was rich and "important" law enforcement used their full capacity to try and find and identify his killer, whereas this average woman who was shot in similar circumstances by a masked shooter gets no such effort... like it's obvious to me that part what's causing the public support for the assassin and the apathetic reaction around this situation is the overreaction from law enforcement when they seem to not lift a single finger when regular people are shot and/or killed. It's really showing how you only matter to them if you are rich. That's who they are there to "protect and serve", not us. Normal people obviously don't matter to the authorities nearly as much...

Also the fact that it coincided with Jordan Neely's killer getting off scot free... most americans are much closer to Jordan Neely's circumstances than we are to becoming a rich ceo... so of course we would have less sympathy for the rich ceo being killed when someone who is much more relatable to the average citizen was also murdered in broad daylight with no consequences... like the blatant irony of the exonerating of one vigilante murderer while vilifying another vigilante murderer solely because of who the victims were.... "it's completely out of touch and an insult to the intelligence of the american people and their lived experience."

[bllsbailey]

‘SNL’ Under Fire For 'Classless' Segment On UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson's Murder

Colin Jost (L) and Michael Che attend the 70th Emmy Awards at Microsoft Theater on September 17, 2018 in Los Angeles, California.

Saturday Night Live (SNL) is facing criticism for “classless” jokes about assassination of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson. 

SNL came under fire after a nearly minute and a half segment discussing the murder of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson, including America’s fascination with the alleged gunman’s appearance.

“The manhunt continues for the assassin who gunned down the CEO of UnitedHealthcare on Wednesday, and it really says something about America that a guy was murdered in cold blood and the two main reactions were, ‘Yeah, well health care stinks!’ And also, ‘Girl, that shooter hot,'” co-host Colin Jost quipped. 

“New York City police say that they were able to get the smiling picture of the suspect after the man apparently was caught on camera at a local hostel, flirting with a female employee, whose name has been reported as, ‘Lucky S. Bechalive,'” co-host Michael Che joked.

Jost also took aim at officials, in particular, the NYPD.

“This week, New York City officials sent a tough message on crime: ‘If you shoot somebody in the middle of the street, you better get on your bike, hop on a bus, and get the heck out of here, mister,’” he began. 

“It’s also so crazy that the shooting happened three blocks from here in broad daylight, and the guy just bicycled away. Probably because they have every cop in the city guarding our Christmas tree,” Jost said, referencing the Christmas Tree Lighting at Rockefeller Plaza, which occurred on the same day.

“The NYPD now believes the suspect left the city on a bus from Port Authority. Thanks, but a Port Authority passenger who looks like a murderer actually widens the search,” Jost said as his final joke on the topic. Additional viewers found the segment to be amusing, with several enjoying the Port Authority joke.

Many users took to social media, criticizing the jokes , voicing a lack of consideration for Thompson’s family. 

“Disgusting. I couldn’t watch this segment. The victim’s family and friends are very much grieving right now,” one person wrote beneath a YouTube clip of the segment. 

“Agreed. I don’t usually watch SNL, and I can see by the segment and comments supporting it, that I will no longer be watching it. Joking about someone’s murder like that is absolutely disgusting… a family is grieving right now,” a person responded.

When Thompson, 50, was walking from his midtown hotel towards the company’s annual investor conference at a Hilton Hotel across the street, he was ambushed and killed. 

Stay informed! Receive breaking news blasts directly to your inbox for free. Subscribe here. https://www.oann.com/alerts

[princehatterene]

Then hmm... a question about your octopath ocs! Do you have ideas on what their chapters would be about? :0

yeah i have the broad strokes of their stories! i still have a lot to work on but here’s what i have so far! under the cut cuz i talk a lot

ori’s story (heh that rhymed) is about her getting run out of her town after the nobles figured out she was overcharging them for wares. they also knew she was using that extra money to give back to the commonfolk, and they were not happy about it. so she’s now basically a fugitive, but that won’t stop her from fucking with the rich in other places! her story climaxes with stopping an assassination plot against the pinelands’ royal family (that she has to stop herself from joining; murder isn’t the answer to corruption—change is).

camil’s is pretty simple—she’s been cursed and she’s trying to find a way to break it. and she figures if she can’t, she might as well see the world while she still has time. she learns the curse wasn’t just an accident she stumbled upon…someone placed it for her to find deliberately. who was it? that’s for me to know and you to hopefully find out someday~

tybalt is going through an identity crisis while investigating strange weather patterns on the cloudlands archipelago. he feels sad to leave behind the knight life he once trained for, but he’s beginning to come into his own in medicine; both jobs fulfill his desire to help people. the arcas adventurer’s guild supports his job shift into apothecary, but he’s still dealing with friends who wanna drag him back into knighthood. all the while, the cloudlands are deteriorating at an alarming rate, under an oppressive fog.

oliver is a dancer who recently made the tough decision to leave his thespian group and try to make it on his own. onstage, he can light up a room with his many artistic talents, but offstage he’s insecure and struggles with trust and abandonment issues. in his youth, he had a group of friends he loved with all his heart, who abandoned him for no apparent reason. he comes to learn they’re still out there somewhere, but he never would have expected where they’d end up…

penelope is part of a tribe of elves who live in the north (or rather they were pushed to the north by the humans). she’s sick of being sequestered and longs to rejoin humanity and regain their settlements all across the continent. so she’s off to convince the three biggest kingdoms of the continent to let her tribe live amongst the humans. however, she learns that the humans had a very specific reason to distance themselves from the elves, and she vows to be the one to break that cycle.

andreas is a member of a group of nomads who have lived in lands all over the continent (so like, the opposite of penelope now that i think about it). these nomads follow a great eagle-like wind spirit called the storm’s eye. wherever the storm’s eye flies, that’s where the nomads travel to next. but one day, the spirit vanished into thin air, and it’s up to our hunter to track it down! unfortunately, once the spirit is finally found, it’s in a very sad state. now his priority shifts from finding the spirit to cleansing it of its dark influence.

twyla is a cleric in the church of the sacred flame. she’s also kinda like an inquisitor à la temenos in octopath 2? though she’s more of a lawyer than a detective. her best friend and current head of the flame knights has been accused of heresy and is set to be executed. twyla believes he can’t possibly be guilty of such a horrible crime, and vows to clear his name. sadly, the case is far from being that simple, and she has to come to terms with a lot about the world and the church itself.

and last but not least, hawkin is our thief and heir apparent to a notorious desert crime family. he’s been tasked with stealing an ancient artifact locked within a temple lost to time. that already seems impossible, but it’s also been stated plainly that if he fails, he won’t just be excommunicated from the family…he’ll be killed by his father’s own hand. turns out, that artifact is Not something you wanna mess with, not that daddy dearest cares about the world getting destroyed.

all the travelers also face dark versions of themselves near the end of their stories, all trying to pull them toward the still-nameless dark god. they’ve all been touched by darkness in some way…

orietta by her upbringing shaping her own gray morals…

camil by the curse and her missing mother…

tybalt by exposure to the cloudlands’ evil fog…

oliver by the true reason for his friends’ disappearances…

penelope by the revelation of her tribe’s true purpose…

andreas by the corruption of his people’s guardian spirit…

twyla by her friend’s betrayal and shaken faith in the gods…

and hawkin by the nature of his profession and his family’s lust for power…

[smilemuse]

really really torn on either making the reason for yoshida not experiencing drawbacks when using the octopus devil is him giving up his emotions ( but i think more positive emotions like happiness rather than negative. he does seem to exhibit surprise, being stunned, excitement, and etc. but his smile is so fake, so maybe he doesn't really know what happiness feels like ) or the simple fact that the devil he's in a contact with is in love with him, so he can use it to his disposal without any drawbacks.

[laufeyamp]

“S”

SUMMARY. ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- how could two distinct worlds ever collide to one for two utterly different people to really embrace each other?

RELATED DRABBLES. ༊*·˚ Steven Grant, Solely Yours, Hazel and Gus, "S".

PAIRING. steven grant x assasin!gender neutral reader/marc spector x assasin!gender neutral reader (platonic) WORD COUNT. 1.244k TAGLIST. @lovers-liability​

THIS WORK CONTAINS angst, fluff, mentions of murder/mass murder (nothing explicit)

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“I don’t think we stand a chance,” you confessed your silenced thoughts with the faintest beam of bitterness and fatigue after much deliberation, enunciating a truth you’ve made futile attempts in rewriting. The ex-mercenary stared at your mentally and physically drained figure which leaned against one of the poles on the felucca boat you’ve taken, bedecked with spirals of golden light strings. You were his prey demanded by Khonshu, the only one he'd failed to slaughter with your adept assassination skills and flexible body. It was immensely shocking the night he learnt that you were his alter’s significant other among billions of people in this world, to learn this wholly new behaviour you’ve developed willingly for his nerdy alter out of love. The best out of the best was what they named you in the world of criminals for your infamous kill count, the catastrophic destruction and grievous anguish you’ve brought to thousands. Merciless, belligerent, remorseless, heartless, immoral, you were regarded as every horrible adjective in existence. There are minutes when he’d ponder how could someone like you possibly melt in the hands of a bookworm this effortlessly. 

”Steven, he’s-” you didn’t know where to begin for a split second, the flare of this splendid and peculiar sentiment shimmering on your darkness at the mere sight of his ingenuous twinkle. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve had after the years I’ve spent having my vicious carnage for a stash of money. He’s a stark contrast to me, an embodiment brimmed with each quality I’m nothing of.” And Marc relates to this. It’s the similarities that you share that fortuitously build a bond between you such as your desperation to completely rinse off the crimson blood staining your pair of hands, the threats faced and the sacrifices you must make for the sake of your loved ones. Perhaps it’s erroneous of him, but he understands your suffering like no other and he tends to show you empathy and sympathy, just as how you do for him. Looking at you felt like looking at a mirror that reflected him himself, instead of his distinct alter. The only dissimilarity separating your identities was the roles you both portrayed in this world, either as a protagonist or antagonist of this story. Nevertheless, you were both entangled in a contract or deal you’ve made with the devils, transforming yourselves into puppets with strings you could never cut off for eternity. It’s the same question you’d ask yourselves afore shutting your eyelids and allowing your mind to obtain rest: when? When is this seemingly perpetual profession and burdening responsibilities ever going to cease, returning you your respective freedom which you both deserve?

”He showed me what it’s like to be loved and appreciated, how it’s like to wander under broad daylight without any sense of guilt, to pass my days in tranquil without being haunted by this feeling of-” “-worthlessness,” he finished your sentence for you, seeing that you couldn’t find the precise phrase for it through your puckered brows. It’s this weariness of being forced to follow this path you wished to quit and the unerasable shame that swallows you like a black abyss. And no one would truly understand your side of the story, how you had been left without an alternative option after all of the bloodbaths you’ve engaged in.

”Yeah,” you agreed, your gaze averted to the American who shares a shell with the love of your life, studying his slightest nods of comprehending your unwanted plight. It's never crossed your mind that a man who had once made a laborious effort in depriving you of your life is an alter of your sweet lover, the only person who’s capable of reading you and providing you support in the most appropriate way. The brick walls you’ve both built due to your fear of emotional attachment just collapse miraculously when it comes to each other as if you’d known for a lifetime. No words of elucidation were required, nothing. And it was more than great, not having to put the affliction into letters you're about to vocalise or receive any form of ignorance and judgement towards it. “It’s time for me to wake up from this 'all-too-well’ dream now, isn’t it? Nothing beautiful lasts.”

It prickles his heart to learn your frank request for a break up with his alter whom he treated as his brother. Marc was reminded of the same choice he’d made to shield his wife by vanishing from her life, eradicating each hint that proves the memories they’ve created real. It’s an option you’ve attempted to realise but failed miserably, truth be told. The empathy and adoration you had towards him restrained your intention in abandoning him when he was living at a point of perplexity and despair, utterly aimless in the crowd of people marching towards their goals. Marc Spector on the other hand has always been positive about it being an entirely risk-free and the best choice for both parties until now, when he’s given the opportunity to witness your relationship nearing its end. The snivels of intense sorrow simply above the level of inaudible from his alter echoed in his head, leading him to wonder if Layla had wept for him the moment he disappeared without a word, to doubt if it really was the right decision he’d made.

“He does this all the time…” Marc reached out to take ahold of one of your hands resting on your lap delicately, in hope of showing you something he’d perceive whilst Steven was fronting. He may not have an accurate solution or advice with his relationship being a downright failure, but he knows that he has no desire for you to repeat his mistake, devastating one another regardless of the endearing link shared. He wished you’ll have it differently, that you’ll honour your pledge and stay alongside Steven. You lifted your weight from the pole in instant, hunching over with your elbows pressed against the flesh of your thighs without any sign of protest or discomfort. He extended your loose fist, revealing your palm under the magenta lightning with his rough one cupping the back of it underneath. Perhaps it’s muscle memory, the way he moved the pad of his thumb deftly against the skin of your palm felt like your lover himself. Marc traced his first letter crookedly which was an ‘S’ at a laggard pace and it managed to send you on a visit down memory lane, reminiscing how much Steven admired your calloused hands. He loved comparing hand sizes, frequently playing with your fingers, and asking you to guess the invisible letters or shapes he traces on your palm. It’s an affectionate habit of his that’s somehow soothing and favourable. His thumb carried on with drawing an outline of a V-shaped heart in one go, one that was particularly thinner and smaller. And that’s another distinguishable intricacy of both alters you’ve discerned as Steven’s heart shape was rather disparate. His was rounder drawn with obviously unparallel curves that were typically done twice. It didn’t take you another minute to recognise where this was directed to and which one of Steven’s gestures he was mimicking.

“… and I think it’s more than enough to show that he loves and needs you,” Marc interpreted, all the while ending his imitation with a gentle trace of your initial across your palm lines. ‘S’ hearts ‘y/i’, how could you ever forget that?

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SYD .ೃ࿐ Reblogs and interactions are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading.

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

[raggaraddy]

First Meeting

OT7 Reaction: First time meeting Yandere BTS

Trigger warnings: Yandere. Smut. Non-con. Violence. Abuse. Murder.

Alpha! Namjoon

For him, it was like a jolt of lighting. He heard your beautiful voice, which shot through him before you ever came into his eye line. But once he saw you, that was it. He knew he would do anything in order to own you. To have you be all his.

For you, it was a very different story. You had met for only a few minutes, and while your initial impression was how tall, broad, and handsome he was, you were put off by his intensity. It was only due to his persistence that had you give in and allow him to take you to dinner. Over the following months, your life changed rapidly.

Everything seemed to fall apart like you were cursed. Your landlord sold your building and the new owners increased the rental cost on your contract by 120%. You struggled greatly to find another place and when you finally did, two weeks later a faulty electrical circuit led to a fire that annihilated everything you own. A fault in your insurance application meant your personal belongings were uninsured and you lost everything with no reimbursement. At the same time as this was happening your company started to reorganize their employment structure and your job was sent overseas. No matter how you tried, you received very little interest as you applied for new jobs. And even when you received a response, their interest would cool quickly, leaving you staggering and insecure, and wondering how you suddenly could become such an unappealing hiring prospect.

Through all of this, you had only one reliant constant. Namjoon.  When you received the new rental contract, he was angry for you and even had lawyers look over it to assess its legality. He spent hours with you searching for and visiting apartment listings and helped you move at his own expense. When your apartment caught fire he was your shoulder to cry on. And after your 30th rejection letter, he opened a position for you within his warehouse as a receptionist. Also, even though you had only been dating for 3 months, he let you move in with him. Both, of course, were just until you were back on your feet. And he assured you that he was certain that would be soon.

But as you had no family in this country to rely on for support, Namjoon really became your Knight in shining armour. And with every new disaster and each passing day, you became more and more thankful that you had him in your life. You had no idea what you might have done without him.

It would take years for you to learn that it was him that orchestrated all of this tragedy.

King! Seokjin

You had worked in the palace for half a year before you had even come face to face with Jin. Until the first time you had spoken, you had been in awe of him. With only fleeting glances and second-hand information, you had built your own figment of how you imagined him to be. It was common for you to drift into daydreams while mechanically cleaning, thinking of how your first interaction might occur. Surely the handsome prince would take notice of you and wisk you from your mundane life into one of regality and luxury.

So as you knelt before him cleaning the remnants of smashed porcelain, you were completely oblivious of the way the other staff seemed to tremble in his presence. Instead, you were swept up in the small satisfied smile he had and the chocolate brown of his eyes as you could see them looking over you.

It wasn't until he spoke his first words to you the very next day, demanding you remove your clothes in the parlour, that your fantasy of him cracked. He has been so kind and romantic in your dreams. But standing here now, body filled with a tremor as the attendants and guards helplessly look on, you quickly have your image of the King replaced.

A fantasy that he would shatter a little more every day.

Assassin! Yoongi

It was a terrible case of a bad coincidence for you. You had been asked by your boss to fill in for your ill colleague, who was meant to make a presentation to the board of directors. He would have done it but he had a previous family engagement and you had had input on the new digital marketing platform, so you were as good a person as any.

All you had to do was read through the notes and explain your colleague's thoughts to the board while they were on a directors retreat.  If you weren't terrified of public speaking this might have been exciting. A chance to impress your boss's boss and hey, a free night's stay at a resort.

On the day you were unendingly anxious but well prepared.  With two minutes till you were to be shown into meeting room 3,  you were unsure if the tingling in your stomach was due to butterflies or needing to pee. You hoped it was the former because there was no time to go now.  You introduced yourself, opening the computer presentation, only to be interrupted by a waiter who barged in with a drink trolley. As you stuttered and picked up your place, he continued to go around the room, serving the 3 men and 2 women a drink.  Circling the table and making a B-line for the head of it, he disrupts you once again, offering you a glass of water.

Half annoyed, half becoming aware of the dryness of your mouth, you accept the glass. Bringing it to your lips, you stop short of taking a sip, with the pressure in your bladder it would only be heaping wood on the fire.

30 minutes in, you were nearing the summary as simultaneously your audience's eyes began to dimmer.  You felt that you were the cause until one by one, panic overtook their breathing.  You stood in horror watching as all 5 members began to wheeze and clutch their throats, dropping over the table, back in their chair, or onto the floor within seconds. It was only as a barren silence filled the room that you came back to your senses enough to move.  Your scream for help cut off, by the waiter on the other side of the door, sealing your mouth and throwing you back inside the meeting room.

You'd lost your voice completely, watching him from the floor as his expressionless face seemed to examine what to do with you. You were expecting to die then and there, but little did you know that Yoongi had been having a period of self-reevaluation. He had realized that maybe so much isolation was not good for him. And seeing as you were an attractive woman who needed to disappear anyway, he decided he might as well just keep you.

Vampire! Hosoek

There had been a lot of people around only 5 minutes ago, but now the street was empty.  You had only run back inside the club to use the bathroom and then were ushered out by the bouncer who seemed overly excited that it was closing time.  Even your friends vanished. You know where they've gone. The club 2 blocks away that you are always too drunk to remember the name of, is open until 5. They've all deserted you so they can drink again sooner. Bet.

You follow your instinct stumbling in the direction you are sure the club is. Only you make a wrong turn and end up at the city park after a few minutes of walking.  It's not your fault though, you've never had to get yourself there before, you're always being pulled there by one of your friends or a guy that you've met earlier in the night.

As you drunkenly try to correct yourself with Google maps, you're greeted by a bright smile from a stranger offering you help.  Your memory gets a bit hazy and like a jump cut you go from his friendly face to a pain shooting down your neck and chest, fingers digging into you and his hard body keeping you trapped.

You're too disorientated to register what is going on. But he lets up for a moment to mock you, laughing at how fucking wasted you are, before clinging his mouth back into your neck. The pain returns and in your state, you're too weak to fight him off.

It takes a few hours but you finally wake with a killer hangover, smack bang in the middle of a nightmare filled with chains and fangs, that you just can't seem to break from.

Playboy! Jimin

He was the hottest guy in the club and he was talking to you! Sure you had seen him talking to half a dozen girls already tonight and sure there were a few times he seemed to be getting inappropriately close with them, but that doesn't matter, because now he was talking to you.

And it wasn't just that he was hot, but he was smooth and flirty and in a way that seemed too sweet and shy for the dirty things he kept whispering in your ear. You were certain the fact you were on drink number 5 in less than 2 hours was making you more receptive to his advances. But with one quick look at how his tongue ran over his bottom lip, you couldn't have cared less about any of the warning signs.  You wanted to keep his attention for as long as you could. For as long as he would let you.

So you returned his flirty compliments. Your tipsy mind not filtering your thoughts and letting each of your overtly sexualized observations pour out of you.  The more you verbally admired him, the more bashful he seemed to get. And you enjoyed how his cheeks became flushed and his eyes became slimmer as he smiled, seeming to love the way you fawned over him and kept yourself close to him.

When he pounded the last of his drink, it was your turn to become embarrassed. His lips brushed against your ear and his voice got deeper, he all moaned how he would love to see you on your knees in his bedroom.  You swear you would have dropped onto them right then and there if he was not holding you up by your waist.

With his hand interlaced with yours, he led you through the dance floor, and outside where you could finally hear each other uninterrupted for the first time and where you finally learned his name. Jimin.  And it's a good thing he told you it because he would have you screaming it a few hours later.

Dom! Taehyung

You were certain you were at the start of a serial killer special and all you could think about is that you hope someone clears your browser history before the police examine your laptop.

You had met Taehyung online and had both just clicked instantly. Your ideas of what you wanted from this relationship, your views on the Dominant/submissive lifestyle, and your personalities were so, so compatible. On paper he was perfect. But he had no profile picture, no personal information, and even after 1 and a half months of talking nearly every day, he still hadn't revealed anything overly personal about himself. Part of you is expecting to be stood up, part is expecting to have been catfished, and part of you is expecting to be on milk cartons in a week from now.

Sitting in the cafe, you had no choice but to wait for him. He knew what you looked like from your pictures on your profile, but for you, as any man- hell as any woman came in, you couldn't help but wonder if this is the person you had been slowly falling for.

It was exactly 18:30 and the cafe door opened again.  You couldn't even dare to let yourself think that this person might be him.  Life isn't that kind.  But as you looked back down to your coffee, out of the corner of your eye you could see him walk past the counter, straight to the back tables where you sat. His deep voice calling your name, pulling your attention to him. For a few seconds, you forgot how to breathe, staring up at this flawless man holding his hand out to greet you. When it finally returned you could only hiccup out a timid chuckle.

Taehyung didn't mind that on your first 'date' you were discomposed and nervous. He thought it was cute.  And he had already seen your potential and knew that it wouldn't be long until he had you well trained to obey his every command and reacting out of instinct to please him.

Mafia! Jungkook

You were in your first month at this new restaurant. You still felt so out of place.  It was far fancier and higher class than anywhere you had previously worked.  For crying out loud, the last place you worked was a dinner off the freeway. These really were stark opposites. But despite the fact that the uniform is stuffy and the head waiter will not stop telling you off for smiling too much,  the pay is tonnes better and the tips are phenomenal.  You only have 2 years left of college, you're certain you can survive 3 shifts a week for that time.

1 hour and 45 minutes into your night, you get another new table. A group of 4 men, all dressed in money from head to toe.  If it wasn't that 1 of them was dangerously attractive, you wouldn't have distinguished them from the other people in the restaurant.

After another overly bubbly and friendly service, you take down their drink orders and are again scolded by the head waiter. You have no idea what to do. Customer service and being friendly are one and the same to you. You're not sure how to be formal and stiff without seeming bitchy.

During the next round of ordering, you take down the dinner orders, forcing yourself to be as professional and composed as possible. The abrupt change not going unnoticed by the men, one of whom comments on it snarkily to the others while you are stood there. While his rudeness has caught you off guard, it seems to have enraged one of the other men at the table. The younger, handsome man, with long black hair hanging around his eyes, scolds the other with only two words. The prickly tone with which he says 'enough' and 'apologize' even have you feeling intimidated by the quick manner in which they all seem to silence and comply.

Returning again with the final plate of food, the younger man compliments your service and encourages your enthusiastic presentation over the reserved one. Little by little on each return, he continues to say more and more to you. And by the time you bring them the bill, he has you laughing and joking with him, his bright smile giving you butterflies.  His friendliness being contrasted by the tepid silence of the men around him.

When they leave, you're left with a 40% tip and a little note that says 'let me get you a drink next time' with a number and a name. You have to admit, their dynamic had you a bit concerned, but more than that, when he smiled, you didn't seem to care.

You were not sure if it would be a good or a bad decision, but you knew you would have to call Jungkook. If only to see that smile again.

[shxrp-teeth-after-dark]

( Astrid ; closed starter )

      𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥. The home was no different from other countryside estate’s Astrid’s has witnessed, filled with similar servants, a grumpy and arrogant owner that lived past his prime and had enough riches to build another home from the ground up if he wished to, if he was bored enough to finally use his brain for something. But it was not the man of the home that Astrid sharpened her blade for, no, it was rather the British soldier occupying it. The man who likely believed he was the head of any household he forced himself into by British law as a member of the King’s army. Loyalist, Patriot, American, British, indifference and the religious, all of them wet her blade the same.

      As any good assassin, she kept watch over her prey. Astrid wouldn’t be a free woman, unconnected to all to her murders (because what women would enact such horrors), if she didn’t keep track of her victim’s patterns. Each plan of hers went differently, the methods, the way she got into the home, where the murder took place. It was all calculated but originated from what her urge was that day. Poison? Too boring. A murder in broad daylight? Too suspicious. She opted for the typical robbery scheme, except she wasn’t in search of any expensive items to fill her pockets. Though, the house had plently to choose from. She’d have to notify her thieving friends. 

      Astrid noticed earlier in the day as she watched the home that one window was always left ajar and a tree was beside it. The perfect combination. She hardly had to try. She climbed up the tree, having to hold tight to the bark at one moment when she rested her foot against a weak branch, hearing it crack and split under her foot, and pulled herself up over to the opened window. It was a tight squeeze, she had to slow her movements when entering to not loosen the piece of wood wedged under the window. When she entered, it looked as if she was in the library. In the dead of night, she snuck into the hallway and walked down the long hallways. The hallways weren’t white or any bright shade for that matter, but brown instead. It seemed rather unfortunate due to the home's name. 

      Finally, she reached the door and twisted the knob. Thankfully, the man who requested this let her know which room her victim stayed in, ridding her the tedious activity of going through every room. The door opened and moonlight shined on the flooring, giving her some semblance of light. As quickly and softly as she opened it, the door closed behind her. The breaths of the heavy sleeper was what she heard now, the ticking of the clock and the scratching of the tree branch against a window was muffled by the wall. She unsheathed her weapon and in slow, cautious breaths, she approached the man. In a move more reckless than her previous ones, she climbed onto the bed, pinning the man onto his stomach as she pressed down harshly on the blankets on either side of his body to try to restrict any movement. He awoke then, but Astrid was quick on her feet. Her blade glistened in the moonlight as she pressed it against the side of his neck. He had the advantage of being bigger than her, so an element of surprise allowed her to turn into the bigger enemy.

       ❝ Don’t move, ❞ she whispered harshly against the cloth covering the lower half of her face to conceal her identity as a cloak hung over her clothing, the hood pulled up over her blonde hair. She pressed the knife deeper into his skin and a skinny, single lined droplet of blood started to run.

@retrograderesemblance​

[littlefreya]

The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down. 

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue) 

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution  

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs. 

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?” 

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure. 

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?” 

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body. 

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.  

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them. 

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.  

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately. 

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin. 

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them. 

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid. 

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug. 

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel. 

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently. 

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare. 

But her laughter soon dies. 

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint. 

“Time to fall, angel.” 

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death. 

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.” 

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker. 

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’ 

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station. 

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his. 

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” 

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.” 

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull. 

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache. 

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks. 

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction. 

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them. 

A true king among peasants.  

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright. 

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him. 

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.  

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.  

��If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in. 

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air. 

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she? 

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever. 

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades. 

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut. 

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them. 

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her. 

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms. 

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…” 

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids. 

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death. 

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.” 

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest. 

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?” 

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest. 

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips. 

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”  

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.” 

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will. 

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue. 

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.” 

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out. 

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision. 

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely. 

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her. 

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her. 

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.   

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god. 

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world. 

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.  

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave. 

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’ 

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming. 

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns. 

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes. 

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined. 

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.  

‘How is she even real?’   

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp. 

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky. 

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss. 

Epilogue. 

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump. 

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings. 

“Loki!” 

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose. 

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir. 

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles. 

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove. 

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.  

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck. 

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together. 

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

[gum-gum-time]

La Squadra urbex headcanons

I had a dream about this a while back and I KNEW that I had to write something

Risotto Nero:

Good in theory, a disaster in practice. As much as Risotto likes the idea of it, he’ll most likely won’t participate because of how tall and broad he is.

Also, his love for long and flowy clothes will make it difficult for him to move around, he’ll either get caught on something or get a concussion from hitting his head on low doorways and ceilings or get a face full of cobwebs for his troubles.

To make up for his inability to go out and explore himself, he watches an absurd amount of urbex videos in his spare time.

Prosciutto: Nope! No way. Don’t even think that he’ll willingly step a foot into an old, abandoned, dusty building if it isn't a mission and he isn't getting paid for it, he definitely doesn’t get the appeal or understand what he’s supposed to do.

Not to mention his wardrobe, he wears expensive designer suits, and God forbid he ruins them.

But he does encourage his teammates (especially Pesci) to go out and explore, saying that it’s good for training, but in reality, he’s just old and doesn’t see the fun in it.

Pesci: Surprisingly, he enjoys urbex very much.

His favorite places to explore are usually large and open, for example, sports arenas or theme parks. He also takes lots of amateurish pictures to show his Aniki and Risotto, since they usually don’t want to come with him. 

He's very respectful and usually sticks to the group he’s exploring with. Overall, he’s just there to have fun and take pretty pictures.

Formaggio: Occasionally goes with the gang when he has nothing better to do. He likes exploring old houses or anything with lots of clutter, mostly because he pockets some of the cool-looking things even though you’re not supposed to do that. 

He's the best at finding abandoned spots around town since he knows most of the locals around town. His stand is also very useful when it comes to getting past fences or barred doors and windows. 

He will make fun of the edgy graffiti on the walls.

Illuso: He isn’t a fan of urbex, much like Prosciutto he doesn’t like wandering around dusty and decrepit places he can be bribed into doing it easily enough. 

Likes helping Pesci out with his photography, he's a master when it comes to finding and arranging props or finding the right light and camera angle. 

His stand is also useful for getting into fenced or boarded-up areas.

Ghiaccio: He loves urbex! Though he often strays from the group, he still has fun exploring abandoned places. His favorite spots are large stadiums and construction sites where he can exercise, parkour, and show off his techwear. 

Has an affinity for tall buildings and vantage points as well, he feels like he’s on top of the world when he can literally look down on his group from some scaffolding and challenge someone to race him across the building.

Keeps a journal with all of the places he’s been to, what he liked and disliked about it and what to look out for.

Melone: He likes it enough to tag along with the group most of the time, especially if Formagio is there. He’ll goof off with him and Pesci for the most part. 

Although he’ll be a bit well behaved if they're in a hospital since he wants to go through the various documents and bottles, spouting out medical and biological facts that scar anyone unfortunate enough to be near him. 

He is the only one aware that black mold exists and usually grabs a few respirators for the gang before going out.

Gelato: Yet another person who does it to hang out with some of his fellow assassins, although his idea of hanging out may end up giving someone a heart attack one day. 

Sometimes he’ll go off on his own for a few minutes to “check something out” and scare everyone else shitless when he decides to run at the group screaming bloody murder. Often takes creepy pictures of the building, though most of the pictures he brings back are of the mortified faces of his teammates. 

He mellows out after some time and hangs out with Ghiaccio or graffities some of the walls and floors. Sorbet: He’s another old man who prefers to stay back. He'll laugh at the pictures Gelato brings back and listens to the guys talk about what other fun things happened. 

His crippling fear of bugs also keeps him from going anywhere near any abandoned house. 

Keeps albums of the best pictures Gelato has taken. He also comes up with some creative concepts and sketches for Gelato to use when he tags buildings.

[irondadfics]

I’m looking for fanfics where Peter is Tony’s biological child and he goes missing/gets kidnapped as a young child. He is raised by someone else and doesn’t know he’s Tony’s son. I’ve already read Lost Boy and Things I Almost Remember on archive of our own and I wanted to find stories with a similar plot.

WHEW! It’s kind of a long list, but we did our best finding several fics that feature both BioDad!Tony and Peter being kidnapped at a very young age. ENJOY!!

PETER IS TONY’S SON BUT THEY WERE SEPARATED WHEN PETER WAS A CHILD REC LIST

Lost Boy by winterda

Isaac Stark disappeared from a crowded park a few months shy of his third birthday. There were never any signs of him, and no arrest were ever made in connection to the case. It was as if the toddler had simply vanished off the face of the earth. Twelve years later, Peter Parker has a really bad day, which only get worse when his prints are put through the system.

Things I Almost Remember by IcedAquarius @icedaquarius31​

Peter's past is not as it appears. It all starts one day with a genetics project and slowly spirals into something Peter never could have imagined.

hydra's not a home by tempestaurora @tempestaurora​

At 6 years old, the son of Tony and Pepper Stark, Peter, is kidnapped, never to be seen again. Or, so they thought. Ten years later, while raiding a HYDRA base, the Avengers come across a new, enhanced individual, working for the enemy: in black spandex, with a tendency to stick to walls and shoot webs from his wrists, the Black Spider is a pain in the ass in more ways than one.

If They Knew All About You by MsHermia

Tony Stark had lost his son when he was only 2 years old, stolen away in broad daylight with nobody the wiser of what exactly happened. Years later, Tony has just made it through the disaster with Ultron. He is trying to keep himself and the team together but relationships are strained and tempers are running high. Then a random turn of events leads to his path crossing with that of a particular vigilante. They are strangers to each other, or so they think.

Peter Parker is on top of the world. After a few shitty years, losing his parents and then losing his Uncle, things are finally looking up. Sure he lives in a crappy little apartment with his Aunt but he might have just found his mission in life.

------

This is an AU story obvious by some of the tags. I'm starting out a few weeks after Age of Ultron took place. Civil War will be a thing. Other than that I'm not too concerned about sticking to every canon detail and storyline.

Finding Their Way Home by ElliahRose

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark went missing on a Tuesday. For months the entirety of the New York police department, as well as anyone else the Starks could convince to join, searched for the tot. He was only three when he was taken and for four months, two weeks, and four days, Tony Stark and Pepper Stark (nee Potts) worried and fretted over their beloved child.

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark was murdered on a Friday. A ransom call gone wrong spelt the end of the child’s life. The world grieved as the kidnappers gleefully told the devastated parents they’d find his body in the morning.

They never did.

Twelve years passed and the family was still grieving, and Tony Stark worked tirelessly to find his only child’s killer and gain justice for his son.

Meanwhile Peter Parker was having literally the worst day ever. He just wanted to help make the world a better place, but instead he got stabbed. That's just his luck, isn't it?

missing, presumed dead by hailingstars @hailing-stars

They hadn’t had a funeral for Peter.

There hadn’t been a casket or a service inside a church.

There had been, before Tony decided in his heart that Peter was gone, candlelight vigils and pleas on the media for whoever had taken him to bring him home. Neither of those did any good. Neither of those brought Peter home.

OR

Tony Stark's son gets kidnapped when he's two. Twelve years later he comes back.

I told you to be better (and you became the best) by HaruK

Tony was blessed with a healthy baby boy, and for once in his life, was actually happy. Until everything derailed and he had to send his son away to keep him safe, because those related to the Stark family, one of the worlds biggest and most targeted families in the black market, always end up hurt. With a new name and identity that Tony himself doesn't know, the young baby was wiped off the map, his existence erased, never to be heard of again. . Years later, Anti-hero Iron Man meets a local superhero vigilante and Tony becomes surprisingly close with young Peter Parker.

The Curly-Haired Boy In The Paper by Svn_f1ower @svn-f1ower​

When Tony sees the blurry, grey scale photograph of someone he thought he had lost years ago, he follows the trail to a newspaper company, to a hospital, to an adoption agency, to the police station and finally to May Parker's house.

hold him tight & don’t let go by jessicagoddamnjones @farremoved

Peter Stark went missing when he was four years old.

Eleven years later, he’s found.

Only now he’s Peter Parker by day, Spider-Man by night, and he doesn’t like the idea that his entire life is a lie.

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again by Mintstream @iwritedumbshit​

Tony Stark didn't expect Mary Fitzpatrick, or the news she delivered. He didn't expect that he would become a father, or that he would actually enjoy it. He didn't expect Penny to love him just as fiercely as he did her.

He didn't expect to lose her so soon.

In the wake of the loss of his daughter he tried--tried to do right by her. He became Iron Man, he was an Avenger, he protected his world because he couldn't protect his daughter, but through it all, he hoped to be reunited with his daughter.

He didn't expect to be alive when he was.

AKA the biological daughter kidnapping AU no one asked for. Hope you read, and hope you enjoy.

Updates on Saturdays.

Coming Home by inkinmyheartandonthepage

AU – Peter Stark was kidnapped when he was just three years old. Tony and Pepper never stopped looking for their boy. Years later, Peter finds his way back home.

A Change In What We Knew by Imissyoutoo @imissyoutoo

Tony scoured the floor behind Steve as though his one-year-old son had somehow crawled to him, before finally, he looked up. The realisation dawned on him like an eclipse; the decaying darkness hiding the sun. Hiding his son. Because his boy wasn't there.

”Where is he? Steve? Where's my son Rogers?!” At only a year old, Tony Stark’s son is taken, leaving him shattered. Little does he know, his journey to find what is lost only begins twelve years later. In the most unlikely of places, and all because of two words.

”Hey kid.”

I Found You by honestchick

Tony had a son; he raised him for two years until someone kidnapped him. Tony was devastated and heartbroken. And who would have thought in Starks Expo, he’d be able to see his son once again?

move back home forever by chasingflower @evahmohns

The results say he’s not actually Peter Parker.

They say he’s Peter Stark. You know, the one who’s been missing for 10 years.

Yeah. He knows.

Soon You'll Get Better by lostinmorewaysthan1

Peter Stark was kidnapped. That was all anyone knew. He vanished into thin air, no traces left behind, when he was eight years old.

Six years later, on one of the final raids on the HYDRA bases, they find an enhanced assassin, with super strength and the ability to climb walls. No one imagined that it would be Peter. Least of all Tony.

With no memory and brainwashed by HYDRA, Peter Stark goes home and tries to recover.

Let This Road Be Mine by CommunicationFlail

Ten years ago, five year old Peter Stark disappeared. When the trail went cold, the case was closed. Now new evidence has been brought to light and Tony will stop at nothing to get his son back. No matter how many fakes he has to meet. His son is out there, and he will find him.

Return to me, the one I love so endlessly by SuperHeroTiger @superherotiger

James Edwin Stark was born on the 10th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony Stark cried tears of joy.

All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. Tony made many promises that day. Promises to love his son, to protect him, to always be there for him.

On the 10th of August 2002, James Edwin Stark was stolen in the middle of the night, and his father’s world came crashing down. Shattered and alone, Tony whispered the same promise he’d made to his son the day that he was born.

‘…My love for you is endless…’

Fourteen years later, hidden away from the world in a forest of pine, Peter Beck would dream of a day he might get to see the towering city of New York. And when a wounded stranger stumbles onto their property a week out from his birthday claiming to be a famous billionaire from New York, his dream might just come true.

Once Lost Now Found by FreckledAvenger11

Peter Parker was just trying to get used to life without his uncle. He wasn't expecting to find a familiar face in an article about Tony Stark's missing son. Follow Peter on his journey to discover just who he is. Is he Peter Parker? Is he Spider-Man? Or is he someone else entirely? Just who is he and what secrets died along with his parents in that plane crash?

So He Walks The World Alone by Miola014

This is a story 'bout a broken boy With his headphones in just to block out the noise Of everyone around him telling him the way to go So he walks the world alone Wondering if it gets better Or if he's always gonna feel empty forever So he gets lost tryna find another way back home As he walks the world alone

Or

The Kidnapped Peter Stark AU that I promised y'all!

[kyber-crystal]

➳ good enough || s.r.

summary: after a long week you’re left completely exhausted. steve comforts you and helps you unwind. 

words: ~1.6k 

warnings: slight mentions of violence, angst, angst-to-fluff, a lil friends-to-lovers (i’m SORRY literally all of my oneshots are some variation of this but i just can’t resist), minor age gap? (if you call 5 years a lot). also civil war happened but they resolved it so 2017 au teeheeeeee

a/n: this sucked omg. why is my writing going downhill. also this is a red-room-turned-agent-reader who helped steve adjust when he came out of the ice bc i love cliche love backstories hehe...i tried to be very descriptive here but that failed oops. this is prolly one of my worst fics ever (it’s unedited) but my other one got deleted so i’m uploading this in its place!

Steve knew something was wrong the minute you came back from your mission. You always acted a bit off the first few days following your return, but for some reason, today seemed different. For the past week you'd been blatantly avoiding his gaze, refusing to meet his eye unless forced to. 

You don’t even return Sam and Bucky’s sarcastic one-liners - and you always make sure to send a cheesy joke right back at them. It’s not typical for you to be so quiet and reserved like this; frankly, it scared him. 

He knows that as a former Red Room assassin, you never had it easy. As the youngest of the twenty-eight dancer-disguised warriors, you were merely eight years old when you were admitted (Natasha was thirteen). At eight, there was much you didn’t know. You were naive, easily shaped to conform to the strict rules they’d set out for you. 

But despite all the hell you’d gone through in the past, you managed to find it in your heart to forgive and create a compassionate nature towards others. Especially him. He always wondered what he deserved to get someone like you-- he felt more than lucky to have you in his life.

It was 4 a.m, and his insomnia was at its worst. It had peaked ever since he’d come out of the ice - he was 27, had so much of his life before him before it was abruptly put to a stop. But then he met you, with your warm eyes and kind smile that was such a sharp contrast to the girl you used to be. 

The sound of muffled shouts coming from across the compound makes him look up - he sets down his mug of coffee and immediately heads down the hall to see what’s going on. 

Steve carefully pushed open the glass doors to the training facility, seeing you standing in front of a punching bag and attacking the hell out of it with an almost murderous look in your eyes - one he’d never seen before. The tape around your knuckles were splattered with your crimson blood. Despite the dim lighting, he could see the outlines of fresh bruises all over your arms and shoulders. The sight made bile rise up in his throat. He felt his heart break.

Every heavy blow of your fists was accompanied by a ground-shaking boom that echoed across the gym, unleashing the monster trapped inside. You pick up the pace and increase your speed, channelling all your pent-up anger and frustration and guilt into what you were doing. 

It hurts. You would give anything to get rid of the pain. It hurts like hell, but you would trade living a regret-ridden life for a guilt-free one in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Besides, you’ve experienced far worse before-- six-inch knife wounds, bullets to the abdomen and upper arms, broken ribs and noses. This should be a walk in the park.

The concerned super-soldier stood several feet away and observed you, silently watching you murdering the poor punching bag that’s barely withholding all the fury you’ve poured into pummeling it; it was about to burst at the seams.

“Y/N.” You didn’t hear him and kept going, so he repeated himself again. “Y/N.”

“What?” you snapped, keeping your gaze trained in front of you. “What the hell do you want?”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late. What’s keeping you up at this hour?”

“Nothing,” you replied plainly, but he caught the brief flash of a grief-stricken look cross over your expression and your eyes glaze over, “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“You clearly aren’t. Y/N, talk to me. Please.”

“I told you, I’m,” you increased the force of your fists with each word you spoke, as you felt your eyes stinging, “just, fine!”

“Y/N...” he whispered, so softly, as if he was afraid he’d break you with a single sentence. 

That was the last straw. The tears spilled over. Your vision began to blur as you didn’t even bother to wipe them away. The broad-shouldered super-soldier, your fists, and the punching bag and everything insight are turned into blurry, shapeless blobs. You try blinking them away but it was no use; but you keep going. 

“Please tell me what’s going on. Tell me what’s wrong...please don’t shut me out. I only want to help.”

“Leave me alone,” you repeated with a growl, arms now aching with the pain of a thousand tiny needles. But he doesn’t, and he stays firmly rooted in his place. You hastily wiped at your nose with your hands. “For gods’ sake, Rogers, leave,” smack “me,” smack “alone.”

Your last punch was so hard the walls shook and caused Steve to take a step back in alarm. But after that, all the fight is gone from you. Your knees buckle from underneath you and your shoulders slump in defeat and you crumble to the floor. A sound so raw and hoarse escapes your lips and it sounds nothing near human. 

The metallic scent of blood mixed with your salty tears and sweat overwhelms your senses and makes your head spin. Suddenly the act of taking in a single breath seems impossible and your chest tightens, preventing you from being able to breathe properly. 

The ever-so-fragile wall that had been struggling to hold your tears at bay finally broke. 

Heaving, wrenching sobs clawed their way up your throat and tore through your already weary heart - escaping in broken, agonized cries and heart-wrenching howls that make Steve feel like his heart is deliberately shattering into a million, tiny fragments of glass. He doesn’t know what to do because for the first time in his life, the woman he’s always seen with her head held high and an unmatched confidence that could almost put the President to shame was vulnerable, letting it all out at once. 

Steve doesn’t ask any questions nor does he push to to speak up, but silently comes over to you and wraps you into a tight hug, cradling you against his chest. Your arms find their way around his torso, pressing your forehead against the soft cotton of his T-shirt as his free hand makes a gentle trek up and down your back. 

As if you were a delicate flower, he carefully brought your head closer and pressed a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger for a second longer than normal to reassure you. To reassure you that everything would in fact, be okay. Because he was there.

“Don’t leave me...please don’t leave me,” you choked out as he tightened his hold on you. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t, darling, I promise,” he cooed, lips brushing against your forehead, “it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay, we’re okay. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Then, the suffocating pressure is eased off your chest, little by little. You began sinking into the comfort of his warm arms and soothing words. And with his reminder that you didn’t have to go through hell and back alone, because he’d be there, you began to heal. 

...

ONE YEAR LATER

“...Joining the Avengers has been one hell of a ride. I went through hell and back, had my fair share of ups and downs and fought in countless wars. But along the way I’ve been blessed with the privilege of getting a built-in second family and making some of the best friends I’ve had in my life. I met my soulmate.” Steve gazed down at you warmly as you spoke, “I honestly had no idea things would ever work out like this but now, I can’t imagine a life without knowing who all these amazing people are.

“It’s been 15 months since the day he saved me.” Everyone immediately fell silent. "I had hit a very, very low point in my life and I was just about ready to give up. It was like I was screaming into a void and nobody was there to catch me when I fell. I felt so helpless and lost. Stuck. If Steve hadn’t come along at the time he did...I don’t know what would’ve have happened instead. So, Steve...I want to thank you...for everything. I can’t even begin to list all the things you’ve sacrificed or done for my sake and I owe you. From this point forward I promise to always stick by your side no matter how rough things get. I promise to love you at your best and your worst; whenever you need me I’ll always be here. No amount of anything I do will ever match what you’ve done, but I can promise you this: I’ll love you until the day I die, ‘til death do us part.

“’Till death do us part,” Steve repeated, smiling through the tears in his eyes. “God, I love you.”

You broke into a gorgeous grin that had him weak at the knees.  “I love you too.”

“The rings, please,” Fury nodded over in Peter’s direction, and the teenager handed them over to the two of you. “Agent Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Captain Steven Grant Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you said softly, as you put on Steve’s ring.

He turned to the super-soldier. “And Captain Steven Grant Rogers, do you take Agent Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Steve took your hand in his and slid the diamond ring over your finger, “I do.”

“Very well, then,” Fury smiled widely, a rare sight. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Steve rushed forward and pulled you close, dipping you down low before bringing you back up and kissing you passionately. 

His warm lips serving as a reminder of all that you still had left to live for, that you had so much of your life ahead of you. A life with him.

...

general tags(this is from my old taglist spreadsheet, including mutuals who might be interested): @rynhaswritersblock @purpleskiesstorm @pies-writes-and-more @wxstedhexrt @captainchrisstan @sandystoriess @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 @patzammit @capcapcapsicle @wheresmyjae @thinkingofbuckybarnes @carryonmywaywardbucky @musicalkeys @buckybarnesthehotshot @tombob2005 @zaddychris @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @sylvie-writes @sis-it-dont-add-up @tonystankschild​ @sunstalgia​

steve rogers/chris evans tags: @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @stainedsouvenir @marvelfanatic16

permanent tags<3: @poesflygirl @sandwitch-god

[moral-turpitudes]

Deal with the Devil: Ch. 1

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Mentions/Heavy Descriptions of Death, Murder, Gore, Blood, Guns, Knives, Fires, PTSD, Angst. All Explicit/18+ Content is indicated by (**).

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Isla Maxwell (OC)

Word Count: 2,142

Plot Summary: With nowhere to turn after the failed assassination of Oswald Mosely, Thomas Shelby accepts the help of a covert assassin with a knack for nabbing fascists.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | *7* | 8 | 9 | 10

“Authorities Puzzled as Third Man Goes Missing” read the headline of the local newspaper.

“In the span of one month, three men have gone missing from Birmingham and surrounding areas. They were last seen entering the a meeting for the fascist party. No suspects have been brought in, nor have any witnesses reported seeing suspicious activity around the building. Please use caution when going out, and report anything of concern.” The column read. The paper was wrinkled at the ends, the ink fading in spots where rain had fallen too hard. The pictures of the three missing men posted under it with stoic expressions on their faces.

Not many people cared as to why they were missing it seemed. The police’s lack of involvement and general chatter around town made clear of that. But the one thing everyone wanted to know was who caused their disappearance? considering they had the guts to take three men in broad daylight from a highly publicized event.

The news made Isla chuckle as she flipped through the paper, her eyes gazing lazily at the scene before her. Not many people knew her name, but the ones she caught were sometimes lucky enough to hear it before taking their final breath.

The three men from the photos sat before her tied to chairs, stripped from head to toe of all clothing. Weary looks graced their faces as their jaws slacked from the exhaustion of holding their ties in their mouths.

Isla’s heels clicked on the ground as she reluctantly got up from her desk. Looking at each of the men as their tired gazes followed her.

“So....You lot thought you could take me down aye?” She asked, lighting a cigarette as she leant against her desk. They hesitated before shaking their heads, fear evident in their eyes as she stalked closer.

“A little birdie told me you all were going to. All for your beloved Fascist party right?” She remarked, stomping her cigarette out on the groin of one of the men. His groans erupting from clenched teeth as she reached under her dress, the men watching nervously with their hands tied. She felt the cool handle of her knife hidden against her thigh as she lifted her foot off him.

“You should know better than to follow someone blindly, gentlemen. The sheep are often led to the slaughter.” She said, retrieving it and slitting the men’s throats with an easy flick of her wrist. A small smirk playing at her lips as their blood sprayed about. Their eyes fixed in a permanent state of shock as they fell limp before her.

Un-phased, she quickly wiped her hands of the blood and silently walked back to her desk to finish the letter she’d been writing only mere hours ago. The three faces on the newspaper staring at her as she swiftly moved her pen to sign one initial: “I.”

She kept most of her business to herself and her closest informants, only using the initial as her signature, along with the bloody thumbprints of her victims. Thinking it would give them a more “personal” touch.

As she pressed the third mans bloody thumb onto the bottom of the letter, she sighed, knowing she’d have to clean up her mess after sending it out.

The dimly lit room made her silhouette dance along the walls of her office. The flames from the candles flickering brightly as she counted down the minutes on the clock, waiting for her informant to arrive at midnight. It was always evident that she had a method to her madness, that was for sure. The people she employed knew that their fate was not only in her hands but in her wallet. They knew that if they failed, she failed. And if she failed...they might as well offer her their necks.

As the clock struck midnight, she heard the distinct knock on the door. The numerical tapping signaled that it was her informant, Jay, with cash from her latest job in tow. He quickly handed her the cash and she gave him a small smile before handing him the letter wrapped in a black envelope.

“Thank you. You know where to send this. Have it out by tomorrow morning.” She said, closing and locking the door behind her.

Jay swiftly headed down the dark hallway and out the door, the rain finally letting up as he made his way to his car. The destination was written on the envelope with gold ink, shining brightly as the street lights illuminated her thin handwriting.

As he headed to his destination, she began cleaning up the mess. The clothing the men wore hours ago reduced to ash in the fireplace.

With a loud huff, she stuffed their bodies into large flour sacks she’d taken from a certain “bakery” around town, known for its bread, pastries, and illegal business ventures.

Along with her interesting choice of connections, Isla always did her dirty work at night. Making it easier for her to evade capture. But one of the grimmest parts were disposing of the bodies, so she called in her other two informants to help with the task. Therefore, many nights were spent in her car under the guidance of the moon. Not many women drove around at night - let alone with men’s bodies in the backs of their cars - but she figured someone had to do it. And given the life she chose, it had to be done one way or another. After all, it was her best chance at keeping people off her trail.

As the tires skimmed along the damp roads, she saw the cemetery in the distance. Knowing this was the last stop for the month-long job.

Despite her small circle of connections, she had one outside person she could trust: the mortician. Along with his weekly salary, she paid him hush-money from her hits to incinerate the bodies of the men who crossed her. It was the easiest way for her to get rid of the evidence in her case, knowing authorities would have to spend days upon days trying to find any clues, especially in the ashes.

“Thank you again. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.” She said, watching him throw the bodies into the flames with ease.

“And thank you for the money miss. It’s really helped me out.” The mortician said, fidgeting with his glasses.

“I’m glad. Keep up the good work.” She said, tipping her hat and walking quickly to her car.

When she arrived back home, the two other informants were finishing up scrubbing the floor. Making her finally realize that she too had blood on her. It was trapped in her hair, and splattered on her face in a morbid constellation. It was often on big hits like tonight, that she’d forget she was covered, becoming accustomed to the metallic smell and sticky feeling of it on her skin.

“We’ve finished boss. What’s the pay?” One of them asked, wiping their hands on a bloody towel before throwing it into the fireplace.

“No one gets paid until this job is completely done. Tomorrow morning Jay will be back, but until then you’ll have to wait.” She said sternly. They too only went by short, fake nicknames. Her head informant and messenger was Jay, while the other two went by Nick and John. This was done so that if they were captured and interrogated, none of them would know each others real names, making the trail leading to Isla herself all the more complicated.

As the months passed since she’d begun her work, families grew fond of her skills, and that was especially so for the wealthier ones in the community. They resorted to hiring her for protection from the men like the ones she killed, and she used that money to pay herself and her informants as they took on new jobs.

These men she targeted weren’t just any average trouble makers though. They had close ties to the emerging fascist party. A party that turned against some people and turned towards others. A party who brainwashed their followers with money and empty promises. And for her, it was a party that killed her family.

As she excused Nick and John, she locked the door behind her once again, heading off to her bedroom that was adjacent to her office. She was never one for extremely lavish houses. Preferring less stuff around just in case she had to leave town abruptly. Despite this, amongst her tough outer shell, she was still wounded on the inside as the memories of her family plagued her mind.

An old picture hung on the corner of her bedroom mirror. It was a family picture of her mother, father, little brother, and her all sitting by the big oak tree a few miles out. It was the one thing she was able to save before the flames spread around her. The old rafters of her house coming down as she lay there in fear. Her mother’s screams echoing in her ears as she tried to protect her son from the flames. Her father somehow running through the fire and picking her up, ushering her out the door before collapsing from the smoke. The flames engulfing the small wooden house in minutes.

She remembered hearing her neighbors rushing out from nearby to help as she grabbed her arm without registering the pain. She had been in shock for most of the ordeal, knowing that even the physical pain she was in couldn’t top the pain she felt seeing her family perish before her eyes. She was only 20 at the time, and she had no family to go back to.

Fortunately, she worked her way up after her recovery. Living in abandoned houses and singing in the streets for money. She even ran into a friend of her fathers by mere luck, who took her in and told her the truth. He’d said that her father had gotten in the way of a deal between some of the early fascist party members, trying to stop them from antagonizing some of the families in the area, which they didn’t appreciate. In turn, they punished him by punishing his whole family, not knowing they’d left her behind.

As Isla stared at her now 30 year old reflection in the mirror, she let a tear slip as she brushed her hand over the scar on her arm. Hearing her mother’s voice telling her, “You have to take what you want in life my love, because the only thing we’re guaranteed to get in this life is death.”

She shivered at the memory every day, but heeded her mother’s advice nonetheless. She gathered information and took lives, but it wasn’t easy.

Over the years since the fire, she learned to fight from her dads friend, and learned to shoot as well. Eventually earning some good money from hunting for families near them. When she got tired of shooting birds though, she upgraded to humans, often joining hit men on their travels to gain experience and information. Seduction was also a facet of her plan, but she eventually made enough to end that part. Earning enough to buy the quaint apartment that she stood in now, alone with tear filled eyes as the water in the sink ran red from the blood being washed away.

Though through all the pain and training, she managed to gather a plethora of information over time. Leading her to finding the whereabouts of some of the fascist party members. For the last two years she’d been scoping out their meetings, taking note of the problematic ones and bribing vulnerable party followers with hush-money for more information. Slowly taking their power away from them one by one as she built up her empire.

But when news of the recent rallies came to light, she knew she had to lay low and act fast. Knowing other powerful people had an eye on her throne while the party gained traction at an alarming rate. It was during this time that Jay snuck into one of the rallies, overhearing the three men they’d captured, talking about the big meeting to come with a certain Oswald Mosley. And since his life depended on it, he reported it to her. Knowing he’d be paid a decent amount for the information.

Mosley’s life was the one thing that she genuinely wanted to take, given what happened to her family. And by taking out the leader, she hoped to take down the whole system before they hurt more people. She promised herself that she’d stop at nothing to take down the man who started the fire. But she’d have to make a deal with the devil himself in order to do so, and that devil was a man named Thomas Shelby.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hello there! Idk if you’re still taking requests, so if you aren’t, ignore this! But I was wondering if you could write Diego x reader, where she meets his siblings for the first time, and at first it’s kinda awkward, but then they get more comfortable and maybe just like fluff after when they get back home? It might be totally stupid but idk. I love your writing!���💕

A/N: Babe, it’s totally not stupid at all. Meeting the family shenanigans is basically the perfect trope for this show.  Sort of accidentally ended up a sequel to this fic, so I ran with it.  Word Count: 1678 Content Warnings: Season 2 spoilers

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?” Diego asked, gripping your hand tightly as the two of you walked toward the restaurant. “It’s not too late for us to just leave.”

“Diego Hargreeves, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you didn’t want me to meet your family,” you teased, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s one dinner, it’ll be okay.”

“You say that now,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes affectionately in response before pulling open the door and walking inside.

When you gave your names to the hostess, she smiled brightly and told you that the rest of your party was already waiting for you, before leading you to a large table in a private room off the main dining area. Four pairs of eyes turned to you appraisingly. You swallowed nervously and put on a smile of you own.

“Hi everyone, sorry we’re late,” you said, taking one of the two empty seats, somewhat awkwardly as Diego still refused to let go of your hand. “Someone didn’t believe me that traffic was going to be a nightmare on a Friday night.”

One of the women at the table, who you vaguely recognized from a cheesy romance playing on late-night cable and therefore deduced was Allison smiled in a way that felt indulgent and false; it didn’t quite reach her eyes; it was rehearsed.

“Oh he never listens to anybody, don’t take it personally, Y/N,” the smaller of the two men said, stretching across the table and offering you a broad grin and a hand with the word hello tattooed on it. “I’m Klaus, and you’re the gorgeous creature my brother’s decided to shack up with, huh?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his greeting, shaking his hand politely while Diego glared. “Nice to meet you Klaus,” you said with a smile.

“You know, I already like you better than his last two girlfriends. You haven’t tried to arrest or kill me!”

“Sorry what? Is that a joke?” you frowned in confusion as you let go of his hand and leaned back, glancing over at Diego to see his tight jaw and stony face, clear indications that he was upset.

You hand sought his under the table and you gave it a gentle squeeze, drawing his gaze to you and smiling at him.

‘It’s all good, relax,’ you mouthed.

“No I’m deadly serious,” Klaus continued. “For a while he was with this lady cop on-again/off-again style and she’d arrest me for drugs when she caught me around. Until she was tragically murdered by time-travelling assassins who kidnapped me looking for Five. Then while we were in the 60s, he fell for this girl from the nuthouse who turned out to be a plant and totally tried to kill us!” He gave a pained little chuckle, as if to say, ‘can you believe that?’

You stared at him, open-mouthed and aghast.

“Ignore Klaus, he’s never known when to shut up a day in his life,” the woman you had first noticed said. “I’m Allison.”

Klaus shot her a look that somehow combined a pout and a glare, but fell silent. You felt some of the tension sink out of Diego beside you, though he still didn’t seem comfortable. You smiled at her.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” you said, still trying to shake off the information Klaus had given (which seemed to line up with what the small, angry brother who was oddly not at dinner had said, and was far too much to actually process at the moment).

You turned to the two who hadn’t yet spoken. “So you must be Luther and Vanya?”

The man nodded, shifting in his seat and giving you an awkward little wave. The other woman glowered at you and said nothing. You frowned, wondering what you had done to earn her ire already.

Allison cleared her throat. “We ordered some bruschetta and sangria for the table before you arrived.”

The rest of dinner passed in much the same way as those first moments: Luther was mostly silent and clearly uncomfortable (whether with your presence or very fact of being out in public seemed unclear) but he started to relax and warm up as the evening went on, even once or twice sharing a stiff joke; Vanya was cold, barely responsive to your attempts to engage with her; Allison tried to play the hostess and keep topics light and small-talk-esque, breaking long silences with new conversations, obviously trying her best but ultimately resulting in a stilted performance; Klaus blurted out evidently whatever thoughts passed through his mind, usually bizarre and outlandish, sometimes profound and deeply sad. It was like none of them knew how to be normal people or have dinner with their sibling’s significant other, or an average conversation and you couldn’t help but feel oddly warmed by that, but the fact that they were so…human.

You did your best to keep up with all of them, appreciating Allison’s best efforts, laughing at some of Klaus’s jokes or countering his philosophical points, trying not to call too much attention to Luther or make him feel put on the spot. Diego felt his heart swell with pride at how well you did, and how you took everything in stride, even as the minutes seemed to drag on and he started to fear that dinner would never end.

The only thing that kept rankling at you was Vanya’s attitude, so when she got up to go to the bathroom, you excused yourself as well, cornering her in the hall of the restaurant.

“Hey, no offense, but what the hell is your problem with me?” you asked, tilting your head to one side, more curiosity than animosity in your tone.

She rolled her eyes, trying to push past you, but you resolutely blocked her path.

“I know I’m dating Diego and there’s like a whole weird history there or whatever, but don’t I at least deserve a chance before you decide to treat me like the devil?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”                                        

“You seem nice, and you’re…normal. Our family doesn’t do well with that,” she explained, folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to do the whole friendly, welcome to the family or whatever bullshit. Cus you’re either going to turn out not actually normal and screw us over, or you’re going to turn out actually normal and get hurt or bail before you do.”

You stared at her for a long, silent moment.

“I’m not going anywhere. I love Diego, and I think for all that they’re weird, I like your family a lot.”

“You say that for now, but we’ll see.”

“If there’s really no way for me to change your mind, fine, but maybe the reason people leave is just because you shove them away.”

You turned and returned to the table with that, not giving her a chance to respond. You still weren’t thrilled, but at least you felt like you understood her better now, and she seemed to soften toward you at least a little for the rest of the evening.

By the time the check came (a check you noticed that Allison picked up without even glancing at the numbers) you felt like you had really gotten to know Diego’s siblings, and seen a different side of him as he slowly loosened up around them.

As you all got up to leave, it became a chain of “it was nice to meet you”s and “we should do this again”s. Allison moved in for a hug and you returned it happily enough. Luther patted you on the shoulder awkwardly, his big hand enveloping it as if you were a child, surprising you with his size more close up than the other end of the table. Klaus moved as if to follow you home, and then pouted much like a stray puppy when Diego gave him a stern look that communicated without words that he was not allowed to do so. Then he turned to you and hugged you. But where Allison’s was polite and somewhat formal, Klaus’s was anything but, his long limbs folding around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

“It was sooo good to meet you,” he purred in your ear. “And I’m glad Diego found you.” He pulled back to look you in the eye, his hands still resting on your upper arms. “I mean it. You’re good for him. Take care of him.”

“I will,” you said with a smile. “And you take care of yourself.”

Vanya offered you a polite nod, and you took what you could get.

~

“Y/N, I’m so sorry about tonight,” Diego sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he sank down onto the couch.

“What are you talking about D? It was fine.” You hung your coat on one of the pegs near the door and then, with a roll of your eyes, picked up his from where he’d tossed it on the floor and hung it as well.

“It was torture. In fact I think I’d rather be tortured.”

“I mean sure it was awkward, and your family’s a little weird, but I knew going in not to expect anything else.”

“It didn’t make you regret the day you ever met me?”

You dropped onto the couch next to him, leaning into his side and tilting your head to kiss him, smiling against his mouth.

“I could never regret that babe.”

His arm circled your shoulders, drawing you closer as he returned your kiss fervently. He groaned as you pressed against him and ran your tongue over his lower lip, opening up to invite you in. It wasn’t often that he let you take the lead, so you took full advantage while you could, pressing him back against the cushions and straddling his lap, running your hands through his hair.

“Besides,” you said, pulling back to smile teasingly. “Now I won’t feel so bad when you meet my family.”

[duhragonball]

So the only two Terminator movies I hadn’t seen were Salvation and Dark Fate, which was why I bought this box set.  I was looking forward to T4, but wasn’t very impressed with it.   T6, on the other hand, yeah it’s pretty damn good.  But, like T4 and T5, this was also meant to be the first part of a reboot trilogy, and just like T4 and T5, it didn’t perform well enough at the box office to make that plan a reality.  

I don’t know what the future for this series holds.  The Wikipedia article for Dark Fate talks about plans to make a Terminator anime on Netflix, which sounds pretty stupid to me, but I thought that Sarah Connor Chronicles show was a bad idea, and I seem to recall it did okay.  People seem to think there’s money to be made off this franchise, but it feels like each new attempt ends in failure, sort of like how Skynet keeps trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. 

Just to recap...

T1: Kyle Reese travels back in time to protect Sarah Connor from a Terminator, so that her yet-to-be-born son can lead humanity to victory in the Future War.  Ironically, Kyle turns out to be the father of Sarah’s baby.  

T2: Skynet sends another Terminator to kill John Connor, but the Future John sends a reprogrammed Terminator to protect him.   Meanwhile, Sarah Connor is determined to prevent Skynet’s creation.

T3: John Connor thinks the Future War has been prevented, but he can’t quite believe it.   After surviving another Terminator attack, John realizes that Skynet’s rise to power is inevitable, and he reluctantly accepts his fate as the leader of the human resistance.

T4: Fifteen years after Judgment Day, John Connor has to save Kyle Reese from a Skynet plot to wipe out the Resistance.  

T5: Repeated time trips and assassination attempts have left the timeline from 1984 to 2029 unrecognizable.    Skynet captures John Connor in the future and converts him into a T-3000.   This new John is tasked with facilitating the rise of Skynet in 2017, but he is defeated by Sarah Connor, Kyle Reese, and a T-800 sent from the future by an unknown benefactor.

There’s a lot of details that prevent these movies from fitting together into a single storyline, but the broad themes still make for a good meta-narrative.  The first movie introduces Sarah and the central conflict, the second movie introduces John and provides an origin for Skynet.   The third movie depicts the worldwide nuclear strike that marks the beginning of the Future War.   The fourth movie shows us the middle of the Future War.   Finally, the fifth movie depicts the end of the war and the part where Kyle goes back in time to start the cycle again.   Circumstances change from one movie to the next, but you can chalk these up as the result of all the various time travelers.    I mean, a lot of people get killed in these movies, and they sort of act like it doesn’t matter much in the long run, but it could add up in a hurry.  

Knowing all of this about the first five movies, I was really curious to see what the sixth one would even be about, especially with Linda Hamilton returning as an older Sarah Connor.  She was dead in T3 and 4, and T5 recast the role and overhauled the character.  Of course, T6 just sort of pretends those three movies never happened, but even so, what else is there to do with Sarah?

Well, Dark Fate opens with John Connor getting shot in 1998.   In this movie, the effort to prevent Judgment Day in T2 was successful, but Skynet had sent multiple Terminators throughout the 1990s to hunt down John, and they kept looking for him even after Skynet itself ceased to exist.  

It’s a ballsy move, but it’s almost inevitable.   They literally did every other thing there was to do with this story.   It’s not even the first time John has died to a Terminator.   The T-850 in T3 did the honors in 2032, albeit off-screen.   In T5, Skynet decided that it had to team up with John in order to win, so it turned him into a Terminator.   I’m not sure if he was killed in that movie or not, but it might as well have been his death.    But those were future versions of John, and Skynet’s goal was always to kill him before he could defeat it, not after.   And so, T6 decided the only road left was to let the coyote catch the road runner.

So John’s dead and Skynet’s gone, so now what?   Well it turns out there’s another dark future down the road, and this whole formula plays out again.  This time, the bad guy is a “Rev-9″ Terminator, sent to kill Dani Ramos.   But the Rev-9 isn’t working for Skynet, it’s working for Legion, which is just another AI that became self-aware, took control of the world’s defenses, etc.  

Ramos’ protector from the future is a human “augment” named Grace Harper.   She looks cool and kicks ass but she’ll run out of gas if she doesn’t take her augment medicine.   Also, she isn’t powerful enough to beat the Rev-9.   Luckily, Sarah Connor steps in and offers to help, because she’s been hunting Terminators ever since John’s death, and because she knows what it’s like to be in Dani’s shoes. 

Over the years, Sarah’s been getting tips on where new Terminators will show up from a secret informant, and Grace’s orders are to proceed to a particular location if things go poorly, and it turns out that’s the same place where Sarah’s been getting her tips from.  They go there and find an old T-800 named Carl.   Carl’s the one who killed John in 1998, and afterward he had no purpose and no further instructions to follow.  He eventually studied human behavior and developed the AI equivalent of a conscience, then married a human wife and helped her raise her young son.  

Sarah still holds a grudge, but they need Carl’s help to survive, so they all join forces to have a big showdown with the Rev-9.   Grace and Carl sacrifice themselves to help Dani win, and the movie ends with Sarah promising to help Dani prepare for the future that’s to come.  

At first, Sarah assumed that Dani would be the mother of the eventual leader of the resistance against Legion, just as John was fated to lead the resistance against Skynet.  But eventually it comes to light that Dani herself will be the leader who saves the world, and Sarah realizes that she’s the new John.   I guess that’s Sarah’s character arc for this movie.   She loses her own son, spends the next 22 years without a purpose, and then she discovers a new purpose.   It also allows Carl to redeem himself for John’s murder.  Now that he’s grown a soul, he can choose to die for Dani instead of killing for a Skynet that no longer exists.   Grace’s arc is probably weaker than the others, but she initially saw the Rev-9 as a threat that could only be avoided and not defeated, but in the end she stood and fought, so I guess that’s good enough. 

More importantly to me, though, is that T6 serves as an answer to the previous film.   Skynet was obsessed with John Connor, like he was the only thing that allowed humanity to defeat it.    So in T5, Skynet decided that if it could just convert John to its side, it would be unbeatable.    That always struck me as silly, because without John Connor, someone else would have stepped in to fill the void.  And T6 demonstrates this by introducing Dani.   Legion and Skynet might as well be the same idea, but even without John Connor, there’s another human leader who can rise to the occasion.   And if something happened to Dani, someone else would step up, and so on.   

Skynet thought it could win the war by defeating John, but it’s reasoning was flawed: it had to defeat what John represents, and there isn’t a Terminator powerful enough to do that.   As long as it kept pursuing the man, it would never succeed.  It would have to kill every human to achieve the victory it craves, but it couldn’t seem to make that work either.

So with that conclusion reached, I really don’t see where else this franchise can go.    They could do a movie about Sarah and Dani fighting more Terminators, but that would just be a retread of the previous movies.  And the outcome is already understood to be pointless.  Either Dani will prevent Legion’s creation in the present-day, or she’ll tough it out and win the Future War in the 2040′s.  We know that’s inevitable, or Legion wouldn’t have sent a Terminator back in time in the first place. 

This reminds me a lot of my initial thoughts after seeing Genisys in 2015.   It seemed like Skynet was getting increasingly desperate to find away to avoid losing the war.   It couldn’t beat the humans on the ground, and time travel never seemed to help, and hijacking John Connor didn’t help either.    Now we see that killing John would make no difference either.  So it seems like the only option left would be for “The Machines” to sue for peace, or accept defeat.    I’m not sure that would make for a very good movie.  

That might be the only major flaw I see in T6.   The action’s great, and I never got bored watching it, and the story is compelling, and it’s a great sendoff for Arnold Schwarzenegger if he ever stops coming back for more of these movies.   But it’s also kind of redundant.   This movie just reinforces lessons already learned in previous movies.  

I really hope this is the last one.  I suspect that a lot of the themes that made T1 and T2 so successful have been superseded by other franchises.  You can get a lot of the same gonzo action sequences out of an Iron Man or Captain America movie, and the threat of “technology gone too far” isn’t exactly novel anymore.  There was a scene in T6 where Dani’s brother lost his job to a robot, and that seemed downright quaint.    They were doing stories about that in the 80s.   T6 does some thought-provoking stuff with the Border Patrol and their detention facilities, but I’m not sure we need a Terminator movie to cover that ground.   I’m not saying the Terminator movies aren’t allowed to get into social justice topics.   It’s been doing that for decades.   But it’s hardly unique in that respect.   By now, the question James Cameron and the others need to be asking is “What problem would a new Terminator movie solve?”  It’s not going to be a financial success, and critics probably won’t like it.   So what are we going for here?  I’m not sure there’s been a good answer in a long time.