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mariswxt · 8 months ago

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amoralism | six

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: So much sexual tension it’s illegal, Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, description of injuries, gunshot wound, description of gore, blood, use of firearms, a mole in the FBI, office shenanigans, President Shurley, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Azazel, smut (very hardcore smut)

STW: marking, missionary, riding, protected sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving and implied m.)/face sitting, brief handjob, dom Dean (switch if you squint, also Dean’s an everything man), sub reader, really filthy stuff, light choking, thigh slapping, dirty talking cause FBI Dean’s a slightly rough dom and he’s good at this

A/N - I might have cooked with this chapter, who knows :)

Song Inspo: Crazy in Love (Remix) by Beyoncé (listen to this during the first scene I am not kidding it does wonders for the soul)

SERIES MASTERLIST

authoritarianism

You felt dizzy. You felt intoxicated. You felt amazing.

Dean’s lips moved hot and fast against your own, one hand of his sliding to grab the strands of your hair between his fingers and keep your mouth occupied, the other moving to grab your waist and cage you in his arms, against the rippling, irresistible planes of muscle.

One hand of yours was tracing every dip and curve of his upper back while your other was carding through the wet strands of his hair. His shampoo, conditioner and body wash acting as a drug - a stimulant - for your pressured mind.

A drug that you wouldn’t be arrested for.

You felt that muted haze dissipate and another replacing it. One more heated. Welcome. One that made your head spin and your lips collide with Dean’s over and over again, that is until his lips veered off to burn a trail down your neck.

Your head tipping back to show the artist his canvas.

Open mouthed and reverent, pressing onto your skin like claiming stamps, gripping your hair to tilt you to his liking while his other hand groped and squeezed whatever he could reach. Feeling you up with possessive intent.

To claim you.

Make you his.

His free hand slid to your ass, massaging it, kneading it in his strong fingers. Slapping it, squeezing as if he was also depleting his own stress on top of yours.

"Jesus- fuck-" Was all you could get out under the present circumstance.

Now, you weren't usually turned on by an ass man, but his ministrations had you moaning, leaving red lines on Dean's shoulders with your nails and a truly sinful sound rolling off his tongue.

"Fuck, baby." Dean growled, nipping at your neck until there was a mark that could be covered easily by your blazer and not be a pain. What a gentleman.

Dean's towel hit the floor, and it was like a switch flipped in his brain when he used the grip he had on your ass to help grind you in a dizzying pace against his rapidly hardening cock this time around rather than his thigh.

Both felt like heaven. You were sure you'd be transported there once he was pounding into you.

However much the friction of your sleep shorts appealed to his dick, Dean needed you out of those skimpy excuses for pyjamas. He took the hem of the sleep shorts and yanked them down until they pooled at your feet, biting his lip as he fisted the hem of your shirt and whipped it off.

Oh. Oh.

On you was the goddamn sexiest black lace lingerie he'd ever seen. Sweet Jesus. The bra was just the right amount of sheer and framed you beautifully, while the panties- good Lord, if Dean started describing how perfect it was he wouldn't be able to stop. Oh, hail Mary and fuckin’ Joseph.

Didn't help that he could see how soaked you were even from his position in front of you. The small grind he did as a test also confirmed it, his teeth now worrying his bottom lip as he now no longer thought with his brain. His cock was sitting in the driver's seat, thank you very much.

And he was gonna have you hitch a ride.

"Fuck." He cursed softly in comparison to the rough movements the moment before that had your nails grazing his scalp and bare upper back.

Dean gazed down at you, licking his lips. His stare lit your cells on fire while his body language paired with the way he held you - hard and so damn possessive - enough to convince you that you were a five star, five course meal that he was about to devour.

He'd be damned if he left any crumbs.

“You’ve ruined this sexy little number, baby.” Dean murmured, the backs of his fingers trailing down your side, down, down, down until he gripped your thigh with a sure hand. A smirk tugging at his pouty, kiss-swollen lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll ruin your pretty pussy to match the set.”

You’d let out a gasp had it not been for Dean hitching your leg over his bare hip, supporting you with his other hand on your lower back and lifting you effortlessly, carrying you with a smooth motion over to the conveniently placed bed and almost slammed you down, and before you knew it, his lips were back on your neck. It was different than before. Less reverent, less worshipping, more feral.

As if the very feel of you had Dean’s pure instinct taking over.

Pure instinct had you arching into the hard ridges of his muscle, baring your neck shamelessly, your mouth falling open as the hand previously on your lower back rushed to keep himself upright by planting it firmly into the mattress beside your head. Dean’s other hand used the purchase on your thigh to grind down hard and heavy, his breaths coming the same against your jugular as he bit at it, sucking but not enough to leave a mark.

He did vow in his head that he’d only leave it where you could cover it. Couldn’t have the office asking questions.

“Dean…” You whined out in a voice that you could barely discern was yours, your hand in his hair until you felt him take that hand off, fabric sliding off your shoulders and skimpy lace being discarded carelessly off to some odd corner in the room. You couldn’t expect Dean to care where that thing went.

Dean took his thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it while he came back up to watch you, you in your glory. Forget God, he’d worship only you from now on cause damn, were you a goddess.

You.

He let his thumb go with a slick pop, trying to hold onto the last thread of his restraint as he took you in. You, flushed, panting, your eyes slightly hazy from the intense sparks of heat he’d sent through you with a few hot brushes of his lips. His own defined chest heaving just as his eyes locked on your tits, and- mhm.

That thread was cut fast.

His thumb made contact with one hardened nipple, making your jaw go slack again and your hands fly to him again, letting out a moan that would make a hooker blush. Rolling it over and over and over as he buried his face in between your tits so he could kiss the valley between them, the underside and-

“Oh, shit!” You cried out when Dean’s hot mouth closed around your nipple, that damn talented tongue swirling around it before he sucked masterfully, flicking the other in a way that had your hips attempting to lift to make contact with his again, and he answered for you. Grinding down so you could feel every damn inch of what you did to him. What he’d been enduring five years ago and even now.

You were Dean’s drug. And when you weren’t there, he had withdrawal symptoms. Serious withdrawal symptoms.

He sucked, nibbled and licked, sucked, nibbled and licked until you were a moaning mess on the bed from the way his hand tweaked your other nipple and how his cock felt against your clothed pussy.

God, Dean could do this all day. Give him a chance and he would.

You never noticed when his hand left your other nipple, never noticed when your soaked panties left your body and were tossed aside, never noticed until you felt him dragging his fingers over your cunt and to your clit, the sharp but needy sound from you making him grin devilishly into your skin.

Dean popped up, licking his lips and then chuckling. “Got so much pressure built up, dontcha, sweetheart? Want someone to release it for you, dontcha?” He heard a needy whine and plea for him to ‘not stop’, which had him clicking his tongue.

“Oh, baby.” He purred, rubbing his thumb on your clit. The calloused pad having shocks of pure, welcomed electricity through the tips of your fingers to your brain and down back to your cunt. “That little session we had in my office ain’t enough for you, is it? Needy little thing.”

No thoughts. Pussy in charge.

It was definitely in charge when he thrusted two thick fingers into you, demanding and possessive and- fuck, that’s good. Your hips bucked into the touch, another moan leaving your mouth that really had you questioning if you knew your own voice; it sounded so shameless and needy and wanting.

It sounded good. It felt even better.

You didn’t care that Dean was your colleague, the one rule you’d had for five years smashed with a sledgehammer because no, you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when his fingers were pumping in and out of you, working you, making your back arch and hips rocking to meet his ministrations. Yep, you knew he could play you like a fine tuned violin and god, was he doing that.

He crooked his fingers just right, an “oh, fuck!” leaving your mouth and moans in quick succession as his tongue laved at the nipple his mouth had neglected, which did not help you to think straight. It had you clenching around his fingers, the pads of them hitting your g-spot deliciously instead.

Adding another finger and doing it again.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Dean growled against your skin, licking over your nipple as well. Looks like he was a tits man as well, with how eagerly he was worshipping them. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight. This pussy’s so tight- you sure it can fit my cock? Shit- fuck.” He groaned as you clamped down on him again at the syncing of his fingers against your g-spot and his thumb rubbing at your clit. You were about to drive him insane.

“Dean,” You took a moment to breathe, your head falling back as you tried to get your bearings. You failed, but ah, well, another day. “Mmh, s’close. Gonna come. M’gonna come.”

“That right, baby?” Dean chuckled, sucking a mark in the valley of your tits. Hey, you had absolutely no problem with that. “Gonna come for me? Come so pretty for me?” He bit his lip and then licked them at the sight of you nodding and writhing on the bed, your hips meeting the movements while he made a mess of you with his mouth on your tits and his fingers buried knuckle deep inside you. His mouth moving to hover by your ear, teeth teasing your earlobe. “Go on. Wanna hear my name when you do it. When you release all that tension that’s had you bitchin’ all this time. Just needed me, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

The words, so dirty and filthy. His breath, hot and searing. Teeth skilled and precise.

It was like Dean had been rehearsing for this moment. Got the perfect cadence of his gravelly voice just for you. The perfect rhythm of his fingers just for you. Just for you, so they would have you coming - eyes rolling back, jaw slack, hips stuttering and thighs twitching, sweat beading at your temple as your foot propped on the bed and curled the best they could into the grey satin sheets - just like you were right now.

Oh, dear.

Oh, Lord.

Oh, fuck-

You could barely fathom after your first orgasm of the night what would happen next, but you found out right when Dean got further down the bed and pulled his fingers out of you, getting a taste of you and moaning at it. You were ambrosia in human goddamn form.

Before you could adjust, he licked a long stripe up your soaking cunt, lapping and getting all of you on his tongue, the sweet flavour flooding his taste buds and dimming everything in the room but you. You. You-

My god, this wasn’t enough.

Within seconds, Dean manoeuvred you both so he was flat on his back, head pushed back against the pillows, nestling your thighs on either side of his head. You looked down at him from your position, hand flying to grip the headboard just as he grinned up at you from beneath you, your pussy right there for him to devour. Where he felt like he belonged.

Dean looked like sex. Hell, he probably was sex.

Without a word, Dean rubbed up and down your thighs, feeling the softness in his palms before he seized your hips, pulling you flush against his face and beginning to- oh, God, shit, fuck, hail Jesus and Mary and Joseph, and all of Nazareth.

Fuck.

“Dean- oh, Dean- Dean!” Your brain was short circuiting. Your eyes were rolling back. Hand gripping the headboard so tight your knuckles went white. Your other hand finding your hair and gripping it tight as your mouth fell open and let out a string of expletives adorned with his goddamn name.

Dean was devouring you. Lapping at your pussy, sucking, drinking you dry like you were his first meal in so long. His tongue sliding over your cunt before pushing in once, twice, thrice before slipping out and repeating the rapid strokes. And then a harsh suck on your clit, just to get you to your limit that much faster. To get you to whine, moan, whimper - anything - his name.

That’s what his shit-eating grin was for as he got his lips and chin messy eating the living daylights out of you.

He groaned out something about you tasting like heaven, but you didn’t hear, instead focused on chasing your orgasm while your hips mindlessly ground against his face. He slapped your thigh in response, but when you stilled obediently - thinking he wanted you to stop - no, he took your hips in an almost bruising grip and did the work for you. Rolling your hips down to meet every suck and lap of his until you were shaking again, falling over the edge again to the rhythm and play of his tongue sliding over your pussy.

Once he’d gotten that second fill of you, he hitched himself up so he sat with his back to the plush velvet headboard, so you could see him after he’d wrecked you for the second time around- going on a third, at this rate.

His lips were glistening and his chin the same state, pupils blown wide as he panted and grinned at you like the pure goddamn sex he was.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.” Dean muttered before he cupped your jaw and drew you into a searing kiss, so that you could taste yourself on his tongue. Taste yourself while he gave you the most sloppy, filthy, sinful, perfect kiss of your life.

Don’t tell him you said that.

With a bite of his lip, a checking out of your body and a quick slap to your ass, he took a hold of you and rolled you over, pinning one hand above your head by entwining your fingers with his own and keeping them there.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Dean smirked, spreading your legs and in turn spreading you open. He caught sight of your dripping cunt, and he felt a swell of pride that he made you feel that good. That he forewent his own pleasure (he only realised how much his cock ached for you round about now, he was that focused on you) to take care of you.

He was about to smirk out another sentence, but then he was cut off by a groan, caused by your hand on his cock, rubbing your thumb over his slit and spreading the pre-come before using it to pump your hand up and down. Dean could have spent forever with you jacking him off, but he stopped you, panting.

“Sorry, baby, but if you continue like that, m’gonna embarrass myself.” He chuckled, tearing a condom packet with his teeth and rolling the rubber on. “Need to be inside you. You ready?” When he didn’t get a response, he slapped your thigh- which got a squeak from you. “Words, sweetheart. I need words.”

You nodded, frantically, panting. “Yes, yes, I’m ready, please, I’m ready-” You let out a broken moan when Dean thrusted roughly unto you and god, the pace was bruising but felt… so. Damn. Good.

Dean’s thrusts were rough, but deep. Purposeful. As if every move was calculated. He had gripped the velvet headboard in his free hand until he went the extra mile, changing the angle by hitching your leg over his hip, his eyes rolling back when your heel pressed against his lower back and had him magnifying the feeling of you wrapped around him so deliciously tenfold.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby.” He groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips snapped forward, the bed creaking under the force. His teeth nipped at the skin, the hand holding your thigh securing your leg over your hip before placing his hand on your throat; not squeezing, just letting you know that it was there.

And by the way you moaned and your head fell back, you enjoyed it. Damn, Dean never knew you were freaky.

He loved it.

With a few rough snaps, he felt himself suddenly fall over the edge, spilling into the condom with a low, guttural moan. Even so, he sloppily thrust into you a few more times to have you going down with him, your lips meeting in a filthy, desperate kiss.

Now, you’d have thought three mind blowing orgasms would be enough for you, but it didn’t seem close to enough once Dean rolled you both over, seizing your hips and making you ride him. At first, it was him lifting you to the head of his dick and lowering you until you sheathed him completely but then it was all you, you, you.

“Dean,” Was all you could say as you set a steady rhythm, your nails raking down his chest and leaving red trails and crescent marks. Those had him chuckling and nodding in approval.

“That’s right, good girl. Mark me up.” Dean grunted softly, gripping your hips tighter, the vein in his neck popping for an extremely good reason as his head fell back against the pillows. “Ride my cock, baby. Look so good, bouncin’ like that. Fuck, never stop. Could see you like this all day. Shit, sweetheart.”

You took gasping breaths, trying to reduce the embarrassing amount of moans leaving your mouth, your pussy clenching tight around Dean and letting him know you were close. His hands slid to your ass, kneading and rolling the softness in his hands, propping himself up to suck and lick at your nipples, which got you there that much faster. Didn’t help when his thumb found your clit.

Rubbing. Flicking. Ruining you.

Damn, he knew exactly what he was doing. Because now your eyes could only see stars and you were coming on his cock, him following you about five thrusts later with a loud and choked moan. You could have almost collapsed forward had it not been for Dean holding you up, and the next thing you knew, you were both breathlessly chuckling.

“Well, that’s a way to, uh, let out the stress.” You breathed, biting your lip and running a hand through your sweaty hair. “Carajo.”

“Damn straight.” Dean laughed, pulling you off his cock gently and laying you down next to him. “I’ll give it to you, sweetheart, you are one damn good fuck.”

“We just…” Fuck. “We just fucked.”

“Yeah, we did. Objections?”

“Dean, this is what I’ve been avoiding. Sure, we torched the Code of Conduct by making out in your office but now I’m pretty sure it’s disintegrated.” You sighed, the growing throb in your pussy from being pounded into by Dean Winchester beginning to take over. Yep, you’d be walking funny. “It's not a mistake, I participated with sound mind, body and soul, but I just...”

Dean understood. "You're confused."

"Yeah." You nodded, biting your lip. "And with everything that's going on, I'm not even sure that getting in a relationship - let alone with you - is a wise option. I'd just be a shitty girlfriend."

"Sweetheart, I don't want you downplaying yourself like that again, you hear me?" Dean said sternly, his jaw set, looking the picture of perfection and porn with his skin shiny from the water and sex induced sweat, the remnants of bliss clinging to his gorgeous features, cheeks still carrying a slightly rosy tinge. Not to mention how his lips and chin still shone with the sweetness he'd tasted eagerly on his tongue the moment before. "I'm not gonna judge you for wanting to take it slow. Especially when we got crime Lords out there."

Beat.

"But if you need some assistance in satisfying that gorgeous pussy, then I'm one text away."

Shit. You needed a round two stat.

The White House. What a place for pretentious politicians.

“Mr President, you have a meeting with the Russian Ambassador at four, and the British Ambassador at six.” Chuck Shurley’s assistant, Becky Rosen, read off a tablet while President Shurley himself was looking at himself in the mirror to check if he was wearing the right suit for his next press conference.

“So many ambassadors.” Chuck muttered under his breath as he took off his blazer to exchange a tie for another one. “Look, Becky, can you be a dear and move my six o’clock to three tomorrow? My days’s too swamped and you know the Russians, they’re probably going to take up most of my time.”

Becky nodded eagerly, tapping on her keyboard. “I can do that, sir, let me put in a phone call.” Then there was chatter on her earpiece, and she let out a small “oh!” of surprise. “You have a visitor, Mr President.”

“And who’s that, Becky?” Chuck turned around with two ties each in his hand. He took a look at the four and put two back in the drawer, examining the other two.

“Your sister, sir. Amara.”

That piqued Chuck’s interest. “Yes, I know who my sister is. Send her in, and you leave.”

Becky nodded, already beginning to leave. “Of course, sir.”

The door shut behind her, and while Chuck was busy trying to figure out which tie worked best with his slacks, the door opened and closed, in coming Chuck’s sister.

Amara Shurley. Sister of the President and the First Lady since Chuck had no game.

Her black dress swished and her heels thudded against the soft carpet as she looked out upon the massive crowd and array of cameras waiting for Chuck’s statement on the recent leak of there being a crime lord called Asmodeus out wreaking havoc in America. “What will you say to them?”

“Anything.” He turned around with a soft sigh. “Those people out there just want reassurance. They’re willing to believe any lie, even if it’s on some cue cards that they can’t see on my podium.”

Amara frowned slowly, fiddling with her hands. “So, what was that policeman? Nick Santiago? Was what you said strictly for reassurance?”

“Of course not.” Chuck scoffed, shaking his head as he examined the ties. “I wouldn’t be in this office had it not been for that police sergeant. I wrote that bit of speech myself. I have to give myself some credit for that. I could be a writer if I hadn’t become President.” Chuck laughed slightly, then turned to Amara, holding up the ties that had made the cut. One navy, diagonally striped red and another that was plain navy. “Which one? Can’t choose.”

“Plain.” Amara replied simply and almost curtly, pacing. “You need to play this smart. Some criminals are out for your blood and there will come a time where your security detail isn’t as good as you think they’ll be. My advice is to tell everyone the truth.”

Chuck spun around, vigorously doing the tie in barely restrained shock. “The truth?!” He burst out, shaking his head and pointing out of the window to the masses of people, oblivious people. “Those people will go insane if I tell them the truth. That there’s a high profile crime syndicate out to kill me and possibly a large section of the population with their large-scale attacks. I’ve been briefed by the Major Crimes unit’s director at the FBI. There are dangerous individuals out there who haven’t been properly identified. If I tell all that to the public, America descends into chaos and I lose my position as the President.”

“So… you’ll lie.”

“Politicians lie, Amara.” Chuck snapped, putting his suit jacket on and beginning the last finishing touches to his hair. “I’m a politician. I lie. It’s how people like me get by in this train wreck of a country!”

“And I’m one of the only civilians that aren’t left in the dark.” Amara muttered, dejected. “Fine, Chuck. But know that if this goes downhill, I warned you.” Amara turned on her high heel, leaving the room promptly.

Chuck rubbed his forehead, smoothing out the creases, but he didn’t have time to worry over an argument with his sister. He put on his cuff links, checked that every strand of his hair was perfectly set, then stepped out of his room and met his bodyguards.

“Carlson.” He muttered to one of the guards, who nodded back.

“Mr President.” Carlson replied curtly, looking forward with an earpiece attached to a wire that disappeared down the front of his suit jacket.

Time to lie again.

“Alright, every agent involved has to be on the clock and alert, y’hear?” Director Singer informed all of us. We’d gotten word from our contacts undercover in crime rings that the syndicate dubbed ‘Hell’ was going to make their move on the British consulate. Tonight, at a meeting in the British Embassy. It was Agent Lafitte, Agent Garrison (who had been taken off suspension) and S. Winchester’s job to secure the perimeter.

As for Dean and I, we’d been assigned a full sweep of the building with some MI6 agents on the case to protect the British consulate: Agent Mick Davies and Agent Arthur Ketch. Neither you nor Dean looked forward to be meeting with the Brits, but hey, it was your job.

“You two,” Director Singer gestured between the two of you, “everything needs to go smoothly with these MI6 agents. I don’t want any reports to come back from their supervisor. Winchester, I’m lookin’ at you.” He pointedly stared at Dean, who returned the glare with a deceivingly innocent expression. “They’ll meet you in T minus five minutes.”

Beat.

“What’s everyone waiting for? Go, go, go!”

Everyone split off, and you and Dean were left alone, and he shot you a sideways smile. “So… Sam knows.”

“Yep.” You nodded, sighing. “Andréa knows as well.”

“Damn.” Dean whistled lowly, folding his arms and giving you a sideways look. At least it wasn’t the usual searing looks that had your mind going places. It was more muted, probably from the previous day’s intense release(s) of the day before.

You didn’t know whether to call it a mistake or the best damn night of your life. You had to admit, relinquishing control, letting Dean put you under him and hearing him talk dirty with that deep voice into your ear was heaven and hell on earth. But when he rolled you over and set you above him, you felt almost powerful.

So you didn’t know what to think. All you knew is that you and Dean Winchester in the same room was a recipe for disaster. Because it always ended in hardcore sex.

Or even hardcore making out. Anything with the term hardcore would do.

“You the FBI associates?” Two men walked up to the two of you. One short, and frankly dressed in the least stylish suit you’d seen. He gave you the impression of an extremely off brand Patrick Dempsey. He put his hand out to Dean with a polite smile, eyes scanning the both of you. “Mick Davies, MI6.”

“Dean Winchester, FBI.” Dean replied, shaking Mick’s hand, and with the small flinch in Mick’s expression, Dean had pulled out the ‘hell of a grip’ move due to the inflation in testosterone.

Davies’ associate, however, was taller, and he looked like he permanently had a bad smell under his nose. That is, until he saw you. That was when he put on a rather ‘pretentious dick’ smile and extended his hand to you. “Arthur Ketch.” His eyes had a glint in them that you didn’t trust. “MI6.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said curtly, then cleared your throat. “Our work is to protect the Consulate. Our agents are securing a perimeter as we speak. We need airtight security, and airtight security detail. That means no distractions, and all eyes on any suspicious figures in the room.”

Dean had a feeling the ‘no distractions’ bit was very aimed at him. Knowing you, it probably was.

“We have it covered, darling.” Ketch flashed you what he thought must have been a charming smile but instead looked constipated. “You hang tight.”

“I’m not ‘hanging tight’.” You responded with a hint of frost to your words. Who were you kidding? That frost was as strong as a tequila shot. “I’m doing my job. Do yours as well.” You walked off, adjusting the straps of your FBI vest, going to Director Singer to check if the perimeter was secure.

One thing. Can one thing in your life go right?

“Harvelle, what do you mean by ‘the files are scattered’?” You hissed into your phone, trying to watch the room but also dealing with a problem back at the office.

‘That’s the literal term.’ Jo almost winced as she seemed to be collecting all the files. ‘Somebody broke into the office and searched through.’

“Ok.” You took a breath so you wouldn’t spontaneously combust and fantasise about Dean taking care of you again. “Right. Here’s what you need to do. Sort the files, get Tran to help, and run all the collected files and its contents through our database. If anyone’s taken anything, we know it’s a class one priority. You report to me, tell me what’s missing. Any evidence that’s been tampered with, report to me. Got it?”

‘Yeah.’

“Now, I have a Consulate to watch. Bye.”

‘Bye.’ Harvelle squeaked, and cut the call. You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Nope. Nothing could go right.

Dean walked through the halls, radio up to his mouth as he gave orders and updates on the situation. He passed a large group of people, and as he did, a very discreet movement with made. Using a sharpened pocketknife, with one clean flick of the knife, they cut the side of Dean’s bulletproof vest. If, by chance, he made one wrong move, he was exposed.

While Consulate Sutherland of Britain was shaking hands with the mayor of Washington, Vince Gray, you were approached by a lady asking for the bathroom. She seemed innocent enough, then you saw it. White suit, slicked back salt and pepper hair, raising a pistol.

Asmodeus.

The lady was a distraction.

You quickly cuffed her and handed her over to Agent Lafitte, running, but you didn’t think you’d get there fast enough. “GET DOWN!”

Dean saw your sprinting, and he got there before you, diving to tackle the Consulate and mayor down, but his cut vest ripped, and the bullet that was fired with a deafening bang struck him in the side.

Your steps faltered for a moment, especially as you saw the supposed ‘distraction’ raise a small-duty detonator. You snapped the fastenings on the metal table, flipping it. You heard her make the cry “For Azazel!” before a much smaller blast than the one at the President’s speech ripped through the building, pushing you back and replacing all sense of sound with high, white noise in your ear.

It was deafening, blocking out all sound, but your eyes were in full working order. Asmodeus raised his gun again, and that prompted you to quickly flip the table in front of you just as the bullets flew, making dents in the metal from your side. Reaching for your handgun, you cocked it and flipped the safety, Dean saying something that you couldn’t make out through the ringing in your ears, instead popping up from behind the table to fire a shot before ducking back down.

“Sweetheart.” You could make out from under the ringing, alone with Dean’s hand clutching his side, compressing the blood flow.

You couldn’t hear a thing, looking blank even as you kept shooting at irregular intervals, only able to remain up for a short amount of time which sent your aim off kilter a bit. Didn’t help that Asmodeus was surprisingly agile for a man that seemed to be older.

You fired a quick and precise shot, having regained your bearings a bit, hitting the gun from a diagonal and sending it skidding, which forced Asmodeus to run. You could have run after him. However, as you’d recovered, you nodded to Dean. “Yeah?”

“The mole.” Dean panted, holding his hand to his side. “Probably compromised our position. You need to go get ‘em, sweetheart.” He grunted, unable to move much. You were torn between staying and leaving, but he chuckled. “I can see the cogs. Go. Now.”

Your job’s duty was right there, with the rapidly retreating figure of Asmodeus. But it was also with protecting your colleague, so you took off your jacket, gesturing for Sam to move in on Asmodeus and begin chase, while Benny, Cas, Meg and Ruby headed to secure a tighter perimeter.

Rolling up your sleeves, you took a look at Dean, gently removing his hands and checking for his signs of consciousness. “You’re gonna have to keep talking, ok?” You paused, and then chuckled. “As if you had any trouble with that before.”

The comment got a laugh and a shake of Dean’s head, huffing. “Smartass.” He coughed slightly. “I’ll fuck that attitude out of you when m’healed up.”

“Trust me, counting on it.” You grinned. Even if you weren’t sure if that would happen again. You pressed your hand firmly over the wound, quickly calling for medical backup and checking it over. “No major arteries. But this needs to be checked out, Dean. I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.” Dean insisted, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re better kickin’ ass instead of checkin’ on me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Double sure?”

“Double yes.”

“Dean.”

“I’m not hearing this.” He lightly shoved your shoulder. “Go on, get.”

“Classy.” You sighed, replacing the clip of your gun and cocking the barrel. But you conceded, sighing. “Fine. Fine. I’m going.”

“Good girl.” Dean murmured, cradling your jaw. “Give ‘em hell, darlin’.” You nodded, then ran after Asmodeus, leaving Dean alone as he saw paramedics pull up outside.

“Son of a bitch.” He grunted, looking at the scarlet on his fingers.

In the meantime, you sprinted down where you thought Asmodeus went, but found nothing. Nothing except a dragged trail of red, which you followed.

The streaks of red on the stone floor ended at feet. Which were obviously connected to legs and then hips and a torso and a... neck. Oh, God.

The guy you'd found was deader than dead. His throat was slit deep and almost surgically, blood dripping steadily into a puddle on the ground.

And over the cleverly painted mural, above the poor dead civilian, were words painted in blood. Hasty and hurried words.

I WARNED YOU.

NEXT UP:

"My baby." Your mom whispered, sitting beside you in your hospital bed, smoothing back your hair. "God, look at you."

You rolled your eyes, prepared for the worst. After all, nothing more or less could be expected of your traditional mother other than and personal comments to your appearance.

"Spit it out." You groaned. "I look like hell." You felt like you'd combust. You'd do it. Fragile chine be damned.

Like, comment or reblog! I’d love to hear your feedback. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

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To be added to any character’s taglist of mine , find my form on my master list.

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #dean winchester x you #dean smut #dean winchester smut #dean x you #fbi!dean winchester x reader #fbi!dean au #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles #arty writes #amoralism #authoritarianism

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chanaleah · 3 months ago

Note

Interesting that you stand with one small country being bulldozed over by a larger country with significantly higher firearms for the sakes of expansion, while you call the other one that's currently being ethnically cleansed by an invading force that's backed by the US military as inherently evil. Odd. I wonder what makes you think those two small countries are different? Is it racism? Probably.

huh. odd. it seems you've never read a single thing that i've written on this blog.

I assume you're referring in this post to Ukraine and Palestine/Gaza. Maybe Syria? Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe be more specific.

Anyways, if you're referring to Ukraine, let's first correct one thing. Ukraine is not a small country. Ukraine is actually quite a large country. However, it appears small next to Russia, which is a really really really large country due to centuries of colonialist expansion.

For reference:

And secondly, you seem to miss one crucial fact.

The Israel-Hamas war was started by Hamas, not Israel. The war in Ukraine was started by Russia, not Ukraine.

Israel is fighting Hamas, not Gazan civilians. Unfortunately, Hamas' strategies of placing their bases under hospitals and schools and using aid vans as transport, as well as the fact that Hamas has stolen aid in the past and during this war (a fact even the PA has corroborated) have left Gazan civilians in a desperate state.

Considering that Israel did not start this war, but rather Hamas did by invading Israel's sovereign territory, burning kibbutzim, raping and murdering civilians, and taking over 200 people hostage including a baby, it is inaccurate to call Israel an "invading force".

Furthermore, it is clear that Russia's war in Ukraine is backed by expansion, as you mentioned. Russia and its predecessors -- the Russian Empire and the USSR -- have tried to heavily suppress Ukrainian language and culture and to this day Russia either denies that Ukrainians are an ethnic group separate from Russians or claims that Ukrainians are an inferior race.

However, Israel has offered peace time and time again, including completely pulling out of Gaza in 2005.

Additionally, I have never stated that I see Gazans as inherently evil. Like any other group of people, there are some that are evil and many that are not.

Maybe next time before sending a bad-faith ask like this you should do some research.

#jewish #chana talks #jumblr #judaism #anon hate #am yisrael chai #israel #asks #antisemitism

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thewritingrowlet · 9 months ago

Text

The Guardian Angel, ft. ICHILLIN' Joonie

tags: cum-in-mouth, deepthroat, quickie, creampie (both type), anal, rough, daddy kink

word count: 8k+

warning: mention of firearms and depiction of use of firearms; reader discretion is advised.

author's note: I saw this picture of Joonie holding a toy gun and said "fuck it", so here we are. I wanted to get this fic out ASAP so that I could start working on The Outing Trip 3 and the ideas that are currently sitting in my inbox. Joonie is referred to as Junhee in this fic, btw.

“Excuse me, Mr. Director”, Mr. Kang, your chauffeur, calls out to you, waking you up from your peaceful nap, “we have arrived, sir”. “Hngh? We have?”, you say, rubbing your eyes to speed up the process, “can I ask what time this is?”. Mr. Kang looks at his watch, “it is 8:09 pm, sir”. You look outside the window of the car and see that it is dark out there. “Any news about the Guardian Angel, Mr. Kang?”, you ask. “The Angel is in position, sir. I was asked by the Angel to tell you to mind where you stand and not break line of sight—I’d also like to remind you that I’m keeping an eye on you as well, Mr. Director”, Mr. Kang explains as he shows you the gun on his hip. “Thank you, Mr. Kang. Be safe, okay? We can’t afford to lose you. I’ll see you in less than an hour”, you say to him before putting on an earpiece and getting out of the car.

“In case you forgot how you’ve ended up in this situation, let’s do a quick recap”, your brain says before starting. “You, Han Jinwoo, are the founder and director of a handful of companies, one of them being a nickel mining company that mainly operates in a developing country that is known for its messy politics. Over the past few years, you’ve been receiving extreme threats and defamations from people all over the world, including your own countrymen, for, and I quote: ‘destroying both the environment and the people of the country by ways of exploitation for capitalistic greed'. Those threats have led you to getting armored cars and extra security to keep an eye on you in public”. “Thank you for reminding me, brain; that was super helpful”, you say to yourself.

So here you are, standing in front of an empty lot that you’ve bought for an ungodly amount of money. You’re planning to build a new office building so that you can house 2 of your smaller companies here because the rent on the current building is getting ridiculous, and you’re here to meet some architects and engineers to talk about the construction.

Before you get closer to the construction site, you want to make sure that the Angel has eyes on you. You turn around and scan the buildings across the street, hoping that you’ll see the Angel. “Looking for me, director?”, you hear the Guardian Angel say in a calm but serious tone from your earpiece, “you don’t have a sniper scope like I do; you’re not seeing shit, love”. You bring your wrist closer to your mouth and speak softly into the mic, “don’t let me die, okay? I love you”. You don’t hear a reply, but you see flashing lights that spell out “ILY” in morse code. That’s your Guardian Angel, Park Junhee, a spec-ops-turned-private-military who also happens to be your beloved fiancé.

You turn towards the construction site and see some people with hard hats talking among themselves while seemingly waiting for you. “Good evening, ladies and gents. I apologize for being late”, you greet them. “Not at all, Mr. Director. I’d say you’re perfectly on time”, Mrs. Hwang, an architect, says as she shakes your hand. “Can I have a recap of our progress, Mrs. Hwang?”, you ask her. She shows you the site plan and some blueprints and explain to you that they’re planning to build the first 4 floors as soon as the materials arrive and aiming to finish it in 40 days. “Sir, I regret to inform you that the steel beams have been in transport longer than they should’ve been, thus slowing down the progress”, she says, “we have also been seeing protestors gathering here and harassing workers, sir. If I may, Mr. Director, I suggest having security here”. She is correct; while you may not have the cleanest hands and be the kindest businessman around, you certainly don’t want the innocent workers to be harassed or potentially be put in danger. “I’ll contact Nighthaven and see if they can help. Thank you, Mrs. Hwang—anyone else?”, you say.

An engineer asks for your attention, so you turn to him and listen to him. You’re deep into his speech when you hear Junhee warn you, “sir, there’s a man holding a knife running towards your position. Permission to engage, sir.”. “Don’t kill him!”, you yell out, and the people around you look at you in confusion. “Engaging”, Junhee calmly says, and you immediately hear a scream of pain from behind. You and everyone else walk towards the source of the scream and see that there’s a man lying on the ground with a butcher’s knife next to him. To your surprise, the man pulls out a gun and aims it at you, but instead of dying, you hear the man scream again; Junhee has shot him in the arm, forcing him to drop his gun. “Nonlethal, sir, as you asked. Wrap this up quick, please”, Junhee says, and you can hear the worry in her voice.

“I can’t risk losing you, ladies and gents. We’ll meet again at my office tomorrow morning, okay? Scatter, please, and be safe”, you tell Mrs. Hwang and company. Mr. Kang jumps out of the car and opens the door for you, “Mr. Director, get in, please”. “Mr. Kang, call an ambulance and make sure the man gets help, okay?”, you say as you get in the car. Mr. Kang calls his contact as he’s driving to make sure the man can be attended to with no questions asked. “We’re done, Angel—see you at home”, you say to Junhee over the mic. “Yes, sir”, she says.

“I’m home”, you say as you open the door and enter the house. You see that Junhee is pacing back and forth nervously while waiting for you. “There you are”, she says, “are you okay, love?”. “Yes, I am. Thank you for covering me, baby; I would’ve died otherwise”, you tell her before coming in for a hug. “You’re much more than a client to me, love”, she says, her voice shaking from the emotions. “I know, baby. I’m still alive because of you, you know that right?”, you say. Junhee was a spec ops personnel and all that, but considering that you’re her fiancé, she feels way more attached to you. “Please don’t die, love. I don’t know what I would do without you”, she says as her eyes turn to a waterfall. “I’m here for you and will continue to be, love. You’re there for me as well, aren’t you, my Guardian Angel?”, you say. “Why did you ask for non-lethal, though? I-I had perfect line of sight, love”, she asks. “We’ve caught enough flaks, baby; we don’t need more”, you say, pressing your lips on her head. “But you could’ve died!”, she screams, “please don’t die, I’m begging you”.

You let Junhee cry to her heart’s content in your arms for a few minutes while offering words of comfort and assuring her that you’re fine. Junhee breaks the hug and tells you to take off your clothes; “I need to make sure you’re not hurt—not even a scratch”, she says. You do as she says and start by taking off your shirt and trousers, revealing the bulletproof vest underneath; “thank you for listening to me and wearing a vest”, she comments with a smile, “continue, please—wait, actually”. She cuts herself off and runs towards the bedroom, leaving you with only a bulletproof vest and boxers on.

She walks out of the bedroom while singing Happy Birthday and holding a cake, and only now do you remember that it is your birthday. “Did you actually forget that today is your birthday, love?”, she asks. “Time flies, love. I was so occupied with work”, you admit. Junhee tells you to make a wish, so you close your eyes and pray for your and Junhee’s safety and prosperity before blowing the candles. “Hurray, happy birthday, love!”, she excitedly says. “Are we eating that, or?”, you ask. “Later”, she says, putting the cake on the dining table. Junhee begins taking off her Agent 47-esque attire and vest and throwing them to the side before approaching you and helping you take off yours.

She pulls you towards the sofa and tells you to sit down, “I want to suck your cock”. Junhee likes sucking your cock to celebrate both your and her birthdays, so this is nothing new or odd to you. Junhee pulls down your boxers and immediately take you in her mouth. “Oh, so good, baby”, you moan, “always so good to me”. Junhee gives you a wink and go down on your cock until her nose touches your pelvis, making her gag slightly in the process. You throw your head back and pet Junhee’s head as you bask in the sensation of her wet mouth and the sounds she’s making.

You feel your cock twitch in her mouth, and you know Junhee feels it too, proven by how she bobs her head faster on your shaft. “Ah, I’m about to cum, love”, you announce to her. Junhee moves up and leave only your tip in her mouth, ready to accept your cum. With a groan, you finally blow your load and flood her mouth with it. Junhee yelps a little bit when your cum hits her throat when she wasn’t ready, but keeps her lips tight around your cock. She closes her lips after pulling away from your cock before swallowing your cum. “Tasty as usual. Thank you, love”. You shake your head weakly, “no, thank you, love”.

Junhee helps you put your boxers on again before sitting next to you on the sofa. “Love, I want to buy firearms tomorrow”, she says. “Plural, baby?”, you ask her. “I want to sell my handgun, get a new handgun and rifle, and buy some ammo for them”, she explains, “you want to come along? We can practice shooting after”. You rub your chin and think about tomorrow’s agenda, “I have a meeting with the people from earlier so you’ll need to be with me first and then I’ll come with you—can I come with you, though? I’d hate to find out that the gun shop people hate me while I’m there with you”. Junhee laughs at you, “so what? C’mon, love, come with me, please”.

“Good morning, everyone. I apologize for ending the meeting abruptly last night”, you say as you enter the meeting room and see that everyone has come to the meeting, “is everyone okay, by the way?”. Mrs. Hwang answers for the group, “we’re okay, director. With respect, it was you that he wanted, not us”. “That is correct, Mrs. Hwang. Let’s start now, okay?”, you say as you press the button to roll down the blinds. Obviously, they notice Junhee’s presence in the room as she sticks out like sore pretty thumb, but no one dares ask you about her and jump straight to the conversation.

Since you have let the architects come up with the design, the engineers have little trouble following it since nothing is out of the ordinary or defying the laws of physics. Instead, they offer you ways to shave off some expense by “making the construction process less redundant”. You have no idea what this man is talking about, but since he assures you that it won’t compromise with the building’s quality and strength, you decide to agree. “We have received news saying that the steel beams I mentioned last night will arrive in 2 days, director”, Mrs. Hwang says. “Understood, Mrs. Hwang; please make sure we can continue the construction soon”, you say to her with a nod.

The meeting ends after about 40-something minutes, and everyone leaves together as a group, filing one by one out the door. Junhee drops the cold front and approaches you for a kiss. She takes your hands and put them on her tits, encouraging you to play with them. “Your tits are so soft, baby. Are you sure you’re wearing a bra?”, you comment as you juggle and squeeze them. “I’m wearing your favorite sports bra but no vests”, she says, “love, I’m wet; touch me, please”. You press a button to lock the doors and take off your trousers and boxers, “come to me, baby”.

Junhee pulls her trousers and panties down to give your cock access to her pussy. She jumps into your lap and immediately impale herself on your erect cock, letting out a soft moan in the process. “You-you’re filling me up so well, love—ah, hngh”, she says with heavy breaths. You want to cum so bad, so you thrust up and meet her in the middle, “Fuck, I want to cum for you, baby”. Junhee’s heart is palpitating like crazy, “ah-ah-ah—yes-yes, cum for your fiancé, love—ah, fuck—I’m so close, love”.

You keep thrusting up while Junhee keeps going down as the both of you are chasing your own orgasms. “Love, love—oh, please”, Junhee calls out to you, “I’M CUMMING!”. The way her pussy is squeezing your cock forces you to blow at the same time, and nothing beats the feeling of cumming together with your fiancé. Junhee leans forward for a hug, and the two of you stay silent while catching your breaths. “The—hah, God—the cum will drip down if you stand up”, you say to her. Junhee tells you to lay her on the table and get ready to scoop up the leak. Thankfully the leak isn’t too crazy, and she licks it off your hand. “That’s one pew-pew down, wanna move on to the next?”, you ask her. “Ye-yeah, help me put on my pants, please”.

Mr. Kang drops you off in front of the gun shop, and Junhee leads you into it. “Good afternoon!”, Junhee says to the staffs. “Good afternoon to you as well, Miss Park. Can I help you?”, a female staff says. “Yeah, I’m looking to trade this in for a G43X MOS”, she pulls out her handgun and unloads it before putting it on the counter. The staff picks it up and inspects it, “G19, hey? Anything else?”. “No, that’s it—oh, some 9mm ammo, please”, she says. The staff then leaves you two alone and do whatever he needs to for the trade-in. “I thought you were buying a rifle?”, you ask. Junhee shakes her head, “on second thought, I don’t think I need a new one now. The one we have now still works well—you saw it last night”. You have little clue about firearms, but Junhee knows her stuff, so you trust her judgment on the matter.

The staff comes back outside and invites you two to the range to test her new handgun. The staff hands each of you some headset and safety glasses and asks you to put them on. Junhee then hands the gun to you and asks you to load it yourself, “do not put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot—you don’t want to kill us, do you?”. You shake your head and take the gun from her hands. “Aim at that target, love”, she says. You’ve shot a gun before (under Junhee’s supervision, obviously), so you know how to unlock the safety switch and get ready to shoot. “I’m ready”, you say to her. “I know they’ve fired this gun multiple times during production to test it, but technically it’s a virgin; take her cherry like you did mine, love”, she says as she steps away from you.

You steady your aim and start firing one bullet at a time until you’ve shot all 10 of them. “Not bad”, Junhee comments, “you missed one, love—that might hit a bystander, you know?”. You apologize for missing, but she rejects it, “you can apologize by getting better, okay? You need to be able to handle a gun well in case I’m not there to protect you. Come, let’s get out of here”.

Junhee leads you to the front and pays for her new pistol and a box of 9mm ammo. “Sorry for being pushy, but is he your client, Miss Park?”, the staff asks. Junhee looks at you and chuckles, “yeah, something like that. Alright, we’re leaving. See you soon!”. You open and hold the door for your fiancé, earning a cute smile from her; “who would’ve thought a girl this cute was spec ops? Looks can really fool you, huh?”, you think to yourself.

“Love, can we go home, or do you need to go back to the office?”, she asks. “We can go home, yeah. We need to talk”, you say, keeping things vague for Junhee. “Oh, um, okay, love”, she says nervously. She tries asking you what you want to talk about, but you wave her off and tell her that she’ll know soon enough. “Excuse me, sir”, Mr. Kang says, “the news of Miss Park’s work last night has broken out. Personally, I would like to commend her for not killing him”. “It was my fiancé’s wish to shoot him in the leg, Mr. Kang; I was just following orders”, Junhee says. “That is good thinking, sir; the public might dislike you, but not killing him will make you look not as bad”, Mr. Kang says. “What do you think if I pay for his medical expenses?”, you ask your fiancé. “Yeah, I guess we can do that. I’ll call someone and have them take care of it”, she says.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about? I’m not in trouble, am I? Please say no, oppa”, Junhee asks as you enter the bedroom with her. Junhee stopped calling you oppa after you two got engaged and nowadays she usually calls you that when she wants something. You laugh at her as you hold her hands, “no, you’re not in trouble, baby; I just wanted to say that I’ve booked a restaurant this weekend for our anniversary”. Junhee falls forward limply into your arms, “aaaah, you scared meeeee—I thought you were going to scold me or something, aaaaah”. “Ahaha no, of course not. Can I ask you to wear a dress, though?”, you say to her. Junhee huffs: she doesn’t like wearing a dress because she can’t keep her gun on her hip, “ugh, fine—please keep in mind that I’m only doing it for you”. You put on a confused face, “if not for me, then who are you dressing up for?”. “Nobody, oppa, I promise”, she says in a low voice, “if it was up to me, I’d not wear anything when I’m with you and just let you do whatever to me”. “One day, baby, okay?”, you peck her forehead.

“Baby, aren’t you hungry? Want to ask the cook to make you something?”, you ask your fiancé. “I’m hungry for your cum”, she says with a naughty smirk, “but honestly, I am. Can we have fettucine, love?”. You ask her to sit on the bed while you call the cook, “good evening, Miss Ahn. Can we have two fettucine alfredo, please?”. You hang up the phone after getting an answer, “she’s making us some right now. Do you want to do anything while we wait?”. Junhee moves to the center of the bed and rests her head on a pillow, “cuddle, please”.

You join her in bed and Junhee rests her head on your shoulder, the rest of her body hugging you from the side. “I love you”, she says. “I love you too, baby”, you answer. “No, no, you must’ve not heard me; I love you”, she repeats with a pout. “I love you more, baby”, you correct yourself. “There you go—wasn’t so hard, was it?”, she pecks you on the cheek after. You hear Junhee yawn, so you pat her on the back softly and encourage her to get a quick shuteye. She’s private military and all that, but deep inside, she’s just a girl who wants to love and be loved—Junhee doesn’t like being referred to as a girl, by the way; “you turned me into a proper woman, oppa—your woman”, she said after her first time.

The buzz from your phone shakes you awake, so you reach over to the bedside table and see the text from Miss Ahn saying that the food is ready. “Junhee, my baby, the food is ready, love”, you poke her in the cheek repeatedly to wake her up. “Hng, carry me, love”, she whines cutely. You carry her on your back and head towards the dining room.

Miss Ahn is waiting for you at the table when you arrive and welcomes you to dinner. “Your dinner is ready, sir and madam”, she says. “Wow, thank you, Miss Ahn. You’re the best!”, Junhee praises Miss Ahn with two thumbs-up and a gleeful smile. Miss Ahn then excuses herself to go home, since it’s almost the end of her working hours.

“Thanks for the meal!”, Junhee exclaims as she picks up some fettucine noodles with a fork and puts it in her mouth, “oh my, delicious as always”. “Apologies, sir”, Miss Ahn returns to the dining room, “your parents sent you a bottle of wine this morning, would you like some as company?”. You see that Junhee also wants some, so you agree to Miss Ahn’s offer and she disappears once again to get the wine and some glasses. “Oooh, a Chateau Margaux”, you say as she brings the bottle to the table. Miss Ahn pours some wine into each of the empty glasses and fills them halfway. “Is that expensive, love?”, Junhee asks. “Yeah, I think so; my mom is a bit of a wine connoisseur, so I’d like to guess that it is”, you tell her. Junhee takes a sip and smacks her lips after, “that’s really good, love”.

You send Miss Ahn away so that she can go home before digging into your fettucine and wine. “This is really good, wow”, you comment. You look at Junhee as you’re chewing and see that she has finished her fettucine. She leans back in her chair and lets out a tiny burp, “oh, sorry, love. It was too fucking good”. “Which one tastes better: the fettucine or my cum?”, you tease her. Junhee’s cheeks are red thanks to you, and she can’t come up with an answer; “you’re not comparing an apple to another apple, though, love; you’re comparing an apple to a banana”, she argues. You shake your head and laugh, “sure, baby, whatever you say”.

“It’s Saturday, isn’t it?”, you think to yourself as you’re waking up in the morning. You look around in the dark and see that Junhee is still in dreamland in your arms. You move her arms and legs softly and set them on the bed so that you can get off and stretch your body.

After stretching, you decide to check out Junhee’s gun shelf in the bedroom. You open the shelf and see an unloaded rifle with a suppressor attached to the end of its barrel and two pistols, presumably Glocks, since Junhee likes them so much. When you look down, you see a bunch of magazines lined up tidily and a few boxes of ammunition. You pick up the rifle and rotate it around to inspect it; “feels like a very solid rifle—what is this big ass scope, though?”, you think to yourself. “Looking for something, love?”, Junhee comments as she wakes up. You put the rifle back in its place, “sorry, baby; I was just curious”. “I’m glad that you’re not scared of them”, she comments, “it’s helpful to not be scared of guns, especially when they’re used to protect you”. You turn your attention back to the shelf, “did you modify these things, baby?”.

Junhee gets off the bed and stands next to you. She grabs the rifle from the rack and shows you what part she’s swapped out, such as trigger, charging handle, and bolt carrier group; “obviously you can see the scope and suppressor”, she says. You can hear the enthusiasm in her voice whenever she’s talking about firearms, and you want to keep going for now. “Can you tell me about the pistols? Are these the MOS thingy?”, you ask. “The right one is, but this one isn’t”, she says as she picks up one of them, “this is a Glock G45 with an Omega 9K suppressor and extended mag—Nighthaven gave me this gun as a parting gift”. Junhee puts it back after inspecting it and closes the shelf, “that’s enough gun talk for today, love. Let’s do something else”. “Such as?”, you ask. “Such as giving me your cum before breakfast”, she bites her lip naughtily.

She asks you to sit on the edge of the bed while getting down on both knees in front of you. You pull your boxers down to help her get what she wants, and she strokes your cock immediately; “do you never get tired of having sex, baby?”, you ask. “How can I get tired of sex when my fiancé has such a perfect cock? Not to mention that you were my first and my only”, she says. You keep your eyes on her as she does your favorite thing: tying her hair into a ponytail, even going as far as bending backwards slightly to show off her tits. “God, you look so hot every time you do that”, you comment.

Junhee unbuttons her pajama top and throws it to the side, her tits now free from their restraints. “Love, I know I’ve asked you this before, but what do you think about my tits?”, she says as she holds them with both hands. “If it was up to me, love, I’d carry you in my arms and just suck your tits all day everyday while my cock is deep in your pussy”, you lick your lips at the thought, “would you let me do that?”. Junhee reaches down and starts touching herself, “oppa, I need you so bad—ah, oh—please, oppa”. You pull Junhee onto your lap, your cock pressing against her stomach while your hands are busy fiddling her nipples, “what’s the password, baby?”. “Ah, nghh—please, daddy”, she says with a moan.

You wanted her to say “love”, but “daddy” works just as well if not better. You lift Junhee up by her thighs and impale her pussy with your cock, earning a loud moan from her. “Daddy—ah, fuck, hng—daddy, I love you—ahhh—I love you so much”, Junhee says between noisy moans. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight”, you praise her as you grit your teeth, “wanna cum for your daddy?”. “Yes, yes, I—AH, FUCK”, Junhee cums as soon as she lets out a scream, and you’re trying your hardest to not bust despite the tight squeeze.

You pull out and ask Junhee to lie on her stomach on the edge of the bed, and unsurprisingly, she obeys right away. You hold your cock and push forward until you feel the warmth of her pussy again—Junhee’s moan is even louder this time, “God, how are you even tighter, baby?”. Junhee screams very loudly at the first contact, seemingly in pain, “tha-that’s my ass, daddy; you-you’re in my ass”. You rub your eyes in disbelief and take a closer look: you are indeed in her ass; “but how did I get in your ass so easily?”, you ask. “I-I’ve been training it, love”, she admits, “I-I wanted to give you my last cherry—ahng, so big, fuck”.

You pull out to process her words, “do you want to say it again?”. Junhee stands up and hugs you, falling limp in your arms like she usually does; “I-I wanted to give you my last cherry, love. That way I’ll be yours entirely”, she says in a weak voice. “But it hurts, no? I don’t want to hurt you, baby”, you say to her. “It did hurt, but it’s only right that I give you my anal cherry”, she says, “please, let me be selfish this one time”. You ask her once again and you’re met with her unwavering determination, so you decide to play along.

Junhee returns to her previous position on the edge of the bed and spreads her cheeks for you, “please, daddy, grant me my wish; I want to be yours enti—FUCK, GENTLY, DADDY”. Your cock is halfway in her ass when she screams it out, “God, baby, you’re so tight”. “Ah-ah-ah—I’m yours, daddy. I’m yours—oh, fuck”, she chants as you fuck her ass at a slow tempo. Once you feel like her rear muscles has relaxed and is stretched enough to accommodate your girth somewhat comfortably, you start fucking her faster. Junhee screams as she feels the increased pace, “YES, YES, I’M YOURS, DADDY”. Her loud chants rile you up even more, and you quietly wish that a household assistant doesn’t happen to be outside the bedroom right now.

The tightness of her ass is different than her pussy’s, and you feel like it’s trying to milk your cum out of your cock. “Baby, I’m about to bust”, you announce to her with a groan. “FUCK, YES, GIVE IT TO ME—GIVE IT TO ME IN THE ASS”, she yells, straining her voice cord—you hope that she won’t lose her voice after this and promise yourself that you’ll give her some water. “AH, FUCK”, you scream out as you release your load in her ass for the first time ever, and you feel splashes on your thighs—Junhee is squirting from anal sex, isn’t that crazy?

You try to pull out, but Junhee tells you to stay inside. “It’s so hot, daddy”, she says, “now I belong to you entirely”. You bend forward and peck her on the nape, “thank you, baby. It was an honor to be your first. I love you, darling”. Junhee then asks you to pull out, citing the pain from the stretch, so you do as she asks and inspect the result of your work. Your cum is dripping out of her gaped asshole that is trying its hardest to return to its original shape. You keep an eye on it until it closes perfectly, and pecks Junhee in the ass, making her gasp in surprise. “Did you like it, daddy?”, she asks. You pull her into a hug before answering, “yes, baby, I liked it a lot. Thank you so much”. “I’m yours now, daddy—like, yours yours, you know?”, Junhee says before pecking you in the cheek. “I know you mean well, but you’re not my property, love”, you say with a smile, “I love you, baby”. “But you get what I mean, right? I’ll do whatever for you, daddy”, she says. You chuckle at her words, “can you eat well and stay healthy for me, love?”. “Aaaaah, you’re not cooperating with meeeeee”, she whines, “you’re so lucky I love you”. You hold her head with both hands, “I know, baby; I’m grateful for you every single day”. Your sweet words make Junhee blush, “I-I’m grateful for you as well, love. I can’t thank you enough for the love you’re showering me with”.

It is now 2 hours before you need to leave for dinner. You’ve been busy looking for clothes in the walk-in closet, even going as far as asking Mr. Kang for ideas; “I suggest a white shirt, a three-piece suit in navy-blue, and an orange striped tie, sir”, he said over the phone earlier; his love for those colors is second to none. “I’ll go along with your idea today, Mr. Kang”, you say to yourself. You fetch an orange tie from the shelf and a navy-blue three-piece suit that is tidily kept in cover bag. After putting them on, you grab a box of shoes and head towards the bedroom to check on Junhee.

“Baby”, you knock on the bedroom door, “have you chosen a dress yet?”. Junhee opens the door and walks out, and your jaw drops to the floor right away; she has put on a very fancy white dress and has a matching handbag in her hands. “Dear Lord, you’re so beautiful”, you comment as your eyes roam all over her body from head to toe. “You remember this dress, don’t you?”, she asks—how can you not remember? You gave her that dress as a gift after establishing the first mine under OreQuest Co. last year. You take her hand and peck it, “I can’t wait to get married to you, baby. I love you so much”. “I can’t wait to get married to you, love. I love you more”, she says with a lovely smile, copying your line.

Mr. Kang greets you as you and Junhee walk towards the row of cars, “looking sharp, sir and madam—I see that you’ve agreed to my suggestion, sir”. You shake his hand in appreciation, “I trust your sense of fashion, Mr. Kang. I must say it’s very on-point”. Mr. Kang accepts your thanks with a smile, “may I know which car we’re taking, sir?”. You look around your collection of expensive cars, “can we take the Ghost? That’s armored too, right?”. “It is, sir, just not as thick as the Cadillac”, he says, “please, have a seat”. You open a door for Junhee before getting in yourself, followed by Mr. Kang. “The Sapphire, please, Mr. Kang”, you say to him. Mr. Kang turns on the car and starts driving out of the garage, “certainly, sir”.

During the ride, Junhee pulls out her trusty G45 from her handbag and puts it in the compartment in the center of the seat, “I’ll be unarmed tonight, Mr. Kang; we’re relying on you”. “Understood, madam. Speaking of which, I have an AR-15 in this bag next to me as well”, he says. “Is that a 16-inch, Mr. Kang?”, Junhee asks as she takes a peek. “11-and-a-half, madam; I recently came up with a new build and have been training with it”, Mr. Kang explains. Mr. Kang used to be Junhee’s subordinate during her Nighthaven days, and she was the one who convinced you to hire him as a chauffeur. “You’ve always been the creative one, Mr. Kang—I’ll need a list of the parts you used for it, by the way”, she praises him.

Mr. Kang drops you off in front of The Sapphire and opens the door for you with a press of a button. “Director Han”, a staff greets you at the door with a polite bow, “your reservation is ready, sir. Kindly follow me, please”. You hold Junhee’s hand as you follow the staff to your table, secluded from the rest of the visitors. You pull out some money from Junhee’s handbag (since you don’t carry much cash) and hand it to him, “thank you for your help”. “Thank you for the visit, director. Your appetizers will come out soon. Have a good night, sir and madam”, the staff bows again and walks away with a smile. “How did he know that you’re a director, love?”, Junhee asks. You chuckle at her question, “I mean, almost everyone does, whether they hate me or not. Not to mention that The Sapphire’s owners have been good friends with my parents since I was a kid”.

A waiter sets some plates with fancy food on your table while another pours some wine into the glasses. “How long is this dinner, by the way, love?”, Junhee asks as she eyes the food. “9 courses, I think”, you answer her and turn to the waiters and one of them gives you a nod, “yes, 9 courses. Thank you very much, we will be enjoying this”. You lift a glass of wine for a toast, “to us, baby, until the end of time”. Junhee lifts her glass and clinks it with yours, “to us, love, until the end of time”.

“Here’s your final course, sir and madam”, the waiter says. “Ah, the last one already?”, you comment, “where has time gone, baby?”. Junhee smiles at you oh-so-warmly, “time flies like a fighter jet when you spend it by talking and laughing with those you love, honey”. Truer words have never been said before and they make you realize how blessed you’ve been throughout your life; “I love you so, so much, baby, but I can’t come up with the words to express myself”, you say with glassy eyes, “I want to get you a gift right now—you know, like a symbol”. “You are my gift, honey—one that never stops giving”, she says with teary eyes as well.

You walk out of the restaurant hand-in-hand with Junhee and head towards the car. You open the passenger door and ask Junhee to enter first. You hear a commotion from your left, but initially pay no attention to it and keep minding your business. That is, until the source of the commotion, a man who has a shirt with your face crossed out, appears from around the corner and aims his gun at you. You scream in pain when you feel hot lead hit your left shoulder, and Junhee screams in panic and pulls you into the car. Mr. Kang gets ready to jump out and shoot back, but you tell him no; “don’t, Mr. Kang—just get us out, please”, you say before grunting from the pain.

Mr. Kang plants his foot on the gas and speeds away to get some help for you, and you hear some more shots land on the car. “Love, love”, Junhee calls out to you as tears flow down her cheeks, “stay with me, stay with me, please. Faster, Mr. Kang!”. Your eyelids feel like they weigh a quintal, and you feel powerless to keep them open.

You’re lying flat on your back with a bright light shining right in your eyes, and you wonder if you died and is seeing God right now. “God, please protect my fiancé; watch over her and bless her like you’ve blessed me”, you mutter to yourself. “Oppa! Oppa!”, you hear Junhee’s voice coming from God-knows-where, and you can’t help but shed tears. “I’m so sorry for breaking your heart, love. I never meant it to end like this. I love you, baby”, you say to yourself.

A higher power places your soul back into your body as if telling you that this isn’t over yet, and you jolt as if you were electrocuted. You look to your right and see Junhee sitting on a chair next to you: she’s crying her heart out with her hands on her face. “Junhee-yah”, you weakly call out to her, and she gasps in shock before rushing to you. “Love! Love, you’re awake—oh God, thank you—thank you so much”, she says in tears, “I’m so sorry, love. I-I was supposed to protect you. Oh, God, I failed you”. You try to sit, but Junhee holds you down, “no-no-no, please, just lay down. You’re safe here; Mr. Kang is guarding the door”. You wipe her tears with your thumb, “are you okay, baby? Are you hurt?”. Junhee shakes her head as she presses your hand against her cheek, “I-I’m fine, love”. You show her a gentle smile, “then you didn’t fail anyone, love; this is simply an accident”.

You take a good look around the room and the IV drip and heart monitor tell you that you’re at a hospital. “Thank you for bringing me here, love”, you tell Junhee, “I hope no one gave you trouble”. Junhee exhales deeply before answering, “this hospital is secretly owned and run by Nighthaven; they don't ask questions”. You suddenly feel a sharp pain in your shoulder area, and you let out a grunt because of it; “do you know where he hit me?”, you ask her. “Somewhere here”, she points at her own shoulder, under the collarbone, “the bullet is still sitting in your body, by the way—it’s fine, though, you’ll live”.

Junhee sits back down in her chair and texts Mr. Kang and your parents, telling them that you’re alive and well—minus the bullet wound. You chuckle while looking at her, “I was about to ask if you’re hungry, but we literally just had dinner”. Junhee pecks you in the cheek, “I haven’t even thanked you for taking me to dinner—thank you, love”. Since you can’t sit and peck her back, you opt to peck her hand instead, “happy anniversary, baby”. “Happy anniversary, oppa”, she replies with a merry smile.

You’re cleared to go home after spending 3 days in the hospital, and you finally see Mr. Kang since the shooting as you’re walking to the car. “Director, pleased to see you again”, he says with a bow, “my apologies for not reacting in time, sir”. You pat him on the back, “it’s fine, Mr. Kang. As long as no one else got hurt, I’m content with it”. He nods and smiles, “one more thing, sir; your secretary received a message from your parents saying that they’re inviting you to dinner on the 21st”. “Dinner, Mr. Kang? Did they forget what just happened?”, you let out an amused chuckle. “The dinner will be at their house, sir, and your fiancé has arranged for Nighthaven to guard the area—she might not be one of them anymore, but she’s still the highly-respected Head of Personnel Development in their eyes”, he explains. “Aaaah, I want to go hoooome”, Junhee whines, “love, please; can we not go home already?”. “You heard the lady, Mr. Kang; let’s go home”, you say to him.

Junhee drags you to the bedroom and asks you to sit on the edge of the bed, presumably because she desperately wants your cock after spending a few days without sex. “Are you that horny, baby?”, you ask Junhee, who is seemingly in a rush to strip. “You have no idea”, she says, “I would’ve sucked your cock and have you cum in me that night if it wasn’t for that fucking bastard”. She turns away from you and holds your cock as she lowers herself, “I want it in my ass, daddy—can I have it in my ass, please?”. You both know that your cock and her asshole are dry, but you don’t want to ruin Junhee’s mood, so you let her do what she wants and agree to fuck her ass again.

Hearing your approval, she starts lowering her butt until your tip is at her entrance. Once she manages to get the tip in, you pull her down roughly and fill her ass with your entire shaft. She throws her head back and screams, “ah-ah—daddy, so full—ah-ah, yes”. You then yank her hair and ask her where your cock is; “it-it’s in my ass, daddy—FUCK, YES, PLEASE”, she answers with a scream because you’re getting impatient with the slow pace and thrust up into her ass.

You feel tired after a few minutes, so you pull out and ask her to get on her hands and knees on the bed. Junhee’s arms become limp as you’re fucking her from behind, causing her to drop her torso onto the bed. You spank her multiple times as you’re fucking her ass hard and fast, making Junhee scream both in pain and pleasure. “Daddy, daddy, yes—fuck, yes—do me, daddy”, she chants repeatedly. “I hope you like it rough”, you say to her as you plant your feet on the bed to get a better posture to fuck her.

You finally blow your load in her ass with a groan, but unlike last time, Junhee isn’t squirting. She also doesn’t resist when you pull out, choosing to drop her ass flat onto the bed due to exhaustion. “You were so rough, daddy; I don’t think I’ll be able to walk after this”, she comments with heavy breaths. “I’m so sorry, love. You made me really horny, and I went off the rails”, you apologize as you pat her back gently.

You roll Junhee onto her back and cuddle her, “I know I technically didn’t go anywhere, but I’ve missed you so much, baby”. Junhee steals a peck from your cheek, “I’ve missed you too, love. I’m so glad you’re okay now”. You glance at the clock hanging on the wall and see that you still have a lot of time until bedtime, “love, are we ready to call it a night or do you have other ideas?”. She gathers her might and straddles your thighs, “you haven’t filled my pussy, love; one more round, please? I want you to make me sore”.

Her words arouse you, and you feel your cock hardening again instantly after hearing that you’ll be doing another round. Junhee holds your cock in one hand and starts stroking it, “always so hard for me, aren’t you? I love it”. You close your eyes and enjoy the handjob she’s giving you. That is, until she asks for your attention; “eyes on me, love”, she says with a smile. You look at Junhee in the eyes, and she immediately stuff herself with your cock. “Fuck, the size catches me off guard every single time”, she says before taking the entirety of your cock in her pussy, “oh, fuck, so full again”.

You don’t want to miss out on Junhee’s heavenly soft moans, so you pull her down and keep her in your arms while her hips are busy going up and down your cock at a relaxed tempo. “Moan for me, love; you know how much I love the sound”, you say to her. Junhee nibbles your ear before moaning right into your ears. “Ah-ah—honey, I love you so much”, she says softly into your ears, “everything about you is just perfect, honey—take me, honey, yes”. You want to reply to her with your own words, but your low voice doesn’t sound as sexy as hers, so you decide to do something else. You latch your lips on her neck and start sucking and nibbling, feeling keen on planting hickeys on her pale skin. “Yes, mark me, love—I’ll show them who I belong to”, Junhee eggs you on. With her encouragement, you suck on her neck harder until it’s red.

Rough sex is fun and all, but nothing beats slow romantic sex with very minimal profanity, as you’re able to rejoice in the sensations and show your significant other how much you love them, just like how you and Junhee are doing it right now. “My love, I want to cum with you”, she says softly between moans. “Kiss me, baby”, you say to her as you guide her chin towards you. Junhee plants her lips on yours and starts kissing you lovingly and passionately, adding a bit of tongue wrestling on top of it. Junhee breaks the kiss to deliver some news, “I’m so close, my love. Please, please finish with me”.

Orgasm is finally at the door again after what felt like half an hour, and your cock twitches in Junhee’s pussy. “Yes, love, give it to—OH, GOD”, Junhee cuts herself off and yelps as she reaches her peak. You follow closely behind her and blow your load inside her pussy. Junhee kisses you again as she rides her high, only breaking it after it passes. “I love you so much, honey”, she says. “How much?”, you say with a teasing smile. Junhee straightens her posture and makes a big circle with her hands, “thiiiiis much”. You laugh at her antic, “I love you more, baby”.

There are stray strands of hair all over her face, so you do your best to tidy them up for her. She lies on your body after you’re done, “thank you for everything, love”. “You’re welcome, baby. Thank you”, you reply to her, “you want to let me out, or no?”. “No, let’s just stay like this until tomorrow, that way I’ll be able to ride you first thing in the morning—would you consent to that, by the way?”, she says. You smile at her, “of course; it’s not like you’ll cut my penis off when I’m asleep, is it? What makes you want me to stay inside, though?”.

She plants her hands on your chest and looks at you, “I don’t know if other men’s penis does this, but yours doesn’t shrink; you’re just limp—you’re very big, by the way, if you haven’t noticed already. I’d love to keep your penis in my mouth or vagina all day long if it was up to me”. You laugh at her words, “it feels like you’d do a lot of things if it was up to you”. She slaps your chest playfully before resting on your body again, “I really want to be naked all day and let you do what you want to me, though”. “What about the household assistants, love? You don’t want them to see you run around the house naked, do you?”, you ask. “Oh, you’re right”, she says as the gears in her head turn, “we can give them a day off, no? That way the house will be empty. Please say yes, love”. You smile and shake your head in amusement, “sure, baby. Just tell me when, okay?”.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #ichillin smut #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader smut #male reader

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cainhart · 7 months ago

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The symbolism of the snake embroidery on Vergil's clothes and my theories on how he might have acquired his outfit. (he's broke asf he didn't get it with money guys)

In the first Devil May Cry novel we learn that teenager Dante had his red jacket custom made. He is actually pissy about it when it gets ruined with bullet holes. He then wears a fuckass black jacket, which makes him look embarrassing.

Dante was drinking and using firearms when he was 15 or 16 years old; but he had a job (albeit his job being a MERCENARY. Also twins being European really shows because he was having drinking contests as a fucking 15 year old, god), so he had enough money to buy himself a custom made jacket. But the thing is, we don’t know how teenager Vergil got his outfit. It’s too well made to be bought in a normal store. Vergil probably had no money—though it is hinted that after Mundus' attack, young Vergil may have used public transportation (I also have a headcanon that he didn't know how to open a portal until he was at least 12 so that makes sense) and even bought himself food. These may have happened before or after the attack but let's say after the attack since Sparda, Eva, and the twins were living a secluded life. Still, being homeless and constantly on the run, his concept of the value of money is more like ‘money’ and ‘a LOT of money.’ He had no use for finance; what important was to get powerful and gain knowledge.

So, he probably didn’t get it with money. Vergil was never in one place long enough to earn money. I also don't see him as someone who would kill or hurt people to steal their money (he actually kinda did it in VoV,,, but that was different), so the idea of custom made clothing bought with human currency doesn't sit with me.

He might have used demonic magic to create his outfit. We see a demonstration of this in DMC5 with Trish, who uses her magic to literally recreate her entire outfit. This is very weird and left unexplained, which frustrates me because I need to rationalize things. Perhaps demons can do this because they can infuse anything with their demonic energy, and since the clothes they wear are made of organic material, they can recreate or even sew them back together. In Vergil's case, it's more like 'create a whole new outfit in mind's eye and boom now you have a ridiculous cravat.'

Another possibility is that he had it custom-made, but not with human currency. Demons, or at least a certain demonic/supernatural entity (the God of Time, aka the Divinity Statue), accept red orbs as a form of payment.

Vergil probably visited many places on his trauma blind journey of gaining power. I might overdo here, but what if he came across a strange tailor and they made a deal like, "You give me 70 thousand red orbs, and I give you a slutty vest, a ridiculous cravat, nice shoes and a cool coat with snake embroidery on it." and Vergil was like "Aight." Maybe he was intending to infuse his outfit with his magic anyway. It was a win-win situation.

It's funny to imagine Vergil designing his outfit, just being a teenager for once.

So, Vergil could have saved up red orbs to get a cool coat. Demonic establishments are kind of canon, so that’s a possibility. He was a teenager it’s only natural that he liked teenager things, even in his traumatized and hunted state. At a certain point in his life, he became strong enough to indulge in some of his likes.

Speaking of snake embroidery, Vergil has SO MUCH snake symbolism on him, and on his clothes too! Snakes were adored and respected throughout history before paganism started to get shitted on. Snakes represent wisdom, REBIRTH, healing, transformation, and knowledge. That’s why Satan, disguised as a snake, gave Eve the apple (knowledge) (also, knowledge of the occult was really given to women first). The snake detail on his clothes might even be magic, too. It's nearly an occult symbol on its own. Maybe a sigil? I know sigils aren't a thing in DMC but I don't care I'll go apeshit with my theories.

Whether the serpent detail was intentional or unintentional, it’s still a great detail considering his story and character. He goes through transformation (Nero Angelo), then rebirth (Vergil rebirth party in DMC5), and healing (basically the whole plot of Visions of V).

So, just teenager Vergil researching the occult and being fascinated with the symbolism of the serpent. OR he straight up stole it. :l This bitch split his demonic and human self apart and like 1 day after his human self came to existence he had to deal with money and his first thought was to steal it. Anyway, that's all. Have a good day!

#don't leave your shoes outside he might steal them too #devil may cry #dmc #vergil #dmc headcanons #dmc vergil

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lisbeth-kk · 6 months ago

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Sherlock fandom.

Someone To Rely On

Sherlock never trusted anyone, but now, barely without his knowledge, he trusted five people. Five! It was outrageous.

Despite his snarl and distaste for his brother’s involvement in his life, Sherlock trusted Mycroft nearly most of all. Nearly.

Whenever Sherlock ended up in a drug den, needed transport, or rescue from Serbian prisons, Mycroft was the one to trust, and he never failed to deliver.

Behind Mycroft in line, there had been Lestrade. Sherlock could always count on the DI lacking the brains to solve a difficult case, then turn to the world's only consulting detective for help.

His beloved landlady was dearer to Sherlock than his own mother. Her biscuits and cakes were the best in the land, perhaps even the world, and he didn’t mind her fussing all that much. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Besides, she loved their bickering just as much as he did.

Molly, next. His cheeks blushed when he thought about how over the years, he has exploited her crush on him to the fullest. Crowding in on her to let her get a whiff of his cologne. Lowering his voice when he wanted to get access to some interesting body parts.

The only times he has touched her, though, were to apologise for his behaviour and thanking her for helping him faking his own death. Both kisses were full of regret on his part, and he still wished he hadn’t needed to bestow them on her.

And then there was the enigma, the soldier, the doctor, the man with as many trust issues as Sherlock. John Hamish Watson. The most loyal man he has ever met. A man who actually killed another man to save Sherlock from his own stupidity mere hours after they’d met. He was admittedly an awful cabbie, but the truth remains; John had not hesitated when he fired that gun. His hand was steady, his shot perfectly aimed. It took Sherlock an embarrassing amount of time to realise who the hitman was, but when he did, he was defenceless.

***

After years of living together, Sherlock knew for a fact that John was the puzzle that would always remain unsolved. That thought appeared in his mind numerous times a week. Sometimes, numerous times a day.

On Mycroft’s last visit, he called John a Living Weapon. When Sherlock had insisted on an explanation, his older brother had rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“You are totally blind when it comes to Doctor Watson, brother mine.”

Sherlock waved a hand, indicating for his pompous arse of a brother to continue.

“How loathe I am to state the obvious, there is…how shall I put it…the effective way he disposed of Mr. Hope. I don’t think I need to go into details of every time the good doctor has kept you from harm’s way, for which I am most grateful. Be it his hands, his fists, his arms in general, or illegal firearms, he is there for you, Sherlock. Always. From day one. I am certain he would have a go at me if he thought I was a threat to your life.”

Mycroft looked smug after this delivery, which Sherlock didn’t notice. He was so deep in thought, he failed to perceive that his brother left the flat. When he returned from his Mind Palace, two hours had passed.

He had created a new room for John in his mind, using all the images Mycroft planted there while he listed every way John had saved him over the years. He used less than three seconds to name it.

John Hamish Watson - The Living Weapon

***

“You’re unusually calm,” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear when he came home that afternoon.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sherlock asked a bit puzzled.

“Considering that your brother has visited,” John clarified.

“Ah. The knocker,” Sherlock sighed. “We really should consider gluing it to stay askew for eternity.”

John chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s jaw. The great detective inhaled sharply when he realised that John’s new room in his Mind Palace would need more images. All the ways John brightened his life, how he loved him, were weapons too. Sort of. Because Sherlock was totally helpless when his lover used every trick in the John Watson Bible of Seduction to get his attention.

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I'll leave it up to you to deduce whether Mycroft was aware he was using a pun...

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@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-inlovewithregandmoony

@lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee

@gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @williamholmeswatson

(Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF269 #living weapon

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howdoesone · 2 years ago

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How does one safely transport antique firearms and weapons for display or exhibition purposes?

Transporting antique firearms and weapons for display or exhibition purposes requires careful planning and adherence to safety protocols to safeguard both the historical artifacts and the individuals involved. Antique firearms and weapons are delicate, valuable, and potentially dangerous if mishandled. This comprehensive guide will provide you with essential insights and techniques to safely…

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#ammunition #antique firearms #antique weapons #climate conditions #display #exhibition #historical artifacts #legal requirements #packing #planning #preservation #professional assistance #risk assessment #safe transportation #safety protocols #temperature conditions #transportation containers

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batboyblog · 6 months ago

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Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #35

Sep 20-27 2024

President Biden and Vice-President Harris announced new actions to curb gun violence at the one year anniversary of the White House Office of Gun Violence Prevention. The Office is the first ever White House office to deal with the issue of guns and has been overseen by the Vice-President. President Biden signed a new Executive Order aimed at combatting the emerging threat of machinegun conversion devices. These devices allow the conversion of semi-automatic firearms to a rate of fire that can match military machineguns, up to 20 bullets in one second. The EO also targets the threat of 3-D printed guns. The EO also addresses active schooler drills at schools. While almost every school conducts them there is little uniformity in how they are carried out, and no consensus on the most effective version of a drill. President Biden's EO directions the development of a research based active shooter drills, which maximize both student physical and mental safety.

President Biden celebrated the one year anniversary of the American Climate Corps and announced new Climate Corp programs. The Climate Corps has seen 15,000 young people connected to well paid jobs in clean energy and climate resilience jobs across America. The EPA and AmeriCorps announced a new Environmental Justice Climate Corps program which will connect 250 American Climate Corps members with local communities and over the next 3 help them achieve environmental justice projects. In addition HUD announced it will be the 8th federal agency to partner with the Climate Corp, opening the door to its involvement in Housing. Since its launch the American Climate Corp has inspired 14 states to launch their own state level version of the program, most recently just this week the New Jersey Climate Corps.

The Biden-Harris Administration announced that 4.2 million small business owners and self-employed people get their health insurance through the ACA marketplace. Up from 1.4 million ten years ago when President Obama and then Vice-President Biden rolled out the marketplaces. The self-employed are 3 times as likely as other Americans to use the marketplaces for their insurance, one out of every 5 getting coverage there. The ACA passed by President Obama, defended and expanded by President Biden, has freed millions of Americans to start their own businesses without fear of losing health coverage for them and their families.

The Departments of Transportation and Labor pressed freight railroad companies to close the gap and offer paid sick time to all their employees. Since 2022 under President Biden's leadership the number of Class I freight railroad employees who have access to paid sick days increased from 5% to 90%. Now the Biden-Harris Administration is pushing to finish the job and get coverage to the last 10%.

The EPA announced $965 million to help school districts buy clean energy buses. This comes on top of the 3 billion the EPA has already spent to bring clean energy buses to America's schools. So far the EPA has helped replace 8,700 school buses, across 1,300 school districts in all 50 states, DC, tribal nations, and US Territories. 95% of these buses are zero-emission, battery-electric. The clean bus program is responsible for over 2/3rds of the electric school buses on the road today.

The Biden-Harris Administration took another step forward in its historic efforts to protect the Colorado River System by signing 5 water conservation agreements with local water authorities in California and Arizona. The two short term agreements will conserve over 717,000 acre-feet of water by 2026. Collectively adding 10 feet to Lake Mead’s elevation by 2026. The Colorado River Basin provides water for more than 40 million people and fuels hydropower resources in seven U.S. states.

The Department of The Interior announced $254 million to help support local parks, the largest such investment in history. The money will go to 54 projects across 24 states hoping to redevelopment or create new parks.

HHS announced $1.5 billion to help combat opioid addiction and prevent opioid overdose deaths. The money will support state and tribal governments and help pay for mobile clinics, naloxone kits, and treatment centers. This comes as nationwide overdose rates drop for the first time since 2020, thanks to strong investment in harm reduction efforts by the Biden-Harris team.

The Department of Agriculture announced it'll spend $466.5 million in food assistance and development worldwide this year. Through its McGovern-Dole Program, the United States is the largest donor to global school feeding programs. The USDA will help feed 1.2 million children in Angola, Bangladesh, El Salvador, Ethiopia, Guatemala, Guinea-Bissau, Laos, Malawi and Rwanda. Through its Food for Progress the USDA will help support 200,000 farmers in Benin, Cambodia, Madagascar, Rwanda, Sri Lanka, Tanzania and Tunisia shift to climate-smart agriculture boosting food security in those nations and the wider region.

At a meeting at the UN First Lady Jill Biden announced a partnership between USAID and UNICEF to end childhood exposer to lead worldwide. Lead exposure kills 1.5 million people each year, mostly in the developing world.

The Senate approved the appointment of Byron Conway to a federal judgeship in Wisconsin. This makes the 213th federal judge that President Biden has appointed.

#Thanks Biden #Joe Biden #Kamala Harris #climate change #gun violence #gun control #health insurance #food aid #opiod crisis #electric vehicles #politics #US politics #american politics #good news

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drunken-ender-art · 11 months ago

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Good Huntress Luz

As an energetic, peppy but rather socially awkward child often in her own world full of witches and adventure, Luz was unsure where to go next after a rather unfullfilling and uneventfull highschool... in the end, attracted by its diversified program, from more othodox subjects like history and biology, to classes on occultism and astrology; and by the location itself: Salem, Massachussets, away enough from Connecticut for a change of air but not too much far to remain close to family, she signed up for the Byrgenwerth University.

She was surprise to discovered that two of the most esteemed students, two brothers, originated from her own hometown.

It was during a challenge with other students that she discovered a decrepit crypt beneath the mansion of the campus; a tomb designed to hide a flask full of a strange, dense liquid... it was another challenge that made her drink the entire thing... and thus, the nightmare begin.

"Dang kid... I saw folk going crazy over some blood but this is absurd..."

Now transported into another world and infected with the wretched blood, her only salvation is also her wildest dream come truth: an infusion of Titan Blood and a spark of magic.

Under the wing of a mysterious old magic Huntresses living in a ghostly house, she's harmed and ready to get herself more Titan Blood and finally become the witch she always dreamed of... what's the problem if she'll have to hunt, kill and drain a bunch of monstrous creatures to do so? She has issues to work through after all.

"Look kiddo, you can't learn magic, you either have it in your blood or not... lucky you, we go crazy for infusions 'round here!"

The weapons of an Huntress.

The traditional way to hunt Beasts is with a combination of cold steel and firearm, in this case: a meter long serrated bat equipped with a mechanism that release the teeth turning it into a giant serrated whip, accompanied by a shotgun loaded with quicksilver.

All made by the Clawthorne Workshop, a once famous and higly sought after workshop that is said to be around since the Scourge of Beasts ever began and set off the standard for beasts' hunting all over the Boiling Isles.

The Workshop is now in ruin and abandoned... something Luz doesn't fully understand since she lives there and it's still operational, even if run by a single individual... it's also fair to say that her own mind often seems to not work right since arriving on the Isles, especially in the few occasions where she sleep.

"Dreams? Oh sure kiddo... you could say I'm 'livin the dream' right now..."

Soft rework/repost of my first Owlborne post, now with added text, a new sketch and improved framing to help it blend in with the Amity and Belos' post.

Mostly about Luz's specific journey with a soft lore for how Eda and the Owl House itself fits in with the world.

#character design #the owl house #luz noceda #beta luz #toh fanart #disney #crossover #bloodborne #fromsoftware #dark fantasy #gothic #the owl house bloodborne #owlborne au

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yzegem · 25 days ago

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Sketch of common people from the Twisted Islands. Left to right: llama herder, guild apprentice, fisherman, guild militia man.

The archipellago is mostly made up of rocky atolls, coral reefs and small islands mostly inhabited by shrubs, migratory birds, seals and rodents. (Also llamas introduced by humans).

These poor ecosystems are not suited for large human population yet many people are attracted to the islands because of it's high portal activity (you can read about the magic system here, but I will later do another post about the "mages" of the islands). People from the islands come from many regions of the eastern seaway but mainly belong to the Iliryi seafaring etnithity, and most people speak their language and practice their religion centered around the sea and the portals.

For a long time the islands were not united but each ruled by a "monastic guild" wich investigated portals and lead rituals, divination and offers using them. Certain branches of the guilds opperated as beaurocrats, port tax collecters and managers, defence of the islands and barbers.

The importance of haircuts in the islands stems from their obsession with physical and spiritual cleanliness. People in the islands live in comunal spaces and often travelled between them, so they were very prone to epidemics. Most islands enforce quarantines, daily ritual bathing and frequent body inspections and shaving done by guild officials. This prevents lice from spreading but quickly became a sort of weekly census. Non guild people such as fishermen, divers, some sailors or shepperds shave their hair completely while guild members leave certain locks of hair wich they braid according to their guild branch and status within it.

After the unification of the islands, guilds were standardized into a single secretive entity. Their biggest secret is their use of portals for trade (wich requires years of training and deep knowledge of geometry) and their firearms. While people in the western continent are starting to use iron or bamboo handcannons and bronze mortars, the island's militia have precise matchlocks and powerful breech loading swivel cannons.

Most islands have rocky shores and only one suitable well defended port, so deploying large armies on the islands is basically imposible. These fortified atolls can hold a siege for years while reciving food and suplies from other islands vía portals and even keep making profits by trading.

For an object to be transported between to portals, the portal needs to be opened/primed on the two sides, so many small trading outpost have been set in foreign lands, sometimes willingly by local population and other times by force, wich creates tension with the twisted island's diasphora in other nations.

#fantasy worldbuilding #worldbuilding #fantasy art #art #concept art #fantasy #encounters in the frontier #yzegem #worldbuilding project #twisted islands #magic system #culture #illustration #civilization #magic #mage

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deadpresidents · 3 months ago

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The Elegant Mr. Arthur

It was about two hours after midnight on September 20, 1881, and not unusual for the resident of 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City to be up at such a late hour, or to have plenty of guests. In fact, he preferred to keep late hours, entertaining friends deep into the night with late-night dinners, drinks, and endless conversation. Yet, on this night, 123 Lexington Avenue was somber and the mood was grave. Just a few hours earlier -- at 11:30 PM -- a messenger knocked on the door of Vice President Chester Alan Arthur's Manhattan brownstone and handed Arthur a telegram. Surrounded by a few friends and colleagues, Arthur read that President James A. Garfield, just 49 years old and in office for barely six months, had died in a beach cottage at Elberon, New Jersey. Turning to his friends in his sitting room, Arthur said, "I hope -- my God, I do hope it is a mistake."

On July 2nd, President Garfield was shot twice and seriously wounded by Charles Guiteau as he walked through the Baltimore & Potomac Railroad Station in Washington, D.C. with Secretary of State James G. Blaine and Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln (son of Abraham Lincoln) en route to a speaking engagement at his alma mater, Williams College in Massachusetts. Guiteau was a disgruntled, disturbed, and delusional office-seeker who had been pleading for an appointment as consul to Paris (though he was willing to "settle" for Vienna) despite an absence of diplomatic and political experience and a complete lack of general qualifications. Hounding Garfield throughout the early months of an Administration that had just begun on March 4, 1881, Guiteau's constant harassment of the new President finally resulted in Secretary Blaine to never return to the White House again. Guiteau felt that he had been entitled to some office, particularly an ambassadorship, and was terribly upset that Garfield and his Cabinet members refused to consider his requests. Blaine's order to stay away drove Guiteau to purchase an ivory-handled .44 British Bulldog revolver (specifically chosen because Guiteau felt that particular firearm would look good in a museum) and he began stalking Garfield throughout Washington before finally shooting him inside the rail station two days before Independence Day 1881. As police arrested him, Guiteau shouted, "I am a Stalwart of the Stalwarts...Arthur is President now!"

But Arthur wasn't President; not yet at least. Garfield was a physically robust man and relatively young in comparison to most Presidents to date. While one bullet had lodged in Garfield's spine, the other bullet grazed his arm and caused no significant damage. While it appeared that he was gravely ill immediately following the shooting, Garfield's vital signs soon started to improve and the American people began to get their hopes up about a full recovery. A vigil of sorts was underway as President Garfield convalesced in the White House, and his doctors issued regular bulletins updating his condition. Garfield's doctors also poked and prodded him with unsterilized instruments and dirty fingers to attempt to locate the bullet still inside of his body. Had they left it alone, Garfield almost certainly would have survived; his wounds were significantly less dangerous than those survived 100 years later by 70-year-old Ronald Reagan. However, the unnecessary poking and prodding resulted in a serious infection that ravaged Garfield's body, weakened his heart, left the muscular, 215-pound President emaciated, weighing less than 135 pounds, and turned the 49-year-old Garfield's dark brown beard and hair a ghastly white color. Fighting for his life in the sweltering summer heat of Washington, on September 6th it was finally agreed upon to transport Garfield to a cottage on the Jersey Shore in hopes that he could benefit from the change of scenery and from the fresh ocean air. Sadly, it was too late. The infections were accompanied by blood poisoning and pneumonia, among other ailments. On September 19th at 10:35 PM, Garfield suffered a massive heart attack and was pronounced dead. An hour later the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue.

•••

The Vice Presidency was a stretch. Chet Arthur of New York as Vice President? When offered the Republican Vice Presidential nomination by James Garfield in 1880, Chester Arthur was urged by his political mentor and close friend, Stalwart leader Roscoe Conkling, to decline the appointment. Arthur, a man who had never spent a day in Congress or been elected to any office at any level, went against Conkling's wishes for perhaps the first time in his life. The Vice Presidency was certainly a stretch, but President of the United States? That was an almost frightening thought to a nation still recovering from Civil War and desperately seeking civil service reform, especially now that a disgruntled office-seeker had assassinated the President. Arthur was President left a lot of Americans worried -- some because Arthur's political background was as the powerful and somewhat shady Collector of the Port of New York, appointed during the corrupt Administration of President Ulysses S. Grant and eventually fired by President Rutherford B. Hayes during a housecleaning of corrupt institutions; and some because James Garfield's murderer had claimed to be a Stalwart and, by his own words, insinuated that Garfield's shooting might be a conspiracy on behalf of the Conkling/Arthur side of the divided Republican Party.

Chester Arthur was a creature of the era known as the "Gilded Age" and was the symbolic mascot for the widespread political corruption of the 1870s due to his position at the Port of New York. At a moment when drastic reform of the civil service was being demanded by many Americans outraged by James Garfield's assassination, Garfield's successor was a man who, for years, had been the poster boy for crony patronage and machine politics. Born in Vermont in 1829, Arthur was the son of a preacher and grew up mostly in upstate New York, graduated from Schenectady's Union College in 1848, briefly taught school while studying law, and was admitted to the bar in 1854. As his law practice grew in the 1850s, Arthur immersed himself in New York Republican politics yet never ran for office. A political appointee to the New York State Militia, he found himself serving during the Civil War and his superb organizational skills led to quick promotions all the way to quartermaster general in 1862, a position which carried the rank of brigadier general. As a political appointee to the militia, however, Arthur served at the pleasure of the Governor of New York and was forced to resign in 1862 when a Democratic Governor took office. Returning to New York City, Arthur resumed his law practice and political gamesmanship. More appointments came his way as he supported Republican candidates throughout the state and worked on national campaigns such as President Lincoln's 1864 bid for re-election and Ulysses S. Grant's 1868 Presidential campaign.

In 1871, President Grant appointed Arthur as Collector of customs as the Port of New York, which gave Arthur responsibility for about 75% of the nation's custom duties and was one of the most powerful patronage positions available in the United States government. Arthur used his office to efficiently raise money for Republican campaigns and candidates, supporting President Grant's 1872 re-election campaign by seeking (if not "requiring") contributions from his employees at the customhouse. In 1876, Arthur championed his political mentor, Senator Roscoe Conkling, for the Republican Presidential nomination, but supported Rutherford B. Hayes in the general election, once again using the employees at the customhouse to help raise money to finance the successful Republican campaign. However, once Hayes was elected, the new President made it clear that he was serious about civil service reform and that meant reforming Arthur's customhouse, too. In 1877, Arthur testified before the Jay Commission, which was formed to investigate charges of corruption and eventually recommended that President Hayes reduce the workforce of the customhouse and eliminate the corrupt elements that had worked there for so long. Due to Arthur's longtime support of the Republican Party, President Hayes offered him an appointment as consul in Paris (the same job Charles Guiteau would kill James Garfield for a few years later) in order to quietly remove him from the Port of New York. When Arthur refused the appointment, the President fired him and Arthur resumed his law practice in New York City.

When Arthur headed to the 1880 Republican National Convention at the Interstate Exposition Building in Chicago, it was as a New York delegate supporting the aspirations of former President Ulysses S. Grant who was coming out of retirement to seek an unprecedented third term. However, neither of the front-runners for the nomination -- Grant and Senator James G. Blaine of Maine -- could capture enough votes from delegates to clinch the nomination. After thirty-five ballots, Blaine and another prospective candidate, Treasury Secretary John Sherman of Ohio, threw their support behind a dark horse candidate -- Ohio Congressman James A. Garfield. On the next ballot, Garfield clinched the nomination and reached out to the opposing wing of the Republican Party for his Vice Presidential choice. The first choice, Levi P. Morton of New York (who would later serve as President Benjamin Harrison's Vice President), declined Garfield's offer, and Arthur -- who had never previously even sought an elective office -- excitedly accepted, much to the chagrin of his angry political mentor, Roscoe Conkling. Not confident in Garfield's chances for election, Conkling told Arthur, "You should drop it as you would a red-hot shot from the forge." Arthur replied, "There is something else to be said," and Conkling asked in disbelief, "What, sir, you think of accepting?". Despite the complaints and anger of Conkling, Arthur told him, "The office of Vice President is a greater honor than I have ever dreamed of attaining. I shall accept. In a calmer moment you will look at this differently."

Following the election, Arthur prepared to settle into the quiet role of Vice President during the 19th century. The Vice President of the United States has only one real responsibility -- to preside over the Senate and even that responsibility is normally delegated to Senators who rotate as presiding officer almost daily. The powerful or even influential American Vice Presidency is a fairly recent evolution, not even 50 years old. While some Vice Presidents were relied on for advice or counsel or given larger duties than others, most Vice Presidents were so far removed from the Executive Branch that they were not only kept out of the decision-making process, but also kept in the dark about certain information. For example, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt died towards the end of World War II in 1945 and was succeeded by his Vice President, Harry S. Truman, the new President had to be quickly briefed about the existence of the Manhattan Project to develop atomic weaponry. Still, the first Vice President to have an office in the White House was Walter Mondale and that didn't occur until 1977, so in 1881 a Vice President was expected to preside over the Senate on special occasions, cast a tie-breaking vote when necessary, and be available to take the oath of office if the President happened to die or resign.

Like most 19th century Vice Presidents, Chester Arthur didn't even spend much time in Washington, and he was returning to his regular home in New York City on July 2, 1881 when he stepped off a steamship with Roscoe Conkling and was told that President Garfield had been shot. In fact, the message that Arthur received first erroneously reported that Garfield was already dead and at the request of Garfield's Cabinet, the stunned Vice President immediately returned to Washington, D.C. to proceed with the next steps necessary for maintaining the continuity of government. When Arthur arrived in Washington, President Garfield's condition had improved and his recovery continued to show signs of promise as the Vice President and the nation prayed for him and held vigil throughout the summer. Shaken by rumors that he and his "Stalwart" wing of the Republican Party conspired to assassinate Garfield, Arthur returned home to New York City, hesitant to invite criticism that his continued presence in Washington was merely an eager deathwatch so that he could grab power.

Garfield clung to life for eighty excruciating days with doctors probing him in an effort to remove the bullet in his body, causing infections and leaving the President suffering from blood poisoning which led him to hallucinate at times. The Navy helped rig together an early form of air conditioning in Garfield's White House sickroom in order to give him relief from Washington's stifling summer conditions. When Garfield was taken by train to New Jersey in early-September, it was clear to many that the long vigil was nearly over. More infections set in, along with pneumonia and painful spasms of angina. When the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue just before midnight on September 20, 1881 to inform Arthur that President Garfield had died just 60 miles away, the new President wasn't surprised, but he also wasn't quite prepared. The nation worried about the lifetime political operative stepping into the position being vacated by the promising President assassinated before he could enact the civil service reforms promised in his Inaugural Address. What would Arthur -- the quintessential patronage politician -- do as President? Nobody knew, but Chester Alan Arthur had an idea. •••

It was fitting that Arthur was surrounded by friends when he took the oath of office at his home in Manhattan at 2:15 AM on September 20, 1881. Arthur's beautiful wife, Nell, died of pneumonia in January 1880 and he was inconsolable for months, regretting for the rest of his life the fact that she never saw his election as Vice President or ascendancy to the Presidency. People who knew Arthur stated that he clearly never fully recovered from her death, and that as a "deeply emotional...romantic person," it was no surprise that he ordered that fresh flowers were placed before her portrait in the White House every day while he was President.

Chester Arthur had a lot of friends. That's what happens when you control as many lucrative patronage positions as Arthur controlled for as long as Arthur controlled them. But it wasn't just his political position that gained him friends. Arthur was a great storyteller, a man who loved to hunt and fish, kind, easy-going, charming, graceful, and smooth. During his life he was nicknamed "Elegant Arthur" and is considered one of the most stylish of Presidents. Photographs of Presidents from the 19th century typically show us men no different than statues. They dressed the same, they looked the same, and when portrayed in the black and white photos of the time, we feel no differently when we see their pictures than when we see a slab of marble carved in their image. Arthur leaps out of his photographs, however. He was a very large man for his era, standing 6'2" and weighing around 220 pounds during his Presidency. Large muttonchops connected to a bushy mustache and his close-cropped, wavy brown hair seemed to pull back his forehead and place more emphasis on expressive black eyes that easily reflected his moods. While it seems that most Presidents of the 19th century wore the same boring black suit and black tie like a uniform, Arthur's ties are patterned, jewelry is visible, collars are crisp, handkerchiefs are folded creatively, and his lapels shine as if they were polished along with his shoes. We see photographs of Arthur in fashionable overcoats, a wide variety of hats, and he employed a personal valet who helped the President change clothes for every occasion -- he was said to have over 80 pairs of pants.

Most apparent of all is that Arthur was a gentleman -- an interesting man with superb social skills and fastidious manners. Even as one of the top operatives in New York's Republican political machine of the corrupt 1870s, he was nicknamed the "Gentleman Boss." As President, he brought entertainment back to the White House -- something that had been missing on a large scale since before the Civil War twenty years earlier. His predecessor, Rutherford B. Hayes, was one of the few critics of this development, stating that there was "nothing like it before in the Executive Mansion -- liquor, snobbery, and worse." Arthur also redecorated the White House, hiring Louis Comfort Tiffany to help with the design. To help raise money for the redecoration, Arthur basically held a White House yard sale. On the lawn of the mansion, twenty-four wagons full of history (including a pair of Abraham Lincoln's pants that had been left behind in a closet) were sold to citizens. To some, the items were priceless; to President Arthur, they were ugly and a man like Chester Arthur did not live in an ugly home. Several weeks after Garfield died, Arthur got his first look at his new home and quickly stated, "I will not live in a house like this." He didn't end up moving into the White House until three months into his Presidency.

•••

[Secretary of State James G. Blaine, President Arthur, and former President Ulysses S. Grant, view the open casket of President James A. Garfield as he is lying in state in the Capitol Rotunda.]

After taking the oath of office at home in Manhattan in the early hours of September 20, 1881, now-President Arthur proceeded to Washington, D.C., stopping in Long Branch, New Jersey to pay respects to the late President Garfield and his grieving family. Once Arthur succeeded to the Presidency upon Garfield's death, there was no Vice President, no president pro tempore of the Senate, and no Speaker of the House (Congress has not elected its leadership yet), thus, there was no Constitutional line of succession. If something had happened to Arthur at that moment, the United States would have faced an unprecedented Constitutional crisis. As his first act as President, Arthur immediately called the Senate into session in order to select their leadership positions and position someone in the line of succession. Upon arriving in Washington, Attorney General Wayne MacVeagh suggested that Arthur take a second oath of office and he did so at the U.S. Capitol on September 22nd, in the presence of Garfield's Cabinet, members of Congress, Supreme Court Justices, and former Presidents Grant and Hayes.

Americans worried about the former machine politician's integrity were transformed quickly as Chester Arthur underwent something of a transformation himself. Widely considered a lapdog of New York's Roscoe Conkling, Arthur broke ranks with the party boss and pushed for the same civil service reform championed by James Garfield prior to the assassination. Arthur's former associates in the New York Republican Party were disappointed when he declined their requests for political favors. One former colleague sadly reported, "He isn't 'Chet' Arthur anymore. He's the President." Arthur found that the transformation was almost automatic and out of his control, noting that "Since I came here I have learned that Chester A. Arthur is one man and the President of the United States is another." His old benefactor, Conkling, was one critic of the new President, complaining "I have but one annoyance with the Administration of President Arthur and that is, in contrast with it, the Administration of Hayes becomes respectable, if not heroic." Arthur signed the Pendleton Act in 1883 which created a modern civil service system and eliminated the spoils system that had long dominated American politics. This reform, which Conkling called "snivel service" was the final break between the longtime friends and colleagues.

To the American people, the great surprise of an Arthur Administration was the fact that it was clean, honest, and efficient. Arthur helped lift the gloomy moods that had shadowed Washington throughout the Civil War, Lincoln's assassination, Reconstruction, the corruption of the Gilded Age, the wildly controversial Election of 1876, and Garfield's assassination. His popularity rose throughout his term and most critics focused on his lavish entertainment or the fact that he was notoriously late for meetings and seemed bored or lethargic at times. He often procrastinated -- as a White House clerk once said, "President Arthur never did today what he could put off until tomorrow." Still, most Americans were happy with President Arthur and echoed the thoughts of Mark Twain who said, "I am but one in 55 million; still, in the opinion of those one-fifty-five-millionth of the country's population, it would be hard to better President Arthur's Administration."

He was bored, though. President Arthur didn't like being President. He enjoyed the entertaining dinners that he could throw and loved public events or ceremonies that allowed him to meet the people of the United States, but the desk work was tedious and he wasn't interested in policy. Arthur stayed up late and seemed to vacation often, which perplexed many people because it was said that he was constantly exhausted. What they didn't know was that from almost the time he became President, Chester Arthur was dying. In 1882, he was diagnosed with Bright's disease, a fatal kidney ailment at the time. Despite reports that he was suffering from the disease, Arthur hid it from the public, desperately protecting his privacy, as always. Arthur's distaste for the Presidency probably stemmed in part from depression triggered by the Bright's disease. At times, Arthur suffered from debilitating illness and it was always covered with a story about the President catching a cold during a fishing trip or spending too much time in the sun while hunting. In a letter to his son, Alan, in 1883, the President confided, "I have been so ill that I have hardly been able to dispose of the...business before me."

Despite his popularity, Republican leaders opposed Arthur's nomination for a term as President in his own right in 1884. The man who opposed it most, however, was the President himself, who stated "I do not want to be reelected." Not only was he disinterested in a second term, but he knew very well that there was a possibility he might not even survive to the end of his current term. He did, and after attending the inauguration of his successor, Grover Cleveland, on March 4, 1885, Arthur returned home to New York City where his health rapidly declined. The former President was aware that he was dying and made plans for a relatively quiet retirement, deciding to practice law, but doing very little work due to his health. When asked about his future, Arthur said, "There doesn't seem anything for an ex-President to do but to go out in the country and raise big pumpkins." On November 16, 1886, Arthur suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. Gravely ill, he called his son to his bedside the day before his death and had all of his public and private papers stuffed into trash cans and burned. On November 18, 1886, the 57-year-old former President died in the same place he became President just five years earlier, 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City. After a quiet funeral at the Church of Heavenly Rest on Fifth Avenue in New York, Arthur's remains were buried next to his beloved wife at Rural Cemetery in Albany, New York.

•••

When President Arthur had many of his personal papers burned prior to his death, he eliminated one of the best sources of information about his life and career for future historians. With a thin resume and a fairly uneventful Presidency, there wasn't much public information about his career, either. This leaves us with very little to remember Chester Alan Arthur by. Research on his life -- particularly his personal life -- is difficult, and Arthur would have appreciated that. During his Presidency, leaders of the temperance movement called on Arthur and urged him to follow the non-alcoholic lifestyle led by President Hayes and his teetotaler wife, who became known as "Lemonade Lucy".

Arthur's response: "Madam, I may be President of the United States, but my private life is nobody's damn business."

And so it isn't.

39 notes · View notes