#Common Metal Protection Problems

[rustbulletnv]

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[tanadrin]

@grimogretricks

For people saying that airport security is wholly theatre and that it doesn't do any good- certainly it seems they've gone overboard on certain things, but what is your explanation as to why hijackings and terrorist attacks involving planes are MUCH less common than they used to be?

Sorry that this is mostly off the dome, and has less references than I would like. We argued this stuff to death in the aughts, though ultimately the political incentives in favor of security theater were just too great. Everyone is terrified of the potential backlash of not being seen to do enough in advance of the next big terrorist attack, I guess. And to be clear, we are talking mostly about post-9/11 airport security measures as being security theater. Some degree of airport security has been necessary since people started getting on airplanes with guns and informing the pilot that, hey, guess what, we're going to Cuba instead of Miami today.

But the big reduction in airplane hijackings came with the institution of metal detectors to keep guns off airplanes after a couple high-profile hijackings in the 1970s. But remember that these incidents were of a very different character than what we now think of as the risk to airplanes: they were certainly a problem, but the modus operandi of hijackers in this era was to force the plane to fly to a non-extradition country and land safely. 9/11-style hijackings, that used the plane as a bomb and killed everyone aboard, were on nobody's radar--when the goal was blowing up the plane and killing passengers, bombers generally used bombs planted in checked baggage, which requires different security measures from passenger screening.

Two security changes occurred after 9/11 that made future such hijackings basically impossible: one, probably most importantly, was that passengers understood they no longer could count on hijackers having an interest in surviving the hijacking. This change in passenger behavior was immediate: later that same year when a guy tried to bomb an airplane (using a really ineffective device hidden in his shoe) passengers immediately acted to restrain him. The second important change was reinforcing cockpit doors and keeping them locked: this makes hijacking airplanes with knives (the only major modality left to most would-be hijackers) functionally impossible.

All the other intense passenger screening and security measures implemented after 9/11 has been repeatedly shown by security researchers to be pretty ineffective, not even very reliable at stuff like keeping knives off airplanes. For years after 9/11 there were endless news stories about law enforcement running drills at airports and weapons making their way through security. A lot of later security measures, like liquid limits in carry-on baggage, came from terrorist plots that didn't even make it off the drawing board (and are unlikely to have ever worked anyway), and seem mostly to be overzealous ass-covering by transportation security officials.

And, finally, we should note that the real security threats to airplanes in the post-9/11 era seem to have come come from two sources that are basically impossible to protect against using traditional security methods, and for which passenger-based security screening is useless: anti-aircraft missiles and suicidal pilots (plus an honorable mention to aircraft companies trying to skirt certain regulatory requirements).

Despite what decades of American media would have you believe, elaborate plots targeting transportation infrastructure and involving like a dozen people are actually not at the top of the list of terrorist methodologies--why time and money training members of your organization to fly planes into buildings, when you can just use social media to convince a guy to drive a car into a crowd of bystanders, or stab somebody on the street? It's much cheaper, and much, much harder to guard against. Random lone-wolf terrorism is, unlike the kind of elaborate plots portrayed on TV, and one-off real-life examples like 9/11, basically impossible for security services to guard against in advance. But in order to justify the war on terror, and large budgets for security services on anti-terrorism grounds, it was necessary to play up the threat of such plots, even if by its very nature 9/11 was impossible to repeat. For similar reasons, the post-9/11 era also played up the threat of Islamic extremism and large overseas terrorist networks, even though far-right extremists acting in small groups also have managed to kill huge numbers of people in spectacular ways.

So for all these reasons, and those noted at the top, the political incentives around transportation security means that passenger screening measures in airports are almost guaranteed to be a one-way ratchet, even if they don't work. It's a bit like the fabled anti-tiger amulet--it's easy to say the lack of tigers is proof it's working! Even if the real reason there are no tigers about is that you live in Ohio. The media environment post-War on Terror helped create a public appetite for and approval of such anti-tiger amulets, too, of course. This was not by any means a purely top-down phenomenon.

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, angst, choking, bruises

Part 2

Words of Command - Part 3

The lights in Stark Tower dim on a gentle cycle—cool and golden like a fading sunset. You rub your eyes as the hallway stretches quiet and long before you, socks sliding soft over polished floors.

It’s late.

And you're exhausted.

You offer a tired goodnight to Steve, who nods with a warm smile from the common room couch, book half-forgotten in his lap.

Behind you… Bucky follows.

Silently. Footsteps so soft for a man made of steel and shadows.

You glance back at him. “You don’t have to follow me now,” you murmur, voice laced with sleep.

He tilts his head.

“Protection” he says simply.

Not a question.

A statement.

You bite your lip and nod—too tired to argue, too soft-hearted to tell him no. Still, anxiety coils in your gut.

You grab your Stark Phone and speed-dial Tony.

He answers after three rings, voice groggy and annoyed. “If this is about him eating toothpaste, I swear to God—”

“Tony,” you whisper. “He’s following me. Into my room.”

Pause.

“...Okay, that’s less funny. Still not my problem. Give him a blanket or something.”

“I don’t think he knows what blankets are, let alone boundaries,” you say, glancing at the man shadowing your every move like a silent sentinel.

“Yeah, well—RoboCop's not getting his own room until you've got him fully housetrained—Congrats, Thumbelina. You’re now the proud owner of a six-foot trauma-soaked heat-seeking murder puppy. Mazel tov.”

You sigh.

He hangs up.

You push open your bedroom door and slip inside, flicking on the lamp with a soft click.

The light spills across the room in a warm wash—cream walls, soft bedding, a shelf of books you haven’t had time to finish. It’s a safe space. Your space.

The Soldier follows.

And pauses.

Like an animal entering unfamiliar territory.

You move to the dresser, trying not to act weird. “I’m just getting ready for bed. You can—um… you can sit? Over there?”

He stands by the door. Watching.

Every mirror, every shadow, every flicker of movement, he tracks it all. Head snapping slightly, expression unreadable.

And then JARVIS speaks.

“Good evening, Miss. Shall I dim the—”

CLANG.

You whip around just in time to see him move—smooth and deadly, like a switch flipped inside his skull.

Arm raised, metal hand snapping toward a wall panel like he’s going to actually rip JARVIS straight out of the drywall.

“Shit—No!” you squeak, rushing forward.

He throws a glance over his shoulder—tense, locked in—but the moment his eyes meet yours, the storm stalls. His breathing is shallow. Pupils blown wide. JARVIS had startled him.

“Room compromised,” he says, clipped.

You place a hand on his arm—his flesh arm—and slowly ease him back.

“That’s just JARVIS. He’s… he’s like a ghost that lives in the walls, okay?”

He blinks. “...Ghost?”

You smile nervously. “He won’t hurt anyone.”

Slowly… so slowly… he lowers his arm.

But his eyes never stop moving.

You set your clothes down for the morning and glance over to find him standing in the corner, half-shadowed, metal hand flexing subtly at his side. Not speaking. Not relaxing.

Just watching.

“Do you… do you want to sleep?” you offer gently. “I could make a spot—on the wee couch, or…”

He doesn’t answer. But when you climb into bed, turn off the lamp, and settle under your blanket, you hear the smallest creak of the floor.

He moves.

He sits in the corner.

Back against the wall.

Facing the door.

Soldier on guard.

Watching.

Protecting.

Sometime in the night, you wake to a strange stillness.

The room is dark, but you can feel his presence.

Eyes heavy with sleep, you lift your head and see him still there—knees drawn up, eyes open.

He hasn’t moved.

Not once.

You whisper, “You can rest, too, you know…”

He says nothing.

But for the first time, his head tilts.

The soft hum of Stark Tower fills the silence like a heartbeat in a hollow chest. The skyline glows faint behind your blackout curtains, and somewhere distant, JARVIS murmurs about internal diagnostics.

But inside your room, there’s stillness.

You’ve long since drifted off to sleep, curled beneath layers of blankets, your breathing steady and quiet.

Across the room, seated in the corner where he’s kept watch for hours, Bucky or 'Soldat' is also asleep.

Or… trying.

His back is pressed against the wall, legs drawn in tight, arms rigid across his lap. He hadn’t meant to sleep. Hadn’t wanted to.

A whimper broke the silence. Bucky's head thrashed from side to side, his long hair flicking across his face with the movement. His metal fingers twitched and clenched.

But the moment his eyes had closed, the nightmare came.

His breath hitches.

It starts in his chest like a tremor, then takes hold—harder, faster. Metal fingers twitch. His jaw tightens. In the dark, his eyes move behind closed lids.

Russian words tumbled from his lips as his movements grew more agitated. Sweat beaded on his forehead as whatever nightmare has him in its grip tightened its hold.

Restraints.

Cold.

Hands.

Falling.

Needles.

The chair.

Pain.

The voice.

Pain.

That voice.

Pain.

"missiya" mission.

He jerks upright with a sudden violent inhale, like he’s surfacing from deep underwater. For a heartbeat, he’s not in Stark Tower.

He’s not in your bedroom.

He’s back in Siberia.

You jolt awake instantly—some part of your brain registering the shift in energy before your eyes even open.

But it’s too late.

The weight of a body is over you, the cold wrap of vibranium fingers tight around your throat.

He’s straddled you before his eyes even fully focus, breath ragged and guttural like a wolf mid-attack. There’s no recognition in his face—just movement.

You can’t breathe.

Your hands claw instinctively at his wrist—not to hurt him, just to get air.

Your voice comes out as a whisper, a desperate plea.

“Soldat—!”

The grip loosens instantly.

His eyes go wide.

Recognition blooms like a bomb going off in his chest.

He scrambles backward, nearly falling off the bed as his breath hitches and catches.

You swear for a second he looks at you like he’s seen a ghost.

“Handler,” he breathes, voice hollow.

A beat.

Then—

"Awaiting instructions, doll."

Ok—that's new—what the fuc—

The endearment slipped out, seemingly without his awareness.

Wait.

His voice.

You freeze.

The accent—it’s... lessened.

Still there, still faint, but there’s a tremor of something else beneath it. Something almost American. Like muscle memory from a past self is bleeding back in.

You massaged your throat, watching him warily. "What did you just call me?" you managed, your voice raspy.

You look at him—he’s curled into himself now, pressed against the far edge of your bed like he wants to disappear into the wall.

“Cryostasis?” he mutters.

A tremor starting in his flesh hand.

You frowned, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Cryostasis? What's that?" you asked cautiously.

His eyes darted to your face, then away, as though even acknowledging the question might be a violation of protocol.

"Cold comes. Then nothing." His odd new accent stumbled over the clinical description.

You whisper, “It’s okay.”

His head shakes—once, hard. “No.”

“That is not going to happen,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer.

You reach for him—not fast, not aggressive. Just enough to brush your fingers against his sleeve. You’re shaking. So is he.

“I shouldn’t have woken you like that,” you whisper.

His eyes flash to yours.

“You shouldn’t come near me.”

He says it like a warning. Like he’s dangerous. A loaded weapon without a safety.

The morning light leaks into Stark Tower through sleek glass panels, catching dust motes in golden slants. The smell of coffee and toast drifts from the communal kitchen as the Avengers mill around in various states of half-awake bickering.

Tony is already three steps ahead, tapping away at a holographic interface while bemoaning someone using his milk.

You step inside, shoulders pulled in, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. Your neck is artfully concealed—layers of makeup, your hair tucked to one side, collar tugged high. You don’t want them to see.

Behind you, Bucky moves like a shadow—soundless but ever-present. His eyes never leave you. He doesn’t acknowledge the others.

“Jesus,” Clint mutters under his breath, low enough that only Natasha hears. “He’s still glued to her.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her eyes are locked on Bucky. Calculating.

Steve is seated at the far end of the room, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other—but when you walk in, his eyes lift over the rim of the mug. They soften. Then narrow.

Then shift to the Soldier.

Something is off.

Tony glances up from his projections.

“Morning, Thumbelina,” he greets, in that usual teasing voice he uses when pretending not to care too much. Then his gaze flicks to you again—and he stills.

You’re not quite fast enough with your coffee mug.

His eyes catch the edge of discoloration peeking beneath your concealer—faint, but unmistakable. A handprint, forming from throat to jaw. Not quite healed. Not quite hidden.

His expression drops.

“What the hell is that?”

You freeze mid-sip.

The room goes quiet.

Tony’s voice cuts the air like a blade. “That better not be what I think it is.”

Your throat closes. “Tony—”

“I knew it. I knew the 'silent Soviet scarecrow' routine was just a breath away from having a full-on Hulk-themed episode!”

Bucky reacts instantly.

The tension in his shoulders coils tight like a sprung trap. His jaw clenches, head snapping toward Stark like a weapon finding a target.

One step forward—fast. Direct.

“Back down.”

His voice is low, cold. His accent is faded but not gone—words flatter, more clipped. American ghosts clinging to Russian steel.

Steve’s head tilts.

Tony lifts his hands, mockingly. “Oh, look at that! RoboRambo speaks. Did they teach you that in murder school or is that the accent of a guy trying to remember who he used to be?”

Bucky’s fist tightens. Metal groaning.

Your hand shoots out, placing it on his chest.

“Doll,” he says instantly, like the word grounds him.

"Stand Down ... Please"

He nods.

But his attention doesn’t leave you.

Not for one second.

Steve stands slowly. Not threatening. Just observing.

“You hear that?” he says quietly to the room, gaze on Stark but words aimed at Bucky. “His voice. It’s�� changing.”

“Changing into what?” Tony mutters, pacing slightly now. “The warm tones of someone who nearly crushed her windpipe in her sleep?”

Bucky flinches. It’s subtle—but it’s there.

“Tony, please,” you whisper. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Oh, no, I forgot—brainwashing, programming, whatever. But forgive me if I don’t want my employees being used as a therapy animal for the man who can snap necks like breadsticks!”

Bucky stares blankly.

None of the names or faces mean anything to him.

But the tension rising in you—that registers.

He steps protectively between you and Tony.

“Neutralize the threat,” he says coldly.

“No, no—” Your hands are shaking. “Don’t do that. There’s no threat. Tony’s just… being Tony.”

“Irritating?” Clint offers, trying to diffuse the moment. “Yeah, he’s great at that.”

Steve crosses the room slowly.

“Bucky,” he tries.

The Soldier’s gaze doesn’t flicker. His expression doesn’t change.

There’s no flicker of recognition in those eyes. Only patience. Obedience. A mind made of shattered glass slowly piecing itself back together.

You guide him gently to the table. He lets you. When you move, he follows. When you speak, he listens.

But when others speak?

He blinks. No comprehension.

“Why doesn’t he know us?” Natasha asks softly. Her words are for Steve.

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. “But the accent fading… that’s gotta be memory. It means someone’s still in there.”

Tony crosses his arms, looking you dead in the eye. “You need to be honest with us. If you’re in danger—”

“I’m not.”

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” you say. Your voice is small. “And he stopped the second he realized.”

“And then went right back to calling you ‘Handler,’” Tony snaps.

[moldybonessmell]

John Walker is a well-written character and you're ready for this conversation

// Thunderbolts SPOILERS

I went in to watch Thunderbolts before I checked out TFATWS and was under impression Walker's some kinda insane dude with anger issues by the way everyone treated him (including fandom) and how surprised I got when I actually watched his story unfold and realised...

..he's a saint compared to the rest of Thunderbolts lol.

Don't get me wrong, he definitely has sins, but compared to this particular group of individuals he's nothing😂.

He's a soldier, got a title of Captain America from the government, and tried his best to live up to VERY HIGH expectations (the same ones we later see Sam himself struggling from btw). The problem is that John's a soldier who can fight well and not a peacekeeper. Growing more and more frustrated with how he fails to do this very honoured job he ends up being caught up in being ridiculously human. And together with super-serum complications (I suspect it amplified his emotional problems because he WAS NOT behaving like this before taking it, even Lemar says he's always been good in battles and made right decisions before) and grief John let his emotions get control over him.

You DO know he killed this guy because he was strieken with grief over his best friend Lemar dying, right? It's important to me that you know that.

Let's be real, John is a soldier and admits to doing some bad stuff in Afganistan to get these 3 badges of honour. The only reason he suffered the consequences he did is because it was public and people had expectations of him. If he was a regular soldier and killed 'a terrorist' he would even get another reward.

The fight between Walker and Sam & Bucky was clearly his mental breakdown as guilt and grief consumed him. And it seems like the only way he knows how to handle his emotions is to turn them into anger. Which is quite common for men btw.

Is John Walker a good person? Not exactly. Does it make him an interesting, complex and realistic character? Hell yeah.

The thing is, we see him choosing to do the right thing aka let go of Karli and save people in the same show even before Thunderbolts.

In Thunderbolts tho we see him over and over choosing to save people even if it's some random assasins team. Shit, he even launches himself to shield Bucky from bullets even when Bucky would be fine to block them with his metal arm. The thing that I noticed in Thunderbolts is how he starts using the shield to protect others and not as a weapon how it was in TFATWS.

The other thing that separates him from most of Thunderbolts team is that he's not an assasin in its sense, but a soldier who does what he does from patriotic standpoint. It doesn't exuse or justify his actions btw I'm very anti-military, but it gives him more depth than just being a killer.

In the end of the day he's stuck in the same limbo of trying to show his worth and seeking redemption for his sins just like other misfits of Thunderbolts.

He'd definitely use some work on how to handle his emotions in a healthy way and not just resolve to anger every time, but I genuinely don't understand how is he hated SO MUCH in the fandom.

Isn't it like the whole point of releases of this phase to show that people can't be perfect and if they are doing their best it's enough?

I'm not a John Walker apologist or excuser, but a secret third thing of an enjoyer of morally complicated characters.

[dispatchvampire]

Nailed It

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: super duper fluffy, some pining, some misunderstanding

Summary: Reader takes Bucky with her to the nail salon and ends up with a whole lot more than a polish change.

WC: 2240

A/N: No use of y/n, reader isn't described, and this is a shameless 'we have always lived in the tower' fic. Basically, CW never happened, Tony, Steve, and Bucky got their poop in a group like adults, and it's always chill on the communal floor.

Italicized conversation is in Vietnamese, plus a couple other phrases written out.

Special note: many thanks to @noellez-best-life23 and her hubs for the beta and the assistance. They rock.

Divider by @enchanthings

“Where ya headed?” Bucky asked, his voice carrying over from the couch in the common area while you made your way into the kitchen. The only parts of him you could truly see were the beat up old boots hanging over the arm of the sectional at one end and the curtain of his hair draped across the other end

“Hell if I don’t change my ways,” you replied as you filled your emotional support thermos with ice and fresh water. His little giggle in reply made you smile. “Headed out to get the claws sharpened.” 

This was greeted with the cutest gopher impression you’d ever seen, with only the top of his head popping up over the back of the couch to reveal his gorgeous eyes narrowed in confusion. “That’s a thing you need?” he asked as he sat up further and brushed his dark bangs out of his face. 

“I’m going to get my nails done,” you clarified with a smile, showing off your purple, glittery tips in desperate need of some professional attention. “Wanna come with?” 

Now, a part of you asked as a joke, because that wasn’t really his scene. It wasn’t like Lotus Nails in Little Saigon was a huge tourist attraction. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to spend time with him. 

In the protective confines of the tower, you were mission support and comms, not a superhero in any way but tech, and yet, you and Bucky had hit it off immediately, bonding over sci-fi and fantasy books and movies. He was frighteningly smart, with a sarcastic sense of humor and a sassy beautiful mouth. He made the cloistered, serious life of being a member of the Avengers Support crew fun. 

And it wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed he was pretty. Like intimidatingly so, even without the metal arm. You had eyes, and had had a healthy crush on him going back to eighth grade American History class, but in person… You’d like to say it was no problem at all overlooking that ridiculously sharp jawline and those massive shoulders, and that mouth… whew. 

But more than just a gorgeous everything, Bucky Barnes was a sweetheart. If ever a man ignited your desire to cuddle them, it was him. Something about him made you squishy and soft, and while normally you’d squash that instinct immediately, with him you were hesitant to follow through on that. 

In the first place, you had no idea how he felt about you. Up to this point, you’d been wallowing in your one-sided crush on a man who was likely emotionally unavailable in that sense. Not that you blamed him. After all he’d been through, he needed to do what he needed to do for him and you would never begrudge him that. 

In the second place, there was the not so little matter of you. You weren’t armed with potentially lethal sexiness like Natasha, or waif-like and twee like Wanda. You didn’t have illusions, not once in the history of ever had you been anyone’s first choice. Not that that really mattered anymore. Thanks to therapy and working on yourself, you were strong in your own sense of self and mostly unbothered by how other people perceived you or responded to you. 

It’s still unclear to you how a question tossed out so flippantly resulted in you standing in a crowded subway car to the Village with the Winter Soldier pressed in behind you like the most menacing and unreasonably hot shadow possible, but you had to admit, his henley, boots, and jeans combo coupled with his long hair, bright eyes, and stubble, was a thirst trap in every practical sense. 

So much for the relaxing afternoon you’d had planned. Now you’d be spending it focusing on keeping your libido from taking over your tongue and releasing your mortifyingly acute crush on such an unsuspecting victim. 

You two had made some smalltalk on the way to the salon, the brisk afternoon breeze refreshing after the stuffy train ride. 

You’d told him about needing to change from your winter to your summer color palette on your tips and toes, and he’d nodded along dutifully, glancing at your sandaled feet. The squinting  look of confusion and vague consternation never really left his face. 

He held the door as you entered the building, likely a reflex but you thanked him all the same. If you blushed a little, you could chalk it up to the sun exposure. 

“Chào các bạn,” you greeted the ladies as you walked into the salon. You’d been coming here for years, longer than you’d been with the Avengers even, so this place was a regular haunt for you. Because of the time of day, the place was mostly empty except for the staff, all of whom were sweet and very curious about your tagalong. 

“You speak Vietnamese?” Bucky questioned over the chattering as he watched you interact with your friends. 

“Sure,” you replied with a shrug and a smile. “Learned it for just this reason, actually. I like talking to folks and meeting new people.” He nodded, but it was hard to tell if he was still confused or slightly impressed. Then a stroke of genius struck you fast and hard. “Have you ever had a pedicure?” 

The wide blue eyes and quick wash of pallor as the blood left his face before coalescing in his cheeks made you laugh openly. “N-no?” 

The slight stutter of terror didn’t miss you at all. “You want one?” His response of blinking and not much else. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“But-but, my toes.” It was hard to parse out the source of his exact concern, but he sounded like a little kid being asked to give up his beloved blanky for a quick stint in the laundry. His furrowed brow and hint of a pout made you want to kiss him all over his face and hold him while you reassured him. Admirably, you kept your hands and lips to yourself.

“Will have the time of their life, trust me.” You hoped your smile was reassuring, ”C’mon, it’ll be fun. Certainly more fun than just sitting in the lobby waiting for me to get done. Plus, it’ll be on me. I think you’ll like it.” 

His skeptical look followed him over his shoulder as he was led across the room to the pedi chairs and you were taken over to a table to begin your regular ritual. 

“Cut down?” your nail tech asked as she removed your electric purple gel polish a finger at a time. 

“Please,” you confirmed, though your attention was firmly across the room as Bucky was directed to take off his boots and roll up his pant legs to the knees. They were, unsurprisingly, just as sexy as the rest of him. He looked thoroughly flummoxed and out of his depth, but played along gamely. 

“He’s cute,” she observed in Vietnamese as she carried on flawlessly with her task. All the other techs in the room chimed in with agreements and additional praises for everything from his ‘pretty eyes’ to ‘big, sexy body’. If he only knew how in depth these ladies appreciated his form, he’d probably pass out from embarrassment. 

“Very,” you agreed with a smile, heat suffusing your cheeks totally unbidden. You feared that if he looked over right then, he’d know immediately that you were talking about him, but alas, nothing to be done. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” 

Your snorted giggle was wholly unintentional. “Don’t I wish. He’s not, unfortunately, but I totally would take him if he asked.” 

That answer perked up your tech considerably. “Ooh, that’s too bad. Does that mean he’s single?” 

You shook your head, doing your best not to grimace. “No.” It was hard not to sound petulant, but it was true. “I think he’s seeing someone.” At least, if the amount of Sharon Carter sightings you’d had in his vicinity were anything to go by. That woman was doing her best to hang off him like a poorly fitted suit. 

“Lucky them, I guess.”

“You have no idea.” You shook your head with a sad smile. “The things I would do to have him look at me… see me like that? I’d be an absolute menace. But alas.” You sighed wistfully and shrugged, admiring your fresh overlays as they cured. 

“Pity.” She patted your hand in sympathy before hauling out a massive set of polish color swatches. “Still, it’s good to have a friend, yes?”

“It is.” You nodded as you flipped through the selection to the glitter contingent. “This one please.” You handed her back the swatch for her to pull your color, when something caught your eye. 

It was blue. Bright, metallic blue with turquoise flakes that shimmered like the sun on the open seas. You looked at it and smiled, immediately thinking of the man across the room. “Actually, I have an idea.”

Bucky was still in the pedi chair by the time your hands were done, so you bopped on over to sit at an adjacent work station. His demeanor was lightyears away from the fearful one he’d had coming in, kicked back with eyes closed in utter bliss, his legs wrapped in hot towels and receiving a hot stone massage. “You good, Barnes?”

“Best I’ve been in a while, actually,” he confirmed without opening his eyes, a lazy grin unfurling across his lips. “I feel like you’ve been holding out on me. This is absolute heaven.” 

You took a moment to make eye contact with the tech working on him and handed off the bottle of polish you’d brought over with you. Her startled expression when she’d uncapped the shiny goodness made it difficult to stifle your laughter, but in the end, she just shrugged and nodded. 

“I’m glad you think so. What are you thinking about doing after this?” 

He shrugged. “Hadn’t thought about it, really. Not in the mood to return to the Tower?”

“Not especially.” You watched as the tech applied the bright blue polish with deft, practiced strokes and hit the nails with the UV lights to cure the polish quickly. “You got something in mind?”

“There’s a great Italian place not too far from here on Broome, just off of Mulberry. You wanna go?”

“James Barnes, are you asking me on a date?” your intention to keep your tone teasing and low stakes was entirely undone by your sudden breathlessness. In a bazillion years, this is not how you would have seen your afternoon going. 

“I might be.” Eyes that shimmered like moondust met yours, a tender, playful grin spread across his lips which did nothing at all to improve your breathing situation. “You interested?”

“You better say yes!” Nancy, the manager hollered across the salon from the front desk. 

“If you don’t, I definitely will!” your traitorous nail tech supplied. The rest of the girls in the place all chimed in with various levels of encouragement and teasing. 

“Give me a second to breathe, dang!” You couldn’t stop laughing, both from the giddyness in your chest and the exuberant chaos erupting in the salon. “I’m working on it.”

“Whaddya say, cutie?” 

Your face felt like it was on fire as much from the sudden nickname as it was from the whole room quieting down to await your answer. It was unnerving being so put on the spot, and yet, not enough to change your mind. “I like Italian,” you replied softly. 

“Alright then.” 

Bucky smiling was a rarity that you cherished. The way he beamed in that moment though, was a fricking revelation. It was a good thing you were already sitting down, because that would have absolutely taken out your knees otherwise. 

Once his nail tech turned him loose, he leaned down to put his socks back on, pausing with a puzzled look on his face before carrying on with his task. You’d expected him to freak out or at least have some questions, so his silence on the matter of his newly adorned toes was a bit disconcerting. You weren’t going to bring it up unless he did, though. 

You pulled your wallet out as you went up to the front to settle your bill. It was a bit pricier than you’d anticipated, but seeing the smile on Bucky’s face and spring in his step was more than worth the extra cost. 

“Cảm ơn bạn vì tất cả mọi thứ,” Bucky told Nancy as you signed off on the credit card slip, and you almost tossed the pen. 

“I’m sorry, what?” The blood drained from your head at a speed so fast it left you dizzy. You had absolutely no control of the way your jaw practically unhinged as it dropped open in shock.

Instead of answering you, he turned to address the rest of the room who were watching with undisguised curiosity. “I appreciate everything you did this afternoon. You are all too sweet.” Turning back to you like he hadn’t just set off the verbal equivalent of an incendiary device, he offered you his arm. “You ready, sweetheart?”

Shutting your mouth with an audible click, you nod mutely. In fact, you don’t manage to speak until you’re at least half a block down the street. “You never told me you speak Vietnamese.” 

The smug smirk and equally sexy wink about ended you on the spot. “You never asked.”

[reasonsforhope]

"Clothing tags, travel cards, hotel room key cards, parcel labels … a whole host of components in supply chains of everything from cars to clothes. What do they have in common? RFID tags.  

Every RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) tag contains a microchip and a tiny metal strip of an antenna. A cool 18bn of these are made – and disposed of – each year. And with demands for product traceability increasing, ironically in part because of concerns for the social and environmental health of the supply chain, that’s set to soar. 

And guess where most of these tags end up? Yup, landfill – adding to the burgeoning volumes of e-waste polluting our soils, rivers and skies. It’s a sorry tale, but it’s one in which two young graduates of Imperial College London and Royal College of Art are putting a great big green twist. Under the name of PulpaTronics, Chloe So and Barna Soma Biro reckon they’ve hit on a beguilingly simple sounding solution: make the tags out of paper. No plastic, no chips, no metal strips. Just paper, pure and … simple … ? Well, not quite, as we shall see. 

The apparent simplicity is achieved by some pretty cutting-edge technical innovation, aimed at stripping away both the metal antennae and the chips. If you can get rid of those, as Biro explains, you solve the e-waste problem at a stroke. But getting rid of things isn’t the typical approach to technical solutions, he adds. “I read a paper in Nature that set out how humans have a bias for solving problems through addition – by adding something new, rather than removing complexity, even if that’s the best approach.”   

And adding stuff to a world already stuffed, as it were, can create more problems than it solves. “So that became one of the guiding principles of PulpaTronics”, he says: stripping things down “to the bare minimum, where they are still functional, but have as low an environmental impact as possible”.  

...how did they achieve this magical simplification? The answer lies in lasers: these turn the paper into a conductive material, Biro explains, printing a pattern on the surface that can be ‘read’ by a scanner, rather like a QR code. It sounds like frontier technology, but it works, and PulpaTronics have patents pending to protect it. 

The resulting tag comes in two forms: in one, there is still a microchip, so that it can be read by existing scanners of the sort common within retailers, for example. The more advanced version does away with the chip altogether. This will need a different kind of scanner, currently in development, which PulpaTronics envisages issuing licences for others to manufacture. 

Crucially, the cost of both versions is significantly cheaper than existing RFID kit – making this a highly viable proposition. Then there are the carbon savings: up to 70% for the chipless version – so a no-brainer from a sustainability viewpoint too. All the same, industry interest was slow to start with but when PulpaTronics won a coveted Dezeen magazine award in late 2023, it snowballed, says So. Big brands such as UPS, DHL, Marks & Spencer and Decathlon came calling. “We were just bombarded.” Brands were fascinated by the innovation, she says, but even more by the price point, “because, like any business, they knew that green products can’t come with a premium”."

-via Positive.News, April 29, 2024

--

Note: I know it's still in the very early stages, but this is such a relief to see in the context of the environmental and human rights catastrophes associated with lithium mining and mining for rare earth metals, and the way that EVs and other green infrastructure are massively increasing the demand for those materials.

I'll take a future with paper-based, more humane alternatives for sure! Fingers crossed this keeps developing and develops well (and quickly).

[my-stories-vault]

Love and War.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N Singer

Blurb: You must've read a lot of enemies-to-lovers, let me show how someone can be your lover and enemy . . .

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): language, gore, major and minor character deaths, break up, major angst, surprise ending, the Supernatural Wars (TSW) spoilers.

Song Inspiration: Love and War by Fleurie.

Prompt: "Nothing is fair in love and war."

Challenge: This is a flip POV challenge but can be read as a standalone one-shot! To read this same chapter from the reader's perspective, head on over here. Original plot credits of this first chapter go to my dear friend, Hepza on Wattpad. Go and show her some love 🥰.

{ Main Masterlist }

Love and War.

The metal hit the floor, clanging in the loud silence.

'You were never good with swords,' I bragged, shrugging with my free arm. Her formal cold smirk disarmed my heart just as much as I had disarmed her of all protection.

'That's why I brought reinforcement,' she smiled with a sinister nonchalance. Her backup emerged from the tree line: Charlie with an archery set, poised in a shoot-to-kill position.

As dread and agony pushed beyond the other emotions, a futile plea pressed past my lips. 'Princess—'

'No, you don't get to call me that,' she barked with such acid that it burned my heart.

'Y/N—'

'Put your sword down,' she cut me off once again.

I vanquished the control of the weapon. Charlie kicked it out of my reach and into my lover's hands.

A lover that had turned into my enemy.

'That's it?' my voice quieter than I'd like it to be. 'You are going to throw all that we had out the window – just like that?'

I should be more raged, more bitter, I should probably be yelling at her for what she did, for what she is doing – but I can't. I can't be mad at her without knowing why she did what she did. I just love her too much.

'Oh, no,' she calmly raised her head high, her expression of stark hate – the same eyes that couldn't not hold love when they used to look at me – the same face I've woken up to for as long as I can remember, the same girl whose love has consumed my every cell to the point that I won't know how to live without her anymore.

But she seemed to have no problem turning on me.

'You already did me that favor when you decided to hunt me down for your father, Your Highness,' she snarled.

'How did we get here?'

A few days before . . .

I was in the middle of a presentation, stating a common point, when the doors to the meeting hall were rudely opened to one of the most blunt, and annoying brats I'd ever set my eyes on: Y/N Singer.

'Your Highness,' the guards addressed, looking about nervously, probably worried about their job status after this – and if I knew Bobby any well, which I did – they were probably wondering if they were gonna survive the day.

But I could honestly not care less as my eyes drew to the rugrat of the girl His Majesty Robert Singer liked to call a daughter. She was amusingly in her nightly undergarments, unafraid of the stares and the jaws she dropped as she stepped into one of the most formal meetings, amongst the most esteemed kingdoms from around.

'Bullocks,' Bobby harshly mumbled under his breath.

'Your Majesty,' one of the two guards that seemed to have been chasing the princess breathed out, 'we tried to stop the Princess, but she . . .' he trailed away, unable to find proper words, also busy panting – he probably had had to run after her.

She'd do that to you. She was one of the better warriors I had met in my life while traveling the world. She was definitely fitter than the poor bodyguards that seemed to have been assigned to keep her away.

Stopping her is like stopping a tsunami dead in its tracks – it's impossible. That's one of the reasons why I love this annoying brat.

'I got this,' Bobby groused – he didn't, but okay. 'Now go and do your damn duty.' He turned to his daughter (this is going to be fun to watch), 'Y/N, what are you doing here in your . . . ' he tried to bring a polite statement into fruition, and was failing miserably.

'My undergarments,' she supplied, unabashedly. And I had to hide my proud smirk behind my hand as all the nobles began exchanging awkward and uncomfortable looks. Some of the ladies were jealous, and some of the men resisted to check my girl out.

Not that I minded – she was indeed a sight to look at.

'Let me see,' Y/N continued, 'I woke up and the first news I received was, Your Eminence has canceled our breakfast together. So, I was wondering what made you ditch our daddy-daughter date; and here you are, canoodling with your comrades.'

Her eyes swept over the table, her gaze tainted with slight resentment, and suddenly I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes till I could see my brain.

I knew how much she cherished the time she got to spend with her father, especially after what happened to her mother – Bobby was the only family she had. And I loved that she held onto that with everything she had. But her methods sometimes were slightly . . . crass, for the lack of a delicate word. She lacked the tact she needed to get things done her way.

Sometimes it was adorable, sometimes I just hated it.

It was a little bit of both right now. Even though it was adorable: her reckless courage and her flaunted beauty – I was in the middle of speaking about, as she calls it, "the damn Dam" – one of the most important projects our countries ever took up.

'Here, put this bloody robe on,' the King huffed, extracting himself from it and draping it over his daughter's modesty.

She slapped the robe off of her, crossing her arms and humphing with one of the cutest angry pouts I'd seen her sport – okay, maybe I was over the fact that she interrupted us and now I was enjoying this a little too much.

'Not until we sort this out.'

'Gentlemen, give us the room please,' Bobby intoned in a resigned manner.

Everyone, relieved, scraped their chairs across the floor, dragging themselves away from the room when Crowley stated: 'Well, I don't mind staying for the show.'

Y/N rolled her eyes, as mine own narrowed at the bastard. I mean, same, but come on!

'Not now, Crowley,' chastised the father, then turning his elderly stern gaze towards me, a silent order written in them to shoo the people away so that none could become prying ears.

After depositing them on the other side of the door, I stood back to eavesdrop myself.

'Listen, my dear, you can't walk into a royal meeting like this and demand we have a meal together.'

'And you can't ditch me like a prom date, then have a tea party with your friends.' She paused, composing her wits into reasoning, 'Never let anyone treat you like a damsel in distress, or anything less – you taught me that, Daddy.'

I smiled at her, even though she couldn't see me, and decided it was time I let my presence be known.

'Sometimes you make me wonder – did I make a mistake raising you like a boy?' he was saying just as I pushed the door in.

'For what it's worth, Your Majesty, I find the hubris of our Princess very gallant,' I found myself saying in a formal format, a smirk playing with my lips, as Y/N shoot me a "not-funny" look.

Oh, look who's talking.

'If only her future groom would agree to that,' the King tiredly said, a small smile on his face, one that I returned with a tight one on mine.

'Now, if you are done with this jibber-jabber, Your Majesty, I would like to know how you're making up to me for my loss,' she asked with authority.

Bobby smiled down at her fondly, 'I will make it up to you tonight, Princess. Promise.'

'I'll appreciate it if you keep to it,' she said.

'Of course,' he confirmed. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bunch of Royals to threaten for their lives in case they have any ideas of leaking what happened here.'

We both chuckled, and he shot me a look over her head – a silent warning that the threat applied to me too. I simply nodded.

'Dean, do you mind escorting my idjit daughter back to her room?' Bobby raised his brow at me.

'Dad, I can—'

But I cut the gorgeous e/c-colored Princess off, 'Not at all. It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.' And my hand quickly gripped her arm before the protests I knew were begging to be told could leave her mouth.

I could feel her orbs boring into my back as I dragged her away, but if she was going to be stubborn – so was I.

Our rapid footsteps led us to her bedroom hallway, and as soon as I knew all the eyes were off us, I swiftly bent down to put her across my shoulders like a sack of potatoes, a grin tugging on my face as she squealed in surprise – her reaction the only reason why I did it in the first place. She was too nauseatingly cute when she was taken off guard.

'Put me down, Winchester!'

There were no signs of compliance until after we were inside her bedroom where I let her to her feet gently, speaking soon as our eyes met.

'Really?' I wondered incredulously, 'Ambushing a royal meeting by waltzing in your undergarments – you got some nerve, Princess.' I teased, the title meaning more than just that within the safe confines of her room.

It was the term that I used to refer to the fact that she had me wrapped around her little finger like the Princess she was. And I love her to bits for everything she is.

God, I'm screwed.

'I am a Singer, my love,' she goaded. 'It is in the blood.'

Fair enough.

I took her hand to twirl her around, letting her fingers go from mine so that she stumbled towards her wardrobe. 'Now get dressed,' I commanded in that voice she said did things to her.

She sifted through her clothes landing on one of the familiar morning gowns.

'No, not that,' I chided, 'you wear that too often.'

My eyes shifted to the mirror on the side; I started to fix my hair which seemed to have lost its lusture like I had lost my will to live after that goddamn meeting – sure, it was important, but dammit, if it didn't make me want to kill myself out of boredom.

'Fine,' she grumbled, putting it back for an alternative choice. 'How 'bout this?'

I glanced over, grinning for she had brought up another number she looked mighty fine in. 'Yellow suits you, sweetheart.'

She nodded before staring at me – a look that I took too long to realize than I'd like to admit – was ordering me to turn for some privacy. But then, perhaps, I wanted to ignore that look. But she refused to budge.

Oh, come on! I thought to myself, 'What, it's nothing I haven't seen before.'

She kept staring at me dryly till I gave up.

'Alright, alright!' I sighed internally, surrendering as I turned to instead gaze at the door. So much for that.

Anyways . . . 'So, daddy-daughter date. Really?' It wasn't the fact that she liked to do it, it was the fact that she actually chose to utter these words. If that didn't deserve a face, I don't know what did.

'Hey, it's a work in progress,' she protested, shuffling her limbs to get changed.

I scoffed, shaking my head, once again realizing how annoying she had been before, well. 'How I fell for you, escapes me, Princess. You are—'

'Enticing,' she suggested, with a smile in her tone.

I felt her tap on my shoulder. I turned to her, a smile on my face, as a chuckle left me. 'That's not the word I was looking for, but I won't complain,' I teased.

'Quit flirting and help me with this, De,' she reprimanded, turning about to display her unlaced corset.

My fingers pulled at the strings, but the smile never left me. 'Is it enough?'

'A little bit tighter,' she requested. I heeded. She said, 'So, how is the Dam Construction project?'

'Kicking our asses,' I murmured, working on tying off the loose ends.

'Yeah, I barely saw my father during the last couple of months, and of course, you . . . I feel like I forgot your face,' her tone is sad.

And I feel bad.

She is right. We'd had barely gotten time to ourselves these last few months and all because of this stupid project. Well, not stupid – but still. The disagreements just keep on piling and I just want is to get this over with – probably one of the reasons why I've been pushing to dedicate more of my time to this instead of other things.

For now, though, I'll settle for some humor. 'What are you talking about?' I try to sound playfully offended. 'You could never forget a face like mine.'

She ignored my clear self-appreciation, 'However, I do appreciate what you guys do.'

'Yeah, it's gonna help a lot of people. The river can replenish many monarchies. Kids don't have to walk miles to get water if this project is finished,' I end with a deep sigh. I really want this to work – helping people is what I'm passionate about, but the lack of enthusiasm my stick-in-the-ass colleagues share has been grating on my nerves.

'When you finish it,' she corrected me softly.

'Only if it's as easy as it sounds,' I complained.

'My love, you people are constructing a historical monument that is going to gather a primary waterfront and spread it across to regions that don't have access to it. It is obvious it is hard.'

'Not just the labor, sweetheart, some of the Kings are rebelling at the last minute: not to share water with the half-breed domains,' I huffed, now helping her with the gown.

'Some of them as in . . . '

'Gordon,' I finished for her, adjusting the wrinkles on her dress for her.

'Bingo,' she said as if she'd had that pegged.

She handed me the necklace I gifted her after I was done. It was my one-year anniversary present to her, and I loved that there wasn't a day that went by without it around her neck. I gathered her hair with one hand, brushed it away to the side, and then dangled the jewelry around her neck – the symbol of our secret relationship.

'You were never a fan of him,' I noted, clicking the lobster lock in place.

'He is a prick, Dean,' she ranted, 'No one should be a fan of him. He is self-obsessed and despises the small sub-kingdoms – top of it all, I don't like the way he sees me.'

A smile twitched on my lips as she turned.

'What?'

'You're so beautiful when you're angry,' I admitted, 'I couldn't get my eyes off you this morning.'

It was true – how could I look away when her eyes gleamed with the fight that inspires me to never give up?

'Shut up,' she blushed. She distracted herself by walking to the mirror to redress her hair for the day.

That's when I noticed it, 'You're wearing your Leaflet Crown?'

'Yes. Why do you ask?'

'You only wear this when you're going on hunts,' I managed as dismay clawed up its way into my consciousness, 'and last time I checked, your father forbade anyone from going into the dark forest.'

I know it was petty to bring up her father's warning in our conversations. But it wasn't like I could forbid her from doing something. She was a stubborn woman who got what she set her heart to. For the love of God, though, for once, I just wished she'd listen to Bobby or me. I worry, and I don't know how long before my worries turn into my day-mares.

'Oh, that,' she seemed not to notice my inner discord.

'Care to explain,' I pressed, picking up the Crown from her head.

'I was going to meet Charlie,' she assured, 'that's all, my love.'

'Ah, right,' I realized, 'Charollete, your Chief Musketeer. Her and her troop have been really helpful to us on the guarding duty at night. She's wonderful,' I end on the admission.

'I know,' she childishly booped my nose, making me smile again. She replaced the crown then marched off to the shoe rack, selecting one that matched.

Before she could slip them on, I plucked them out of her grasp. 'Here – let me.'

'Your wish is my command, My Prince Charming,' she teased, moving away nevertheless to plop down on her bed.

I would mind, but I'd honestly take any chance I'd get to touch her. I was so starved for her touch, practically a man in a desert. And I swear it'd kill me if she were a mirage.

I dipped down at her feet, taking her heels on my knees as I slipped the first shoe on her, and she initiated another conversation.

'How is Sam?'

'Sammy is happy, actually,' I said as if it was as much news to me as was to her. 'Away from all the castle drama – he got his gal, his hair is as long as ever – so, he's as good as he can ever be.'

'Same ol' Sam, huh?'

'Yeah, I would be lying if I didn't envy his guts to stand up to my father and give away his title for Jessica.'

'I fell for the wrong brother then,' she playfully offered.

'I don't know, Princess,' I smirked, taking the other shoe to her free leg. 'The shoe fits,' I winked, as her foot perfectly slid in.

She bit her lip to suppress the grin I knew was begging to burst on her face. Then, slowly, the corners of her lips turned down as she switched topics once more.

'Why did we decide to keep it a secret again?' she quirked her brow.

The unexpected turn made my face fall. I had an answer that I'd rather not give. But it wasn't one that she hadn't heard before. Something she gave me proof of, 'Oh, right. Your Dad.'

'He'd rather marry me off to the Harvells,' I declared.

'Wait, Joanna?'

I nodded.

'Wow,' she huffed, 'your Dad is shaking up the wrong tree on so many levels. Charlie is gonna be thrilled to hear this.'

Her undertone shocked me, 'Wait, Charlie and Jo?'

'Mhhmhmmmm,' she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

'Wow,' I was taken aback. Who knew Jo was gay?

With that, Y/N reverted back to her original point. 'I don't get it, Dean. What doesn't he see in me?'

Her defeated look hurt.

I climbed up next to her on the bed, facing her as my hands took up residence on both her cheeks and she leaned into them on reflex. 'It's not you, sweetheart. It's just—'

'The fact that we're not hunters, but scholars – I get it, love,' she brushed me off, scoffing, and pulling away from my touch as if it had burnt her. She put as much space as she could between us while still staying in the room.

I knew how frustrated she was getting by my defenses. At first, she'd hesitantly give in, and shrug the disappointment off, but as our relationship grew, she expected more. She had never expected this to be a secret for so long.

I hated that I couldn't give her my everything, I hated how much of a coward I was.

I should have called quits on this relationship long back – given that I couldn't provide her with what she wanted. She was everything that I could want – and yet, I barely had anything to offer to her. She deserves the world, and here I am, in fear of losing her, I held her back from everything that she could have.

And hell, if I wasn't going to try my hardest to keep her in my life, still. I honestly don't know what she saw me, but until she was going to have me, I was going to try my best to have her too.

I reached for her, gripping her by the arm and yanking her back till she was spinning on her heels and clashing against my chest, her hand twisted against her back to allow me leverage to hold her against myself with as little space as I could manage. I searched her face for any signs that this was the moment that she gave up on me.

Finding none, I finally spoke. 'You are it for me, Y/N.' Her eyes closed as a blush rose to her cheeks, ears, and neck, her head lowering as she basked in my commitment. 'You are my happy ending and always will be,' he whispered into her hair as my free hand came up to trace nonsense patterns against her cheek. An involuntary smile kicked my lips upwards as I could feel the honesty behind those words thrumming in every fiber of my body.

I waited for her to look at me again, using the opportunity of when she did to dip down and capture her lips prisoner against mine.

We both melted into the intimacy as I stole the breath from her lungs for as long as I could, feeling my heart accelerate, knowing that I could never want anything more than this, right here.

When the need for oxygen overpowered us, I let her lips go, not failing to hold her gaze in the promise of my words.

'I hate it when you shut me up like that,' she said half-heartedly.

I called her bluff with a cheeky smile, 'No, you don't.'

She shook her head with a smile she couldn't control herself.

'Mmm,' I grunt in discontent freeing her from my arms. 'I must go,' I sighed, 'because if I stay, we might not leave the room till moonrise. Don't wanna give your father and the committee any funny ideas,' I joked.

She shook her head in agreement once again.

I pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead one last time. 'Stay out of trouble,' I cautioned, as I walked backward towards the only exit of the room.

'No promises,' she smirked.

I rolled my eyes, God, this girl is gonna be the death of me.

The meeting ended and left me worse for wear. I antagonize everyone in the meeting for their role in irritating me, as I move to the stables to leave for the examination of the constructions being conducted for the damn Dam. Not to mention I was running low on men because the ones assigned by Bobby were late. By two hours.

It honestly pissed me off, but then I decided to simply screw it and take the men that I did have with me to gauge the progress of the work.

My soldiers flanked me on their horses as I lead the team down the winded roads and towards the riverside we were trying to stem and reap for our benefits when I received the message.

It was a fraction of musketeers under King Robert that had been assigned to me for guard duty returning from their camp where apparently the Princess had been safely taken to after the unexpected attack on her in the Black forest.

Safe to say, no longer did work matter as I quickly dismissed everyone, and hauled ass to the Camp following the piece of soldiers who retraced their steps to their tents.

They guided me down the beaten paths through the trees, rushing against the wind under my agitated orders to make haste.

As soon as the treeline cleared, the daylight blinded me as we spilled into the clearing. As my eyes were getting accustomed to the light, my glance swept over the place where all the clattering and clamoring of moving and training soldiers seemed rather unaffected by today's ordeals – a fact that estranged me considering I was about ready to burst from fear.

The team took my horse and one of the guys led me to the tent that housed the love of my life.

'In here, Prince Dean,' he saluted, leaving me alone.

I had started screaming even before I had entered, 'What were you thinking?!'

'De—' she jumped up to sit, her eyes widening at my outburst.

'I particularly told you not to go into the forest or anywhere near it!' I yelled, feeling rage eat me up, thinking of the thousands of possibilities of what could have gone wrong – of what could have happened.

She could have been dead. Dead!

'Is this some kind of joke to you!?' I exclaimed, my body running so hot that I could have a fever, my chest heaving under the relentless stream of anger that had built up in my heart, and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. 'You could've died!' I shouted, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes.

I kept on venting and she took it silently, watching me, 'You just never listen to me! You have this incessant need to be brave, to do it all by yourself, to-to be a freaking warrior! Well, guess what? You're life just isn't yours! It's mine, too, alright?! You're my life, and if something happened to you, I-I-I . . . I won't . . .'

I looked up to see her staring at me with guilt glazing her eyes. I doubt she was even hearing what I said.

'Say something!' I snapped at her.

She flinched out of her thoughts, shock, and fear marring her breath-taking features. And I felt that my anger was unjustified toward her. I took a deep breath, composing myself as I let my rage flare out of my nostrils, paving the way for the overwhelming fear I had felt on my way over when my mind had been reeling with thoughts of desperation over losing her and the pain that would follow.

All I know is that I never want to feel that again.

So, I kneel in front of her.

As scary as it is to love someone as much as I love her, I need to calm myself and be there for her.

'I'm sorry,' my gruff voice told her. My apology was supported by my hands as they went to her knees, rubbing circles there and my gaze lowered to anywhere but her face – my head heavy with shame and guilt of having exploded on her.

'Me too,' she apologized, her hand going forward, probably unconsciously as she started stroking my hair. 'I should've been careful,' she muttered.

The pressure in the room melted off, leaving the reality of the situation to settle heavily over me. My shoulders slumped under their weight, 'I just . . . I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you,' I voiced my biggest fear.

There. It was out in the open.

It was as simple as birds chirping and insects buzzing – I'd lose it; I'd lose myself if I lost her.

Everything that I did, that I'm doing, and that I will do – that was for her. I did it knowing that when I was done, I'd be going back home to her. To the promise of a love that consumed me, that made me the happiest guy in the world, to the woman of my dreams, and to the keeper of my heart. I'd be destroyed without her, and that was nothing short of a fact.

And that thought petrified me – chilled me to my very bones.

I've never had to think much about it before. She's been reckless but never came been this close to death. She's been hurt – but this was much worse.

She's been with me for as long as I could remember – we were kids when we were friends, and ever since it only blossomed into more. So much so, that I could never again imagine my life, my future, without Y/N in it.

She let my head go, and grabbed my hand from her lap, squeezing it tightly. 'Dean, I'm here.'

The hot lump that had accumulated in my heart thawed, letting the sweet grasp of relief grip me. I took a deep breath cherishing her hand on mine.

I swallowed, pushing my tears back – unwilling to let them make an appearance. 'And I couldn't be more grateful for that fact. Don't ever scare me like that again,' I gritted out, looking up just in time to see her nodding.

That's when I noticed the injury above her eyebrow, on her forehead.

'What happened here?' My hand instinctively raised to its level, my thumb levitating above the wound – one that'd surely leave a mark, one that was temporarily covered with herbs that imposed medicinal properties and benefits.

'The stupid Phantoms,' she blurted.

My heart lurched in shock, and a tendril of fear fizzled down my spine.

'Phantoms?' I quizzed, eyes wide.

She rushed to explain, 'Yeah, I rode the outer banks to reach here soon. I swear, I didn't even cross the border or step foot into the forest! Yet, they attacked us. Poor Phillip took most of the hit . . . Do you know the fire-forged sword didn't do a darn tooting to them—?' she cut herself off, waiting for my reaction – perhaps expecting another outburst.

But I was out of those, and tired – we both had had a long day – so, I tried to lighten the atmosphere. 'You were never good with the swords,' I decided.

She relaxed before delivering a playful punch to my shoulder.

I breathed out, 'Thank God Charlie and her men made it on time.' I made a mental note to send her a fruit basket for saving my life.

'Yeah . . . I . . . Yeah . . . ' she cleared her throat, firing a question at me. 'How did you get here so fast?'

'I was already on my way to examine the constructions at the Dam when they informed me there had been an assault on the Princess – I lost it,' I licked my lips, shaking my head. 'I couldn't stay there for a minute,' or I would have suffocated, 'I left there and rushed here,' to find my breath, I completed in my mind.

It dawned on her, 'Wait, does that mean—?'

'No,' I replied, already knowing where her mind went, 'your father doesn't know. I specifically ordered the men involved in the construction and Charlie's troop not to tell. If they break it, they know the consequences.'

'My hero,' she mocked, placing a hand over her heart.

But I didn't have it in me to smile.

My thoughts wandered off as I bathed in her presence, consoling myself constantly that she was right here in front of me.

'I would be lost without you, Princess,' I revealed, without even realizing that I was speaking it. I looked up into her e/c orbs, waiting for her to say something.

'Dean, I'm here,' she repeated. 'Am not going anywhere, and I'll always come back to you,' she traced a hand over the shadow that had grown on my cheeks.

I leaned into her hand, a sigh involuntarily escaping me. 'I love you,' I confessed.

'I love you, too, My Prince,' she conveyed.

The admission made my lips stretch into a huge smile – the kind which starts to hurt your cheeks, and one that the woman I loved mirrored.

You would think that we must have said it pretty often but being Royals and all, saying it out loud was not a constant courtesy everyone was awarded with. It was freeing to finally be able to say it again. And it was equally as exhilarating, if not more, to hear her say it back.

She leaned down to press her lips against mine, our eyes fluttering shut as the intimacy of our words spread to our actions – a kiss that was slow, passionate, and full of happy promises. If love were an action to me, I'd describe it with this one kiss.

And if it were up to me, I'd never let her go.

But the tent was barged into and our moment was disrupted.

'Oh, sorry!' Charlie exclaimed, looking as flustered as I was probably feeling.

Red painted my cheeks and neck and slightly tinted my ears, as I struggled for a reasonable explanation to the Chief Musketeer who could potentially ruin my chance to be with Y/N.

'Dude, if the tent is rocking, don't come knocking,' Y/N reprimanded.

And once again, I was reminded of her reckless and straightforward personality.

'I'll . . . I'll come back later. You carry on, then.'

I jumped to the rescue, 'Oh, no. No. There is nothing to carry on. I was just . . . uh, I was helping Princess Y/N to practice breathing exercises.' I dumbly answered.

God, never let me be a spy.

'Huh,' Charlie nodded, biting her lip to keep away her smile at the blatant lie – something she won't point out simply out of respect for the Royal.

'My love, she knows,' the h/c-haired woman broke to me, barely able to suppress her own glee and amusement at my pathetic attempt to keep our secret hidden.

'She—what? You know?' I quizzed.

'Yup,' she gave me a mischievous grin. 'Who do you think gave her the suggestion to wear sexy lingeries to your little rendezvous.'

Well, that was information. Incriminating one, at that.

Y/N was the one blushing now, 'Okay, shoo, get out of my tent, Commander, I think you have pressing matters on hand.'

Charlie lingered, 'I have more embarrassing stories, My Liege – if you're interested – you know where to find me.' And she fled before my love could utter another word to save herself from any further embarrassment.

I had my up-to-no-good smile in place as Y/N looked down at me, already glaring. 'Don't even think about it,' she terrorized.

And I burst into peals of laughter – the full-body shake kind. I was having too much fun imagining what all I could find out about her.

'Okay, sweetheart,' I said in a final tone, 'I have to go check on something, too. You take good rest, alright? I'll come to check on you once I'm finished,' I promised.

'Till then,' she dramatically leaned back against the armrest of the couch she'd been lounging on, 'I'll be here,' she put her arm over her face, performing more theatrics, 'waiting.'

God, I'm in love with a dork. An annoying, reckless, kind, passionate, stubborn dork who's now the reason I live.

I shook my head, retracing my steps out of the place before my breath hitched and I just knew I had to do this – I retrieved my steps just so that I could scoop her curious and confused self into my arms and kiss the daylights out of her.

I kissed her senseless, I kissed her like there was no tomorrow, I kissed her with everything that I had, with every cell that loved her, and every thought that worshiped her.

When I pulled away, it was safe to say we were both dazed.

I smirked softly, winking at her, before at last, I made my exit.

True to my word, I ended my work as quickly as I could manage; I needed to see her. I headed back towards the palace - arranging a small care package to the best of my abilities before discovering Juliet and sending her on a mission - to find Y/N and deliver her to me.

The note attached was sober: Meet me at our place.

It was this blossom tree near the small creek. Almost as gorgeous as the woman who was going to meet there.

Hearing her feet approaching I got down from the tree I was waiting in, silently, wondering if she would notice me before I snuck up on her.

She didn't fail me, spinning on the balls of her feet, the arrow already notched with a fatal aim.

My lips tugged heavenward as I offered the white roses I carried in one hand, forgetting momentarily what I'd called her for. 'I come in peace. I gather Juliet delivered my message with success.'

'She's feisty to everyone else,' she mused. 'How you enticed her eludes me.'

I smirked, feeling my chest swell with pride, when: 'Kneel.'

I was on the ground before my mind could even process the command. My knees buckled at just the smile of this woman, I could give my life if she asked for it - surrendering to her was too small in comparison.

'Surrendering so soon, My Liege?' she mocked, drunk on power.

'I will always kneel for my Queen,' I loyally commented, making a cute laugh bubble out of her, a hot blush rendering her ears and neck red.

She lowered her weapon, and we reshuffled our positions into a more comfortable stance where we could sit under the tree, arms wrapped around each other.

The blossom leaves broke from their home to cherish the love we held, fingers entangling and detangling, the moon reflecting its eternal shine into the water beyond us, its lustrous shadow shimmering and thrumming with endless possibilities.

'I didn't find you in an occupied moment, did I?'

'Nah,' she casually denied. 'I was scaring away another noble my father brought in to meet with me.'

My chest tightened with anxiety before relaxing again. 'Just the usual then,' I tried to joke.

My mood turned pensive as I plucked one of the leaves from the ground. 'Do you remember the day we found this place?'

'Of course I do! How could I forget? We tried to climb up the tree, and I got this,' she rolled up her sleeve to flaunt the scar on her right elbow.

'We were so young and carefree,' I muttered. 'Good old times.'

'De . . . What is it?' she picked up on the shift.

'My Dad wants me to marry Jo,' I blurted out quietly. 'He's planned this whole engagement ceremony to announce it to the citizens tonight.'

'What?' A pause, 'What did you say!?'

'What did you want me to say Y/N?' I deflected.

'I don't know,' she said. 'Something between - "No, I don't want to marry Joanna", or "I am in love with the daughter of King Robert"?!'

'It's not that easy!' I suddenly got defensive.

She scoffed, 'Nothing was easy for us, ever, Dean.'

I shook my head, feeling the weight of the conversation slumping my shoulders - an action she subconsciously mirrored as the reality of the situation kicked in.

'We should tell them!' she exclaimed in desperation. 'Both of our fathers.'

'I can't!'

'What do you mean "you can't"?!'

'You know,' I struggled to gain a footing in this argument. 'I can't do that!'

'Why?' She ranted, 'Because we are from two entirely different nations who just depend on each other? Is it because we are not hunters? You, of all people, know that your kingdom cannot survive without our lore knowledge! You need our expertise as much as we need your men! That is the deal.'

'I know very well about the deal, Y/N,' I snapped. 'That is not the problem!'

'Now what,' she shoved me back in an accusatory tone, 'your father wants our resources and not the Princess!?'

'He wants to unite Harvelle's nation with ours,' I reasoned, 'It would be a resourceful arrangement for all our kingdoms.' But even as I said it, I felt my throat close up, my eyes prick, and my heart crumble a little in the agony under the light of the prison sentence I was putting on myself.

'You can't be serious,' she argued. 'You're honestly considering this offer!?'

'I am not! As a matter of fact, I have no idea what to do!' I breathed out, worried that if I didn't rush this confession, I'd break.

'Let's elope!'

I don't think I heard her correctly. 'What?'

'You heard me,' she confirmed.

'Are you out of your bloody mind?' I glared down at her - finally noticing that we two had stood up unknowingly, trying to win an argument by physical intimidation - a natural reflex.

'I am not the one thinking about marrying another girl,' her gruff voice threw the acid words in my face, betrayal and hurt making her tone shake.

'I can't,' I clenched out, ignoring the last statement because if I thought about it for even one second, I wouldn't be able to do this.

'You can't, or you won't?' she challenged.

'I won't,' I rose up to the bait. 'I am not going to disobey the King's commands.'

'For the love of everything on earth, Winchester - you're not just his perfect soldier!' she screamed with venom.

'I am neither a love-struck teen,' I yelled back. 'I am a Prince. I pledged to put my country and my people before my own desires.'

'And I didn't?'

'You wouldn't be talking about eloping if you cared for your people! Your Father should've knocked some sense into you instead of pampering you,' I gripped.

'And John is what, Father of the Year? He handed you a Silversword and told you to scare away the wolves you were mortified of when you ran to him for shelter!' she emotionally wagered in my face.

'He was teaching me to fight back,' I offered.

'You were eight years old, Dean,' she pointed out as if that was supposed to make me change my answer.

Anger ran white hot in my veins, making all logic rush out along with the steam coming out of my ears. 'At least he is not like Bobby!' I glared, frustration oozing out of me in waves. 'Do you know he was the reason behind the delay of the Dam Construction? He wanted to include all the small towns so no one could be left out, all half-breeds and special kinds included. It took me a month to convince all the other Nobles - and now the raw materials are exhausted! That's why we need the help of Harvelles'. If not for his soft-ass nature, we wouldn't be in this mess—!' I blamed.

My words took a hit when the sting of a slap echoed on my face. My head had turned with the force of it, but when I righted my gaze onto her - she was furious, and I was hurt by her action.

A profound silence descended, the water of the creek gently waving, coddling our tensions that kept on increasing with the increase in the misunderstandings we were spectacularly failing to resolve.

I looked at her as if she were a stranger, shocked that she would hit me. I never thought in a million years that she would hit me.

That's when I knew I had gone too far.

My hand was already inching towards the warmth on my left cheek - probably leaving a bruise in the shape of her palm there. 'Y/N . . . ?'

'Don't,' she raised her hand as if to physically stop me from speaking. She was recomposed in her demeanor. 'Seems like you've already made your mind, Your Highness. I have nothing else to say. Marry any girl your Father shoves his finger at, and be his little puppet. But don't you dare talk about my Father like that,' she ended, punctuating by abruptly and promptly exiting.

What had I done?

The engagement ceremony dragged on. My royal attire felt heavy against my bodice - like if all the weight of my emotions were cut into cloth, this is how it would feel.

Jo was nodding and smiling politely at the people coming up to congratulate us - a tightness around her eyes from stopping herself from crying.

And ironically, she was the only person here who probably understood me.

This felt wrong, and I wanted to cry.

Jo's hand was wrapped with mine, but we both were tense under each other's touch - that's not how love should feel.

Love is when you could feel all your worries evaporate as soon as you just see the other person enter a room. Love is when you feel like the happiest human alive to just feel them love you back. Love is when you feel invincible if they support you. Love is what breaks you when they leave you.

Love is Y/N.

And I just seemed to have lost her.

I blink my eyes rapidly even though there's no water to blink back. I don't cry very often, and today I really feel like I want to.

'Oh, honey, congratulations!' another royal smiled sweetly.

I nodded, barely returning a ghost of the same smile.

'When's the date?'

'As . . . soon as we can marry,' I gulped. 'King John doesn't want to waste any time.'

'That's lovely!' she cheered.

Jo cleared her throat, her eyes rimmed red, voice thick. 'Can't wait.'

'You two are so lucky to have each other. Your love is like no other,' she boasted.

'Thank you,' we both said in unison, mirroring the fake gratefulness, our shoulders slouching as soon as she left.

'I can't take this anymore,' Jo murmured. 'My Liege, can we take a walk?'

'Uh, yes, of course. Princess,' I add in courtesy, hating that I have to call her that.

Joanna dragged me away from the dull and pretentious party, functioning only because of the open bar, teeming with equally jealous and hateful nobles.

She took me to the serenity of the garden where the plants, closer to the dead than living, still seemed to understand better the need for calmness we both desired and shared.

Down, ways away from the dying function, nearing a pond, my mind wandered off to what I had just given up. The water, always soothing, now a staunch reminder of my greatest woe.

'Are we screwed or what?!' she burst out, derailing my train of thoughts.

That's when I noticed Jo was crying, silent tears descending down her rosy-with-anger red cheeks.

'Jo . . . ' I trailed off, failing to find words that would ease her.

Because nothing would. Neither of our happiness was gonna survive this marriage and that was a fact.

She sniffed. 'Charlie never wants to see my face. She told me it was too hard, that I don't know what it feels like to date a Royal. Well, she doesn't know what it feels like to be a Royal!'

I scoffed involuntarily, 'Oh, trust me, a Royal won't understand this either.'

She met my agitated gaze, 'Y/N freaked?'

I wasn't even surprised that she knew - Charlie must have told her. Charlie can't keep secrets when it's with people she loves.

My hand raised instinctively to my previously slapped cheek. 'Something like that,' I dropped my hand.

'What are we going to do, Dean?' she sobbed, 'I don't like you! Hell - I don't even like boys! I love Charlie, Dean, I love her, and I can't live without her.'

'I don't know,' I repeated from earlier that evening.

'What do you mean, "You don't know"?!' she started pacing. 'This isn't right! Our parents are forcing us—!'

'No one's forcing me,' I cut her off.

'Fine! But you can't tell me you're happy with this marriage. I mean, don't you love Y/N? I've seen how you look at her, how you treat her, how you talk about her when she's not there - she was your first!'

The pinch in my chest tightened. 'Sometimes you have to sacrifice—'

'For who? Our selfish parents!?'

'Jo!'

'No! Dean, our parents got what they wanted! They married for love!'

'And look how that ended,' I raised my tone to match hers. 'My Mom and your Dad are gone - they're dead! Leaving our parents to exist as shells!'

'They died in accidents, but you want us killed. This marriage will kill us, Dean; it will kill me!'

'Apparently,' a third voice interrupted. 'It will kill King John, too.'

We turned to Castiel holding up a bloody arrow, the crimson making me dread the answer to whose life it took - but what made my breath hitch was that the arrow was decorated with a Phoenix feather.

'Prince Dean,' he addressed. 'It seems your lover has declared a war against us.'

No, no, no! This cannot be happening. That's impossible, absolutely not. No!

Things went to the crapper hella quickly.

My mind raced as I tried to swallow that in the last twenty-four hours I had almost lost the love of my life before I broke up our years of relationship, gotten engaged with a lesbian, and almost had my father murdered by who everyone assumed was the woman I loved (forgive me if I didn't want to jump to conclusions), leading to our advisors issuing an order to enslave her by my hands - there was even a bounty and everything.

Our soldiers have been fighting with one of our closest allies come dawn - the only reason why they received the news they did: My mentor, my Uncle - Bobby was dead. That's what our soldiers told us.

What even is this?

As we rode the horses through the forbidden forest, I couldn't help but feel the pit in my stomach grow. Something was wrong, and by God I swear, if something happened to Y/N . . .

She was the only one unsafe right now. Dad and Sammy had been granted protection, but she was out there, alone, no doubt being hunted by whoever killed her Father and I was not losing two of the few people I cared the most about in one night.

On our way, I lost the assistance of Benny and Cas - separated, the former by the soldiers of the Singers, and the latter by the devils of the forest. I rode alone towards the location the Princess was last seen at - and jackpot!

Her sword was out and swinging before I could demand her attention, my reflexes making me move on my own, and soon our weapons were clanging - then, sooner, I had disarmed her.

Her sword clanged against the half-cut tree stump. 'Should've stuck with archery,' I taunted, the tip of my sword levelling with the heart that once belonged to me.

She raised her hands in surrender - but I couldn't tell if she was playing along or actually being sincere. 'Come home with me,' I said before I could stop the words from toppling out.

'Home?' she spat out. 'Mine is burnt to the ground in flames, love. There is no way home anymore!'

'Come with me,' I offered. 'To our country. I'll talk to Father—'

'You mean as a slave?' she challenged.

My mouth dropped slightly, the words dying in my mouth, unsure myself as to how that would work. I wondered why I would even say something like that to her - her arrow was found in my father's chest. What more could I need than that to acquit her?

But deep down, I knew this couldn't be it. She loved her father, she knew what it meant to be devoted to the last parent you had. How could she even do that?

And obviously, the attack on the Singer Palace was not her. What was the story behind that? Something was going on, and we needed to figure this out - together, whether we wanted to or not.

'What, cat got your tongue?' she quipped.

'I don't see the way around, sweetheart,' I informed. 'You are unarmed, and even if I let you battle me, I don't think it is gonna do you any good – you were never good with swords.'

'Yeah,' she shrugged smugly, 'that's why I brought reinforcements.' Her gaze flicked to the side to reveal Charlie with an archery set, a Phoenix arrow pinning me as its target.

I was so preoccupied on getting things straight with Y/N, I didn't even notice her lurking in the shadows. 'Not gonna lie,' I said, 'I'm impressed, sweetheart. You did get me.'

'Drop your weapon, My Liege, or I'll need to run an arrow into your leg,' warned Charlie.

'I would do what she says; as you know, she's a woman of her word.'

Unwilling to heed just yet, my eyes darted to my peripheries – wondering if my soldiers would ever show up.

As if reading my mind, 'Oh, don't worry,' Charlie snarled, 'they aren't gonna join us, Your Highness, your Knight Benjamin, and other soldiers have been taken care of by none other than our Captain of the Royal Guards.'

Captain Garth Fitzgerald, I thought in annoyance.

'Come on,' I stalled. 'A fight between my vampire knight and your werewolf bishop? Somehow I feel bad I have to miss it.'

'Kneel,' My Queen's order interrupted us.

And every rational thought flew out of my mind as I threw the towel in. My sword clattered out of my hand and the ground dug into my skin as I looked up at Y/N, surrender encompassing my every fiber when I looked at her regally towering over me.

Somehow, I always knew she would be the death of me – but what's more, is that she's that one person who made me feel most alive.

Charlie kicked my sword for her to grab.

I smirked, 'Come on, sweetheart,' I goaded. 'You aren't gonna hurt me – we both know that.'

Just to prove a point she slashed the metal across my left arm, crimson seeped out of the horizontal, somewhat deep, wound, making me hiss.

But it shouldn't sting as much as it did, right?

'I would reconsider that theory.'

She's bluffing. 'Princess—'

'NO! You don't get to call me that. That is allocated for the people I love.'

And Charlie might as well have shot the arrow into my heart. Unwillingly, my eyes welled up with hurt.

How could she even say that?

'That's it?!' I gritted out, practically shouting. Pants began to slowly heave my chest in strain, 'You're going to throw all we had out the window just like that?'

'Oh, no, you already did me that favor when you decided to hunt me down for your Father, Your Highness,' she made sure to highlight the emotional distance we had nurtured in just the last day with the formality and venom sugar-coating her every word in an acidic way that was meant to burn me from the inside out.

'That isn't fair,' I said in a low voice, close to a whisper, pissed off that she was lecturing me about how she doesn't love me anymore just because I'm hunting her down.

She tried to kill my father for God's sake! . . . I think.

A fog seemed to be collecting in my mind, stopping me from thinking straight.

But either way, was her love for me so fickle and weak?

'Nothing is fair in love and war, My Prince.'

'How did we get here?' I muttered, already exhausted.

'You killed my father, Dean,' she explained.

My head snapped up in shock. 'What!?' I spluttered. 'Are you insane? Y/N . . . where did you get that from?'

'You burned the man who practically raised from ashes,' she cried out, her eyes wild with grief.

'Y/N, I didn't kill King Robert!' Sweat beaded my forehead, and I felt my heart accelerated its beating.

'Then what was your locket doing there?' she brandished my amulet as proof . . . the amulet that when I'd gotten out of shower earlier, yesterday in the evening, had been missing.

I had thought I had misplaced it and would've searched for it later since I was getting late for my own engagement ceremony. A locket that made her think that I had the blood of her father on my hands.

I struggled to speak, 'I . . . uh . . . .'

'You never go anywhere without this,' she claimed, 'tell me where you were last night!'

I couldn't believe my ears, feeling a part of me shatter. 'You think that less of me?'

'That didn't answer my question.'

'Fine,' I felt my throat close up, 'yesterday, there was an assault on the King at the ceremony. I was busy finding the assaulter and putting them to rot in jail. Turns out, it was the woman whom I dreamt of spending the rest of my life with.'

'What?' she stepped back in the exclamation. 'That is crazy – I was at the camp with Charlie. Mopping in heartbreak because of you.'

'In the entirety of the seven regions – you are the only one who uses the Phoenix feathered arrows,' I told her, feeling black dots dancing in front of my eyes as a throbbing pain between my ears made me aware of the unnaturally strong headache.

'Dean, I didn't try to kill John . . . ?' it sounded more like a question than a statement.

'That'd explain the bounty on your head, Princess,' Charlie pitched in – helpful for once. 'Connect the dots – it's like the worst murder mystery cliché ever; someone's trying to turn both of you on each other.'

Of course, I realized. My body slightly swayed and trembled on my buckled knees. Something is seriously wrong.

'But the real question is who could do that—' Charlie's throat was slit in the middle of her speech. Her eyes were dead and closed before her body hit the ground in the pool of her own blood.

'Charlie!' I heard myself scream along with Y/N.

The voices were getting farther away from me, somehow. My limbs thrummed with heat as if my muscles and organs were liquefying in one big pile of goo, yet it felt like I was being weighed down under tons of lead.

'She's too smart for her own good,' a hated familiar voice answered, 'and to answer her question – that would be on me.' His troops littered the area behind, guarding the Alpha male I would like to do nothing more than gut.

'Gordon, you filthy animal!' Y/N yelled, lunging forward to attack.

The crew he brought surged to meet her but I forced myself on my feet: 'Make a move on her – you'd be dead before you hit the ground. Do I make myself clear?' I used the steeliest voice I could muster, making them halt.

'Why am I not surprised these were your shenanigans?' Y/N scoffed, her feet unconsciously gravitating to make her stand next to me.

'You know,' he said, 'I'm gonna take that as a compliment, Princess.'

My mouth went dry with the effort of simply standing and talking, 'Why are you doing this, Walker?'

'Why do you think – it was all because of that damn Dam!' he confessed.

'You were all in for that since day one,' I argued.

'No, Dean, you were all in. I am not. What was I supposed to do – stand up against all of the other big nations? Even I'm not that foolish. The river starts in our nation – it is ours. I'm not going to share it with the malodorous half-breeds.'

'You nasty racist—' I stopped Y/N before she could recklessly get herself killed.

'You better think twice before you do what you intended to do,' I threatened, 'because my—'

'Your rescue?' he scoffed with a laugh, 'Benjamin and Garth? Oh, they are on their way to reach where her Mother and Father went,' he pointed at Y/N to make her angrier. Translation: they're dead.

'Now,' he explained the climax of his diabolical plan just as my weight was beginning to get too much to keep on my feet. 'It is time for me to settle my tabs with you two love birds then I will tell your Father that she killed you, and boom! All that union crap and the Dam project will be closed.'

'Not gonna lie, I'm shocked your malevolent brain can plot like that – only if you had put that to good use. I always thought you had it in you. In fact, Gordon, I had my eye for you . . . for a long time,' Y/N stepped out of my reach, lying as she went.

But my brows furrowed when an ache seemed to start spreading from my heart and flowing through my blood to other organs. The taste of warm rusted metal soaked into my taste buds.

Oh, shit.

Y/N apparently hadn't noticed. 'Now you stand here, sounding all smart with your devilish grin – it's so intoxicating,' she stated in a sultry voice.

With the little adrenaline I had left, I caught the sword Y/N threw at me in time - a feat she managed to accomplish as she had neared them with her distracting flirting. I used the momentum I already was in to plunge the sword into the first guard who came at me.

The second one took longer – more prepared as we sparred in quick flicks of our wrists, dancing on our feet in the art of war. My vision was seemingly getting hazier and I knew not how much longer I could hold my ground – but I couldn't leave Y/N alone to fend off for herself.

With her as my motivation, I swiped the man's sword from his grip by using the hilt of my weapon to his wrist bone that cracked under the pressure. I, then, applied a left hook and proceeded to behead the man with another fatal blow.

Y/N had already taken care of the third guard. There were only three plus Gordon. If we killed him, she would be okay. She was going to be okay.

But in the meantime, Gordon had taken advantage of our distraction to point Y/N's own weapons against her - her bow and arrow.

'Nice try,' he appealed to our attentions.

A small, almost inaudible gasp left me as my heart beat inhumanly fast. More blood gargled up my throat, the acidic burn left in its wake. I felt my knees buckle – this time involuntarily, an action that I followed by purging blood from my system – silently gaging and choking, as my body was wrecked with painstaking seizures.

'You're not gonna win this fight, Gordon. It's two against one. Us against you!'

'Yeah, I won't worry about that,' he smirked in confidence.

'Y/N . . . ' my voice came out strained, wheezes escaping my body as I grappled for any kind of comfort I could find in what's probably and horrifically my last moments alive.

'Dean!' her voice broke through the ringing in my ears. What just happened?

My hands were shaking miserably, unable to hover me over the bloody vomit. So I leaned sideward, a motion that made me dizzy, and I would have struck my head harshly on the ground had it not been for her.

She turned me till she was propping me up against her folded legs, her arms holding most of my weight up. But that was honestly enough for me. I was safe again.

'Dean, look at me, love,' her panic-stained voice pierced my hearing, her dainty fingers slapped my cheek lightly – the opposite cheek she had slapped me on just yesterday.

Huh, well, I'm positively fucked, was all I could think.

My eyes were dry and stinging with tears all at the same time, claret dripped from the corner of my mouth still. I could barely keep my eyes open – but I had to.

I need to see her one last time.

Because God, she's gorgeous.

Her h/c h/l hair fell in waves around her frame, singling out the beautiful features that composed her face. The now glossy e/c eyes, the small adorable nose, the thin pink lips, and the ever-glowing s/c skin.

'What did you do?' she was yelling.

'Me?' he asked with hysteria and amusement. 'Oh, no, it's all you, Princess Y/N. Once I knew he was after you, all I did was paint a pinch of black widow venom on his sword. To kill you on the spot, of course. Because I knew your Romeo won't be able to do that. But fate had other plans. You are the one who marked his pretty skin, so don't pin this on me,' he shifted the blame.

She truly is the death of me, my dying brain thought it was funny to remind me.

'Y/N,' I whispered, wanting to tell her so much.

I wanted to let her know how much I loved her, how sorry I was for the fight the previous night, how much I want to marry her, how much I would have loved to settle down and have kids with her, how much I want her by my side to rule our kingdoms, how fortunate I think I am to have her as my lover, how she made me the happiest man on the planet to let me hold and have her.

But all that comes out is a repetition of her name, like a chant – a prayer that saved me, and will save me. I've worshipped her for as long as I can remember, why stop now when I was dying?

'Save him, please,' I heard her plea as sleep fought to take me under.

'Now, where's the fun in that?'

'Oh, my God,' she sobbed, looking down at me as water glittered on her cheeks. I wish I could raise my hand and wipe it off – I wanted to tease her for this, make her laugh one last time. But it was impossible to move; my nervous system and organs shut down one by one. 'Dean, my love, stay with me,' she begged me.

I could only grunt in pain.

Her hand squeezed mine.

'You did me a favor, Princess. Now it's my time to seize the chance and finish the job.'

My mind took too long to process this, only realizing what it meant when an arrowhead poked out of Y/N's right lung, gory with her blood, making her gasp. But she didn't budge from my side.

I opened my mouth to scream at her to leave – to run. To save herself, but my vocals failed me terribly.

'You will pay for this,' she promised, but she didn't move, looking down at me in her arms.

My helplessness finally overwhelmed me. The woman I had sworn to protect was going to die – and I could do nothing to save her.

Tear broke their barriers.

This was it.

'I . . . love you,' I choked with all the remaining energy I had.

'My love . . . I love you, too . . . .'

A/N: Me from the first time I tried the first-person POV - I've tried not to harass its originality, so all the mistakes and drama-queenness is mine 🙃.

Anyhow, if you're new to my page and you don't know, this one-shot is intrinsically linked to my series The Supernatural Wars, Purgatory Series, and another in the works. If you're interested in diving into a whole new world, do continue to Part 2!

Tag List.

@stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

@stanzie

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! If this is the second time you're getting this ask I'm so sorry. I have severe memory issues from my ADHD and I'm not sure if I actually sent this to you, or if I just thought about sending it to you lmao.

Anyways, I have a quick question about one of my characters. I'm writing a medieval fantasy story and one of the characters has burn scars covering half of her face including the top of her head.

At the end of the story, she becomes a princess. Would it hurt her to wear a crown? I'm not very well versed in types of crowns but it would be like a small, lightweight tiara.

I just want to make sure it wouldn't aggravate her scars from pressing on them. Is there anything she could do to reduce issues? Like wrapping it in some kind of soft fabric?

Thank you!

Hello,

It could be a problem, but it's not likely. Tiaras are a marvel of ingenuity, many of the most famous ones having built-in designs that make them easier to wear. Here are some examples-

A lot of tiaras are actually pretty loose, especially when worn by royalty because they could find themselves needing to wear their tiara for a long time. If you look closely at a lot of famous royal tiaras, you'll see that many of them are actually held in place by the hair, whether it be through hair volume, like Princess Diana, or by braiding or twisting hair around parts of the band, or by just putting the hair in an updo and situating the band of the tiara so that it goes into the hair. Her tiara doesn't need to perfectly fit her head.

Some fancier tiaras, such as the Dutch Diamond Bandaeu Tiara, can also have a kind of spacer bar, which keeps the ornate part of the tiara from actually touching the head. This can help avoid getting hair stuck in those little jewels, and prevent the ornate detailing from sitting directly on the skin and causing irritation from the friction. These bars can be hidden using hair, but that isn't always required. More often than not, the people who wear tiaras with this feature don't bother trying to conceal it.

There are some tiaras where the band can be wrapped in a thin cushion. Some older tiaras will have some sort of fabric wrapped around the band, often a velvet or similar soft material that's close to either the colour of the tiara or the colour of the wearer's hair. Not only does this help prevent tangling, it can also help secure a looser tiara in place by filling the space between the head and the metal of the band, which is also going to be far more comfortable than adjusting the tiara and having the band directly against the head.

A more elaborate tiara can have a wider, thicker cushion hidden under the band for the same purpose. These are usually the larger tiaras that are one step away from being a crown, where more protection is needed because the tiara is bigger, heavier, and not as easy to adjust.

Sometimes, people in tiaras will wear a cloth headband under the band of the tiara, or even some kind of cloth head covering (some tiara can even have cloth inserts built in, like the fancy Crown Jewels crown.) Usually these are more common for people who wear some sort of diadem, but the option is open for anyone who needs it. If she wants to make this band fancy, she could probably even get a special diadem that matches her tiara and wearing both

The tiara could also be supported in a weird way, like with a band across the top of the head so that she wouldn't really need to tighten it at all, or even using metalworking addition that can put the weight of the tiara somewhere more convenient, like around her ears or neck.

Keep in mind that she can also get her crown custom made, where the metalworker can help her figure out what works best for her and then making her tiara to suit. There are ways to design tiaras that can distribute weight in certain ways that can help. There are also similar options, like diadems that can be gravity-based in how they stay on. There are also dozens of variations of crowns and tiaras and other royal or even just beautiful headpieces you can take reference from. You can do whatever would make her life easiest here, because her metalworker would do that.

If could cause a problem, but there are plenty of ways to get around it.

- Mod Aaron

[sunboki]

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[winged-void]

Here's the story yall asked me to post

Hello! I am posting this short little story, which is the first of a number of short stories I have written about these two characters, a delusional noblewoman and her deranged maid. By clicking the readmore you agree that both characters contained within, regardless of what the text says, are girls.

In some forgotten corner of some forgotten city, a forgotten noble of a forgotten family sits in petty agony. 

Protected from the onslaught of acidic rain only by a hastily constructed sheet metal roof, he imagines Mother's pain at the tears in his coat, and the scion of the Branche family considers weeping. 

What would it cost? 

Too much. 

Elan Branche pushes it down. At twelve, one puts such childishness behind them. 

Back straight. Assess the damage. Find the solution. 

The coat was heavy. Too large, and far too decorated with old and meaningless signifiers of unearned and forgotten glory, weighed down further still by the damp of rain and blood (hidden at least by the deep red color of the fabric), he takes it off and hangs it on a bit of exposed rebar. 

It was old and beautiful; burgundy and torn to shreds. The sleeves and the tail had cuts and rips that Elan knew he could never fix. He thought of a picture he'd found of the family's old staff, and the dedicated tailor among them. All gone now, gone since before his birth. This burden, like all before it, must be borne alone. 

Put it out of mind for now. 

He turned away from the coat to inspect his blade. Sharpening the noble edge sharpens the noble mind, he thought, and began to clean. His adventures to these parts were proving more expensive than he thought, but the rabble must know the Branche Family. Their petty vassals and pettier commoners had forgotten and darkness had come to them. 

By sword and torch and pistol he would bring light and flame back. He would polish the old blazonry with the blood of those foolish and cruel enough to have taken advantage of the weakness of his family. No longer would commoner merchant thugs an-

Hold. A sound. 

Elan jumped and turned, blade pointed at his empty coat, hanged and swinging in the breeze. 

Foolish. Too easily startled. Undignified. Waving your sword around at an empty coat. 

But then another sound, like the whimper of a kicked dog. 

“N-Nothing gets by you, milord….”

A hunched and crouching pathetic figure emerged from behind the rebar, raising its hands, but holding onto what seemed to be an especially short thin piece of scrap metal, bent at the end such that a thread could pass through it. 

Elan's mind raced. First, relief, then recognition. Figure was a boy. No older than thirteen or fourteen. Thin, so thin, tall and dressed in rags. 

“You. You're that kid from the other day. The mugging victim, yes?”

Wasn't that mugging four towns over? 

He left it unsaid. He continued. 

“What are you doing with my coat?”

The figure squirmed, and tried to stand up straight. 

“I-I-I saw. The state of your coat. And I thought I might be useful, milord…” It paused, and jumped as though shocked, “My lord.”

It gestured towards the left sleeve, and Elan's eyes traced the crimson thread from the needle in its scarred hand to the sleeve of the coat, partially sewed with baffling skill. 

Elan considered the boy. His hair gray (common in these chemically stained regions), his form clearly starved, his body shaking but his hands so very steady. 

Potential and possibility, all of it. Solutions to problems named and those he refused to name. 

“How useful,” Elan lowered his sword and allowed himself to smile, “would you like to be?”

[sleepanonymous]

I just want to put in my two cents on the whole band identity thing since stuff is going around atm: As far as I am aware, please feel free to correct me if I am wrong, Vessel and the rest of the band have never explicitly stated that the masks are supposed to hide their identities for safety purposes.

Vessel said in that Metal Hammer interview that music is pushed based on who or who isn’t in a band, and that their identities are unimportant. To me, this says that their masks are a form of commentary against the popularity contest/politics within the modern music industry.

Not doxxing/harassing/doing other harmful behaviors to the band members should be the bare minimum and common sense, but of course, people have shown us and the band otherwise and I understand that has made some within the fandom become even more protective/vigilant with information related to the identities in the band.

That being said, I personally don’t see any issue with knowing who they are if you want to know and it shouldn’t be looked down on within the fandom. I think there can be a respectful divide between those who know and those who don’t want to. I found out by accident, but knowing what I know has given me a much deeper appreciation for Sleep Token in all of its iterations in a way I don’t think I would have gotten to otherwise.

I think some fans feel as though they’re betraying the band by knowing their identities and I disagree with that level of stigma. I can’t imagine any of the guys being offended about their fans looking into past projects/bands they’ve been involved in, and having huge support from all of us if one or more members decided to do a solo feature for another band would be incredible!

In my opinion, I think we need to reframe how their identities are handled within the fandom at large: they’re not in witness protection, they just prefer for their audience to put the majority of their focus on the music instead of the people playing it. It’s obvious that Vessel takes great pride in his craft and, based on the MH interview, it seems like his main goal here is to have his music speak for itself instead of becoming another soulless corporate shill. Just something for all of us to consider and I’d love to know your thoughts as well.

Worship.

So sorry it took a few days to respond to this ask. I wanna be a little less subjective to give you a platform, Anon, but you are correct in the fact that Vessel and the band never said their anonymity was explicitly for safety (although there’s a valid argument that that is a given assumption, as you also stated).

If needed for context, the quote from the Amped Up Kerrang Article (idk if you meant this article, Anon, or if Ves said something in one of the Metal Hammer ones and I forgot; lmk in another ask or dm and i’ll add to this post):

“Art has become entangled with identity,” Him says of the band’s anonymity. “The aim is to provide something people can engage with without being obstructed by the identity of its creator. The true identities behind Sleep Token are irrelevant. Our identity is represented through the art and music itself.”

I do believe their anonymity is both a device for creating more powerful music as well as a clever way to market the band. Humans are naturally curious and we are drawn to mysteries. Its interesting to see how it has morphed into this beast of those who know and those who do not (and those who do know, pretend they do not, and then ostracize those who do know while also creeping in online spaces they should definitely not know about if not knowing identities mattered that much to them). The band’s anonymity has created a fanbase full of toxic interactions that I’m certain they never intended to cause.

I don’t fault any fan for their views, or if they choose to seek out identities or not. I only have a problem with it when views are forced onto others maliciously.

[joocomics]

REMEMBER YOUR FIRST

⌞ PART TWO ⌝ || ⌞ SPIN-OFF ⌝

pairing: non-idol!hyeongjun x virgin!fem!reader

genre: smut, slice of life ( 18+ ) ── 8.2k words

music is what started your friendship with your college classmate han hyeongjun, but your virginity is what made it really blossom

cw ! corruption kink, manipulation (light but still be aware), degradation, virgin kink, dacryphilia, dumbification

✎… college au, hard!dom!junhan, protected sex, dirty talk, pet names (including kitten), phone sex, spit kink, face slapping (f!rec), exhibitionism kink, choking (f!rec), oral sex (m/f), rough face fucking, gagging, sensation play (f!rec), spanking, hint of pet play?, masturbation, name calling (slut/whore), cum eating, alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes

( xdh masterlist )

“This doesn’t make a good first time story.”

Your brows furrow together as you try to really make sense of Hyeongjun’s words who takes a sip of his ice tea before slouching into his chair.

The cafeteria is packed, and you occasionally glance around - partly to make sure your friend spots your table when she arrives, but also in case someone you know walks by, and you have to drastically change the conversation.

You don’t want anyone you’re familiar with to catch you discussing your virginity.

“Why not? It’s special.”

“Dinner in a fancy restaurant, flowers…” Hyeongjun lifts another finger in the air, repeating what you said earlier about your long awaited first time.

The special romantic sex you’ve been dreaming about since you turned eighteen.

“Then he takes you to his dorm room where he has candles and shit, yeah none of that is going to happen, Y/N.”

Your badly covered disappointment makes him grin even more widely. The corners of his eyes wrinkle appealingly as he continues to stare at you.

“No one does that anymore.”

“I will meet someone who thinks exactly the opposite.” You lean forward with a determined look on your face. “Sweet romantic guys like that still exist, believe it or not. You’re just not hanging out with crowds where you would meet them.”

You grab the little plushie hanging from Hyeongjun’s keychain to keep your hands busy. Most of the time, you don’t mind the fact you’re approaching the middle of your second college year still a virgin, but this week it seems like you do.

Hyeongjun huffs at your comment, glancing down at your pouty lips. He’s used to your silly ways of seeing relationships like a rom-com movie.

Despite your obvious differences, you and Hyeongjun became friendly the first week of your first year - right here in this very cafeteria. He noticed you listening to one of his favorite bands, and when he approached you to ask for your name, you were surprised to find out he’s in a band himself.

From there, you easily hit it off, and the rest was history. Still, you've never actually hung out beyond your shared college lectures, but it doesn't really bother you. Most of the time, at least...

You’ve considered asking him out for a drink, a friendly drink, but there was always something holding you back from sending the message. There’s also the problem with his bandmates and friend group overall. As the type of people that your mother would mark as a bad example, you don't have anything in common with them.

“Even if you do meet the one…” Hyeongjun speaks out the one with a mocking tone that makes your eyes roll, “you’re still gonna have a boring first fuck.”

He rests elbows on the table; the metal zippers of his black leather jacket create a harsh noise against the wooden surface only you can hear. There's a look of contemplation on his face as he watches you laugh silently.

“You’re not just some ordinary girl like the rest,” he continues with a lower voice, “I know this is not what you really want.”

You shift your attention to his lips - the way his gaze is piercing through your eyes makes you nervous in a way you’ve never felt around him.

“What else could I want…” You ask more yourself than him.

“So much more… Don’t you want the experience to be fun?” He tilts his head curiously, causing the silver earring on his right ear to dangle around. “Thrilling? Something worth to reminisce on.”

“For example?”

“Nah,” he moves back with a sigh. “I don’t want to put ideas in your head. Think about it on your own.”

The thought of spending even more time than you already do sobbing over this makes you shake your head.

“No, thanks, I’m over it,” you mumble right before noticing your friend approaching your table. You wave back at her as you finish your thought: “I’m not just gonna sit and think about this like it’s some kind of homework.”

“Then touch yourself and your mind will do it on its own.”

A moment passes in silence.

Your friend says hi to both of you, throwing her bag on the free chair, but she has to greet you one more time, because you don't acknowledge her presence right away.

Hyeongjun swings his backpack over his shoulder, then picks up his keys and cellphone from the table.

As you watch him preparing to leave, you realise, that in some new and unusual kind of way, your time spent together doesn’t feel enough. Because you don’t share classes for the rest of the week you’re going to see each other next Tuesday, and for the first time, that has never looked so farther away to you.

“See you next week, Y/N.”

Hyeongjun’s words are following you everywhere.

Multiple times a day, you find yourself wondering if he is right. You could have more fun, more experiences; you’ve always known that, buried somewhere in the back of your mind. But first... you have to step outside your comfort zone.

While the conversation from the cafeteria is replaying in your head, - once again, - your hand slips inside your sweatpants, rubbing gently against your panties. Your lips part to let out a sigh of bliss as your fingers spot your clit and apply light pressure.

It takes you a minute or two to realise that the image of Hyeongjun is still lingering in your mind.

After you slide the first finger through your slickness, gasping at the amount of wetness you produced, you actually comprehend that you’re masturbating at the thought of him.

You try to block the image away, but the warm feeling coming from your core is too good to do anything else besides keeping your hand moving.

Turning over on your stomach, you suppress your moans and hitched breaths into the pillow. You’re so overwhelmed with the growing rush that you cannot control your hand on just one single motion. Wanting so desperately to get to the end of this sensation, you end up simultaneously rubbing, humping your palm and fingering your pool of arousal; fantasising that your fingers are someone else’s.

Your body begins to shake as you rub as fast as you can till you can’t handle it anymore. You’ve began to do this more frequently than you used to, more than you’d like to admit, but you can’t resist it. However, the obvious thing you can’t ignore is that you’ve never been this wet before as you are this morning.

You’ve never felt so high while doing this to yourself before, and you’ve never done it with Hyeongjun stuck in your mind.

Your phone starts ringing under the sheets and you lift up from the pillows startled. Once you find the device your heartbeat quickens even more at the look of the name displayed on the screen.

Even though you exchanged numbers last year you’ve barely spoken on the phone. You always text each other unless it’s about something important having to do with an assignment that’s easier explained by speaking.

You don't have other reasons to call each other.

As your thumb hovers over the green button, the wetness under your panties becomes more and more obvious, but you try your best to ignore it despite the cotton fabric practically sticking to it like a second layer of skin.

“Hey,” you greet him after clearing your throat, trying to sound as nonchalantly as possible.

“I was just about to hang up,” says the familiar voice on the other line. “Hey... did I wake you up?”

“No, no! I’m just… chilling before it’s time to head to class.” Your thighs press against each other harder with each word you say. “What are you up to?”

“I’m with the guys, we’re practicing.”

You do make out a few male voices coming from the distance. You try focusing on them, on Hyeongjun... not on your heartbeat that still hasn’t recovered from your intense orgasm.

“Didn’t you mention once that you have classes till four?”

“I did.” A short sound from one of the strings of his guitar sneaks through the speaker, then disappears just as quickly. “I skipped.”

“Oh...” Your teeth grab onto your lower lip. “What are you practicing for?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. We have a small gig on Saturday and I was wondering if you'd want to come watch me... If you’re interested.”

“Oh, I’d like that.” You lean back against the wall, hearing Hyeongjun's perky smile as he mumbles his answer.

“Sweet, I’ll text you the details then.”

You thank him for the invite, and just when you’re about to hang up, he speaks again.

“Y/N, did you…” There's a sudden note of suspicion ringing in his voice. “Wait.”

You hear shuffling noises followed by a door closing.

“Were you just touching yourself?”

“Uhm…” Your throat dries in seconds from panic. “What, why are you asking me that?”

“You sound like you came really hard... and it took you some time to pick up the phone.”

The way he said that so comfortably and bluntly brings a fog to your brain; which makes it even more of a challenge to make up a smart lie on the spot, so you decide to be honest. It’s not like you’re going to talk about sexual things with him for the first time.

“Okay, yeah I did. Wasn’t that what you recommended me to do?” You ask jokingly, but his voice remains calm in contrast to yours.

“Good girl.”

The praise causes a halt in your heart.

“What did you think about?” He’s eager to know.

“Uhm, nothing really.”

“Tsk, that can’t be true.”

There’s no way you can be that honest with him right now.

“Mostly about myself… what I was doing. I don’t really know what I want yet if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Have you done oral with someone?”

“I’ve told you I haven’t done anything except kissing and two handjobs, Hyeongjun… Nothing has changed.” You sigh from frustration, sensing the feeling of shame coming back to warm your cheeks.

You begin to get suspicious of the sudden silence that lasts a few seconds before you hear of him again.

“I’m just thinking how nice it would be to lick you up right now.” The sentence rolls off his tongue before he makes a temporary pause in which you pin point some muffled noise; then a zipper. “You must be really fucking wet…”

His voice sounds more low pitched now; with a washed out tone that spreads the warmth from your face everywhere on your body.

“Virgin girls start dripping from the smallest things. Are you sensitive, Y/N?”

“Yeah…” You focus on the other line in attempt to figure out if he’s doing something other than just talking. “I’m... very sensitive.”

You’re now one hundred percent sure he’s jerking himself off as you speak.

The moment you hear his first groan your hand slips back into your panties, much faster since you got rid of your sweats earlier. You still have arousal lingering between your folds that you bring up to spread over your sensitive clit.

“Did you made yourself cum?” He asks.

“I did, pretty quickly.”

“Tell me how.”

You shut your eyes in contemplation, your hand moving slowly in circles.

“I fucked myself with my fingers…” It seems like the fact you can’t see each other boosts your confidence, and the words start coming out on their own. “First with my legs spread wide, then with my ass up in the air.”

“Fuck—“ Hyeongjun’s heavy breathing follows with a light chuckle that comes out too erotic in this situation. He sounds pleasantly surprised from how forward you are with your answers. “You’ll be so fuckin’ tight… tightest pussy ever.”

His coarse words end in a moan that forces you to speed up your own pleasure too.

“I thought of you the whole time…” You admit in a whisper, holding your phone tightly, “that you were here watching me.”

You hear him only cuss quietly as a response. It's clear he's trying hard to contain himself in order not to get caught.

“Ah, you won’t be able to stop clenching… but you’ll take it well cause you’ll be dripping for that fuckin’ cock… You want to get your pussy ruined after all… Right, dirty girl?”

Your imagination runs wild, trying to picture him with his fist around his cock; his slim fingers painted in black nail polish dancing up and down, squeezing till he spills all over himself.

“I-I do…” Your body slips downwards as you begin to pump your fingers - aiming for another climax. “Yeah, I do!”

“Holy shit—” He spits out and then the sound of his furious fist, slamming against his skin, is the only thing left you can hear.

A powerful moan gets stuck in his throat; repressed. He doesn’t have the chance to let it out, unlike you.

On Friday afternoon, during your last lecture of the week, you receive a message from Hyeongjun.

Your heart starts pounding at the thought of it having something to do with what happened the other day on the phone - but it doesn’t.

the bar will be crowded and really hot

don’t get overdressed

leave your panties at home if you want

“You came.”

You turn to see Hyeongjun with a bottle of beer in hand. He’s still out of breath from his performance, and somehow, looks just as captivating as he did on the stage, or even more. You notice that his forehead, exposed from his bangs, is glistening with sweat as he settles down on the lounge to take the empty seat next to you.

“Of course, how could I miss it?” You cross your legs, fixing your skirt as you turn to face him better. “You did great. All of you did amazing.”

Hyeongjun’s gaze crawls up your bare legs - from your exposed ankles to the middle of your thighs where your small skirt ends. You listened to him; you did come with as less clothing on your body as possible. Your top, that shows some skin around your bellybutton every time you move, with those thin, almost nonexistent straps, does not leave much to the imagination either.

“Last time we were here we sucked.” He leans back, relaxing his body. “Maybe you’ll turn out to be my lucky charm.” The corners of his lips lift up for a moment before he drinks.

The seductive note of his voice provokes the memories from your phone call to invade your mind; you begin to wonder if he’s going to bring it up tonight. You want him to, but at the same time... you know you’re not ready to talk about it just yet, at least not here.

A few people pass by to chat with Hyeongjun - some you’ve seen around college, others you meet for the first time. They let him know that they loved his band and ask him all kinds of questions about it before leaving.

His band members, all three of them, come along too, crashing on the other side of the lounge. They exchange a few words, but not for long, Hyeongjun quickly shifts his focus back to you.

“You look pretty tonight.”

Your eyebrows raise subtly as you’re caught off guard from the unexpected compliment.

“Thanks,” you smile, taking a sip from your glass of white wine that's now warming in your hand. You've been drinking faster ever since Hyeongjun sat down beside you.

There's a young woman on the stage, singing impressively. You cannot look away, but soon enough, he leans towards your ear.

“Can you see well?”

Despite your assurance that the view from your seat is great, Hyeongjun still pulls you with his hands, inviting you onto his lap.

“Isn’t this better?” His thumb brushes against the zip of your skirt as his hands glide down your waist.

You watch the way his palms caress the naked skin of your thighs; the way they slide on the inner surface so his black nails can scratch it gently. His emphasised veins immediately hold your attention. The hint of roughness his cold fingertips have get your lower tummy excited.

However, as much as his touch electrifies you at this moment, the one thing that makes you swallow your tongue is the feel of your ass resting against his crotch.

You freeze, avoiding any kind of possible movement.

“Hey,” Hyeongjun slurs against the crook of your neck, pushing your hair to one side, “loosen up, it’s just me.”

“I know.”

Hyeongjun takes a shameless whiff of your perfume; he takes the sweetness of it all in, letting it arouse his senses.

Noticing his bottle is empty, he reaches towards the table to pick up another. This forces his chest to press against your back, letting his body heat to sink into your spine through the thin fabric of his graphic tee; allowing you to feel every muscle of his chest.

He swiftly opens the beer with the help of the lighter he uses for his cigarettes, keeping his arms around your waist. He guides the neck of the glass bottle to your glossy lips and the strong smell hits you.

“Wanna sip?”

“Sure,” you mumble.

You've never tried beer before, so you're eager to give it a shot, only to quickly find out it's not your thing.

Hyeongjun watches intently at your lips wrapped around the bottle, but it's the sudden shift in your expression once the taste hits that makes him chuckle.

“I don’t like it.” You wipe off the small droplet of alcohol from the corner of your mouth, handing the bottle back to him.

He drinks after you right away; just to gather all the spit and lipstick you left on the glass.

A moment later, as the vibrant song continues, you notice the bottle going down in your lap. If you did have an idea of what Hyeongjun might be up to, you would’ve reacted differently, but you don't, so you jolt as though something bit you, grabbing on his wrist.

“Hyeongjun!”

You look around, scanning every corner of the place. Fortunately, everyone’s attention is focused somewhere else, and the crowd is swaying around.

“So you did follow all my orders.”

Orders. Not advice, or suggestions.

Orders. The word comes with a certain weight that presses the back of your tongue, leaving you speechless.

The cold bottle is now settled between your spread thighs, and presses harder against your naked cunt. Your tummy begins to clench from all the different sensations coming together.

“Mmhp…” You use the sound of desperation as some sort of an answer.

The wetness dripping from the glass begins to glide down your pussy folds, creating a nice ticklish feel on your skin.

“Move.” Hyeongjun trails his lips against your ear while caging you in place with his left arm. “Come on, horny girl, it will feel so good. It already does, see?” The hard cold surface moves under your skirt to rub your clit satisfyingly.

You roll your hips once, grinding against the thick length of the beer bottle. Then twice... Eventually, you begin to ride it delicately - the beer bottle and Hyeongjun’s boner.

The coldness spreads all over your intimate flesh, kissing your clit, and soon enough you form the urge to moan. The sound keeps building up in your throat as you continue with the motions, encouraged by the warm knot pulsing in your core; by Hyeongjun’s voice over your shoulder that turns you just as woozy as well.

“That’s it, sweetheart… Told you it will feel nice.” He places his first kiss on your neck, wet and slow, allowing you to get familiar with his tongue. “Keep going.”

You do your best at moving, not too fast, not too obviously, but it’s getting harder. You wish you could just do it quick and let the rush take over.

“Hyeongjun, no more...” You mumble through your panting.

“We’re not leaving till you cum on that bottle.”

He doesn’t seem to hesitate to command you at all.

His hot breath fans your skin just below your earlobe, but the excitement cannot compare to the one you feel every time he tells you what to do. It can barely compare to the thrill of doing this in public around so many people. The exciting energy doubles every time you hear the roughness in his demanding voice; every time you feel his lips on the back of your neck, curling lazily in a provocative smirk.

“Don’t pretend to be that innocent…” He nibbles the space between your shoulder and neck, causing you goosebumps. “Not in front of me.”

Your one hand holds on the table in front of you for support while the other remains on top of Hyeongjun’s grip on your thigh.

“What if someone sees me?”

“I’m pretty sure you’d enjoy that.”

The live music and loud cheers swallow your blissful sounds during the last moments of your breaking point.

You ride out the ecstatic rush, slow and steady, which seems to make it even more intense as your body quivers vividly. The squirms give Hyeongjun’s erection such irresistible friction that he helps himself out by biting your skin to bare it more easily.

Since he wants a better view of your face, Hyeongjun signals you to turn sideways. The fingers of his one hand are half-hidden beneath the hem of your skirt as his other lifts the glass bottle in front of your eyes.

“This is a great brand,” he points out before glancing back at you.

You can read the challenge in the spark of his gaze and you know what you need to do.

You stick out your tongue and lick up where all your essence lies. Without opening your eyes, you glide all the way to the bottle’s edge, twirling the tip of your tongue around.

Hyeongjun smiles at the little ways you uncover your dirty nature to him; he cannot wait to see all of it.

“That's a pretty tongue,” his thumb and index finger catch your chin. “Show me again.” He says with a voice so low it sounds like he’s entranced by you.

Those same fingers crawl inside your mouth, feeling the warm moisture of your pink tongue. They go deeper; as further as they can till his knuckles push uncomfortably against your chin and you gag. He glides them back, not expecting you to close your lips around them.

The sight of you sucking on them, not wanting to let go of them just yet while maintaining eye contact, doubles the pressure in his lower region.

“I always had a feeling you’ll turn out to be a secret slut.” His fingers pull out slowly and bring your bottom lip downward while doing so, exposing a row of teeth. “Who did you see?” He catches you staring in a different direction.

“It’s the guy I—“

“Seungmin?” He cuts you off with an intrigued tone that you can’t tell if it sounds more fake than real. “Didn’t you have a crush on him at one point?”

“Yeah, I did, I’m far from his type though.”

“What does that mean? That he doesn’t have an eye for sweet pretty girls like you? That’s bullshit.” Hyeongjun shifts his focus on Seungmin that’s leaning over one of the tables few feet away from you. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“Right now?”

“Now.” He says. “Maybe he can be your first,” he turns to look back at you again, but with a sharper expression.

“Are you saying I should flirt with Seungmin?”

“Not necessarily,” he pauses before adding: “It’s enough for you to just smile and look pretty in your little skirt. Go.” He smacks your thigh.

It’s like he can see right through you, that you prefer to be with him than anyone else right now, that’s why he’s smiling. But you can’t say no - not to Hyeongjun.

You don’t want to.

“Hey,” you greet Seungmin when you go up to him.

He’s standing still behind a messy table with a drink in hand. From the look of it, it seems that he's here with someone that’s currently absent. Perhaps at the dance floor or at the bar for drinks.

“Hey.” He shouts over the music. “I never expected to see you here.”

“I got invited.”

Seungmin moves closer to you, eyeing your face under the dim lights. He looks pleasantly surprised to see you.

“By who? I should thank him.”

His cheeky smirk turns into more of a curious expression when he eventually notices Hyeongjun observing your interaction.

“Ah, I see. You two seem close.”

“Yeah, we’re good friends.” You make a step to get closer. “I came to cheer for his band.”

“Friends…” The word slips with suspicion from the boy’s tongue as he repeats it. “So he wouldn’t mind if I do this?”

His finger reaches for your lips where a strand of your hair is sticking to your lipgloss. He removes it carefully, tucking it with the rest of your hair behind your ear.

You shake head at his question, glancing up to meet his eyes. They’re a bit hazed from the creeping effects of the alcohol, but mostly focused on you; smiling as in an invitation for something.

“Would you mind if I take you away from him for a few minutes?” He raises a brow, anticipating your answer.

“No.”

You follow Seungmin through a small corridor leading to the bathrooms. He shuts the door behind you and locks lips with yours right away, pressing you against the wall. You let him lower his mouth down your neck appreciating the way he handles you gently despite his obvious eagerness.

“You can touch me already if you want,” he suggests against your lips.

You move your hand from his chest to the waistband of his pants. When you feel his semi hard on in your palm, the doubts of your actions come to you, and you pull back.

“I’m sorry…” You look down at your feet, too nervous to face him. “I’m not sure this is right.”

Seungmin peels off his palms from the wall you’re leaning against, and simply nods.

“It’s alright.” He shoots you a sincere half-smile, not minding the situation. “Enjoy the rest of the night.”

“You too,” you smile back watching him exit the bathroom.

You walk towards the sink to check up on your reflection in the mirror above. The effects Hyeongjun has on you are written all over your face.

A moment later, after you return to your table Hyeongjun asks you to join him outside for a smoke.

The chilly wind brushes over your skin as you walk out the door, but after spending time in the humid atmosphere of the crowded bar it feels refreshing despite the shivers.

Hyeonjun steps behind you with a cigarette between his lips to put his black denim jacket over your shoulders. He brought it expecting the breeze to be chilly since fall is approaching.

He can sense damn well what happened between you and Seungmin, and his crooked smile proves it. He doesn’t bother asking questions he knows the answers to, so he skips that conversation.

“Wanna get out of here? There’s a cheap hotel nearby where we can spend the rest of the night.”

An immediate spark pops in your eyes at the invitation.

You don’t succeed at hiding it in time and Hyeongjun catches the innocent glimmer, holding onto it as he cuts the distance between you.

“Why didn’t you ask me this earlier?”

“Why does it matter?” He asks back, letting the smoke slip through his lips.

“Because I was going to say yes.”

Hyeongjun’s brows jump intrigued.

Were you really so unaware? Can’t you see the true motives behind his actions?

“So now the answer is no?”

You take a moment to respond - you didn’t really get the chance to think about what’s your final decision.

After tossing his cigarette in the bin, Hyeongjun walks over to you again.

“Listen, doll,” he speaks softly and the name he suddenly calls you sends waves of electricity through your veins. “I know exactly what you want, I just need to hear you say it.” He brings up the loose strap of your top that was hanging down from your shoulder. “It seemed like you needed a little help to figure out your real needs, and I was more than nice to give it to you. Didn’t you learn some new things about yourself the last few days? I certainly did.”

His hands trap you against the wall as he leans in. Once again, you’re at loss for words, but not so much because of nervousness, but because of how badly you crave to be kissed by him.

“You’re a dirty girl who needs to be told what to do. You get off to being watched. You wet yourself when there’s a chance you might be caught and humiliated… or scolded.” He grips your jaw and you have nowhere to look except his dark seductive eyes. “Will the sweet guys you think you want like that?”

His mocking smile at your wordless reply lasts a second longer as he checks out your lips that have lost their sparkle.

“Tsk, Seungmin wiped off your lipstick.”

You dismiss the comment. His previous words take over your entire mind, and they shock you, because Hyeongjun has clearly found out about a side of you that you've never known about.

“Should I put on some more for you?” Your quiet voice comes out with a hint of provocation just as he brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

Why hasn’t he kissed you yet?

You place your hand cautiously over his that’s resting on the side of your face. On the inside, you're begging to hear yes; begging to hear the invitation one more time so you can agree, and let him take you wherever he wants, and do whatever he feels is right for you.

“How did it feel kissing him? You must’ve dreamed about it a lot.”

“It was nice…” You mutter, capturing every little bit of emotion his face could make as you continue your thoughts. “It was pretty much how I imagined it would go.”

“Great.” He whispers with dry calmness before pressing his lips together.

“But it’s not enough, that’s not what I want anymore.” You admit, directing your gaze upon his. “I want you.”

His hands roam all over you, gripping your flesh shamelessly as if you’re going to slip away any second now, but you’re not going anywhere. This is where you belong. In a small plain room of a hotel you’ve never heard the name of; with him.

You turn around, allowing him to smack your ass, as you crawl to the centre of the bed. When you peek behind your shoulder, you see he’s already shirtless, keeping his eyes on the way your pleated skirt exposes your bare ass.

Your plush thighs stay slightly spread apart, anticipating what’s coming.

“Did he touch here?” He runs one fingertip between your soft folds which makes you fumble over one simple word.

“No.”

“Were you going to let him if he wanted to?”

Your ass is up in the air, tempting Hyeongjun to go further by bumping your entrance with the same firm finger. There’s already a new moisture collecting inside you, enough to spread it up to your clit and make your entire pussy slippery.

“No, I wasn’t going to…” You mumble, but hiss right after as your cheek jiggles from a new smack; the stinging warmth spreads on your skin pleasantly.

“Took you some time to answer,” Hyeongjun mutters, squeezing both butt cheeks with rings digging into your flesh. “You’re so fuckin’ desperate to pop your cherry, aren’t you? Gonna let anyone touch you, pathetic.” He moves one hand in front of you while the other sneaks into your hair. His fingers tug on your roots not too harsh, but not too gently either, just enough to signal that you have to rise up on the instant. “Must really suck having to rub your clit every day all by yourself, poor girl.”

With back against his chest, you mewl from the circling motions that rapidly stimulate your sensitive spot. He applies more pressure than what you're used to and the results quickly make your mind fuzzy.

“If we’re going to do this, you’ll need to learn how to use your words, kitten.” He quits the rubs and releases your hair. “Lay down.” His voice mixes with the harsh sound of a new slap landing on your cheek.

You watch him kneel between your legs, spreading them apart with a burning flame in his eyes. However, first he wants to pull down the straps of your top before going down on you. He drags the fabric down your chest, leaving it just above your bellybutton.

Hyeongjun has thought of your boobs so many times, that now when they’re finally right in front of him, he cannot contain the curses. His shameless stare doesn’t miss the way your nipple perks up after he flicks it with his finger.

Everything about you is so delicate and succumbed to his control. Since you’re not used to being touched, every single rub, pinch and squeeze from his hand makes you gasp, and your dazed eyes amazed.

You need so little to get on cloud nine, but little is far from enough for him.

That’s why once he dives into your slickness, he forces his tongue roughly, shooting a strong rush of arousal into your core. The hungry way he laps on your juices is almost maniacally; like he’s been waiting for this forever. He holds your shaking thighs, threatening to close around him as he rolls his tongue over your clit, before guiding it to your entrance.

“Gotta be soaked if you want to take me, doll.” He groans into your folds before spitting on them.

He shoves two fingers inside you, making you yelp. His heavy from lust gaze moves upon your face all scrunched from the intense sensations that you struggle to comprehend. The captivating sight of your reactions encourages his hand to move mercilessly in and out of you; the way you clench, exactly how he imagined you would, provokes his pace even more.

“Feels better when someone else does it for you, doesn’t it horny girl?”

“So much b-better, Hyeongjun… more, please…”

He bends down, and you take a close look of his mouth and sharp chin; they're glistening with your essence.

“Your mess is all over my face, clean me up.”

Your tongue starts roaming around his mouth, cleaning carefully the corners. Until you stop on his lips to take your time with gathering your juices. While you do this task, his fingers have put their scissoring motion on pause, and somehow the burning temptation to cum lingers inside you strongly as ever - only his middle finger is barely teasing with miniature bumps back and forth that you can hear the sound of in the silent room.

You don't hold back from sucking hungrily on his bottom lip and that turn out to be the last straw for Hyeongjun.

He smashes his mouth onto yours for the very first time, resuming to building back the pressure in your tummy at the same time.

The on going whimpers you make from your climax erupting so intensely get lost; swallowed from the lushful contact of your lips moving more greedily with each passing second.

You wrap hands around his neck to pull him closer, but to also have something to grab onto for support as you go into spasms. The moment the wave hits you, your mouth opens in a silent scream after your head falls back into the pillow.

“Cum again for me, kitten, that’s it.” His voice goes lower and lower as he watches you squirm in your skirt, unable to control yourself at all. “So good at this…” He arches his fingers against your sweet spot for a few more seconds, then takes them out to slap your vulnerable clit as a praising gesture.

“I’m impressed, you’re doing so well for a virgin.” Hyeongjun says, getting up to get rid of his jeans.

Your attention span is so weak at this moment, but it’s not possible to miss the appealing features of his silhouette when he goes to look for his jacket to grab a condom - as you later find out. The waistband of his black boxers contrasts against the tanned skin of his slim waist while the prominent contour of his erection has you anticipating to see what it looks like.

You heard him orgasm, but you haven’t seen him do it.

“Take these off, doll.”

You strip, but your eyes still stay focused on his body language. The nerves of seeing his cock being released from the stained fabric of his underwear make the knot of energy in your tummy swirl with a new speed. Finally being able to free it must have made him feel good based off the long sigh that escapes his lips once he takes it in his hand.

He tells you to turn around on your knees, and soon enough, you feel his tip gliding between your folds through the protection. Although you’re squelching from how wet you are, the first inch Hyeongjun forces into your tight entrance, makes you cry out.

“O-oh my God—“ You grip on the sheets as a sharp pain shoots through your lower region; the stinging quickly starts spreading everywhere. “Fuck, it hurts…”

“Shh, just think about how good I’m gonna fuck you once you’re streched out for me.” Hyeongjun grips your hips, threatening to leave a few bruises, as his face twitches with pleasure. His erection is so overwhelmed from your tightness that it keeps throbbing, making him want to cum on the spot. “Isn’t this what you want, pretty girl? Getting fucked like a whore?”

“Yesyesyes—“ Your response melts into a wail when you feel the agony from the rest of his size going all the way through you. Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes and you try your best to hold them in.

It doesn’t get easier when he begins to thrust into you, but the only thing you can do, is take it, and hope it does soon. The sound of his body clashing into your behind sounds so arousing though, his loud moans excite you even more than that; you don’t want any of it to stop, so you pull one of the pillows and bite, suppressing your hiccups miserably.

Until he covers your mouth and you’re left sobbing in his palm.

“Shhh, it will go away. Stop fuckin’ crying,” he rumbles, just because he loves the sound of the command, not because he really wants you to.

After he changes the position, by laying you on your back, you really realise how much you turn him on when you cry. For this year and a half since you’ve known each other, he’s never looked at you like this once - as though he’s trying to memorise every detail that makes up your face. You’ve catched yourselves staring at each other before; you’re always the one to look away pretending your attention was meant to be directed somewhere else, while he, on the other hand, never has a problem in holding his gaze on you.

But it was nothing like this.

Hyeongjun follows the erotic stains of your tears like hypnotised, until you hang arms around his shoulders, pulling him back into reality.

“Don’t stop…” You sneak your fingers into his dark hair, but as much as he likes the feeling of it, he quickly grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“Don’t stop what?”

“Fucking me… Please, I want this.”

Your voice breaks in the middle of a desperate moan after Hyeongjun fills you up again in one rough push. His strong cravings dictate his speedy pace in addition to his desire to see you completely fucked out under him; resulting into degrading words to keep flying out of his mouth.

“You liked that, huh...” He growls, as your whines that now sound like they come more from pleasure than from pain, begin to rise with each slam his cockhead gives your g-spot. “Does my slut starts to feel good, tell me.” He shifts in order for his hand to find your clit and rub it with quick motions that have you rolling your eyes back.

“Soo g-good… l love it so much!” You blink up through your coiled lashes, mumbling incoherently through whimpers, “f-fuck—“ You gasp, taken aback by his hand suddenly moving to your throat. You feel his fingers hugging your neck, putting the ideal amount of pressure on both sides to get you dizzy as his hips don't plan on slowing down.

“Gonna fuck you so good you won’t settle for anything less than my cock, you hear me... Nothing will ever feel like this again, kitten.”

You try to hold onto every word he says, as they send waves of arousal in your tummy, but it all becomes too much - they start slipping from your mind the second Hyeongjun mutters them in his panting.

“Look at me,” he grunts. “Don’t be pathetic, look at me as I fuck you.” He scoffs at the way your smeared with makeup eyelids barely stay open. “Rub your clit, come on. Don’t just lay there.”

“Mhhm…” A noise of desperation slips from your trembling lips the second your fingers get in contact with your overstimulated nerves. You don’t even need to press against it, a light brush is enough to bring your climax when the rest of you is scorching from his pounds. “Hyeong— ‘m gonna cum—“

“Tsk,” Hyeongjun clicks with his tongue before turning your head with a slap. Your hand automatically pulls away from your clit. “That’s not the way, pretty one. What do whores say when they want to cum?”

“Please… let me cum, p-please.”

“Better,” he lifts his upper body up, locking eyes with your pleading gaze. “You’re trying your best, so I’ll let it slide.”

The multiple orgasms are starting to take their toll on you, and you look so captivating with your miserable tears, and little head in the clouds. His curiosity has him already wonder how much more you can handle, but at the same time... he wants to save some things for the future.

You feel the burning rush rising to flood your body, and your eyes squeeze from embarrassment, however, a moment later they open from a warning smack on your thigh.

“Look at me as you cum, doll. Is this all it takes to fuck you dumb?” He takes a peek at your boobs and how they bounce with every shove of his length, before staring back down at your one hand returning to your sore clit. “Already sleeping on me, holy shit—“

Hyeongjun’s face contorts the moment you suck his cock in, tightening around it. He remains silent, wanting to focus on your moans elevating, turning heavier as your mind goes blank.

The condom gets fully soaked from you as you cum even harder.

With all the strength he has left, he slams the tip of his cock into your deepest spot, sloppier, but just as intense, waiting for your high to cool off before he pulls out.

As his own panting normalises, he gets up, slipping off the messy wrapper from his shaft.

“Come,” he calls out, standing on his feet in front of the bed. His fist is caressing his now bare cock through slow steady tugs. “Yeah, crawl to me, kitten.” He eyes the trouble you have using your wobbly legs with a satisfying smirk on his flushed face.

“Stay.”

You freeze on all fours with palms close to the edge of the mattress.

It’s right in your face. There’s no condom to hide it, and you see the angry redness of his leaking tip. You can’t help, but gulp your drooling over and over again, as he lowers it down to your mouth.

“I’ve only done it with my hand,” you remind him when he gets closer with the swollen head between his fingers.

“Just stay still and don’t forget to breathe.” He simply states, but then decides there’s one small thing he can help you out with. “Open your mouth for me.”

You blink up, showing him a glimpse of your pink tongue. It takes you a seocond to figure out what he’s planning on doing. Just after you notice the thick string of spit escape his lips, you realise that you have to catch it. You stand in the same position, dismissing the ache in your sore muscles as you wait for his saliva to fall in your mouth.

Seeing it finally glide to the back of your tongue, Hyeongjun invites his cock in your small mouth, with an unexpected persistence that makes you wince on your knees.

He finds it cute, that after all this time he has you under his control, you still expect him to go easy on you.

“Wanna see you take all of it, fuck,” he whispers, and his hand resting on the back of your head, feels your attempts to pull back already. “If you want to get fucked like a slut, you should start sucking dick like one. Come on, make your mouth just as filthy as your pussy,” he gives you an encouraging slap, feeling how hard he is through your cheek. “Prove to me you make a good whore.”

He pushes your head towards his lower abdomen in want to hear you slobber around his length as much as possible.

The loud groan you hear above you, after his tip stays in the deepest part of your throat, sends shivers down your spine... You wish you could make him feel this good without any of his guidance.

As he said, you make sure to keep breathing through your nose, simultaneously fighting back the urge to gag from the unsettling taste the rubber of the condom has left on his warm skin.

You force your tongue to flicker as much as possible, roaming wherever it can reach. Now that his hand stopped forcing you into his tummy, you bob your head in a slower, more sensual pace.

“That’s it, make it wet, doll.”

Your eyes look up innocently, tempted by the subtle praise in his tone. You even produce a satisfied moan which shoots a pleasant vibration through his core and cause him to tangle his fingers into your hair. You couldn’t resist it; seeing his dark messy hair fall into his face that's contorted by the pleasure he receives from you, brings you just as strong delight.

A moment later, the bitterness on your tongue becomes too much and you have to spit him out despite not wanting to. Your head falls defeated when you begin to gag embarrassed by your behaviour.

“Shit, it just started to feel good, what do you think you’re doing, huh?”

“I’m sorry, it’s the condom, the—“

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” Hyeongjun cuts you off, tilting your wet chin up. “I want to cum, are you denying me that?”

You shake your head, staring at him with wide apologetic eyes.

“I’ll do better,” you quietly say under your breath. Your heart skips a beat when he squats, leaning in so close your noses almost brush against one another. You close your eyes, anticipating the thrilling touch of his lips, but you know you have to work for that, and you quickly look back at him. “Spit on me… again.”

Hyeongjun’s eyes fixate on you with surprise as he stands up straight.

“Please,” you add the magic word, and you see his dark gaze sparkling from how exciting it sounds in your voice. “I deserve it.”

He doesn’t hesitate to grip your jaw steady, then spit at the centre of your face. He does it one more time, then another, till your twitching features have enough of it.

You open your eyes to his cock tapping your cheek; his slippery length spreads the saliva everywhere on your face, then forces itself through your lips.

This time, you succeed in bearing both the taste and the pain of his size bullying your throat a bit easier. You begin to get used to it, but the fact Hyeongjun’s quick hips do all the work helps you out too - this way, you don’t even have the time or the ability to think about anything at all.

He glides in and out of your mouth, mercilessly, not paying attention if you struggle or not. The knot in his core is so close to snapping as your eyes fill with tears again, the thought of slowing down or opening his eyes does not even cross his mind.

“Fuck, fuck—“ he groans in a much weaker voice than before. The new vulnerable note to his tone makes it obvious he’s close. “God, fuck! Yeah, swallow it, kitten.”

You do your best to stay still as he releases his orgasm on the back of your tongue; throbbing in between your hollowed cheeks.

The intense fluttering that follows in your chest from his hand, roughly closing your mouth to keep it all in, makes you smile shyly before you take his warm seed down your throat.

“Your first time eating my cum.”

It was your first time of many things.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[rtgx0701]

Similarities between the Gem mermaids, ancients, and beasts

I've noticed a few things about the gem mermaids and how they're almost similar to the ancient cookies and the beast cookies.

White pearl cookie = Pure vanilla cookie and shadow milk cookie: Like pure vanilla cookie, white pearl cookie wants to help others, especially when it comes to her own people. She is also kind and caring to those around her like her friends, her family, and her people like pure vanilla when he’s kind and caring towards others. Like shadow milk cookie, white pearl cookie, as black pearl cookie, can deceive other cookies by luring them into a false sense of security and then striking at the right moment. She is also quite maniacal and almost insane like shadow milk cookie when she’s black pearl cookie.

Crimson coral cookie = Holly berry cookie and Eternal sugar cookie: Like holly berry cookie, crimson coral cookie is very strong and very powerful, showing that she’s willing to fight and protect the one’s she cares about. However, like eternal sugar cookie when she had the virtue of happiness before her corruption, Crimson coral wishes to make her little sister, white pearl cookie, happy and although she doesn’t show it all the time, she does deeply care for her. And like Holly Berry cookie’s light of passion, Crimson coral has a passion for protecting her people and white pearl cookie from danger, like abalone cookie and his men.

Gold citrine cookie = Golden cheese cookie and burning spice cookie: Like golden cheese cookie, gold citrine cookie is a bit greedy, since she kept shiny and flashy trinkets and treasures in her chambers. They both have the word gold in their names seem to have an interest in gold since gold is also a shiny and flashy metal, which is also a valuable treasure. Gold citrine cookie also has an interest in treasure hunting like golden cheese cookie, since she hunts for treasures and trinkets all over the ocean and brings them back to her chambers. Although burning spice cookie and gold citrine cookie don’t have a lot of things in common, gold citrine has a chamber with treasures, just like how burning spice has a throne chamber with tons treasures, which is mostly gold. He also seems to be interested in gold like gold citrine cookie since he wore gold items before his corruption.

Mystic opal cookie = Dark cacao cookie and mystic flour cookie: Like dark cacao cookie, she has resolution seems to try and help resolve problems that people have, by looking into the future to see what the outcome is and what might happen in the future. She also has the name mystic like mystic flour cookie and has volition in choosing which future to look into.

Aquamarine cookie = white lily cookie and silent salt cookie: Like white lily cookie, she works with plants and both can control the floral. She also has solidarity like silent salt cookie before his corruption, since she works together and cooperates with plants.

these are the things I’ve noticed with the gem mermaids, the ancients, and the beast cookies. I hope you enjoy my little idea of how the gem mermaids are similar to them. I know that parts of this post look a bit incomplete and that some of the similarities aren’t that good. I’ll try to edit these ideas if I found any other similarities besides the ones I put onto the post.

[pokemonshelterstories]

What sort of treatment would you give a steel type pokemon at the shelter if one was brought in with chronic rusting issues? Purely out of curiosity, don't see too many discussions about steel type care on the blog and I think they're underrated.

great question! we don't see a ton of steel types at the shelter, but i'm currently working towards my steel type handling certification, so i've been reading a lot of recent literature on steel type care haha. the answer is that it really depends on the pokemon and what's causing the rusting issues.

in the vast majority of chronic rusting issues in pokemon with metallic components to their body, the cause lies with husbandry. poor diet is the most common culprit. steel types in the wild eat a much wider variety of metals than initially believed, and in fact- much like a gogoat- many obtain trace metal and mineral content by eating dirt/rocks outside of their main diet! fixing dietary imbalances results in the rusting clearing out over time in most cases.

sometimes chronic rusting can also be caused by failure to provide proper avenues for self-maintenance. for example, aggron are known to "polish" their metal by rolling in sand or coarse-grained dirt and rubbing up against oily plants. in these cases, providing opportunities for those natural maintenance behaviors will typically resolve the problem. some older steel types may need their trainer's assistance with polishing if they've developed mobility issues.

outside of those possibilities, it's a veterinary issue. those are tough to resolve in steel types. if it's because of a mechanical problem (such as a klinklang's gears not turning properly), it can sometimes be fixed, but otherwise the usual response is to treat the symptoms rather than cure the underlying cause. we just don't always have enough knowledge of care for some of the less organic steel types to know how to provide for their medical needs. treatment for chronic rust usually involves regular polishing with medical grade steel wool (which has been properly sanitized) and the application of some type of oil blend to help form a protective coat. custom-made raincoats to help prevent exposure to moisture as well as using a dehumidifier in spaces the pokemon frequents can also lower the risk of new rust forming.

[hazelsmirrorball]

Spiderman’s Biggest Fan |  Jaime Reyes.  Part 2

summary:  Jaime Reyes is the biggest spiderman fan. His girlfriend on the other hand is Spiderman's biggest hater. 

pairings: Jaime Reyes x Spiderman! FemReader 

a/n:  Hi! I received lots of love in the first part and I want to thank you guys so much. I haven’t been having the greatest week and that really cheered me up. I rarely do second parts but here you guys go. Ps. There is also another part coming soon. 

warning: English isn’t my main language. Angsty and kinda sad. Not edited

[MASTERLIST]

part one.  part three part four part five

Family dinners. 

You either love them or hate them. Good food, people you love and drama all bottled up on a dining room table at around six thirty pm. An nightly event that could either ruin your night or make a beautiful memory for the future. There was no in between and by the looks of it, Y/n was getting the short end of the stick. 

The past two weeks had been a living hell for the girl. Trying to balance her regular life with her superhero life was barely impossible the past weeks.  She had been Spiderman for years now and she had managed to balance both of her lives with ease but now, she was losing it. She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t eat, she couldn’t focus. Y/n had never felt like this, even when her uncle died she didn’t feel as bad as she felt right now. Her spider senses didn’t have to tell her that something bad was going to happen at this dinner, her common sense already told her that. It wouldn’t surprise her if Doc Ock would enter through the door and make a big fiasco but she thought that it would be better than standing in this uncomfortable silence. No one dared to say anything which was rare with both of the families. They usually would fight to shut people up making even more ruckus but right now the only thing you could hear was the metal of the spoons scraping off the plates and the wall on the clock. No one said a word and that drove Y/n insane. She could feel her eyelids flutter shut as she thought of the last two weeks. 

The Justice League had  been all up her ass making her work even more than usual. Not even the titans were working as much as her. Don’t get her wrong, she loved crime fighting but criminals in Palmera weren’t as scary as the ones in Gotham. She would prefer having to deal with people stealing a croissant  at a cafe than having to deal with one of the Joker's bombs. It was great that Batman trusted her with big missions but she needed a break.  Gotham wasn’t for her and quite frankly she didn’t understand how Jaime was capable of staying there for so long.  Gotham was hell and that drove her on the brick of insanity, maybe she would turn into the Joker of Palmera because at this point she was losing it as much as him. Y/n was starting to regret accepting the honorary position in the Justice League. She was in between cities Gotham, Metropolis and Palmera. Palmera, Metropolis, Gotham. 

To make matters even worse, Villains in Palmera were multiplying by the minute thanks to Blue Beetle’s  appearance and to make her life even more difficult Blue Beetle was MIA. No one had heard a word from him. She hadn’t personally met him but ever since he had shown up her life got even more difficult, so long story short she wasn't the biggest Blue Beetle fan. Since he was MIA Spiderman had to fight her “arch nemesis” plus the ones Blue Beetle had managed to bring to Palmera. Y/n knew the media was against her but she also knew that the people of Palmera counted on her. People like her family needed to be protected, there  couldn’t be more deaths like Uncle Ben’s. She wouldn’t allow that, so even if she had to lose her sanity and her life, Y/ was going to do the impossible to keep Palmera safe.  

Those problems were only the spiderman one’s. If her life as Spiderman was rough Y/n’s  life was ten feet underground. She was failing classes left and right, barely keeping up due to the fact that she was in between cities. She couldn’t talk to Jaime that night which made him completely ignore her. Aunt Marisol started acting weird around her, like she knew something she didn’t.  The Reyes family had to stop the construction due to some new laws that were happening and the tip of the iceberg, Milagro knew Y/n’s secret and she was eager to tell someone. 

Y/n wasn’t okay. Well she never was. Even though she was an orphan, Aunt Marisol and Uncle Ben made her life good, they raised her as their own and gave her a good life. They worked hard for her to get to where she was at in life.  She was okay before she was bitten. Y/n had a normal life with aspirations. She had friends and family that loved her. She was doing well in highschool and she was on her way to get a degree. She was starting her relationship with her best friend and would fantasize about having a family with Jaime. And right now, at the age of twenty two she was losing everything she worked hard for with a blink of an eye. They were in depth, she was failing school, she was going insane, she didn’t know where she stood with Jaime and Uncle Ben was dead. All because she was bitten by a radioactive spider. Scratch that, all because she didn’t have the capability of balancing her two lives. 

Before she could even go half way through her inner monologue her thoughts got broken by her head slamming against the hard wooden table waking her up immediately while also gaining everyone's attention. Her tired eyes scanned around the table straddle. Everyone was aware and used to the constant lack of sleep from her behalf but watching the dark eyebags and the food that was barely touched made them worry. Y/n noticed the multiple pair of pity eyes staring at her so she kept on looking around trying to see something different and that when she saw it. Milagros' eyes looked deep into her soul. It was worrying to Y/n already the fact that at any moment Milagro could spill the beans of her secret but the look on Y/n’s face made her scared. She was going to tell them, Y/n was dead. 

After managing to avoid the family for the past two weeks, everything was going down while they were attempting to have a nice family dinner. If she survived this she was going to remember this as the downfall of family dinners. 

Y/n glared  at Milagro  as she slowly shook her head not wanting for her to say a word. Y/n had hid her identity for years and she was successful. She never missed a beat and no one suspected a thing. But because she slipped one time, every secret she held was ruined. 

“Okay! Since no one wants to address the elephant in the room I will…” Milagro started but before she could continue. Y/n slammed her hand on the table getting up quickly, gaining everyone's attention.

“This food is amazing. You guys really ate with this. Have I told you how good you have gotten at cooking? Nana and Rocio really have helped you a lot. We should all get cooking classes so we could all make really good food like this one. We could maybe even open a food store, because from the looks of it, I might drop out of grad school. I don’t know, cooking school would probably eat. See, I’m good at telling cooking jokes. Is it getting hot in here or is it just me? ” Y/n said quickly  as she picked up a glass of water gulping it down. Everyone stared at her with wide eyes trying to comprehend what was happening but before anyone could say a thing, her Aunt got up from her chair looking at her with angry eyes. 

“ Que tu me estas tratando de decir, Y/n. After everything we’ve done for you, you are going to tell me that you are failing school?”  

“No, tampoco así. Solo es que… I took two weeks off and now I’m a little behind on school but I can catch up on it now since I don’t have a job” She said quickly while closing her eyes not ready to see her aunt's face. Nana gasped as she heard the words escaping from her lips. 

“What do you mean you don’t have a job? What happened to your job at the Daily Bugle.” Aunt May exclaimed, passing a hard roughly through her hair. 

“Well, they didn’t like the fact that I took two weeks of work?” She said gulping hard not wanting to  dig herself a bigger grave.

“What? Do you think money grows on trees, Y/n! We are not rich. We can barely afford to pay rent let alone bring food to the table and you have the decency to tell me that you lost your job and that your failing school like it’s just a little game. This is real life and Ben and I risked a lot of things you could have the life you have right now. We took you in andmade you our own and this is how you repay us? These past few weeks I’ve seen a side of you I’ve never seen and Dios que feo es. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it has to stop right  now. Disappearing to God knows where, ditching school, ignoring your family, ignoring Jaime. Have you looked at yourself for a minute in the mirror? I don’t recognize the women you’ve become and quite frankly this wasn’t the way I raised you and I bet Ben wouldn’t even recognize you too” Aunt Marisol yelled sternly as Y/n stared at her tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Y/n could feel her watch buzzing but all she could hear was her aunt's voice echoing through her head. 

She screwed up and she screwed up big time. It didn’t take long for her to push her chair back and walk towards her room. As she went up the stairs she could hear hush voices talking at the table. Y/n could feel a lot of emotions right now, but most importantly she felt ashamed and embarrassed.  Y/n was fucking up her life by the minute and everyone could see it but her.  She tried her best to block it out as she entered her bed letting a loud cry onto her pillow.  She raised her head from the pillow tapping her hand against her nightstand to pick up a small compact mirror. She looked at the reflection not recognizing who was staring back at her. Aunt Marisol was right, she couldn’t even recognize herself.  She had lost herself and all her hard work. 

Y/n felt once again her watch buzzing which made her angrily throw it against the wall. She let herself drown with tears as her head fell one again on her pillow. Lost in her thoughts she didn’t notice the tall frame enter her room and sit on the edge of the bed. Once his hands rubbed her back she felt her body tense up missing the familiar touch. She slowly raised her head from the pillow looking towards them, her eyes being completely swollen already. As she got up slowly sitting next to him, she played with her hands not daring to look  him in the eyes. 

“Jaime, please listen to me when I say this. I know I’ve been acting weird and I know I’ve been a bad girlfriend. I’ve been ignoring you. But I really can’t lose you, you are the one person that keeps me sane and I know things are weird between us right now but trust me when I say this, I would never cheat on you. You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me and I would never risk losing that. I love you so much Jaime. I-I I swear that wasn’t a hic…” Y/n said in between cries, but before she could even continue Jaime pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. Y/n cried into his chest as he rubbed her hair. 

“Y/n, I trust you. I don’t know what you're going through right now. Pero te quiero ayudar. I love you so much and it hurts me to see you like this. Even though everyone is saying that they can't recognize you, I still see that beautiful girl I’ve been in love with since forever. You’re Y/n, the caring and loveable girl that would do anything for her family. The girl that is obsessed over romance books and loves to write.  You are Y/n L/n the light to this world, to my world” Jaime said as he pulled Y/n’s chin up placing a kiss on her lips. She missed this, she missed being this close with Jaime. She remembered why she started doing this in the first place, so that Palmera could be safe so they could live the life they deserved and worked for. 

“Jaime, I wanted to tell you. I’m sp…” Before she could continue Milagros slammed the door open making the couple let go of themselves. 

“Hey! I’m sorry to ruin your little moment but Doctor Octopus just came through our front door! And he got Aunt Marisol!” 

part 3.

[MASTERLIST]

[your-local-crypt1d]

More WRA and Roseblings headcanons 🥀

Part 1!

Gem inherited her mothers' green eyes, whereas fWhip inherited his father's blue. After she transitioned, people would often say she looked just like their mother, to the point it was uncomfortable. Gem never knew her mother, she doesn't share the grief of her people (as much as she understands why they grieve, she finds it hard to sympathise), and being thrown mournful glances and overhearing hushed whispers of the late empress left a bitterness inside even if she knew it was illogical to be upset over it.

"What do you know of my mother? I did not even know my mother!" Has been a phrase Gem's regrettably snapped more times than she'd like privy

Just the complicated feelings/experiences children of a mother who died during childbirth having to deal with growing up, especially when that mother was such a beloved political figure as Grand Empress MelodiaRose of the Wither Rose Dynasty

All traditional Grimmish names are compounds. it stems from their language having a logographic writing system (e.g. Chinese), so it contains a separate glyph for each word or phrase. Traditionally, Grimmish parents choose two words and/or names and compound them together for their children.

As mentioned in the previous part, fwhips' name is a poor translation between mythic and common, and it means "someone who gets back up after being knocked down".

Gemini comes from the tradition of the firstborn heir being named after a constellation or celestial body, and then Tay is a synonym of May in Grimmish. May/Tay in Grimmish has to do with the rising sun, and it symbolises the heir being the rising Emperor of their nation. Not that that happens with Gem, though.

So Gem has a very similar name to her father (like John vs. Jack levels of similar) and looks almost identical to her mother.

Unlike in other empires, adoption in the Grimmish royal family means being included in the line of succession, and having the same rights to inheritance as blood-related children.

With a large portion of the population being non-human ("monsters"), monster hunters historically have been a very big problem for the residents of the Grimlands. The heads on spikes and towering walls are to keep the hunters out.

This leads to many orphaned children in the Grimlands and surrounding empires, especially orphaned vampire children since Vampires are fiercely protective of their young to their dying breaths. Adoption is a large part of Grimmish culture, and they take it very seriously.

Their foster system is the best in the realm, support workers for children in the system are highly regarded (in the same way soldiers and doctors are), and as mentioned, royal adoptees have the same legal rights to inheritance as their adopted siblings.

Hence why Sausage, an adopted child, was allowed to become king of Mythland when he had no blood ties to the royal lineage.

Speaking of, I think Sausage would make iron friendship bracelets for the other Wither Rose Alliance members. Pearls' has sunflowers carved into the metal and inlaid with yellow gems. Gems' has amethyst pendants in the shape of magical symbols. fWhips' is painted black with little spiked studs painted red.

Sausage has a lot of scars from growing up, and when asked about them he has a running joke of always coming up with inconsistent and elaborate lies on how he got them, fWhip is in on it too. He's told the same advisor three different stories about how he got the scar on his upper arm (a warden, falling down a cliffside, stabbed by an assassin). No one knows the real story except Sausage, not even his siblings, but that's just Sausage for you.

With the surplus of crops, especially wheat, in Gilded Helanthia, I think baking would be a very popular and cheap hobby. Also popularised by their Queen taking an interest in it. Pearl usually makes pastries, tarts, and breads which she'll bring to WRA meetings for taste testing.

Gem doesn't have traditional courtiers as most rulers do, she has a large family of Allays who live in her tower and do nice fae things like cleaning up and bringing her important documents. Only occasionally do they hide things from her, or take coins, but Gem finds it hard to be mad when they technically "work" for her unpaid. The Allays don't seem to mind, though.

Along with that, Copper Golems aren't an uncommon sight in the Grimlands and Pixandria, the copper supplied from the latter and the engineering from the former. The Copper Golems around Eastvale are what inspired a young fWhip to take up engineering in the first place.

And native to the northern regions of Gilded Helanthia and further up north into Mythland and the Codlands are Glares. Just to round it all out. I imagine the Glares around the swamp have the moss cloaks (like depicted in-game), whereas ones from Mythlandic dark oak forests lean towards liverwort and fungus, and the ones from the Plains of Gilded Helanthia coontails and vines.