stifling protest

anonymous asked:

hi!! can i request a daddy kink smut w namjoon and reader? she posts provocative selfies on her instagram while namjoon is on tour,and once he comes back from tour he punishes her for it. blasian reader please ❤❤ thank you!



“Namjoon- “Your shaky voice was cut off by a loud cry once the whip hit your flustered skin again. Your bound wrist twisting behind your back as you looked around in the darkness.

“What’s my name?” Namjoon asked harshly jerking your head back with his fingers threaded in your hair so tight you knew you would have a headache. Not answering him quickly enough you received a slap on the clit by the black riding crop that he had.

“Master! Or sir.” You whimpered out feeling your clit throb from the slight pain.

“And did master tell you that you could talk?” He asked playing the crop between your chest and the chair only to let his finger slide down and pinch your clit not letting it go.

“NO! NO NO I’M SO SORRY!” You cried out trying to move from him.

“Stay still!” Namjoon commanded his voice booming and you flinched pressing yourself against the chair as more tears fell from your eyes and soaked up the blindfold that was on your eyes. “You’ve been such a bad slut. I wasn’t even gone that long and this is how you act. It looks like you won’t be cumming at all tonight.” Namjoon growled pulling his fingers back from your clit only to grab at the crop and strike your clit again. Whimpering softly, you bit on your bottom lip to stifle your cries of protest not wanting to anger the male anymore. “Now. What did you do?” Namjoon asked you once again for what seemed the tenth time or so that night. His middle and ring finger plunging back into your wet pussy. He thrusted them fast and hard against your G-spot curving his fingers and making a come hither motion inside of you that had your bound legs shaking against the chair. Chin resting against the chair you tried to find your words in your muddied mind but all you could think about was how good it felt and this was the worst punishment ever. “You better fucking start talking or this pussy is going to be so sore you won’t be able to sleep any other way but on your back.” Namjoon threatened and you snapped out of it nodding your head.

“I- I posted provocative pictures on Instagram while you were away and that was very naughty.” You whined out squeezing around his fingers. Namjoon jerked your head back biting harshly on your shoulder blade causing a silent cry to fall from your lips.

“Did I tell you to squeeze around my fingers?” He questioned swirling his fingers inside of you and you shook your head as much as you could.

“No sir!” You cried brokenly feeling your body become weaker from his ministrations.

“Then why are you doing it?” He questioned pulling his fingers back, as much as you wanted to react you knew it would only be worse if you did.

“I’m sorry sir! I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again.”

“Good slut.” Namjoon let your hair go to slap you across your cheek moving to stand in front of you. His hands reaching forward to pull on your nipple clamps causing your body to make the faintest of trembles that you covered up because you knew he hated when you moved without permission. “Now, once again. Why did you do it?” Namjoon asked in his cold cryptic tone. You hated this side of him the most because despite his harsh treatment you were fucking dripping against the seat and this shouldn’t be happening.

“I didn’t think…” You searched for answers but you didn’t want to say the truth to him or he would punish you more.

You couldn’t believe you were in this position right now. It felt like you had been in this chair for over hours, your pussy felt sore already from minor slaps and touches. He picked you apart and ruined you bit by bit. Why? Because you were a bad girl that’s why. Namjoon had went on his wings tour and you were happy no doubt you were always so proud of the boys’ success but you were needy and you both had barely had time together. But you tried to bear it all for him. It started off innocent of course, one night when you were needy you went to Instagram posting a picture of yourself in a sports bra and shorts with the caption ‘missing daddy’. You were a natural beauty, you had a lot of followers based off your looks alone and then the others came to look at you for the amazing art work you did because you were an inspiring tattoo artist. And a lot of people replied of how they would take care of you and be your daddy or even mommy if you were into those kinds of things. It had made you feel wanted. Craved. And some part of you felt like you were being sneaky because Namjoon didn’t have an account. Or so you thought. You ended up posting more photos, first over the course of weeks and then every few days and every day. Shedding more and more clothing until you were showing a bare thigh or a full mirror photo of you with wet hair and a short towel around your body showing the full curves of your breast and your hips. Sometimes you showed pictures of you in lace panties or see through shirts that showed some of your nipples but not your full breast. And Namjoon, sneaking on his Instagram account that only his members knew he had, he saw everything you did. You didn’t even make your page private and that is how you got caught. No one suspected you and Namjoon to be dating so the comments didn’t piss him off that much because you said you had someone. But it was how you teased him, how you tried to talk down on the male while he was gone. Namjoon had been full of rage on stage. He couldn’t do anything to you and that pissed him off. He just wanted to fuck you in the most sinful ways that should be unspoken.  The fact that he couldn’t put you in your place but his cock throbbed every time he saw your photos it drove him up and down the walls. So, maybe yes, he did lie to you as if he had a flight delay due to weather. Why ruin the surprise? He even went so far as to pay off people who saw him and told them to keep the hush down even his loud mouth friends and managers. Once he got home you were completely oblivious to what was going on. Dancing around in your thigh high polka dot socks and pink tank top that belonged to him. Namjoon had packed a bag and he knew on the ride over there what he would due to you.

Watching you prance around and how your body moved he couldn’t help feel the same anger that slowly wound up in his system from your latest post of you in that outfit shirt lifted up by the inside of your thigh with the captions ‘daddy will be gone for one more night. Who wants princess to entertain them?’. Growling to himself and to your shocked figure that turned around way too late he pinned you down not saying too many words. You could sense his anger rolling off his body so you tried to fight him away but it didn’t work. He wrestled you on your stomach, dragging his bag beside him to place the blindfold on your eyes. Next, he started to undress you though you squirmed and tried to get away from him. He bound your wrist together behind your back. Letting you squirm on the floor he went to get the punishment chair from the corner of the closet pressing it down to the middle of the floor. He picked up your squirming body making you straddle the chair with the back facing you. He pressed your legs on either of the back legs of the chair binding them down as well. That was how your torture started.

The only words you are allowed to speak are sir, and no or yes besides explaining yourself when I ask a question.” Yeah, he was pissed but instead of you listening you were disobeying talking to him and telling him you didn’t know who he thought you were but to let you go and how you didn’t do anything. He didn’t talk back, moving to grab at some toys in the bag. Whipping you and playing with your wet pussy he made sure you got broken back in line. He had placed nipple clamps on your breast, hitting your skin with the riding crop he marked your light skin with bruises.

“Y/N.” Namjoon said your name and that was enough to make you jump out of your jumbled thoughts.

“No?..” You questioned not knowing what he had said and that was a wrong move on your part. Clicking his tongue Namjoon bent down grabbing at one of his favorite ruby red candle. He moved towards the bathroom shutting the door so that he could run the water and strike the match in order to surprise you. Letting the candle melt a bit he stayed in there for some time causing you to become nervous. Your tears were drying up against your skin and your breathing was becoming regular once again. Until the door opened.

Out came Namjoon with slow steps towards your body. He walked behind you trailing his finger down your spine slowly causing you to shudder and groan in pleasure. He grabbed at his belt from his black bag folding it and striking it across your ass cheeks. Yelping out you quickly stifled your cries once again drawing blood as you bit down on your bottom lip. “You know your safe word.” Namjoon reminded you. Though he was punishing you he didn’t want to break you to the point you were terrified of him or in extreme pain. He just wanted you to obey. You shook your head no telling him that you could handle what he gave to you. Namjoon chuckled it was one of the reasons he loved you, because you were able to handle anything he gave you. Licking down towards your ass crack he circled his tongue around your puckering star before he pulled back groaning at your taste. He tilted the candle against the top of your back pouring the wax on your skin. You bit your bruised lip harder to keep down the crying pain of the stinging from the hot wax on your skin. He poured it in a straight line letting it run down your back. And then going back over the lines he started to mark his name with the wax across your shoulder blades. He moved back walking around on your right side, pouring the wax onto your right thigh and then your left thigh. Once you were covered with wax, he blew out the candle sitting it down on the dresser.

He gripped at the whip rolling his neck flicking his wrist to crack the whip against your skin. He broke the hardened wax across your body causing you to become sticky and full of red whelps. He cracked the wax on your thighs dropping the whip onto the floor before he grabbed his belt standing behind you. “Count.” He commanded as he started to strike your ass cheeks one by one.

“One. Two. Three!” You cried out arching your back, your pussy was leaking and soaking out the chair under you because despite the pain shooting up your back you loved it. Namjoon kept it up spanking your ass until he reached twenty licks on each reddened cheek. He got on his knees kneading the warm skin. He bit into each of your cheeks spreading your ass wide with his large palms. Licking from your clit up to your ass he repeated that step twice. He moved to lick up and down your slit flicking your clit harshly. He moved to bite on your pussy lips gently. Instead of going for your pussy he went to your ass shoving his tongue into your tight asshole he moaned stretching you out. His tongue sliding in and out of your hole he tongue fucked your hole until it was wet and you were trying your hardest not to clench around his tongue. He pulled back rubbing your ass cheeks not praising you though he wanted to.

“Since you want to clench so much. I got something for you.” He moved to grab at two weighted balls watching you with hooded eyes. He had to pat his erection slowly trying to calm it down. He moved to crouch behind you, pressing one ball against your pussy he slid it inside of you slowly. Once it was inside of you he grabbed the other to press it against your asshole sliding it inside of you as well. “If you don’t clench around these they will fall out and I will punish you more.” He warned smirking as he bit the inside of your thigh.

He stepped back looking at your body all red and abused for him. It was such a beautiful sight. A canvas to paint after a long tour and he knew after this you wouldn’t be misbehaving for a while. He slowly stripping himself from his baggy skinny jeans and lose fitted V-neck dropping his boxers last. He moved in front of you petting your head he slapped his cock against your face rubbing it over your lips before his hand slapped your left cheek and his free hand gripped your hair. “Mouth open.” He commanded and you followed instructions opening your mouth for him. Namjoon gripped at his cock giving it a few pumps until his precum was oozing out. He let It press against your tongue and slid down your tongue into your throat and disappear. He moaned out sinfully dimples popping out as he gritted his teeth. Slowly he slid himself into your warm wet mouth moaning once again at how it felt to be in the space. He grabbed at your hair tighter rolling his hips forward slowly. Your tongue moved up and down his shaft and against every vein you could find. Your mouth being stretched out by his warm thick cock that was sliding up and down your wet tongue. He built up his speed every few thrusts until he was pounding into your mouth. He groaned looking at you, he pushed as hard as he could squeezing his ass cheeks to bury his cock into your throat. He slapped at your cheeks turning the skin red smiling down sadistically at you taunting you.

“My dirty little cum slut. My dirty little whore. Daddy’s fucktoy. Daddy’s dirty vixen. All mine. All fucking mine. Every ounce of you. This warm little mouth. That tight little pussy and asshole.” He looked down at you pinching your nose to cut off your air. He built up his speed slamming into your mouth balls hitting your chin. He could see the spit falling from your mouth and going down to your chest and your nipples. You were ruined and a slut and he needed you now. Namjoon kept pinching your nose pushing his hips forward he held himself down against the back of your throat. You struggled for oxygen and you felt your airway closing. Swallowing around him you choked lightly becoming light headed. He watched your body slowly go limp and he pulled out of your mouth letting your nose go. You gasped for the air sucking it in as your chest heaved for it. Namjoon bent down undoing your legs from the chair he picked up your body laying you on the bed. Moving to plug in your favorite vibrator he got onto the bed in between your limp legs pressing them down. “Sorry princess. No cumming.” He pushed your legs wider taking the weighted balls from your pussy and your ass but you had to relax and be still for him to reach deep and get them out.

You were dreading it already. Namjoon aligned his wet cock with your entrance pushing inside of you ever so slowly to get the feel of you once again. A soft moan left your lips as he felt you up and you could feel every inch of him inside of your tight pussy. He started to thrust into you with slow but harsh thrusts. Slapping his hips against yours with every snap. He gripped at your hips first, dragging you down onto his cock. He continued to snap his hips forward burying himself inside of you to the hilt feeling every ounce of your wet walls. He knew he was going to be close to cumming, just feeling you alone was enough to make him always loose his mind. Turning on your vibrator he pressed the messaging head against your clit looking down at your body as one hand kept a tight grip on your hips bruising the flesh.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked pounding harder into you.

“You!” You whimpered out.

“Who am I?” He asked winding himself into your pussy fucking you into the mattress pounding deeper into you.

“Daddy Namjoon! My master! Fuck my everything!” You cried out once again sobbing as the vibrator lulled against your clit causing your stomach to tighten up. It felt so good, your pussy hurt in a good way. Namjoon was fucking you thoroughly pushing against your spot your hips connecting as he got rougher. He leaned over you dragging the vibrator up and down your clit moaning as he watched your body quiver and your pussy tightened up against him. Namjoon was close to the edge but he knew if he came inside of you, it would tip you off and you would cum as well. Namjoon pulled out of you moving to your mouth opening it back up as the toy stayed against your clit and he took the vibrations higher.

“Daddy!” You cried out shaking as your orgasm got closer. Namjoon gripped onto his cock stroking it fast and hard over your mouth shooting thick white ropes of his cum on your face and into your mouth bucking his hips to ride out his orgasm.

“Swallow.” He commanded after he unloaded himself into your mouth pressing the vibrator harder against you and you nodded your head cleaning your lips and chin as best as you could swallowing the bitter cum. He moved back to turn off the vibrator watching you shake as you came down from your orgasm. You were sobbing against the sheets frustration and anguish welling through your body. Namjoon slowly untied you and took of the blindfold. He shut off the toy and put it beside the bed smiling down apologetically at you.

“I wish I could let you cum, but if I reward you then you will always be a bad girl when I’m away and people will always want what’s mine.” He said softly leaning down to kiss away your tears and then kissing your forehead. “Princesses that are bad don’t get cummies or kisses on the lips. Now, daddy is going to bathe you and clean up the room and tuck you in for the night while he sleeps on the couch. In the morning if you apologize correctly I’ll see what my tongue can do for you pretty pussy. Understood?” He asked softly rubbing your hips softly. And though you hated it you wanted to scream and cry you knew he would leave if you acted out more.

“Yes sir.” You said softly and he picked you up with a soft understanding smile carrying you into the bathroom.

Uncertainty is hard to tolerate. But the reality is we don’t yet know which of Trump’s actions are part of a malicious grand plan, which are incompetence, and which are both — and regardless, on the ground, their impact is the same. We do know that a lot of harm can be done through the normal, banal workings of government, and that in fact much of the harm done to marginalized groups in our country’s history has been sanctioned by our institutions (e.g. slavery, Jim Crow, the Trail of Tears, mass incarceration, police violence, etc.), rather than achieved outside or against them. We know that, given this, we must strongly oppose and protest against harmful policies whenever they appear. If people are being harmed by a government action or order, it is never a “distraction,” but an urgent call to action. We cannot be overly inhibited by the worry that whatever action we take, we will be pawns of the administration’s machinations. This type of abstract worry will sap our energies and obscure the ways in which our actions can genuinely make a difference. All we have is doing and seeing what works or doesn’t work. Not everything we do will make a difference, but some of it will. Of course we can and should reflect and strategize about our actions, but there can be no sitting back and predicting from the sidelines without getting actively engaged.

If there is one thing we know for certain, it’s that white men will not be the leaders of this resistance. So don’t let their apocalyptic narratives shut down our collective action. Listen to and amplify the voices of the people engaged in the struggles rather than the ones observing from above.
Elorcan Werewolf AU Part 3

Summary: Frankly, this is just a filler, but full of info. Elide’s gone and Lorcan’s a whipped bitch, so what can a male do?

“Everything I’ve ever let go

has claw marks on it”

Elorcan Werewolf 3

Elide hated that she loved how Lorcan fit against her chest. His entire body was a furnace, warming not just her body in this night cold, but her heart as her mate. His muscular arms and broad shoulders engulfed her small frame, wrapping around her. Never had she felt so safe and content.

She wondered how many other females he had comforted.

Lorcan noticed her abrupt stiffness. “Mate,” he growled. “Mine.”

Elide slowly inched away him as far as she could in the seat. “You damaged the car.”

He pulled her towards his chest, growling softly. “You ran away from me, little mate.”

Little, her ass. If anything, he had felt so little he had to fuck half of the she-wolf population so his cock wouldn’t feel so little.

Rather than risk capital punishment, she settled for slapping his hard arm, which did more damage to her knuckle. “Maybe because someone was going to whip me again?”

The male’s eyes turned pitch dark at again. “Who hurt you.” A command.

Her attempts to push him off her lap failed. His hulking size covered half her seat and the emergency brake. Clearly he had done more damaging in his life than healing.

He let out a low, guttural noise, a sound that resounded to her very core.

“Who touched you.”

When Elide remained silent, his claws slid out, slashing against the seats. She swallowed. Hopefully Aelin wouldn’t be too pissed. She wouldn’t mind if her Alpha set this male in front of her on fire. Her pyro tendencies earned her the pack name right from the start.

Elide started up at the male that shadowed her. She felt zero attraction other than the desire to reject him. This male had no more claim on her than any other dirty one. If he had truly treasured the mate bond, then he would have never laid a hand on any other female.

But here she was, looking straight into the dark eyes of the Lycan who had laid with half of the she-wolf population.

Disgust rippled through her.

Lorcan took it the wrong way, and let out a fearsome roar. “Who hurt you.” His actions caused the entire car to, goddess forbid, shake. Elide let out a whimper as he gripped the glove box with unnecessary force, leaving an indent.

He must have realized the Elide was shaking with fear because he immediately fell silent. Slowly, he reached out to touch her cheek. Her traitorous hands reached up and cupped his palm.

A purring noise erupted from Lorcan’s throat. Stars above, she was barely touching him. Had not one of his past lovers ever shown him affection?

Lorcan’s eyes dropped as she stroked his hand.

“Elide,” he murmured.

That was the last straw for Elide. How many other female’s names had he cooed and how many other females had he seduced that was not her, his mate?

She ripped Lorcan’s hand away from her, and yanked the gear violently on drive. She ignored Lorcan’s bark of protest as she slammed on the pedal as hard as her tiny body could manage, and jerked the wheel to the left, watching in satisfaction as Lorcan’s body flew out the hole where the door would have been.

Serves him right for tearing apart the door. From a rutting camaro.

Elide didn’t look back and she pushed the car to its limits. It was time for plan B. Flipping open the sunglasses container, she pressed her thumb against a button along the rim. After a beep, a second set of controls appeared on her right.

Without a blink, she slammed her palm on the red button. A vapor mask instantly dropped from the ceiling, and Elide quickly tied it around her face. Seconds later, smoke of wolfs-bane flooded from the car and erupted in the surrounding air.

A howl of pain and longing pierced the air as the car speed away, and a piece of Elide ripped away as she felt Lorcan losing distance on her.

She didn’t blame the horrified glances directed her way as she pulled up the to hotel. She chose the most the most run-down looking one as so much to not rouse suspicion, but humans were curious things.

The valet worker stuttered out his greetings as Elide parked the now three-door car into an empty slot. She ripped the mask off her face and dropped it into a trash bin. He quickly opened the door for her as she stalked in towards the front.

“No luggage, miss?” the clerk said, eyeing her almost suspiciously.

The only baggage I’m carrying is my mate, she thought bitterly to herself. 

Elide merely shook her head. “A room just for one night, is all.”

The clerk nervously entered the information into the computer. “I’m guessing you’re paying with cash.”

She pulled out the wad of bills she found stuffed from the glove container. The clerk’s eyes widened to saucers. 

Great, she felt like an assassin completing her assignment, rewarded with none other than hard cash. She almost felt compelled to add to the clerk that she had about two knives shoved down each boot and that Aelin’s ruined camara itself was a weapon with a nuke in the trunk. Aelin never did anything by halves, and Elide supposed it had its perks. 

The clerk eyed her grimy hands, and chipped nails. She wondered if he’d call the police for murder.

Well, you did just about reject our mate, running from him, her wolf scolded her. That’s as good as killing him.

Elide almost puked. Her wolf had long been absent ever since Vernon had chained her up.

He lost us as soon as he laid with the first female, Elide said firmly.

Her wolf had nothing to say after that.

The clerk took the bills quickly, and slid the key across the counter tops. He dismissed her with a quick glance, and before Elide headed up the stairs, she gave a quick glance back.

No one was on her tail. 

She made it out. 

A flood of relief poured through her. Lorcan couldn’t bother get her now in the human city. She belonged to no one without her permission, much less a higher force determining her chance of love.

The sound of the clerk loosing a dramatic sigh caught her attention. Elide turned around, watching with little amusement as he dabbed his head with a handkerchief.

I thought she was going to kill me!” he let out a tiny wail, fanning himself.

Good riddance, Elide thought to herself as she went up the stairs. Humans were so extra.

Elide couldn’t sleep. For once, no nightmares of her Uncle Vernon plagued her, nor the memory of pain and loneliness. No一she kept expecting the searing pain in her stomach that would occur whenever a mate cheated on his other significant other.

Surprisingly, none came.

Are you rutting alive? Manon blasted down the pack link. If Lorcan touched you in any way, I’ll chop off his tiny balls and feed it to the rats.

Aelin pitched in. Lorcan is sitting on his ass in your rutting room, waiting for you to return like a pathetic gods-damned dog.

Elide frowned. Why isn’t he going back to any of his female toys?

A pause. Then一

Maybe because you’re his mate? Aelin sighed.

Manon huffed. You don’t need a mate given by the moon goddess to determine love. If the boy loved you, he would have kept his cock in his pants and waited. I don’t care if he’s almost as old as I am by eons. If you love someone, you will wait an eternity.

Elide groaned into her pillow. What about Rowan?

Stop rutting setting the walls on fire! Manon roared, and Elide stifled laughter hearing Aelin’s protest. Rowan apparently hates Aelin as much as she does he. He thinks she’s too improper to be princess but Aelin keeps throwing into his face that he has consorts, another improper act. So they’re at a stalemate.

At least Aelin is loyal in every way, Elide said firmly. Please kick Lorcan out. I don’t want to see him when I get back.

This is what we have to talk to you about, Elide. Aelin let out a nervous sound Elide felt even through the bond. I think it’s best if you finish your medicinal studies in the human realm. If you come back, Lorcan will mark you. And then you can never escape him again.

Elide yanked the blankets off the bed. Are you kicking me out of the pack? Her heart beat faster. Stupid Lorcan for ruining her life. She wanted someone to love her without doubt, and make her feel like a queen not with materialistic things, but clear actions.

And Lorcan had already ruined that.

No, no. Aelin reassured her. Once you finish your studies, still see if you want Lorcan. Once you finish your studies, come back. Then decide if you want to reject Lorcan or accept him as your mate.

Elide looked out the window where glimpses of the sun’s rays were already rising. She had a future already planned out, one with hope and one without fear. She was no longer that naive girl that trusted and would give herself over wholeheartedly without a reason. Life in the dungeons of the Morath Pack taught her that. If that was even considered life.

Realizing that she wouldn’t be getting much sleep, she walked to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Staring at her rugged reflection in mirror, she opened the pack link.

Relay the following message to Lorcan for me.

Lorcan had reached an all-time low. His once chance at happiness did not want to love him. He hated the Alpha bitch for feeding his precious, little mate Elide with barbed words for her to hate him even more. Then his gods-damned friend Rowan had to have his mate as none-other than the entitled bitch.

He felt the sympathy the others from the cadre shot down the bond. Gavriel had empathized with Lorcan the most.

Fenrhys, however, had been absolutely delighted. You have lost your charm! She probably finds another more manly than you! You and Rowan can chew on your own wolf dicks because now no one will want to!

Rowan had tackled Fenrhys, and Lorcan had tossed him out the window. Vaughan was wisely chosen to remain silent, merely shaking his head in distaste, and then went to the kitchen to search for food. Gavriel had mended Fenrhys’ shattered elbow.

Elide’s door banged open, and his heart soared.

And then sank.

The hybrid beta stalked him, snarling at him. “I am going to rip off your balls. And it’s not going to hurt you, because you’ve had other females touch your junior.”

“Junior?” Lorcan snarled.

The half-witch paced around the bed. “You don’t deserve her. None of you rutting Lycans do. Sticking your nasty stick wherever you can find a hole.”

It took all of Lorcan’s will to not crack Elide’s headboard. The audacity of this filth—

“Lycan’s urges are different from werewolves’, mutt. We have casual fucks because our Lycan side needs to be soothed that way if we don’t have a mate. You think we have a rutting choice? You think I like touching another female other than my little mate? Seek the moon goddess if you don’t believe me. You wouldn’t know only being half-Lycan.”

Manon cocked her head. “You better hope what you’re saying is true. Even then, you’re too late.”

He breathed in Elide’s scent permeating the room, calming down the murderous rage seeping through him. His Lycan side jerked around inside of him, demanding to cut off the half-witch’s tongue and hunt down his mate. Even if it broke down every law. “Too late for what?” he snapped.

“Elide’s gone to the mortal cities.” Lorcan’s heart stalled. He could not protect his mate within human infested cities lest he break Council laws. “So if you really want her, then you’re going to have to win her love not through the bond, but through love. And I don’t know how long she’s going to be there. It’s your move now, junior.

Elide inspected the cottage. It was on the outskirts of the city, but close enough that no Lycan could trespass. The landlord had agreed for Elide to rent it out without a set date as soon as she accidentally spilled a pouch of money across the table.

The place was dimly lit with comfy looking furniture. She lit the fireplace, soaking in the warmth. Manon and Aelin had promised to keep her updated with any pack new from small to urgent. Sorscha had instructed her to seek out the Terrance Dome Hospital, where other immortal or supernatural creatures worked. If she managed to acquire a degree there, then she’d be ranked as a Healer without a doubt.

Sighing, Elide slid the couch along the floor. She’d focus on re-decorating tomorrow and have to buy some more knick-knacks to liven up the place.

A thud against the door had Elide palming a knife. She slowly crept to the door, and peeked through the door. Seeing no one there, she uncertainly opened the door. If Manon was playing a prank on her—

A bark had the knife sliding out of her hand.

Elide looked down.

Sitting on her front porch was a massive, midnight pelted dog wagging his enormous tail. A coo went through Elide’s throat before she could help it and the dog’s tongue lolled out. A thick collar wrapped around his neck, and Elide hesitantly reached out for it.

When she bent down, the brutish dog licked her palm eagerly, settling onto its hind legs. Elide turned the collar over, scratching the soft skin between his ears, reading the letters engraved onto the leather.


Thank God for Boo Boos

{Reader gets an ouch in the shower and Anakin simply must check on her.       I know the title sounds sort of silly but I promise I took this seriously :’) I hope you enjoy it!! }

Your teeth bared down harshly, a sharp, hissing intake of breath resounding in the large shower. The blade of your razor had sliced a thin, but deceivingly deep well into your first finger; blood immediately pooling to the surface in a perfect sphere of Crimson. “Ow.” Was all you had to say-well-mutter. You held your bloody digit beneath the running water, watching the it turn a pale ruby atop crème colored marble. 

A familiar warm tug, originating from the center of your mind notified you of Anakin’s nearby presence. He was close and growing ever-closer. You simply assumed he was walking past the occupied bathroom, sighing calmly as you dipped your head back into the steaming water. A nearly silent click of the door said otherwise. A moment’s silence and then; “(y/n)?” Anakin’s elegant voice queried into the misted air. 

Your eyes shot open, a smile instantly breaking across your face. “I’m okay Ani, I just cut my fing-” Before your sentence’s end, a nude Anakin padded into the shower, a furrowed brow and slightly agape lips completing his look of true concern. You unabashedly allowed yourself to take in the sight of your stunning lover, eyes settling on his outstretched flesh hand. A small chuckle escaped your lips, but you appeased him, placing your hand in his. Elegant fingers instantly wrapped themselves around your palm, crystalline eyes inspecting the laughably small wound. 

“What happened, love?” Anakin’s eyes trailed upward to your own, his brow now smooth and the look of concern now turned to one of utmost adoration. He must have been comforted by the lack of damage, relaxing considerably. 

The emotion written on Anakin’s features made it that much more difficult to reply. Eyes gazing into your very soul through thick, dark lashes, his careful caress running small circles into the palm of your hand that his still held captive; you smirked. 

“I was shaving, Ani, to be smooth for you.” You stepped forward, reducing the space between your damp bodies and brought the fingertips of your ‘uninjured’ hand to your star struck lover’s mouth. 

You took your time, following the curve of his lower lip with a ghosting touch, trailing the sharp angle of his jaw downward. You stole your other hand away from the man’s grip, placing both sets of fingertips on his neck, tracing a path down his defined chest. In an act of blatant desire, you let your fingers play languid circles around the tender, blushed skin of his nipples, a smirk spreading on your lips at the audible gasp that followed. You had so much time and this was so beautiful. You took in the-now shallow-rise and fall of Anakin’s breaths, admiring the way droplets of water danced about on his tan, heated skin. 

Your hands continued their journey, Anakin letting out a slow, shaky breath, head lolling to one side, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers made their delicate way down his abdomen. The slightest echo of a soft grunt from his throat resounded off the marble shower when you reached his hips, causing your lips to part in awe. The sounds that fell from Anakin’s lips would forever be enough to send your body into a lustful frenzy, but you remained patient. The power lay with you in this moment and it was… exhilarating. 

Eagerness got the best of Anakin, his arms wrapping around your back, pulling your slick body flush with his. You feigned shock. “Oh, Anakin," You lightly rested your lips on the tender skin where neck and shoulder meet, "You must practice patience.” A groan of protest. 

You stifled a giggle, readjusting yourself against his hard body, adoring the way he held you so tightly, despite your 'scolding’. The friction of your hip and thigh against his already hardening member must have been just enough, causing your lover’s jaw to clench and a keen moan to tumble from his full lips. The sight nearly stopped your heart, and for someone who preached patience, you found yourself capturing his lips with your own in a heated kiss. Forgoing your usual tender pecks, you delved your tongue into his warm mouth, but quickly found yourself being dominated. You felt Anakin break into a smug smile and allowed yourself to do the same before licking a slow line across his bottom lip, nipping at the now kiss-reddened skin for good measure. 

You sighed against your lover’s skin, breathing in his scent before untangling yourself from his hold. His brow furrowed once again, fingers following after your form. You chuckled, simply going to shut off the water and returned to him, smoothing his ever so slightly damp hair. “Take me to bed?” The crease between his eyebrows smoothed, a pleased smile forming in its place. 

“Of course, my love.” A quick kiss was pressed to your forehead and you were easily scooped into the man’s arms, an unstoppable laugh of joy escaping you. Your eyes remained trained on your lover’s features as he made his way to your shared quarters, admiring the elegant slope of his nose, his long lashes, the full curves of his lips. Honestly, you’d been so taken with him; it nearly startled you when you felt yourself being set down. But a burning image of Anakin cleared your mind. He laid you down with utmost care, a hand behind your head and one on the small of your back, crawling onto the bed immediately after you were settled onto your silk sheets. It was nearly animalistic; the way he peered up at you through dark lashes, breathing unevenly with want through bared teeth as he braced himself above you. A few strands of hair tickled your cheeks, his nose lightly nudging yours in the closeness. 

Your stomach suddenly fluttered, heart literally aching with adoration. “I love you.” The words came out rasped and whispered against his lips, and you knew you were staring, wide-eyed, at the sight before you. You attempted to continue. “You are so…lovely.” That one came as a weakly exhaled breath. 

Anakin blinked quickly, most likely against his own will. This sort of confession always caught him by surprise, no matter how often you professed them. The simple truth; Anakin was humble. This made each and every revelation of love a striking occurrence for him. It was wonderful, truthfully. 

“Thank you, darling.” A metallic fingertip caressed your cheekbone and you leaned into the touch, smiling warmly. “And you are magnificent…,” A light kiss placed on the tip of your nose, “…stunning…,” another to the corner of your mouth, “… perfect.” The last word was spoken as a prayer, lips coming to melt with yours in a passion-fueled kiss. Then Anakin’s teeth unexpectedly took hold of your bottom lip, leaving light imprints on the skin and you in a state of roiling desire. 

Moments like these were lustful, yes and obviously physical. But, being close to Anakin; feeling his energy entwine with your own, was indescribable. He had a way about him; a power, a natural beauty. It was utterly fascinating to watch, a miracle each time he unfurled before your eyes. Here he was; ever-powerful, but tender now. He was breathtaking; moaning, melding with you in every way. You knew now; this would be a night of equal care. Not only would Anakin display his usual adoration for catering to your every need, finding so much pleasure in pleasing you. He would become utterly vulnerable for you, allowing walls to crumble and guards to be let down. Now was the time to care for him; to once again delight in the ideal that even a warrior, a Jedi, like Anakin revels in the variants of touch at times. Raw, rough and soft, praiseful. And so, to worship. 

You brought your index finger to rest between yours and Anakin’s nearly-connected mouths, attempting to separate long enough to slide out from beneath him. But, a sharp intake of breath sounded from you as the man licked a wet line up your digit, and your quivering lips. Eyelids fluttering closed against your will; you let an unabashed moan slip from your throat, causing an immediate reaction from Anakin. The muscles in his back, where your free hand rested, tensed noticeably. When your eyes slowly opened once again, you were mere inches from your lover, a look of absolute passion gracing his features. Thankfully, you regained your senses and ability to move long enough to refuse another onslaught of acquiescence on your part. 

“Anakin let me-…” You began breathlessly, quickly giving up on speech and simply easing yourself onto your elbows. You moved up on the bed until your back met the soft wall pillows at the head. In a blunt act of sexuality, you spread your legs wide apart and beckoned for the almost panting Anakin. He obeyed readily, coming to kneel between your splayed legs, eyes downcast; head bowed in what was almost reverence. 

You placed two fingers beneath his chin, gingerly lifting his. “Anakin, my love.” A soft smile played at the corners of his lips. His eyes were so blue; lapis lazuli and spring skies. 

Fingers slipped easily downward, following the trail of hard lines and muscle. Anakin’s stomach tensed momentarily with the light touch. “Tickle?” You met his gaze with a kind smile that he returned with a nod and quiet chuckle. He was so breathtaking. You leaned forward, pressing an open mouthed kiss to any of him that you could reach. But you needed more. 

“Lay back, angel”, you whispered against his warm skin. Unhesitatingly, he obliged, lying on his back as you came to straddle his upper body. You, of course, did not miss the immaculate image of his now fully erect member, the already leaking tip resting against his lower abdomen. You were careful not to make contact, not yet. You actually hadn’t noticed how eager you yourself had become until you were settled onto Anakin, the unmistakable sensation of your own wetness spreading onto his skin. 

Anakin took the chance for revenge. A mock groan of pity and then he chided, “Patience, my love." 

You smirked; glad there was enough light for him to see and lifted yourself, moving back enough to hover inches above the head of Anakin’s member. His lips parted at the sight, eyes watching your every move. He ran feather light fingertips up your arms and across your chest, softly caressing your nipples with the pads of his thumbs. You nearly keened at the touch, back arching. 

Wanting to draw the encounter out, you simply settled yourself on top of Anakin, enveloping his length between your heat and his own abdomen. Initially, his expression was that of slight confusion, probably as to why you hadn’t simply taken him inside you, but quickly acquiesced to your wanton act. You smirked, savoring the sensation of his throbbing length between your slick folds, and began slowly rocking your hips, easily gliding from the base to the tip of his member, coating him in your arousal. He immediately gripped your hips in desperation, your hands coming to rest behind, holding his thighs for support. Your clit repeatedly hit the ridge that defined the tip of Anakin’s length, pulling full-body shudders from you. Your eyelids threatened to close, but you refused to miss a solitary second of the scene before you. Anakin, soft and taken under your touch. He was full lips, fluttering eyelashes, and low moans; gold and ivory. The setting sun’s hazy rays spilled through the windows and reflected against the lighter tendrils of his hair, falling across his face to create definite ridges of shadow and light. 

You realized he was closer than you’d thought as you reached out to him, a hint of a spilling-over of things ebbing at the edges of his force signature. You reluctantly halted your ministrations, earning a pleading look from your tensed lover. You smiled warmly, bring your palms to rub up and down Anakin’s chest to sooth the threatening waves of ecstasy. 

Leaning down, you whispered in his ear, "I love you.” You felt the soft reverberation of a laugh resonate from him and pulled away with a grin. 

“I love you too, (y/n).” Cool, metal fingertips brushed across your cheekbone and you instinctively leaned into the touch, your own fingers still drawing indistinct patterns on the supple skin beneath them. 

Without warning, Anakin bucked his hips upward, eliciting a gasp from you. “Ani…” You chided, lightly pressing your nails into his shoulders. “Don’t tease." 

The smirk was plastered on his lips. "Yes, my love.” You rolled your eyes, ready to rebuke before he pressed against you once again. The grip on his shoulders became much more necessary. 

“Oh my god, Anakin…” You managed to profess, not sure yourself if it was a scolding or a plea. 

A warm, flesh hand traveled down your hip, between your thighs and you obeyed what you knew was wanted, lifting yourself away from Anakin’s length. A finger slipped between your damp folds, your breath the only thing disturbing the otherwise silent air that hung about you two. Maddeningly light pressure was applied to your clit and you attempted to push your hips down, silently begging for more. Anakin did not oblige your request, his free hand coming beneath your thigh to hold you still. Your eyes strayed from where they had been focused, the dark patch of curls that surrounded your lover’s length, trailing upward to find him studying you, a look of awe and restraint written on his striking features. 

Anakin, plea-” you began to outright beg, but were cut short by a tut-tut of disapproval and an ever so slightly trembling scold, “Oh (y/n) you must practice patience.” The tone of voice was husky with lust, nearing a growl. 

His finger swiped a particularly hard circle around your clit, stealing more gasps of pleasure and a twitch of your abdomen. Anakin’s breaths became shallow with want and when he could no longer endure, he took his hand from your now dripping sex, rubbing the arousal left on his fingers onto his engorged member. You allowed your eyes to close, heart pounding in your chest; your senses all trained on what was to come next. You were almost positive you could hear your blood rushing in your ears. Anakin aligned the tip of his length, teasing your entrance, still gripping the underside of your thigh to keep you still.

Anticipation wore your patience thin.

“Oh, god. Anakin, please.” You pleaded, uncaring of how desperate it may have sounded at this point. He finally gave in, guiding you slowly onto himself, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. 

Cliché, but true; you always felt incomprehensibly more complete when Anakin was inside you. Of course, it was always a tight fit at first, what with his size. But, after short moment, it felt more natural and comfortable than any other way of existing. The two of you simply stayed in still silence for a second, both evening your breathing, unfalteringly staring into each other’s eyes. You could feel his adoration radiating off of him in waves and knew he could undoubtedly feel the same from you as well.  

You then inched your hips upward, consciously constricting the muscles within yourself as you reached the tip of Anakin’s length. Pride blossomed in your chest as a small, genuine smile overtook his lips, eyes slowly closing, head turning to one side. You brought a hand to his face, brushing a light touch against the sharp angle of his jaw with your knuckles. 

You allowed yourself to slowly settle back down onto Anakin, and up again. An agonizingly slow pace was being set. Your breathless Jedi’s hands came to rest at your hips once more, guiding the rise and fall of your body. Each and every pulse of movement seemed to awaken a new level of need in Anakin, his own hips very deliberately bucking into you. 

“You’re so-,” A groan of pleasure escaped him, interrupting the thought, “good. You're so good, darling." 

The praise tickled your stomach; made your heart nearly ache with love and joy. Of course, even in the throes of making love there are slight inconveniences: your legs grew tired from the repetitive motion. You ceased your ministrations and took a deep breath, admiring the love struck expression on your partner’s face. 

Anakin did not question your pause, simply rubbing your thighs as he queried, "Would you like to lay back darling?” You nodded with a smile and Anakin immediately helped you climb off of him, offering you his hand for balance. You gratefully took the help, and then brought his hand to your lips, pecking it lightly and pulling him along with you as you lay down. The laugh he let out was infectious and you both giggled for a moment, staring, fascinated, at each other. You sighed contentedly and ran your hands down your lover’s back, enjoying the pressure of his weight on top of you. 

The moment’s tone quickly shifted as Anakin brought a hand down to caress you, fingers gliding easily up and down across your heated center, earning a soft moan of appreciation. You were about to kiss him when he sat back, admiring you with half-lidded eyes and a furrowed brow. 

“What is it Ani?” You tilted your head in genuine curiosity. He looked so concentrated.

“You’re absolutely stunning, (y/n).” He stated it so matter-of-factly, and your lips broke into a grin. Before you got a chance to thank him, he moved back on the bed and lowered himself. Your eyes followed his every move, admiring the various muscles that rippled beneath the surface. 

Lips inches from your sex; his hot breath the hypersensitive skin made you shudder with anticipation. A gasp fell from your lips the second he opened his mouth to lick a wide, wet trail up your already damp folds. His hands came to your thighs, spreading your legs further as he eagerly licked into you. His attention became focused on your clit, forcing you to subconsciously squirm away from the nearly overwhelming sensation. He quickly wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you steady as he continued. The noises you emitted ranged from violent to pathetic; your eyes shut tightly, fingers interlaced with Anakin’s waved hair. 

There it was again, that ever so enticing tug that warned; an impending tidal wave of pleasure. Anakin, unfalteringly acute, pulled away from your center and was immediately on top of you again. His weight a comfort, as was the quick swipe of a kiss across your neck. You felt your own wetness on his lips and smirked in your pride. 

Then came the unmistakable sensation of Anakin’s length teasing your entrance. You brought your legs to his sides, pressing them close, and ran your hands across the expanse of his back, admiring the peaks and valleys of muscle and soft skin. 

“I love you (y/n),” A breathy whisper of love to you before you were filled up, your hips tilting for more. You brought a hand to your lips, biting deep grooves into your first finger as Anakin hit the sweetest spot within you. 

“Oh, Anakin…” You were panting, keening, almost unintelligible.

 "So perfect… You feel so perfect.“ His reply, as he moved, a deep, deliberate motion; into you again and again. 

Legs shaking, fingers gripping, voice worn. You yelped, gasp, and praised your way through the ecstasy. Anakin’s noises only spurred you on further, pushing you closer to the edge. His every moan, every growl of pleasure, every sweet nothing made your heart stutter, made you push against him harder. Soon, you were both breathless, grabbing at each other, lips pressed against salty skin. Sweat-laden and lust-fueled, you were both close to your ends. Anakin’s thrusts became erratic, arrhythmic. 

A deep, trembling phrase was uttered in your ear, ”You’re such a good girl, (y/n).“ That was it, what sent you careening over. 

You cried out your lover’s name, voice slightly hoarse and body taut. Not a moment later, Anakin came undone with a low moan, his seed spilling inside you, the warmth bringing a tired smile to your lips. 

Eventually, both of you caught your breath, still pressing your lips to one another’s shoulders and necks. As soon as Anakin pulled out, he had you pulled tightly against his chest, pressing light kisses to your forehead. The previously turbulent pulse of energy surrounding the two of you had now returned to its even, peaceful swells. 

As you lay there, clinging to one another, tracing tender patterns on each other’s skin, you thanked the stars that you cut your finger. 


Genre: Angst

Pair: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1905

Summary: In which Yoongi gets drunk and asks for you.

Originally posted by talk-me-down-troye

It had been two months since I last saw him. Two months since he broke up with me under the pretense that I was too innocent and he, for some reason, would only ruin my life if he stayed with me. It had hurt. I had cried. I had questioned and wondered why he had even bothered to initiate the relationship if this was the outcome. I wondered if every pretty thing he said to me was a lie and if he ever even cared for me at all. I drank too much. I went out when I shouldn’t have. I let my life get out of control.

But then, one day, it stopped.

The pain disappeared; he didn’t frequent my thoughts. I could go a whole day without thinking about him or wondering what he was doing and if he missed me. I had stopped missing him. Life moved on. I was happy.

Then in the middle of my night shift at the book store, I had gotten a text.

It was from his best friend and the message, at first, made my entire body go numb.

He’s been drunk for hours; we can’t get him off the floor. He keeps asking for you

I debated responding, wondering if I was only hurting myself if I decided to go. But the second text made up my mind for me.

Please. He’s been a mess for months. He needs to see you.

The easier task was figuring out where he was. Outside his favorite bar not too far from where I worked. Getting myself out of my work’s parking lot was the harder task. My hands gripped the steering wheel until my joints hurt; my engine running but my foot firmly placed on the floor of my car. I hadn’t cried yet but my heart jackhammered inside my chest. I felt like I was going to be sick.

Fifteen minutes later I found myself on the familiar road leading up to the bar. The parking lot was almost empty even though it was only 11 at night and I found the three bodies huddled together over a lump on the floor almost as soon as I pulled in. At some point he had probably been resting against his friends’ car but now it seemed he just wanted to lie down.

I pulled up into the spot next to them and killed my engine still wondering if what I was doing was the right thing. I knew it wasn’t going to work out well for me no matter how the night turned out. He was drunk, I no doubt would cry, and nothing would really get resolved.

Still, I got out of my car.

His friends greeted me with troubled expressions as I slowly walked up to their group but I couldn’t even look at them when I saw him. He was a ruined mess, drunkenly passed out on the gravel of the parking lot. It was a pathetic sight but it still hurt to see him so destroyed.

“How long has he been like this?” I managed to ask.

The eldest of their group scratched his head. “He’s been drunk all day but he passed out about ten minutes ago. The bar called us to come get him and we made it this far but then he just…gave up.”

I listened to his words while watching the face of the man who broke my heart. If I was vengeful, I would laugh and walk away while wishing his friends luck. If I was petty, I may even give my unconscious ex a slap. But my heart still stuttered for him. I wasn’t over it yet.

Slowly, I crouched down next to his still body and gently ran my hand through his dark hair. He had recently dyed it black, its natural color, and it was so soft. I remembered the nights I spent running my hands through it as he slept. He said it was his favorite thing. Even now as an unconscious, drunken mess, he still quietly moaned at the sensation and ever so slightly pushed his head closer to my hand.

“Yoongi,” I whispered into his ear. He shifted a little, more groans escaping his lips as he slowly came back to consciousness. “Yoongi I need you to get up.”

“Is this a joke?” he croaked, his words slurring a bit.

I cocked my head to one side. “Is what a joke?”

“You’re not really here.” He kept his eyes firmly closed.

My hands continued to run through his hair. “I’m here, Yoongi. I need you to open your eyes.”

“Why would you be here?” he went on.

“You called for me, remember?” I tugged at the ends of his hair a little hoping that maybe some pain would cause him to grow alert.

It didn’t work. He swatted my hand away and curled further onto his side. I spared a glance to his friends and shook my head at a loss for how to get him up. Namjoon crouched down next to me and smacked his shoulder.

“Hey, we got her here because you wouldn’t shut up about it. Now she’s here and you’re ignoring her!” he raised his voice in mock anger. He was worried for his friend. I was worried, too.

“Liar!” Yoongi screamed as he shot up from his position almost knocking me and Namjoon off our feet. He glared at his friend, or tried to with droopy lids. “She wouldn’t come see me even if I was dead.”

He fell back against the car, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He either hadn’t seen me yet or assumed I was some hallucination from the alcohol because he didn’t acknowledge my presence at all. Namjoon noticed this too and anxiously looked towards me. I looked back, scared to speak. Did I want his attention? Did I want him to realize I was real? Did I have a choice?

“Stop being so dramatic,” I spoke up, “I’d at least come for the free food.”

At the sound of my voice, Yoongi’s eyes flicked towards me but the reaction died there. How drunk was he?

“Why are you haunting me?”

I was stunned by his denial.

“Yoongi, I’m right here,” I softened my voice and ran my hand through his hair again allowing it to rest at the nape of his neck, “I’m right here and I’m real. I’m not a ghost.”

“Why?” he groaned, closing his eyes again. “Why would you come after what I did to you?”

I sighed, removing my hand from his neck and rested it on my knee. It felt cold no longer touching him. “You asked for me, so I came.”

His head looped forward until it rested against his chest that rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths. It appeared as if he had fallen asleep again and I almost reached for him again when he spoke. “You’re too good for me. You don’t deserve this.”

“I’m not arguing with you there,” I replied, “but you’re drunk and passed out in a very dirty parking lot so I’m here to get you home.”

“Just leave me here. I’ll sober up eventually,” he protested.

I stifled the urge to violently roll my eyes. He was so dramatic sometimes.  

“Not taking the chance,” I huffed and rose to my feet. He watched me with eyes more alert than they were before. He was listening now. “Get up, get in the car, and I’ll take you home. Or you can sleep here and I’ll leave.”

I extended my hand and watched Yoongi wage the proposition over in his head as he stared at me. For a second it seemed like he wasn’t going to take it, but then his cool, slick fingers laced around my wrist and I hauled him to his feet. He was a bit unbalanced but refused any help from his friends. A small smile pressed into my lips as I spun on my heel and walked to my car.

Popping open the car door, I turned back to the boys and gave them a small nod. Namjoon mouthed his thanks as he trailed behind Yoongi to make sure he didn’t fall again but his steps were steadier than they probably were earlier. He managed to make it into my low car by himself and strapped himself in with no one’s help, not even mine. I stepped in and closed the door, revving the engine to life before waving a goodbye to the boys.

The drive to his apartment was quiet. He didn’t say anything, probably was trying hard not to breathe, and I spared him no words. I wanted to scream at him, wanted to punch him, wanted to desperately ask why he wanted me when he so carelessly threw me away in the first place. I wanted to blame him, to curse him, to send him straight to hell. But I bit my tongue because I knew nothing would come of it. Two months of nothing but desperately wanting answers showed me that no answers would ever come. At least not the ones I wanted. So what was the point?

We pulled up to his apartment twenty minutes later and I parked the car but didn’t turn off the engine. Yoongi was sober enough now to realize where we were but he didn’t make an effort to get out of the car or unbuckle his seat belt. I sat still waiting for him to leave.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it. You were drunk and they needed my help,” I responded.

He shook his head, “Not about tonight.”

I knew what he meant but I didn’t, couldn’t, hear him say it. If he apologized now, it would be over. Months of thinking about this moment did not prepare me for the inevitability of it and when it ended then what would I do?

All I said was “you’re home now.”

He still didn’t move.

“I wanted to make sure you were ok.” His confession didn’t shock me but it did sting. Now he cared.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I harshly asked.

He sighed and lowered his head into his hands, “I didn’t want to ruin you. I pushed you away so I wouldn’t ruin you. I’m fucked up and you’re so—“

“Don’t,” I cut him off, “Don’t you dare say it.” He looked up in surprise but the floodgates had opened and I couldn’t stop myself. “That word has haunted me for months. Months, Yoongi. Everything I did, all the things I loved, even the way I dressed reminded me of that damn word. That damn excuse. You wanted out, but you were too much of a coward to admit it, so you made yourself a villain and put me on a fucking pedestal. Untouchable. You have no idea what that did to me.”  

“I’m so—“

“I don’t care,” I snapped, the anger bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t ruin me, Yoongi, you aren’t powerful enough. But don’t ever call me that again.”

He sat in stunned silence, or drunken confusion, and all I wanted was to be rid of him. I was done. I wanted this chapter of my life closed. I unlocked the door. “Get out.”

For once in his life, he listened to me.

The July Revolution in images: the most mega of all mega-posts

Who doesn’t feel a total frisson of excitement when they hear those words in sequence, “July,” then “Revolution”?  Unless you are Enjolras, of course.  But she is a hater, ignore her.

This is such a cool event in French history.  A three-day revolution!  I mean, c’mon!  The three days of barricades, 27-29 July 1830 (Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday), are called “les Trois Glorieuses” in French, and I agree.  They are chock full of awesome anecdotes and weird happenings and dire previews for future barricades.  

And Victor Hugo almost totally ignores them in Les Misérables.  Why?  You could argue that he doesn’t want to get off-topic by going there, but, um, it’s Victor Hugo.  The history of female monasticism and a mini-thesis on street slang were not considered off-topic for him.  I can think of two possible reasons why he didn’t set any of his narrative during the July Revolution: 1.) he didn’t want to open the possibility of redundancy by having two exciting barricade sequences, and 2.) he is really weird about his three-year time-skip during Marius’ plotline.  I have always thought that maybe this time-skip must have been shoehorned in later, after much of the narrative had already been written, because it often doesn’t match up with other things we are told in the narrative.  Are we really supposed to believe that there is this secret society of revolutionaries already fully formed up and organized ca. 1828-1829, when Marius meets them?  (FYI, unless they were super-secretive carbonari badasses, most republicans were not yet organized into societies prior to the 1830 revolution.  If the ABC already existed in, say, 1828, they would be the most precocious secret society ever.)  And these guys don’t change at all for the next three years?  None of them graduate, none of them leave the group and no one else enters the group, none of them even really change in mentality, despite the huge fact of 1830 being in between there.  1830, being an epic failure from the POV of radical republicans, would have had a HUGE impact on the way this group was organized and the way they understood the challenges facing them.  But to Victor Hugo, the ABC is a toy set that he can play with when he needs them to meet Marius, and then just set aside for three years, when he can pick them up again and they will be exactly as he remembered them.  How many people do you guys know who can stay exactly the same for three years, especially with a life-altering traumatic event in between (and the July Revolution would have been traumatic for this society)?  And what’s with the ages he gives for the Friends, anyway?  Enjolras is said to be twenty-two when we first meet him, and other ages are given for some of the others, with everyone else generally implied to be older than Enjolras.  Three years later, that makes Enjolras twenty-five, and everyone else even older.  Um, I get that some of them are, like, eternal students who never intend to graduate, but uh, mid-to-late twenties (thirties for Bahorel!) is a little bit old for reckless barricade bros in this period.  The “young people” that 1832 newspapers accuse of starting the trouble at Lamarque’s funeral are described as being, like, 18 or 19.  You know, like undergrads.  Law students, med students, polytechniciens, lycée students: all of these were generally in their teens or very early twenties in this period.  For God’s sake, even space-case Marius graduates law school when he’s, like, 19 or 20!  Enjolras, you and your friends have not only officially aged out of crazy revolutionary antics, you’ve even aged out of student antics.  You know what I’m starting to think?  I think Hugo meant for Enjolras to stay 22 throughout the time-skip, and all the other Friends should “keep as they are” as well: essentially, he has them cryogenically frozen until he needs them again, and he expects them to still be youthful and rash when he picks them up again.  Imagine how much trouble this creates when you go to write a story that follows these characters from 1828 to 1832.  How to give people character arcs when they must also, on some level, remain static and steadfast for the entire period?  How to handle the July Revolution, that elephant in the room?

ANYWAY.  Speaking of off-topic, I always get off-topic when it comes to Victor Hugo’s three-year time-skip, which makes no sense.  

So today, I’m going to post my favorite images from the July Revolution.  I’m sure much artistic liberty was taken for some of these, but they are awesome sources nonetheless.  Many of the engravings appeared in cheap publications only days after the events depicted, often as illustrations for eyewitness accounts and anecdotes.  These pamphlets were sold to benefit the charities for the widows and orphans of the barricade dead.  Other images, especially the paintings, were created later, and many of them have been retconned and carefully composed to provide justification and/or support for the “winners” of the conflict, that is, for the orléanistes and King Louis-Philippe.

^^^The immediate cause of the July Revolution was something called the July Ordinances.  On Sun., 25 July 1830, King Charles X and his ministers issued four royal ordinances attacking freedom of the press and altering electoral regulations, measures that were likely to piss off pretty much everyone but especially journalists.  The Ordinances were published in Le Moniteur (the official government newspaper) on Mon., 26 July 1830, and they caused an immediate uproar throughout Paris.  In this period, when most people couldn’t read and couldn’t afford newspaper subscriptions anyway, they got their news from literate people reading the papers aloud in public spaces like the Parc Luxembourg and the Palais-Royal.  This process facilitated the spread of popular outrage over the Ordinances.  The above image shows a public reading of the Ordinances on 26 July and the speeches and debates that it occasioned.

^^^As the news of the Ordinances spread, the liberal activists (both republicans and orléanistes) gathered at the offices of their newspapers (especially the republican Tribune des départements and the orléaniste National), where they debated what was to be done in response to the government.  They decided to defy the Ordinances’ attack on the freedom of the press by publishing a protest in their papers.  This led to the government attempting to silence the opposition press by sending troops to seize the journalists’ printed issues and their means of production (their presses).  The above image shows the seizures at the offices of Le Temps, which the journalists are protesting vigorously to the gathering crowd.

^^^This shows the seizures at the offices of the orléaniste daily Le National.  The gentlemen in suits are the editors of the paper, and the workingmen shown to the right are the printers.  The crackdown on the freedom of the press united journalists and printers in protest.

^^^Detail: The editors of Le National.  Probably these are intended to be mini-portraits of actual people, but I can’t identify them for sure.  The fellow to the far left, making a classical gesture of protest, looks a lot like Alphonse de Lamartine (a figure later important in the 1848 Revolution), but I’m not sure if Lamartine was involved with Le National.  Probably one of the dark-haired fellows is supposed to be Armand Carrel, though none of them really resembles him.  The fair-haired fellow with the spectacles might be Adolphe Thiers, one of the editors-in-chief of the paper and later a powerful figure in Louis-Philippe’s government.  These very public scenes of seizing newspapers played out in front of angry crowds in the streets, and served to whip up even more public outrage against the Ordinances.

The armed conflict began almost unwittingly outside the gates of the Palais-Royal, in the rue Saint-Honoré, where the army and the king’s personal Swiss guard were trying to lock the people out of the Palais-Royal.  This was essentially an attempt to stifle public debate and protest, since the Palais-Royal was a popular location for such activities.  The people began throwing rocks at the troops, there was gunfire, and before long, there were skirmishes between the soldiers and the people in the street, and the people in the windows of the buildings above got into the action as well, throwing down projectiles and firing on the troops.  Chaos ensued, and makeshift barricades were thrown up to provide cover and to hinder the troops.

^^^Furniture thrown down upon the heads of the troops in the rue Saint-Antoine on the 28 July.  The paving-stones and the rubble are being used for makeshift barricades, as you can see in the lower corners of this image, but there is no fully-formed barricade yet in this street. 

^^^During the 27 and 28 July, hardly anyone in the crowd had guns yet.  This was remedied by attacking guardhouses and taking the weapons of the troops/police on guard there.  Guns could also be obtained by sacking gun shops and commandeering the merchandise “in the name of the people.”  A well-known anecdote, illustrated above, relates how a famous gun shop located right near the Palais-Royal was one of the first to be attacked by the crowd.  The owner, Le Page, urged the crowd to stop sacking the shop and harassing his employees–instead, he declared himself a patriot and willingly distributed his guns to the crowd. 

^^^Building a barricade in the rue Saint-Honoré.  This street was the site of some of the earliest barricades during the Three Days.

^^^The fully formed barricades of the rue Saint-Honoré.

^^^Battling at the barricades of the rue Saint-Honoré.

^^^A barricade on the 28 July led by a polytechnicien.  Notice the antique battle-ax and pikes being brandished by the insurgents.  A famous anecdote from the revolution tells of how a group of workingmen broke into the Museum of Artillery in the rue du Bac and made off with a bunch of antique weapons and armor, which they then proceeded to use in battle.  A similar anecdote tells the same about a group that raided the theatres to get their hands on the weapons used onstage in plays and operas (these were real guns, pikes, crossbows, etc.).  Such stories must have amused contemporaries, because these antique weapons and armor pieces often show up in illustrations of the July Revolution.  

^^^This barricade depiction is titled ”La charte, ou la mort!”  La charte, that is, the Constitutional Charter of 1814, was an important rallying point for the July Revolution.  It was a document that had been created in 1814 by King Louis XVIII, which promised some basic liberties to the French people.  Charles X’s Ordinances of 26 July 1830 were widely seen as being in violation of the Charter of 1814, so the insurgents had a legal basis for revolt.  A certain (more conservative) segment of the insurgents painted their rebellion as a defense of the legality of the Charter, and wanted to abolish Charles X’s ordinances and return instead to the Charter: hence the barricade battle cries “Vive la charte!” and “La charte, ou la mort!”  

Radical republicans like the Friends of the ABC of course thought the Charter itself sucked, since it was still an document issued at the pleasure of kings and subject to royal manipulation.  Courfeyrac argues vehemently against the Charter of 1814 in Les Misérables: “‘Secondly, no offense to Combeferre, a charter granted is a vicious expedient of civilization.  To avoid the transition, to smooth the passage, to deaden the shock, to make the nation move unawares from monarchy to democracy by the practice of constitutional fictions, these are all detestable arguments!  No!  No!  Never give the people a false light.  Principles wither and grow pale in your constitutional cellar.  No half measures, no compromises, no grant from the king to the people.  In all these grants there is an Article 14.  Along with the hand that gives there is the claw that takes back.  I wholly refuse your charter.  A charter is a mask; the lie is under it.  A people who accept a charter, abdicate.  Right is right only when entire.  No!  No charter!’”  [Article 14 was an article in the Charter of 1814 that allowed the king to contravene the Charter’s provisions when it was a matter of national emergency.  This was Charles X’s official justification for why he could issue ordinances that were seemingly contrary to the provisions of the Charter.  Courfeyrac implies that having such an open-ended clause allows kings to abuse their power with only the slightest pretext and pretty much invalidates the point of a Charter in the first place, which ought to be making the king accountable to his people.]

^^^”Vive la charte!”

^^^The barricades in the place de Grève, during the fight for the Hôtel de Ville.  At the crest of the barricade, a bourgeois (a portrait of a real person, possibly?) supports a wounded workingman, who holds the tricolor standard aloft.  A dead Swiss guard is sprawled at the bottom of the barricade.  One workingman reaches back for more ammunition as he prepares to fight the soldiers on the other side.  The barricade here is more formed, but still not very formidable in size.  Most of the barricades of 1830, as seen in these images, were not very tall or impressive.  There was no time in the beginning of the 1830 conflict to build such well-designed barricades, so the result is that they are often no more than quick breastworks designed to protect the fighters, but they are not the carefully constructed fortresses seen in Les Misérables or in the Revolution of 1848.

^^^Detail: The group on the right: a rapturous bourgeois with a saber, a polytechnicien giving orders, and, behind them in the background, the towers of Notre-Dame just across the river. The flag proclaims: “Vive la charte!”

^^^The place de Grève barricades again.  You can see how spread out and disorganized the fighting is, due to the sheer size of the place de Grève.

^^^Battling for the Hôtel de Ville.  A wounded man urges the fighters on while dying in a woman’s arms, and a polytechnicien rallies the insurgents, carrying a tricolor that reads “Vive la charte!!!”  (Abusing punctuation marks–it’s not just an internet age thing.)

^^^More battling for the Hôtel de Ville.  These images are not very consistent in showing the layout of this battle (where the insurgents were, and where the troops were), which gives the impression that it must have been a very confused atmosphere.  I’ve assumed that there must have been insurgent forces attacking both from the inland side (the rue du Mouton) as well as from the river side (the pont de Grève), with the troops trapped somewhere in between.

^^^More battling for the Hôtel de Ville.  This painting captures a famous event in the July Revolution, in which a group of insurgents lead a crazy courageous suicidal charge across the pont de Grève in the face of steady grapeshot and gunfire.  The insurgents’ standard-bearer was a fellow who told his companions, “Remember me–my name is Arcole!”  He was the first to fall as they stormed the bridge, and the bridge came to be named after him: it is still called the Pont d’Arcole today.  (An alternate explanation for the bridge’s name is that the insurgents’ charge across the bridge reminded onlookers of the Napoleonic Battle of Arcole.  Both anecdotes circulated at the time, but the one featuring a martyred patriot named Arcole seems to have been more compelling, and hence more popular.)

^^^Detail: Arcole leading the charge on the bridge.

^^^Detail: A surgeon working on a wounded man.  Many doctors and medical students had come to help on the barricades by the 29 July, but in the days before that widespread response, the barricades suffered from a serious lack of trained doctors.

^^^Detail: Men and a woman work on another wounded man.  Notice the guys wearing Renaissance armor in the upper right corner–more “loans” from the Museum of Artillery and/or the theatres.

^^^Another view of the conflict at the place de Grève/Hôtel de Ville/pont de Grève.  The gun smoke covering the bridge and the place is amazing and eerie.

^^^A barricade, possibly at the place de Grève/Hôtel de Ville, just based on what the background looks like.

^^^Battling at the Porte Saint-Denis.

^^^A worker declaring his solidarity with the army soldiers who came to join the insurgent ranks.

^^^Building barricades on the 29 July, using furniture, paving-stones, and what looks like some kind of cabriolet or omnibus.  This could be on the Left Bank, since many of the barricades on the Right Bank were built earlier, on the 28 July, while those on the Left Bank were later, mostly on the 29 July.

^^^Detail: Workingmen tearing up paving-stones for the barricade.

^^^More barricade-building.

^^^Defending a barricade.

^^^Delacroix’s famous painting depicting and celebrating the July Revolution: “Liberty Leading the People.”  When he showed it for the first time at the Spring Salon of 1831, it’s said that the critics were less than impressed: Lady Liberty should not look so vulgar, they said (translation: bare boobs are okay, but she looks too much like a real workingwoman, and that feels socially threatening).

^^^Detail: Lady Liberty, said to be modeled after Marie Deschamps, a famous female fighter on the barricades of 1830.

^^^Detail: A child brandishing pistols (often thought to be one of the inspirations for the child Gavroche in Les Misérables).  Children are commonly represented in images of the July Revolution barricades, though scholars believe that this is not so much because children were actually all over the barricades, but as a way of visually representing the broad cross-section of society that came together to fight against the government (not only workers were there, but also bourgeois and polytechniciens; not only men, but also women and children; and so on).

^^^Detail: Speaking of diversity on the barricades: a workingman (left, with saber), a bourgeois (right, with carbine), and in the background on the far right, a polytechnicien (in the bicorne hat).

^^^Transporting a wounded man away from the front lines, as the crowd salutes him.  Circulation and transportation was not a huge problem during this revolution, since the people had control over most of the city throughout the Three Days–everyone pretty much came and went as they pleased, many went home at night to sleep in their own beds, and many wounded were brought back to their own homes to recuperate.  Quite a difference from the enclosed, claustrophobic nature of barricade warfare that Les Misérables makes us think is normal.

^^^Artist Léon Cogniet’s paint sketch of flags flying during the July Revolution.  Super artsy symbolism: rising out of the smoke of the gunfire, a progression from the white flag of the Bourbons (on the left) to a bourbonniste flag torn and bloodstained to resemble the tricolor (on the right).  

^^^Workingmen chatting on the barricades.

^^^A barricade on the boulevard des Italiens.  Boulevards were often lined with big trees, and insurgents chopped many of these down to make their boulevard barricades.

^^^Defending a barricade on the rue de l’Echelle.

^^^The battle for the rue de Rohan, a fierce battle late in the conflict (29 July) that resulted in horrible casualties.

^^^Detail: A polytechnicien leading the insurgents.  Polytechniciens are frequently portrayed in these images as being leaders on the barricades, which is to give them too much credit.  It seemed safer at the time, though, to portray trained future soldiers (for the most part the sons of wealthy bourgeois) as leaders in battle than to portray low-class workingmen as militant leaders.

^^^Detail: Workingmen shooting and reloading, and wearing silly shit into battle.  This guy in the left foreground of this painting thinks a Renaissance helmet’s going to protect him from grapeshot or something.  The blond man fainting on the right side of the painting may be the liberal journalist Farcy, who was struck down at this battle.

^^^Detail: Or perhaps this is Farcy’s death.  Too many dying blond fellows in this battle.

^^^A posthumous commemorative sketch of Jean-Georges Farcy, a gifted writer who became a martyr for the liberal opposition when he was killed in the battle of the rue de Rohan.

^^^Another posthumous commemorative portrait of Farcy, which hangs today in the July Revolution room of the Musée Carnavalet in Paris.  It immortalizes him in a revolutionary state, armed with a musket and two pistols (Combeferre-style!) and crushing beneath his foot a copy of the Ordinances.

^^^Detail: Definitely going for the martyrdom angle here.

^^^Another view of the battle in the rue de Rohan.

^^^The attack on the Palais du Louvre, one of the final major battles of the July Revolution.

^^^The siege of the Louvre.  Scaling the palace walls!

^^^The attack on the Palais du Louvre, in which the people and the king’s Swiss guards fought a bloody battle, which ended with the people taking the palace but fortunately did not end with a massacre of the Swiss guards (as had a similar event in the first French Revolution).  Another polytechnicien leading the charge here.

^^^Detail: Bourgeois fighters with guns and bayonets (and, in the case of half-naked guy in the foreground, a charming little earring).

^^^Detail: A bourgeois fighter striking with a saber as he falls.  (Sorry for the crappy photo quality.  Whoever hung this awesome painting in terrible lighting in the Musée Carnavalet is officially a bad person.)

^^^One of the less admirable episodes of the July Revolution: the sack of the archbishop’s palace on the 29 July.

^^^A woman and child offer watered wine to an insurgent, who thanks them.  This was, by all accounts, a common sight on the barricades of 1830: the population living around the barricades acted as support for the fighters, bringing them refreshment and medical supplies.  That’s what it means to get the people on your side… 

^^^Scenes of women’s contributions to the barricades of 1830.  The upper left corner shows a Marie Deschamps type figure (perhaps Deschamps herself) leading the charge and capturing one of the enemy’s cannons.  The upper right corner shows a woman dragging a wounded man to safety.  The lower right corner shows women tending to the wounded and offering them food and drink.  The lower left corner shows women actively fighting on the barricades (possibly taking the place of a husband or male relative who’s just fallen).  Anecdotes reported in newspapers and pamphlets during the days following the revolution love to tell stories like these about women’s activities on the barricades.  Another common anecdote is that of the devoted wife who dresses in men’s clothing so that she can stay by her husband’s side on the barricades.  (Claude Enjolras would appreciate, I suppose.)

^^^A barricade scene at an unknown location.

^^^Another unknown barricade.

^^^Artist Paul Gavarni drew these studies of wounded men at the barricades of 1830, possibly intended for a painting or lithograph to be completed later.

^^^Gavarni’s studies of dead bodies on the barricades.

^^^On the night of 30 July 1830, the Duc d’Orléans (Louis-Philippe), advised by his supporters of the possibility of seizing power, came to Paris to be close to the action, and there he took up residence in his palace, the Palais-Royal.  This painting depicts that arrival, while showing the barricades still standing in the background.

The next day, the 31 July 1830, with the fighting over, Charles X having fled, and Paris solidly in the control of the people and a provisional government, Louis-Philippe’s supporters urged him to seize the opportunity to present himself as a candidate for leading the provisional government.  Meanwhile, orléanistes like Adolphe Thiers got to work pumping out propaganda to support Louis-Philippe’s claim to power.  In the above painting, Louis-Philippe rides out of the Palais-Royal and sets out for the Hôtel de Ville, where the provisional government is meeting.  Along the way he checks out the barricade damage to the city and schmoozes with “the people.”

^^^Detail: Louis-Philippe greeting his supporters.

^^^Detail: Barricade bros.  Another symbolic representation of social consensus in favor of Louis-Philippe’s takeover.  A National Guard links arms with a workingman smoking a pipe and wielding a pick-ax, who links arms with a bourgeois bearing a gun, who links arms with another workingman wearing a Renaissance cuirass and armed with what looks like an antique sword, who links arms with yet another workingman wearing a Renaissance helmet: men of different classes join together in brotherhood on the barricades.  And join together in their love of ridiculous historical armaments.

^^^Detail: An elderly man puts money into a collection bowl.  By the 31 July, unofficial collections had been set up throughout the city to support the widows and orphans of the barricade dead.

^^^Louis-Philippe riding through the barricaded place du Châtelet on his way to the Hôtel de Ville.

^^^A model in the Musée Carnavalet showing the arrival of Louis-Philippe at the Hôtel de Ville on 31 July 1830.

^^^Different angle of the same model.  Here you can see the huge size and unusual shape of the place de Grève, which really does not lend itself naturally to barricade-building.

^^^A painting depicting the same event, Louis-Philippe arriving at the Hôtel de Ville.  This representation has pretty well retconned this event into some rapturous orléaniste rally, when in reality it was quite a tricky situation for Louis-Philippe, in which eyewitnesses say that the crowd was sullen and even downright hostile to this potential future king.  It was only later that Lafayette persuaded the crowd to accept Louis-Philippe’s leadership.  Louis-Philippe was crowned king only about a week later, on the 9 August.  Thus, whether the revolution succeeded in its aims depended on who you asked: the orléanistes got what they wanted (a moderately liberal king and a government controlled by the bourgeois), while the republicans felt betrayed and tricked at the bait-and-switch of having one king replaced by another.

^^^The heat of July resulted in the quick decay of dead bodies on the barricades, which caused concern over hygiene.  The solution was to give the unidentified dead makeshift graves throughout the city until they could receive a more suitable burial spot.  One of the spots chosen for the mass graves was the place des Innocents, another was the Champ de Mars (where the Eiffel Tower now stands), and another was the Louvre, shown above.  The dead were buried in a trough along the Louvre’s outer wall, as seen here, and the crowd went to the neighboring church of Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois to demand that one of its priests perform the mass for the dead.

^^^Detail: A wounded bourgeois mourns a dead man in the foreground, while behind him workingmen bring another body to the grave and the priest conducts the mass.

^^^Detail: Workingmen and a polytechnicien comfort a woman mourning one of the dead.

^^^Burying the dead in the place des Innocents.  Before you freak out about having been walking over dead people all these years when you’ve visited Les Halles or the Eiffel Tower, you should know that these mass graves were emptied at some later point (during Haussmann’s renovations?) and the remains were moved to more suitable locations (the catacombs, I think).

^^^The Duchesse d’Orléans, Louis-Philippe’s wife, visits the wounded of the barricades at the Hôtel-Dieu hospital on 2 August 1830.  Good PR move.

^^^A fashion plate celebrating the July Revolution.  Tricolor revolutionary fashion, hurrah!  (”Suck-ups,” grumbles Enjolras. “Kiss-ass fashion designers.”)

^^^Photos of the so-called “medailles de juillet.”  During the year following the July Revolution, the new king had a medal designed to reward men who were identified as having been especially brave or instrumental in the July Revolution.  In other words, they were an orléaniste propaganda statement with which Louis-Philippe could thank those who put him into power.  The front features the Gallic cock (a standard symbol of France) holding a tricolor flag, with the message, “A ses défenseurs la patrie reconnaissante” [”The grateful fatherland, to its defenders”].  On the back it has three laurel wreaths (symbols of victory) with the numbers of the Three Days (27, 28, 29), “July 1830″ at the bottom, and “patrie” (“fatherland”) and “liberté” (“freedom”) along the top.

Those given this award were called “décorés de juillet” (and were often referred to as such for decades afterward, as if they were actually veterans of combat, which many weren’t).  Many of those awarded with this medal were republicans, who were offended at the award and took it as an attempt to buy their loyalty.  So confused were loyalties during the year after the revolution that some republicans were offered this medal one month and arrested for political crimes the next.        

^^^A rather republican political cartoon lamenting the outcome of the July Revolution.  “Pauvre liberté, qu’elle queue!!” it declares, which translates roughly to “Poor liberty, what an end for her!”  (A pun on the word “queue,” which means “end,” but also “tail” or “ponytail.”)  Louis-Philippe is shown as a hairdresser, yanking on Marianne’s hair as she dejectedly looks down at the revolutionary phrygian cap that she’s not allowed to wear.

All of this stuff and much more forms a huge part of the 1830 volume of Virago, hence my research on this topic.  Poor Enjolras can’t quite come to terms with the outcome of 1830, and she copes by pinning all her hopes on the future instead:

“It could be, as Combeferre might have suggested, that we had simply embraced an idea whose time had not yet come.  In that case we were doomed to fail.  But I could not accept that.  It must have been something we’d done, some error we’d committed somewhere along the way. I would dedicate myself to finding that error, and correcting it.  Next time things would be different.”

Virago, 1830.20


The castle halls were abuzz with activity as the sun approached its highest point in the sky.  Princess Anna practically skipped down the hall towards the dining room, hoping to catch her sister in between her meetings for an early lunch.  Anna wondered how the Queen could even stand to be indoors on such a beautiful day, when the warm summer afternoon beckoned.  She stopped and inhaled deeply and thought she caught the aroma of Lapskaus—along with lingonberry nut bread.  Her mouth began to water and she picked up her pace when—

As Anna rounded a corner an arm reached out from behind a drape and grabbed ahold of her arm.  But before she could squeal a hand was placed over her mouth and she was dragged behind the curtain.  Anna was prepared to punch her assailant but soon found herself face to face with Elsa, who was looking rather desperate. 

Anna blinked.  “Elsa?”

The Queen just stood, rooted to the spot, not saying anything, and her breath seemed to be strained.  “Anna…”

The princess recognized the look, and she smirked.  “What have you been thinking about, Elsa?”

Elsa placed a hand on Anna’s chest and pushed her against the wall.  “I’ve been in meetings all morning and what do I find myself thinking about—all morning—but you.”  She used her body to hold her sister firmly.  “And last night.”

Anna gulped at the predatory look in the Queen’s eyes.  “You were extraordinary, as usual.”

The Queen placed her hands flat against the wall on either side of Anna’s head.  “And you—well, how does one say it?  Insatiable…” Her body was flush against Anna’s and their lips barely touching.  “I need you.”  She ran her hands down Anna’s sides.

The princess’s head rolled to the side as a wave of intense arousal hit her.  “Come on, let’s go.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“What?”  She moaned again when the Queen’s lips ghosted down her neck to her shoulder.  She shivered.  “Elsa, please—don’t tease.  Your room…”

“As I said, we stay right here.”  Elsa held Anna’s hips and lightly thrust against her.

Anna tried to control her breathing, but was failing.  “Someone will hear us.”

Elsa chuckled.  “I certainly hope so.  I want everyone to hear what I do to you—how I please you with my every touch.”  Her left hand squeezed the princess’s bottom.  “How you moan so sweetly just for me.”

Anna could stand no more; she threw her arms around Elsa’s shoulders and roughly pulled her head down.  Their lips crashed together and both groaned into each other’s mouths.  But the Queen had another idea.

Elsa tore her mouth away from Anna’s, and her hand automatically went up to stifle any protests.  “Now none of that, my snowflake.  I told you—I need, and now I’m going to take.”

The princess pried away the offending hand.  “You’ve already had everything.  What more do you want?”

The Queen leaned down and whispered in her ear.  “We’ve never used my ice powers, have we?”

Anna’s eyes went wide.  “What?  How?”  Her breathing quickened, partly out of excitement, and somewhat out of fear.  “Elsa?”

“Do you trust me?”  Elsa began to caress the princess in a soothing manner.  “I would never hurt you.”

“With everything that I am.”

The Queen pressed her sister against the wall again and ground her hips into her.  “Oh, it’s going to be so good.”

And then Elsa moved her hands to the waistband of Anna’s skirt and unhooked the clasp causing the garment puddled around the princess’s feet.  The Queen leered at her younger sister, and gently sought entrance into Anna’s mouth.  The kiss was fiery, and ignited them both. 

Anna’s body, pinned against the wall, felt like it was on fire, and she moaned louder when Elsa pushed a leg between her own and began to grind in earnest.  The Queen hastily raised her arm and then twirled it, causing her own dress to melt away.  But as Anna began to adjust to Elsa’s rhythm, she noticed a slight difference.

The Queen broke from the maddening kiss and hissed in Anna’s ear.  “Wrap your legs around me.”

“Yes…yes…” The princess complied and was lifted against the wall when she did so.  But when Elsa lowered her she felt something as cold as ice graze her center.  It was hard. “What…oh, god, what is that?”

Elsa grunted, frustrated on having to stop.  “Do you like it?”  She wrapped her arms under Anna’s knees, supporting her weight.  “I told you…ice powers.”

“And you’re going to fuck me with that?”

“Oh, yes.”

The princess grabbed Elsa’s cheeks and held on tight.  “You’re just wicked; lovely and wicked.”

“Just for you.”

Anna closed her eyes and let her head fall.  “Gods, Elsa, fill me, please.”

“As you wish,” Elsa panted.  She adjusted her stance, and lowered the princess until she filled her completely; she thrust once, then twice.

Anna gasped and clutched at Elsa, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.  “More…more…”

And then Elsa thrust harder; each movement caused Anna to be slightly lifted against the wall.  The princess groaned with each plummet, and Elsa crashed her mouth down on hers, plunging her tongue in time with the thrusting of her hips.  A fine sheen of sweat developed between them where their stomachs and breasts rubbed together.  For the Queen, she felt as if she was actually inside the princess and she shuddered at the sensation; it was the same for Anna and it made her even wetter.

When Anna dug her heels into the small of Elsa’s back the Queen slowed her rhythm.  “Look at me, Anna.”

The princess kept her eyes closed.  “Just keep going…please…”

Elsa whimpered, feeling as if she were going to explode at any second.  “Anna…I’m close…”

“No, I—I’m not ready, please.”

The queen slowed again, her movements nothing more than a tensing of her buttock muscles.  “Stay with me, Anna.”  After a few long moments of this torture Elsa could hold back no further and began to buck wildly against the princess.  Anna’s mantra of ‘yes, yes’ her impetus towards release.

Anna’s nails ran along Elsa’s back, leaving their marks.  “Elsa…come on, faster…”

And Elsa accommodated her sister and thrust in wild abandon.  “Now…I’m…” She threw her head back and screamed out her orgasm, her ice phallus discharged and splintered away to nothing, and sent her and Anna towards the heavens.

After many long labored breaths, Anna opened her eyes.  “Oh, my, Elsa…Elsa…”

“Yes—wait.”  Elsa shuddered one last time and rolled her hips slowly.  “Ah…”

Finally, their eyes locked and both blushed profusely.  Anna grinned.  “Hello to you, too.”

Elsa forced her breathing under control.  “Hi.”  And then she lowered Anna’s legs to the carpet.  “That was amazing.”  She nuzzled the princess’s neck.  “You’re amazing.”

Anna lifted a hand and peaked around the curtain.  “Do you think they heard?”

The Queen nibbled on Anna’s earlobe.  “I don’t care.”

The princess playfully pushed her sister away as she buttoned her shirt.  “You are so bad.”  When Elsa reached down and lifted her skirt, Anna smiled.  “Next time, I get to be on top.”

“Oh, Anna, anything you want.”

“Anything?”  She leaned over and whispered in her sister’s ear.

Elsa’s eyes went wide and she automatically conjured another ice dress.  “In the Throne Room?  Now?”



Pairing: Eren/Mikasa || Rating: E || Words: 2803

Warnings: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

A/N:  For @askladarmin :D Merry Christmas!!

From: @roseacherie​ 

Times like these will always be his favorite. The ease that settles over is foreign but very pleasant. A relief really. They clean thin sheets of snow, chop bundles of wood, return from the market with goods that his mother considered a luxury. Carrying out these errands are actually a lot more effortless than he used to think. It’s almost like they’re not in the middle of a war and instead, living the life he knows she’s secretly dreamed about. It’s only temporary, but it’s much preferable to hours of running, sparring, testing until he literally drops.

For him, it’s a bit disturbing to see how susceptible he’s become to exhaustion, but the way she responds to his touch always gives him a burst of inexplicable energy. Especially when he knows he shouldn’t be messing around with her. Distracting Mikasa had never been so easy or nearly as amusing. Her adamance to finish work remains unwavered, but now it never takes much to ruin her concentration and for him, today is hardly an exception. After all, he had always been quite the procrastinator.

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🎄♫ All I Want For Christmas is You- Mariah Carey// Marauders Era: Remus x Reader

Request: Okay this might sound crazy but imagine a one shot where Remus is smitten with a girl and while joking with the marauders he says that he wants her for christmas and Sirius (cheeky bastard he is) ties her up in a bow n puts her under their Xmas tree 

Frost settles on the roofs of the castle, nipping at the noses of still statues in the courtyard and resting on gentle blades of grass. Grey pillars are graced by the glimmer of white fragments that stick to them like glue. In the delicate light of the early dusk, the castle and everything around it is peacefully aglow.

The pure white canvas that covers the cold, hard ground is disturbed by 3 pairs of footprints, the trails still forming, leading to a trio of shivering boys that rush towards the entrance of the castle, their coats rustling across the newly ivory tenting that covered the world.

“We should have just stayed in,” Sirius Black’s teeth chattered as his eyebrow knitted into a frown, snowflake segments scattered across his dark hair.

“Quit complaining Pads, I had to find the perfect gift,” James Potter had determination running through his veins and pouring out through his voice.

“Do you ever worry that Evans might think you’re some kind of a stalker?” the raspy voice of Remus Lupin floated across the rustle of their capes and the thumps of their shoes.

“Shut up, I know she likes me. Probably. Maybe. She does, alright?” James’ confidence was shaken as he frustratedly snapped at his friend, fumbling with the necklace that he had taken out of it’s box numerous times since they had left Hogsmeade, just to make sure it would match her glowing emerald eyes and compliment her radiant smile.

“You don’t sound very sure,” Sirius’ statement earned a strong shove from James, laughter echoing from all 3 boys as they hurriedly walked to their destination, that still seemed miles away. 

“Why are you laughing Moony? I don’t see you getting Y/L/N a present?” the hesitation in James’ voice transformed into smugness as he gave the now crimson cheeked boy a nudge. Remus stared down at his snow covered boots, his step becoming quicker and quicker.

“You can’t run away from the truuuuuuuth!” seemingly having forgotten all about his freezing hands, Sirius yelled, his exclamation almost a song, that was very likely heard at the glistening tops of Hogwarts’ highest towers.

Remus stopped in his tracks, causing his distracted friends to immediately bump into him. 

“Okay, yes, I like Y/N, thank you for stating the obvious. If it were possible, I’d want her under a Christmas tree wearing a bow and nothing else. But it won’t happen, because she doesn’t even know I exist. Now, can we get back to teasing James, please? Because that’s a lot more fun.” 

Stunned by the calm and determined tone of their friend’s voice, Sirius and James stood static for a moment, their mouths slightly open, before they ran to catch up with their friend, exchanging mischievous glances.

Y/N dipped her quill in ink and began the final sentence of her Divination assignment, interrupted by a tap on her sweater covered shoulder that caused her to smudge the looping writing that covered the parchment sprawled across the library desk, and whispered profanities to slip off her soft lips. She turned around, frustrated, ink covering her fingers, coming face to face with Sirius Black.

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Snow Angel

Sup y'alls! I wrote this based on some inspiration from @the-third-winchester-warrior. This is one of my weaker stories, so feel free to send feedback and suggestions!

Summary: You are the Winchester’s younger sister (14-17) who always happens to have the upper hand when it comes to pranks. There’s snow on the ground on a hunt in Michigan and you just can’t resist the opportunity for a good joke.
Warnings: None (unless you REALLY hate snow)
Tags: @the-third-winchester-warrior @winchesters-favorite-girl

“Y/N, are you sure this is what those children meant?”
“Yes! This is absolutely what they meant! Now, c’mon, you big baby!”
Cas took a deep breath. “I’m not certain about this.”
“Just do it!” You try hard not to laugh as you pull out your phone.
“What does you pulling out your cellular phone-”
The trenchcoated angel closes his mouth in a tight line. “Very well. If you’re absolutely certain, I will do it for you.” A look of bravery and…pride maybe, passes over Cas’s face.
Your pent up laughter feels as if a hamster got stuck in your chest. It takes all you can to resist letting it out. You reposition your phone. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
******************Later that day******************
You’re sitting down across from Sam, searching library books for some kind of info on the creature you’re hunting. So far, you guys had scored nothing. You scan a paragraph of a thick mythology book. A word catches your eye.
You smile and let loose a little laugh. Sam looks up. “Did you find something, Y/N?”
“Nothing,” you reply. A laugh plays around the corners of your mouth.
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Nothing, huh?”
You take your eyes off the book and look at your brother’s face. “Snow, that’s all.”
Sam looks playfully confused. “Yeah, there’s snow. We’re in Michigan in the middle of January.”
You grin. “You know what you do in snow?”
“Besides make it yellow?” You hear Dean’s voice sneak up behind you.
“Gross Dean!” you protest quietly so the librarian doesn’t hear.
“What do you do in snow then, Y/N?” Dean sits down next to Sam. “C’mon. Enlighten us.”
You grin as you reach into your pant pocket. You pull up the picture you took and slide your phone across the table. Sam picks the device up first.
“What did you do?” He asks laughing and obviously confused.
“Hey, let me see Sammy!” Dean grabs the phone out of Sam’s hands. “What the…what did you do to Cas??” You’re too busy laughing with Sam to answer. “Seriously! What happened?” Dean protests, stifling laughter himself.
You take your phone back. “It’s a snow angel!” On the phone is a photo of Castiel, covered head to foot in snow. His face still has that neutral-confused expression, but one can barely see it with all the snow covering him.
“Yeah, we can see that. How’d you talk him into it?” Sam asks, still smiling.
“Cas heard some kids talking about making snow angels and wanted to know what that was about. So, I told him!” You grin in spite of yourself.
“Snow angel,” Dean smiles. “Wow. Good one.” He leans across the table to high-five you.
“Hey, Cas should’ve known better than to ask me about this stuff. You guys know I’m the April Fool’s Queen, three years running.”
“Not for long,” Dean mutters under his breath.
“I’m sorry, what was that, Mister I-Got-Hit-By-My-Own-Trap?”
Dean pretends to scold you. “All right, you. Back to work. Before someone shows up and thinks we’re starting a cult.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you reply as Sam chuckles next to you. Just then, a soft whoosh catches your attention. You immediately turn around.
“Hello, Y/N,” Cas says politely.
The ensuing laughter brings down the library walls.

Disney Movies (John Laurens x Reader)

A/N: I hope y’all like this. I really do. I don’t feel like this is my best work, so I am really nervous about posting this. But you all deserve something so I guess this isn’t that bad. I hope you all are still reading and please! Send in more requests. Have three more to do, but I can always make room for more. 

Warnings: THIS IS A SEQUEL TO DISNEY DAY (Posted Here). I suggest reading that one before reading this one. Also, there is mild cursing as well as a tiny bit of sin (not the explicit kind you pervs). 

“You and John would be so cute together,” Eliza squeals for the millionth time this afternoon. You roll your eyes.

“No, we wouldn’t, and besides I’m pretty sure he has a thing for Alex,” you mumble, picking at your sandwich.

You and the sisters were currently hanging out a local cafe and they were giving you absolute hell.

This morning, you and John woke up at the same time. And he had…early morning issues. The two of you immediately sprang apart, John trying to cover himself with a nearby pillow and you blushing profusely. You excused yourself to the bathroom and when you came back out, the others were starting to wake up. You and John, for the rest of the morning, did an awkward dance around each other.

Avoiding eye contact, blushing whenever you lock eyes for even a second. It’s a wonder the other guys didn’t notice. But no, they didn’t. However, the sisters did and they will not let you live down the fact that you have a thing for John Laurens…or the fact that you were in his lap when he got a boner.

Yep. You told them about that. How could you not? They’re your best friends and besides that they are very  persistent.

Angelica laughs. “He and Hamilton do seem to have a thing for each other.”

“See? I’m not the only one who noticed,” you say, gesturing towards Angelica. Peggy rolls her eyes.

“I’m not buying it. I think he likes you, (N/N). I mean, he was totally looking at you and singing to you  when ‘A Whole New World’ came on yesterday.”

You scoff. “Yeah right, Pegs. He was probably looking at me because I sounded like a dying walrus. Anyway, if he isn’t into Alex, he has to have a super hot girlfriend who I simply can’t compete with. I’m nothing special.”

“Stop it,” Eliza says sternly. “You sing beautifully and–”

“–and you are smoking hot,” Peggy interrupts. Her sisters look at her strangely. She simply shrugs her shoulders. “I’m just saying. If I weren’t dating Dolley, I’d definitely ask (Y/N) out.”

You wink playfully at Peggy. “I would definitely say yes.”

Angelica throws a napkin at you. “You probably would,” she says smirking. “If you didn’t have a boner for John.”

“Ugh, drop it already! He doesn’t have a thing for me. End of story.”

“Why don’t we find out,” Eliza says, pulling out her cell phone. You look at her in confusion. She simply smiles wickedly, dialing someone’s number. “Hello, Alexander! Could you possibly come down the cafe by the library?”

The moment you realize what she’s doing, it’s too late. Your eyes widen. Angelica places her hand over your mouth to stifle your cries of protest and Peggy nearly pisses herself laughing.

“Wonderful! Oh, and Alex? Could you bring John? Thanks so much,” she says hanging up. Angelica removes her hand and you glare darkly at the middle Schuyler sister. “They’ll be here in five minutes. They’re already at the library.”

“Elizabeth Schuyler, I will end you,” you threaten. “So sleep with one damn eye open.”

She simply laughs at you. Peggy’s phone vibrates. She picks it up, furrowing her brow. Then, she gasps.

“Shit! I have to meet Dolley at her job. Angelica, can you drive me,” Peggy says, hastily grabbing her things and slapping some money on the table. Angelica nods tossing some cash on the table as well. They say their goodbyes, and as they are walking out, John and Alex walk in. Angie points them in your direction and heads out with Peggy.

“Hey,” Alex says walking to the table. John stands beside him, his face bright red. You keep your head down. “What’s up?”

“Ah, yes! Could you come with me? I saw something I wanted to show you,” Eliza says, standing. She places some money on the table. “But it’s next door. At the art gallery.”

Eliza leads Alex away before he, or John, can say anything. You watch helplessly as she exits the cafe. John awkwardly slides into Eliza’s seat. You look down at your lap, biting your lip. He clears his throat and your head slowly glides up.

He swallows a bit before speaking. “Uh, hi.”


His face grows redder and you can feel your own face glowing as well. The two of you begin to speak.

“Listen, John–”

“About yesterday–”

The two of you chuckle. John looks down at his lap then looks back at you sheepishly. He scratches the back of his neck.

“Since you’ve already seen me with a boner, would it be weird if I invited you over to my place to watch Netflix? I mean, shit. That was weird. What I’m trying to say is that I would like to hang out with you. Would you like to hang out?”

You burst out laughing. Through your hysteric giggles, you manage a nod. Grinning, John stands and takes your hand in his. The two of you exit the cafe and as you walk with him, you pretend not to notice Eliza and Alex watching you from the art gallery.

Watching Netflix with John becomes a regular thing. In fact, you guys set aside every Saturday to watch movies on Netflix together. Neither of you have anything specific to do on Saturdays so it seemed fitting. The two of you have become great friends over the last two months.

And you fucking hate it.

Sure the two of you cuddle while watching movies sometimes, and yes held your hand that day, but nothing more. Everything feels totally platonic. Each day you find yourself falling harder for the silly freckle-faced man, but he seems interested in only being friends.

You sigh as you slip out of your car, the only reason you don’t stop hanging out with John is because you’re in too deep. You’d rather be his friend than lose him completely by saying something to ruin your friendship. You walk up the stairs and into his apartment building.

You text John as you make your way to his apartment.

To: Freckle Fiend

I’m on my way, Freckles.

He responds a second later.

From: Freckle Fiend

Door’s open, but Netflix is a no go. We’re watching Disney movies tonight.

You receive his text as you walk through the door. Smiling, you flop on his couch.

“So what’s up with Netflix?”

He walks out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand. His didn’t tie his hair back, so it frames his face today. You bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling any wider. You like it, no, love it when he lets his hair down. That means you get to play with it.

And he looks even hotter than usual. He places the bowl on the coffee table and flops on top of you.

“It was either Netflix or lights. I prefer to see while I’m trying to wipe my ass.”

You snort, shoving him off of you, and sit up. “You are so freaking crude!”

“But you love it,” he says getting off of the floor.

Yes I do,” you think.

He exits the room for a minute and returns with an armload of Disney movies. You grin like a kid on Christmas.

“Ooh! I wanna pick!”

He places the on the floor and you slip off the couch and start to organize them. You grab High School Musical and smile brightly.

“This one,” you say,  turning to John. He’s watching you with a smile on his face. He walks over and takes the movie from you, placing it in the DVD player. Then, he picks you up and sits you in his lap on the couch. You turn away from him to hide your blush.

But the moment the first song comes on, you slip out of his lap and prepare to sing. John, of course, sings Troy’s part flawlessly and when Gabriella’s part begins, you take over. The two of you get so into your little performance that the both of you grab a remote and start singing and dancing around the room.

I never knew that it could happen ‘til it happened to me,” he sings, walking closer to you. “Ohh, yeah.”

You, not noticing, continue to sing your part with your eyes closed. “I didn’t know it before but now it’s easy to see…ohh…

John grabs your hand as the two of you sing the next part together. Your eyes widen, but your singing doesn’t falter for a moment. The two of you sing the rest of the song smiling brightly and looking into each other’s eyes. At the end of the song, John presses his forehead against yours.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“We are fucking dorks,” he says and then laughs loudly, taking a seat on the couch. You bite your lip, trying to hide your disappointment. You sit on the opposite side of the couch and sing the next few songs half-heartedly. But when Gabriella’s song comes on, you let it go and sing the entire song perfectly from your place on the couch.

John stares at you the entire time with adoration in his eyes.

“I love your voice,” he whispers. Your eyes snap to his, you’re a bit startled by how intensely he is looking at you. “In fact, I love everything about you.”


He scoots closer to you and pulls you onto his lap for the second time tonight.

“I love you,” he says sincerely. “And I know you love me too.”

You gasp and stutter, searching for something to say, but John silences you with a kiss. You tense up before relaxing. The kiss is soft and sweet. Though you never imagined kissing John in your sweatpants with totally messy hair, you wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

When he pulls away, you smile brightly. “Yeah. I guess I do love you too.”

Smirking, he says, “You look pretty good in those sweatpants, how about when this movie is over we both strip down to our socks.”

You pull him in for another kiss and as you pull away you whisper, “Why wait?”

You slide off of his lap and run towards his bedroom. John, just realizing what you mean takes off after you.

“This just may be the start of something beautiful,” you say as John tackles you on the bed.

“Don’t you mean the start of something new,” he says grinning cheekily.

Rain & Shine (Taemin scenario) Part 1.


You sigh to yourself as you tread down the dim sidewalk. You knew no one was ever out this late, even in this part of Seoul. 3 A.M. was perfect for your late night snack runs. The familiar bell chimes lightly as you enter the convenience store you’ve found yourself frequenting since you moved to Korea just a few months ago. You grab a few things to eat and some tea as you remember you just ran out and probably won’t feel like grocery shopping in the near future. After paying the emotionless young man, who you’re sure probably anticipates your arrival each night around this time, you hurry out the door and begin your walk back to your apartment.

Summer nights in Seoul are beautiful and cool. The brisk air sneaking through the thin fabric of you sweatshirt reminds you of home and fills you with a momentary loss of placement as you reminisce in memories of summer back home. You’re pulled from your trance when you notice it’s beginning to rain. It’s a very light sprinkle so you continue on your way, but not before you remember there was one more thing you forgot to buy at the convenience store. You jog back to the store, just in time to take refuge in its shelter as the rain begins pelting the streets. It doesn’t seem as though it’ll be letting up any time soon so you make yourself comfortable at the bar seats in the window, watching the rain dance across the half lit streets lazily as it sparkles across every surface it comes in contact with.

Your thoughts are interrupted once again by an extremely wet and somewhat noisy source. The person that just entered the store is a bustling blur of platinum hair, dripping clothes and endless repetitions of “I’m so sorry!” and “Please forgive me.” You don’t look up until you’re truly disturbed when the person plops down in the seat directly next to you and somehow manages to drench your entire left side in a matter of seconds. You look up at the person’s face, slowly growing angrier the more the water soaks through your clothes. You look into their eyes but instantly feel as though you’ve forgotten why you’re angry. He takes you by surprise. Such a manly look for such a kind face. He looks back at you and his infectious smile that reaches all the way to his soft eyes turns to an apologetic frown when he sees the state you’re in. 

“Omo! Did I do that?” He asks, hand pulling his long, incredibly soft looking hair back away from his face. He seems to take your silence as a yes and proceeds to fuss around looking for a solution to the problem he caused. “I - let me help. I’ll clean it up! I just need- ”

You can’t help but laugh at the way he’s squirming around almost frantically beside you. Your laugh seems to confuse him as he stops what he’s doing and lowers himself back into his chair to look at you. “It’s okay,” you assure him, stifling his protest. “It’s no big deal.” You laugh again. You pull off your sweat shirt and use the dry side to soak up some of the water he drenched you with. You smile and hand him the sweat shirt, offering what little absorbency it still holds. Still shocked and confused he slowly accepts it and that huge smiles creeps across his entire face again and something about it makes it feel like sun has come out again. He continues to smile while he uses your sad, wet sweat shirt to dry himself. 

“Thank you!” He chirps. That’s it, this is the prettiest man child you’ve ever seen in the history of ever. He looks so familiar. You think you’d recognize someone this perfect and weird and goofy. You know you recognize him but can’t think where you know him from.

Your train of thought is lost when he places a pack of yogurts in front of you both and gingerly wraps your dripping sweat shirt in a plastic shopping bag. He flashes his sunshine smile at you once again and punctures one of the yogurt bottles’ foil tops with a straw a slides it toward you. You gaze down at it and back up at him. “Thank you,” he says again, “please have some, I wouldn’t want to be the reason you got sick tonight.” Something inside of you bubbles over and you return his smile and take the pack. “It’s nice to meet you, even if it is on a night like this.” He extends his large hand to you and you take it with your free one as your other supports the yogurts, straw still in your mouth. “I’m Taemin.” he says with his shining smile, “And you are?”

You choke and erupt into a fit of coughing. That’s embarrassing. But now you know where you knew him from. “No way.” you breathe through heavy coughs.

“Sorry?” His smiles drops, almost to the floor it seems, and he begins patting your back to try to sooth the coughing away.

“You’re Taemin?” You manage, “Lee Taemin?” He nods. “Of SHINee?” He nods again, smile slowing finding its way back to his face. “What- I mean- Why are you-” You sputter, yogurt coughs becoming the last of your worries.

He laughs a contagious, bubbling laugh as you try to find your words. “And you are?” He repeats himself.

“Oh! I’m _______.” You bow your head. You realize a little too late that you’re the same age and you don’t need to speak or behave as formally with him as you have been. But he is one of the most famous idols in Korea and you would feel a bit odd treating him like your peer. However, he did just drench you and use your sweat shirt to clean up his mess. You are very confused right now. 

He laughs again, waving his palms toward you. “You don’t need to bow like that!” He chuckles, “I’m sure we’re not very different in age, right?” The flood of warm pink to your cheeks gives you away. “I knew it.” He says coyly.

“But,” you start, voice small and hoarse. You clear your throat and try again. “But, what are you doing out so late here. You don’t live around here, do you?" 

"Well, actually, I’m staying in the dorms lately because I’ve been working on my solo debut, so I have to be at the SM building practically all the time.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair and sweeping his fingers through his long, platinum blond hair. You would give anything to play with those fluffy plooms of hair. “But I’ve been coming here around this time for weeks now and no one is ever here.” He says, gesturing to the store at large. “What are you doing here so late?” He leans forward, pointing at you.

You feel yourself blush again. “I almost always come here at this time of night since I moved here.” You say, and you’re proud that you were able to say it so nonchalantly given that your insides feel like they’re having a rave right now.

He cocks his head stares at you intensely. “If you’re always here at this time, why have I never seen you?” He prods.

"I- I forgot something this time and came back to buy it and ended up staying because of the rain.” he sits back, your answer seems to have been enough to satisfy him. You sigh in relief as his intense gaze lifts from you.

You return your attention to the window to see that the rain has let up significantly. “Well,” you breathe, standing and collecting your things, “it was very nice meeting you, Taemin-ssi. Congratulations on your solo debut, I think your new song Danger is wonderful!” You gush, extending a hand to him. He looks baffled.

He grabs your hand and stands up in front of you. “Wait you’re leaving already?” He whines. Is he really the same age as you? “We only just started talking.”

“I know, and I’d love to know more about you, but I have to get home. I have a lot to do tomorrow so I should get to bed.” Bold faced lie and you know it.

“Oh,” he pouts releasing your hand. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’ll see you around…I guess?”

You smile, nod and tear yourself away from looking at his perfect form and facial features. Even makeup-less and soaking wet, the man is a god. You leave the store with another chime of the bell and begin walking home. You hear an identical chime follow after less than a minute or so and heavy foot steps catch up to you from behind. “Wait!” Taemin grabs your shoulder, breathing heavily, smile wide and bright as ever. “Please, let me walk you home, a city is never safe at night.”

You move to protest but his smiling eyes urge you to do differently. “That’s…fine…I guess.” You smile gently in return and begin walking home once more, this time with Taemin close at your side. The two of you make a bit of odd small talk the whole way there but none of it feels very awkward because of Taemin’s bubbling and bright personality. When you arrive at the door to your apartment, (you don’t know why he felt the need to walk you inside the building all the way to your door,) you turn to face him for the final time. You give him a big smile and he returns it instantly. “Thank you for….everything.”

“No,” he waves his palms at you, “Thank you! You’re company was great tonight, ______. It was just what I needed.” You swear if you could melt you would because damn. How can a person actually be this perfect. “I guess I’ll be seeing you then?”

You nod and he bows ever so slightly before turning around and walking away, back to the elevator and back to his own little world. If little can even be used to describe being an internationally famous idol with a perfect everything. 

The moment you’re back in your apartment you put the bags from the store on the kitchen table and jump onto your bed, pulling the covers over you, unable to sleep with the thoughts of your late night adventure running through your head over and over again. You’re turning over to finally drift off to sleep when it hits you. He never gave you back your sweatshirt. That little shit.


AN: I hope you like this! I’ve never written anything like this. Please let me know if I should continue. It was really fun and I think I’d like to see this story progress, wouldn’t you? Let me me know what you think! :)

<3 Minah

Lights Out

Title: Lights Out

Anonymous asked: How about a filthy fic where the reader is a nurse or councilor at Arkham that Jerome fancys and when he overhears her say that she has to work really late he decides to pay her a visit after lights out, and breaks out of his cell. He knocks the guard out and sneaks up behind her, hand covering her mouth, and he tells her that he’ll go quietly back to his cell if she um… Indulges him, and he ends up taking her on her desk. It seems like something Jerome would do, lmao.

Fandom: Gotham

Pairing: Jerome x Reader

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Gajevy, 5 please? :3

5; eyelid kiss


“Close yer eyes, Lev!” 

Levy giggled at the gruff tone the iron mage’s voice, squirming in excitement as she lifted her head up and closed her eyes. The sun bathed her face as she waited for the iron slayer, who was currently grasping at her hands before shuffling through his pockets, searching for something. She bit her lips, fighting the urge to chuckle as he muttered to himself, sounding pleased as he finally found the item he was looking for. 

She could feel his shadow passing over her, blocking out the sun as his scent wafted over her. She hummed in appreciation, squeaking lightly when he pressed his lips against her eyelids gently. Then, his mouth grazed over her nose, nipping at the tip before they latched on to her lips, stifling the protesting squawk instantly. She sighed as she leaned into him, melting as he gently sucked on her lower lip, stealing her breath easily. Then, he pulled away with a quiet moan. It was over far too soon, in her opinion. She was gasping as she clung to his arms. She was grateful for his strength as he held her up; she was close to swooning into his arms!

“You still got them closed?” he asked, just as breathless. She nodded, well aware that her face must’ve been glowing from the kiss. The sun added to the heat of the moment when his cooler shadow withdrew, she silently mourned the absence of the shade. ‘What on earth is he doing?’ she wondered. He still had hold of her hands, but he seemed to pull away. He wasn’t leading her anywhere either, confusing her so that her brow pulled together. She could hear him chuckle at her face, but his voice was no longer coming from above, rather from below her shoulders. 

Is he…?

“Levy, open yer eyes.” 

His voice was low, almost too quiet for her to hear. She blinked against the brilliant rays, squinting as she located Gajeel in front of her. Her breath hitched as he held a tiny square box in front of her hands, and she could see it shiver from his hands. He was nervous, she realized, and she gasped before he could open his mouth to propose. She flung her arms around his neck, surprising him further as she squealed in joy. 

“Oh, yes! I will Gajeel!”

Request -- Can I have a one-shot where the reader gets hurt on a hunt, and Cas heals her, but later she hears him shouting at Sam and Dean in another room to look after her more because he loves her, and then she just walks in and kisses him and tells him she loves him as well? Thank you!

(Hope you like it! xx)

Your head was pounding, each thump bouncing off the walls of your skull as you were slowly yet surely as the fog of unconsciousness lifted, taking its antidote to pain with it as it dissipated. Even though the throbbing was causing loud and annoying ringing in your ears, you could still hear the distinct sound of voices coming from the next room through the thin, bleak walls; Castiel’s voice was weaving through the other two, which you assumed belonged to Sam and Dean, the angel’s being the strongest and most powerful. It was odd to hear such ferocious passion inside of it, and you wished that you could clearly make out what they were arguing about. While pondering what the heated discussion could possibly be about, you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows; you let out a groan when the feeling of your head being crushed internally got worse, and the forceful conversation instantly stopped. The sound of Cas grumbling something reached your ears the very instant that he appeared in front of you on your bed; the agony that you were feeling immediately started to melt away in his presence, and you sighed in relief even though it wasn’t completely leaving.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” he questioned quietly, stating intensely into your eyes; his own were the warm shade of blue that you loved to look into, but there was something different about them. It was as if ice was floating inside of the normally clear ponds, waiting to be crystallized together and then shattered in anger or sorrow; a mixture of both would suffice as well, it seemed.

“I’m…I’m fine,” you responded slowly, moving your arms and legs and rolling your neck around in order to alleviate the soreness; your fingers then moved to rub your temples. “I don’t even remember what happened, honestly.”

“I would like to keep it that way,” he told you with fervor, and took one of your hands so he could lightly hold it; you warmed at the affectionate gesture as he continued to speak. “It was…it was horrific for me, to say the least. I truly do not want to experience you getting so terribly wounded ever again.”

You laughed softly, and the sound enchanted the angel as his grip on your hand grew slightly tighter.

“I don’t either,” You gave him a wide, grateful smile as you continued. “But you’re always there to patch me up whenever I do get hurt. Thank you so much, Cas.”

“You know that it is not a problem for me,” he murmured, flushing in pleasure at your thanks.

Leaning forward, you pressed a sweet and lingering kiss to his already burning cheek; when you pulled away, there was only a bit of frost loitering around the edges of his eyes, for the rest had melted away with your surprising action.

“Thanks was still in order,” you said, and he returned the upturn of your lips with his own; after a couple of moments, you had to stifle your protests when he stood up, his fingers untwining from yours.

“It shall benefit your greatly if you get some rest,” Castiel advised you, hating the bigger distance from you already. “And it will definitely make me feel more at ease. Please, sleep.”

“You won’t get an argument from me about that.”

He chuckled as you snuggled under your covers once again, and then disappeared; you sighed at the empty feeling that was emitted again within you without him near, and tried to bury yourself in sleep in order to get rid of it. The sound of voices being raised started to fill your ears when you got close, though, and curiosity overwhelmed you as you threw off the warm sheets and swung your legs over the side of your bed; you wobbled a little when you took your first couple of steps, but you regained your footing easily and steadily made it to your door, which you opened slowly and carefully even though you were sure that no Winchester or angel would be able to hear it unless they were focusing on what was going on outside of their own situation.

Tiptoeing across the cold hallway floor, you were glad to see that the door of the room next to yours was cracked open just wide enough for you to see the brothers and Cas; now you could hear that the celestial being was shouting at them, while the boys were trying to calm him down and reason with him.

“You don’t live a life of hunting without a scar or twelve,” Dean cut off one of the angel’s yells. “We can’t keep her from getting hurt on every hunt. Injuries are always bound to happen sometime soon.”

“Then try your best!” Cas hissed, fists clenching and eyes now afire instead of filled with ice.

“Believe me when I say that we are doing just that,” Sam attempted to assuage him. “But it is impossible to keep her completely safe in every second.”

“Try harder, then!” The angel realized that he was becoming to harsh with his two friends, and lowered his tone while the feeling of being ashamed crept up on him. “I am sorry, I did not mean to sound so bitter.”

“That’s alright, Cas,” Dean’s voice was surprising warm and understanding, like he knew exactly what he was going through at the very moment.

“Yeah,” Sam added, running his fingers through his dark brown locks. “We know that–”

“That I love her,” Castiel finished with a wistful undertone to his voice, and the sudden statement took your breath away with how joyful it made you; at first, you were going to refrain from doing anything drastic, but in a situation like this you felt like that it was necessary.

You opened the door, the creak that it made making all three of the men swivel their heads in the direction of where you were coming in; the boys’ faces were shocked while Cas’ expression became a bit fearful, and you knew that his thoughts were frozen knowing that you had heard what he had said, and that you might think nothing of them. You proved him wrong, though, when you walked straight up to him with determination in your gaze and crushed your mouth to his for a desperate kiss that had been very much needed for way too long, one that fulfilled your desires with more than both of you ever could have imagined. It went on for several seconds, and the both of you were breathless by the time you broke apart with wide grins that mirrored the other’s. It was only after a few more moments that that you realized that Dean and Sam had slipped out of the room, and you allowed Cas to wrap you up in a hold that felt absolutely divine.

“I love you too, Cas,” you whispered into his ear, giggling when he pulled you even closer to him. “But trust me, the boys can’t protect me any more than they are now.”

“I realize that,” he replied, putting a hand on one of your cheeks and looking into your blissful eyes. “But as long as I am around, I will not allow you to be harmed. You mean so much to me, Y/N, and I do not want you slipping away from me.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you promised him, and he let out a deep sigh of happiness and contentment as you nestled your head into the curve of his neck.

“I certainly hope not.”

missyriver  asked:

I can't help it I want a mistletoe kiss.

thank you for sending in a prompt! I hope you don’t mind, I set this in my “let’s try our best to fake it” ‘verse, which you can read here :) for a bit of context, this scene takes place after the one that I posted the other day, but before the shower flashback in the main story ;) enjoy!


Her head tilted to the side as she watched, completely mesmerized.


She blinked, “Huh?”

He dropped from the salmon ladder and she pretended to be very focused on stretching out her hamstrings. Ever since their almost… something, the other day in her room, she had been finding herself more and more distracted by him.

Which is exactly what she had been trying to avoid.

He raised his eyebrows in amusement, “I was asking you if you had heard about the Christmas party.”

“Holiday party,” she corrected. “And yes.”

When she didn’t elaborate any further, he added, “Are you going?”

She shrugged, “Maybe.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to get a definitive answer from her, he changed the subject, “I noticed you were lifting heavier weight than usual tonight, your hard work is really starting to pay off. Pretty soon you’re going to be giving me a run for my money for top spot in the class.”  

She flexed her arm, “That’s right. So watch your back.”

He laughed before walking towards the exit of the gym, leaving her alone to finish up her stretching and make up her mind about whether or not she was going to attend tomorrow night’s party.

Oh please. You know full well that you’re going to that party.

Keep reading

continued  |  straightshooter69

Bobbi’s eyes opened as Clint shifted suddenly beside her.  Her eyelids heavy, she stifled a groan of protest and burrowed into her pillow.  He moved again, and she felt him reach for her.

- Tasha?

Oh.  Not for her.  Her eyes opened again and she stared into the darkness for a moment.

“Nope,” she replied quietly.  “Not Natasha.”

Not Tempe, either.

anonymous asked:

I chose a random number before reading it. How about 5 and Elsa and Anna!?

#5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

PS, I wasn’t sure if you meant Snow Sisters or Elsanna…I’m just gonna go with canon!snowsisters here. :)

“—she’s also an artist like you, I heard she can paint and build things out of clay!”

“I created my own ice palace and I have an army of talking snowmen.”

“I know that, Elsa. She’s creative like you and I bet she’s super cool!” 

I’m super cool,” Elsa replied without thinking, eliciting a snort from the redhead lounging on the couch a few feet away from her desk where she was sat. “Well, I am cool metaphorically and literally, I think,” she trailed off, raising a brow at her sister who merely shook her head in amusement. It was late in the afternoon, and the queen and Princess Anna were in the library waiting to be fetched by Gerda for supper. Anna was chatting with her sister and brought up the exciting news of Princess Rapunzel’s upcoming visit to Arendelle. The kingdom of Corona’s long lost princess had been found, and the Arendelle sisters were notified of her return by the queen’s royal officials. 

Anna was overjoyed upon hearing this because her tutors had informed her of her family’s relations with the neighboring kingdom. Books of her lineage traced back her father’s bloodline, and it was verified that Rapunzel was Elsa and Anna’s second cousin. Although Elsa was relieved and grateful for the news, she found herself dreading her cousin’s visit—a cousin that she had never met before and only heard about in her lessons. Nagging feelings of insecurity reared its ugly head, and Elsa found herself shrinking back to old habits of doubting herself.

Anna assumed a sitting position and stared at Elsa. “Elsa, this is amazing news. Rapunzel’s a member of our family…aren’t you excited to meet her?”

But I’m your family. Am I not enough for you? Elsa bit her tongue and took in a deep, steady breath before opening her mouth, her back straightening as she tried to control her nerves that had started to buzz. “Of course I’m excited,” she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I’m sure she’s…amazing.”

Anna quirked her brow, a widening grin splitting her cheeks apart. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

“Wh—what? No? What are you talking about? That’s preposterous,” Elsa stammered, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to come up with a convincing reply. “I’m not jealous, why on earth would I be jealous?” 

Anna noticed the sudden change in her sister’s demeanor and frowned, noting the slight drop of temperature in the room. It could only mean one thing: Elsa was growing anxious or sad. Or both. Quietly, Anna stood up from her seat and approached her sister’s desk. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around Elsa who was sitting awkwardly, caught off guard by the unexpected contact.

“Ican’tbreathe,” Elsa said in a muffled voice against Anna’s stomach, her frame engulfed by warm, strong arms. 

Anna chuckled. “Good. That’s because you’re a stinker.“ She rested her chin atop Elsa’s head, ignoring the queen’s stifled protests about her “smelling like Kristoff” and something about “my ruined my bun”.


“No. I’m just gonna keep hugging you until all that jealousy gets squeezed out.”


Anna rolled her eyes. “Lies. You know I love you, right?”

There was a pause. “Yes,” the muffled voice replied after a few seconds.

“You’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

“Yes. Nowwillyoupleaseletmego?”

Anna loosened her grip and cupped her sister’s face with her hands, ocean eyes boring into anxious, sky-colored ones. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous. You’re my best friend and I love you. Nothing’s going to change that.” 

The conviction and sincerity in Anna’s assurance caused Elsa to gulp, the Queen of all of Arendelle reduced to a puddle of emotions. 

“I love you, Elsa.” Anna repeated softly. She didn’t mind reminding her sister that—even if she had to do it every five minutes for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t mind. 

A child-like, lop-sided grin curled Elsa’s lips, and the temperature of the room and everything within her started to feel warm once more. “And I love you, too,” the queen replied before timidly opening her arms for another hug attack from her best buddy.