#1780 words

[ichorai]

ménage à trois.

pairing ; lestat de lioncourt x vampire!gn!reader x louis de pointe du lac

synopsis ; “you turned him,” you said to lestat with a disapproving frown. louis was sleeping fitfully in a coffin between the two of you, skin charred and covered in dust and burns. lestat didn’t have to tell you—you put the clues together and figured out that louis had run into the morning sun without knowing what it would do to him. “you were always the selfish one, weren’t you? i could never have anything for myself.”

words ; 3.8k

themes ; angst, a bit of fluff, vampires, polyamory

warnings / includes ; super toxic throuple dynamics, blood/murder, covers the first two episodes of iwtv, reader is a writer, louis is infatuated <3 and lestat is well... lestat...

there will be a second part (claudia incoming)!

You met Lestat de Lioncourt in 1780—six years after he was turned, and three years after you. It was a wild and tumultuous affair the two of you shared. You and Lestat clashed just as much as you molded together. While he was possessive and greedy, you longed for freedom and space. Eventually, after many bloody rows, the two of you parted ways with reluctant, half-sincere promises of a distant reunion. 

Louis de Pointe du Lac was yours before he was Lestat’s, as he oft forgot. By 1908, you were a regular patron of his establishment in New Orleans—though less for the sex and more for the stories. The women there were immeasurably fascinating. With enough liquor and sweet talking, they would answer each and every burning question you had. When Louis caught wind of one of his customers bringing pencils and parchment of all things to the bedrooms, he’d confronted you about it, curious as to what you were doing to the working girls—especially when they always came out flush-faced and giggling.

“I’m a writer,” you told him with a sweet smile. Close-lipped, hiding your fangs. “I hope you don’t mind. The women here have lovely tales to tell.”

Louis returned the grin after a second to overcome his surprise. “I’m sure they do. Why here, though?”

“Your establishment has the highest rates of colored women. Not many are willing to listen to what they have to say.” You fiddled with the buttons on your jacket, and tipped your head down into a nod. “I’d best be leaving. The night is late, and the sun will greet us soon.”

“Not a morning person?” Louis asked, falling into step with you as you made your way to your convertible.

A huff of a laugh fell past your lips. “You could say that, yes.”

From then on, Louis went out of his way to greet you like clockwork. Every Wednesday and Saturday you came, bright-eyed and pencil ready. Those days, Louis watched you come by nightfall and leave before morning dawned, always making sure to exchange pleasantries. One of the nights, you asked if he had any stories to tell you—though there was little talking or writing that night. It was hard to jot down what he was telling you with his head between your thighs.

You were, by no means, a possessive vampire. You liked to keep your options open and drift from place to place. But around a year and a half later, you heard of Lestat landing in New Orleans, sucking the furniture stores and libraries dry—and setting his eyes on Louis. Your Louis.

You and Louis were not lovers, and the same would apply to your and Lestat’s relationship. You would say you were far closer to being friends with the two than lovers. Though… the prospect of love was not a far away concept to you. Not when it came to Lestat and Louis.

“You turned him,” you said to Lestat with a disapproving frown. Louis was sleeping fitfully in a coffin between the two of you, skin charred and covered in dust and burns. Lestat didn’t have to tell you—you put the clues together and figured out that Louis had run into the morning sun without knowing what it would do to him. “You were always the selfish one, weren’t you? I could never have anything for myself.”

“I’m sorry, did I spoil your little toy?” Lestat said, leering over you with a grin.

“He wasn’t a toy. He’s a friend.”

The blonde vampire’s hands reached out to caress over your face, soft and cold. “A friend that you fucked.”

“On occasion.” Your nose wrinkled. “You fucked him, too.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. It would have surprised you if Lestat hadn’t fucked Louis.

“Don’t be jealous, my darling,” he said, eyes glinting dangerously. “I’ll fuck you, as well. You need only ask. It has been a long while, no?” 

He kissed you then, tasting of sweet blood and sharp wine. As angry as you were with him, you didn’t push him away. With Lestat, it was hard to say no. That morning, you fell asleep in his coffin, limbs woven together. Come sunset, you were already gone.

It took you a few days to get around to forgiving Lestat. Louis made you softer—his inexperience to vampire life was ever so endearing to you. When you explained to Louis that you were also a vampire—one with a deep history with his maker, he stared at you with widened eyes.

“It’s no wonder I never saw you during the day,” he said, Lestat’s arm slung around his shoulder. “But why didn’t you kill any of my girls? How could you resist it?”

“Older vampires find it easier to resist temptation,” you told him with a dangerous, fanged smile. “Besides—I wanted their stories more than I wanted their blood. I can find food… elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Louis glanced between you and Lestat, the first thought vanishing from his mind just as quickly as it came. “Wait, were you two—did you… did he turn you, too?”

A bark of a laugh fell from your lips. “Oh, Louis, my dear, no. Lestat may have left hundreds and thousands of fledglings in his bloody wake but I am not one of them. My turning will be a story for another time,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Louis smiled and nodded as if he was in a daze. To his side, Lestat looked visibly annoyed. Whether he was jealous of you or Louis, you couldn’t tell.

Sharing is caring, you greedy whore, you said to him without moving your lips. Lestat only stared at you with those icy blue eyes and huffed out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, since the fledgling has already taken a liking to you, would you like to stay?” Lestat gestured around his decorated halls. ��There is more than enough room here for three coffins.”

As always, saying no to Lestat was usually not an option. 

“You could just say you’d like me here. Don’t have to be dragging Louis into it,” you told him, patting his chest with a mocking simper.

“Yes, yes, fine—I’d like you to stay, as well. I’ve missed you terribly.” Lestat moved closer to you as if he was going to kiss you, but you leaned away at the last moment and grinned at Louis.

“Louis, hon, how about we get a nice fire started and you tell me all about what mean ol’ Lestat did to you the first few hours of your turning? I love hearing about new vampire experiences. It’s been so long I can hardly remember mine.” You offered Louis your arm and gestured to the living room. The man looked to Lestat, almost as if asking for permission, but turned away just as quickly to take your arm. 

Louis, in his hunger and youth, had impulsively killed an important man in town. Lestat had already angrily berated him enough whilst tossing the body into the cremator. You were more gentle with your approach, taking Louis’ hands and goading him to wash the blood off and change into a new set of clothes that weren’t soaked with his kill.

The amusing thought that you and Lestat were raising a child and parenting together briefly crossed your mind. But then again, the two of you had both fucked Louis before and were most definitely going to again in the future, so perhaps it wasn’t the best analogy. 

“Here, put this on.” you handed Louis, stripped naked and scrubbed of the blood, a fresh button-down whilst Lestat was off cleaning up the mess Louis had made. “That was real dangerous what you did back there, you know. You’ll get detectives sniffing around and swarming you like ants to a honey pot. They don’t take kindly to black folk, neither.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging on the shirt. “I was hungry.”

“I know,” you parroted, though your tone was considerably softer. You placed your cold palm against Louis’ face and he leaned into it for a few silent moments. “Just be more careful next time, alright? Lestat and I have centuries of experience between us—you can trust us.”

Louis’ face contorted at the realization. “Sometimes I forget that this is gon’ be forever. That I won’t just wake up and you two will be gone. That I’ll be human again and my brother will still be around and my ma would still be asking me to come over to her house for dinner every Sunday.”

“Forever isn’t always a bad thing,” you said, voice soft and soothing. “It is daunting, yes, but you still live from day to day just as the mortals do. You’ll grow more comfortable in your skin with time, I promise.” You hesitated to say the next few sentences. “Lestat, as much as you admire his strength, is just as afraid as you sometimes. He’s afraid of being lonely. I confess, I have been afraid to be lonely more than once myself, but I have made peace with the fact that I will be alone sometimes. Immortal life makes it inevitable. My point is, though… you aren’t alone. Lestat is not as godly as you think he is.”

“And are you?” Louis asked.

“Do you think of me as godly?” 

One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “Most of the time.”

“I’m still a person,” you reassured him. “Lost to time, perhaps, but a person nonetheless. And you are, too.”

Your words seemed to placate Louis, though only momentarily. He parted his mouth open to say more, but Lestat dramatically stormed in the room, expression still creased with anger. After decades upon decades of knowing him, you knew by now that he would get over it eventually—it wasn’t really that big of a deal. But Louis, quite shaken up by the kill and his maker furious with him, couldn’t shrug it off as easily as you. The two of them went to their respective coffins angrily. 

Hours later, whilst you were writing up drafts of your most recent discussions with a few townspeople, you heard the two of them quietly exchange words of apology and plans for the future from their coffins. You smiled down to yourself. The romance between them was strong, you knew. You wondered if you ever had the same connection with Lestat. Or even Louis. You were growing quite fond of him. And you’d always been fond of Lestat, even though he irritated you to no end. 

When Louis bought the most expensive, the biggest, and the brightest club in the district, he made sure to pay all the working girls and musicians twice what they earned before. The doors were now open to anyone, not just folks with light skin. And he even had a room especially booked for you—always decked with the finest pencils and pens and papers and books and the most heavenly chairs imaginable—Louis was a man who thought out your every need. It startled you to think that your fondness for him may be far greater than just fondness. How would Lestat feel about you falling in love with his fledgling? Louis was yours first. And before that, you and Lestat were also each other’s for a time.

With Louis still at the club entertaining guests, Lestat heard your thoughts as soon as you returned from your work—you didn’t bother hiding your mind from him, because he had ways of getting information out of you regardless. 

“I don’t mind,” he said, greeting you as you changed out of your attire into more comfortable clothes for home. He hung by the doorway for a moment before slinking closer to you, running his hands up and down your bare skin. “We can share, my love. I don’t mind—not with you. And I’m sure Louis wouldn’t mind sharing you with me.”

“Rather presumptuous of you,” you replied.

“Not presumptuous if you’re thinking it,” Lestat said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then several more up your neck. “Don’t resist us. It can be the three of us together. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“There’s a reason I left you in the first place,” you whispered. “You are possessive and mean when you want to be.”

Lestat tilted your face so his lips hovered just an inch over yours. “That may be true… but you’ll stay for Louis.” 

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you better than anyone undead or alive.

“I will.” 

“Good,” he said, and then kissed you as if he was going to devour you whole.

Many moons later, you walked into one of the house’s many bedrooms, about to enquire if either of the vampires had seen your notebook lying around anywhere, when you saw Louis lying on the bed, tears of red slipping down his face. Lestat dabbed the blood away with a napkin.

“What’s going on?” you asked with a concerned tone, sitting down next to him on the mattress opposite Lestat. 

“My nephew,” Louis practically spat out the words as if they had scorched his tongue. “I was so afraid I would… I could hear his heart—his tiny little heart—and I wanted to rip it out and eat it. I’m a monster.”

There was a moment of silence as you studied the young fledgling.

“If you’re a monster, what does that make me?” you whispered, leaning down to press your nose to the back of his ear. “You didn’t kill him, Louis.”

“No, but I could have.” Another bloody tear slipped down his eye and slotted against his nose bridge.

Whilst Lestat wiped his face again, he said, “You have to stop seeing them, Louis. They’ll grow fearful of you if they haven’t already.”

“No,” said Louis, voice hoarse and quiet. “I can’t do it.”

“It’s a rite of passage for all of us,” Lestat went on. “If you love your family, as I know you do, spare them all the pain that you are causing them.” Knowing Lestat’s relationship with his mother, you found his words quite ironic. Louis didn’t need to know about that right now, though. 

“My siblings spent many decades looking for me once I ‘disappeared’,” you told Louis. “It hurt to distance myself from them, but I was protecting them.”

Louis glanced up at you. Sitting with your back to the lit fireplace, there seemed to be an angelic glow framing you. “I didn’t know you have siblings.”

“Had,” you corrected. “They are long gone now, though many of their children’s children and further generations remain. They lived long and happy lives even after I left.”

“I ain’t never gonna have a family of my own, am I?” Louis lamented. “No sons, no daughters.”

It was silent for a moment when you and Lestat locked eyes. The blonde looked back down at his fledgling. “We’re your family, Louis.”

“You should just throw me in the incinerator,” said Louis. “Make another one.”

“What a waste that would be,” Lestat remarked.

You nodded. “And if he did, I would rip him apart limb from limb. You are not replaceable, Louis.”

“The both of us have been on this Earth for around two centuries and we can confidently report that you have no twin,” said Lestat. “No one as angry, as stubborn, as unaccommodating, as maddening—”

Louis frowned. “Sound like trash to me—”

“—as loving, as dedicated, as thoughtful, as imperfectly perfect as you’ve become. You’re a challenge every sunset, Saint Louis. We’d have it no other way.” Lestat waited a second before nudging you to agree with him.

“Yes,” you jumped to say, perhaps a second late. “Louis, hon, I don’t want to force you not to see your family. You’re free to tell them the truth if you’d like. Let them see you as a monster, as a murderer—because they certainly won’t see you in the same way we do. I’m just saying… letting them go may be the less painful option.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. Though he said nothing, you knew that he knew you were right. 

“Here’s an idea… let’s take a holiday,” ventured Lestat. “What about Rome?”

“Rome sounds lovely,” you said with an excited grin. It had been a handful of decades since you last stepped in Europe. Most of your recent years had you traveling much of North and South America.

“Rome? Rome, like, Italy?” Louis said, cracking an eye open to scrutinize his lovers. 

“Would you prefer Rome, Wisconsin?” Lestat fired back, which made Louis sit up on the bed and shake his head.

“I can’t just pick up and go to Rome. I got a business to run!”

You snaked your arms around Louis from behind and pressed your nose into his neck. You could hear his thoughts of how nice you smelled and smiled against his skin. “I’m sure you have many trusted work buddies that can manage the Azalea for a few days.”

Louis and Lestat bickered some more about transporting the coffins after that, as if they were an old married couple. You only listened in amusement and kissed down Louis' jaw.

Finally, Lestat relented his plans of Rome and instead brandished tickets to another opera. 

“I can spend a few days apart from the two of you to go to Rome myself,” you said, arching your back as if you were a cat and sprawling down on the mattress to watch Louis and Lestat upside down. “I can bring back souvenirs. The Italians have the most divine oil paints—”

“Don’t go,” Louis blurted, interrupting you. “Don’t—not yet.”

For a moment, you studied him with curious eyes. His thoughts were telling you he wasn’t sure if he could handle being left on his own with Lestat without you. Codependency was a common trait amongst vampire couples, you knew this, but that didn’t mean it was at all healthy. Nonetheless, you reluctantly nodded. “Alright. I won’t leave. But we do have to get out of the country at some point—it’s important to see more than America, Louis.”

“With that, I concur,” Lestat chimed his agreement. Then, he seized both of your arms and began to drag you off the mattress until you laughed and twisted up to get onto your feet yourself. “Come, my darlings, I’ve had suits made for us.”

There was a methodology to going to the opera to keep eyes off of you. You would go in first, alone. Then Lestat, with Louis walking a pace behind him, masquerading as his valet. It was degrading, all three of you knew. But it was the early 1900s, and there was little more you could do without drawing attention from passersby. 

Though the opera was a cheap affair, you were considerably entertained until the tenor entered the stage and began to sing all the wrong notes. To your ears, which were sharp, but not suited to the intricacies of musical notes, his singing was strangely off but still fine. To Lestat, however, he was not at all amused. His jaw muscles clenched and his fingers curled and uncurled over the sheet music he had brought. One glance his way and you already knew he had made his mind on who would be that evening’s supper.

Hours later, when Lestat had taken the young singer to your hotel room, you wondered if he was planning on simply fucking some sense into him before biting into his throat. Instead, Lestat sat down by the piano and played the notes, forcing the singer to sing. He pointed out each and every flaw, tone growing harsher with each mistake. 

Louis watched the two with a nauseous stomach and an uneasy mind. You tried to pull him away to another room, tried to kiss him until he forgot about Lestat and his fixation on the poor man, but Louis’ mind was adrift.

“Louis, this is meant to be a vacation,” you reminded him, massaging your fingers over his tense shoulders.

“How can it be a vacation when he’s in the other room about to murder some guy for a note he sang offkey?” Louis asked, a tad too loudly for your preference.

“Lestat gets this way sometimes. You know this by now. He gets angry, he gets sucked in, he gets tunnel vision until something is done exactly how he wants it to be done. It doesn’t affect us, though, not really. Dinner is dinner, Louis.”

Louis crossed his arms. “You have animals for dinner most of the time. And you kill people who deserve it. Lestat, he just—that man could have a family, a whole life ahead of him!”

“The same could be said for the people I’ve killed,” you replied easily.

“No, no, it’s different!” he vehemently said. “You killed the rapists, the child-fiddlers, and even the slave-owners back when they were still around! Lestat, he—”

“I know,” you said, tone firm. “Louis, I know.”

“Do you, though?” Louis shook his head in incredulity at your nonchalance and walked back into the main room where Lestat had just struck the young tenor across his vocal cords, destroying them beyond repair. “Why do you do this, Lestat?”

The blonde licked the blood off his fingers. “Well, I like to do it. I enjoy it.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Louis. “You don’t have to humiliate him like that.”

In a burst of outrage, Lestat yelled, “Well, I don’t say that you have to enjoy it! Kill them swiftly if you have to, but do it! Embrace what you are! You are a killer, Louis!”

You walked into the room at that, brows furrowed. “Will you two stop it? All this yelling and drama—this was meant to be a vacation!”

“How can it be a vacation when we haven’t even left this damned country?” Lestat bitterly replied. “I should have gone to Italy with you and left Louis here to scavenge through corpses until he rotted away.”

“You don’t mean that,” you angrily said, volume rising. “You’ve had decades to temper your anger issues, and yet you haven’t changed a single bit!”

Lestat raised his nose in defiance, picked up the tenor (who had crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap), and swiftly carried him to the couch where he would slowly drain him of his blood. Louis took to sitting and watching the dying man’s last thoughts. A part of you wondered why, if he was so horrified by Lestat's cruelty, did he bother to stay and watch—though you didn’t stick around to ask. Instead, you retired to the bedchambers without saying goodbye to either of them. Lestat left you a chalice of the singer’s blood by your coffin as an apology of sorts, but it was left untouched. 

[noah-fens]

trying to cut 145 words out of an essay may not sound like much until you consider that's almost 10%

[jweekgoji]

can u write some Yandere TFO Darkwing x Cybertronian femme reader, who is a miner but Darkwing ends up getting her pregnant and forces her to be his conjux

Yandere!Darkwing/Femme!Reader [TFO]

tw: dubcon, yandere/dark themes, unplanned pregnancy, toxic relationship, supervisor/subordinate, power imbalance, size difference, mentions of past abuse, sickness, description of trauma, hurt no comfort, no happy ending. word count: ~1780 a/n: I wanted to keep it short, but somehow it leads to this. I guess this is for 5 Darkwing fans? imo, he has good himbo potential. also writing for Elita was fun...now i wanna write some Optimus and Elita/Reader fics once i'm done with requests.

How could you let this happen?

The same question runs in your head over and over again. It seems that no matter how hard you try to forget about it, you always see that familiar face right next to yours. Dwarfing you, making you feel so small and fragile. It probably wouldn't be too far from the truth. With your smaller, weaker body, nobody would even notice if you were gone.

You should be used to it by now. Countless cycles of mining, the same routine seems somehow calming despite having no signs of progress in any near future.

Energon, sleep, energon, sleep. What kind of life is that? Was that really all you're good for? Your endless purpose until you break one day?

Primus, why did he make you suffer?

“Hey!” you hear a rough, commanding tone from your captain right behind you. “No slacking off until we finish our job! Come on, keep up!”

You blink once, then another few times, optics quickly concentrating on the wall in front of you. How long were you staring at this wall…? Doesn't matter.

Elita-One gives you a glare; she is too preoccupied with leading her group safe; of course, the mines are too dangerous, and every single wrong move could lead to a series of disasters. You usually have no problems with following her orders, but everything now is just too much. Too much stress, too many orders. You're so exhausted.

Reluctantly, you continue working on collecting energon once again. The heavy equipment makes your frame tremble from the weight; you never once struggled with it, despite the drilling machine being almost the same weight as yours. Now, every single minute feels like a challenge. Focus, focus, focus— you can't just pass out during your work! If it didn't kill you first, then Elita-One certainly would after you screwed her chances of promotion.

You shook your head, as if somehow all the thoughts about the pain—the non-stop aching shooting down your back. It makes you want to bend down and wrap your arms around yourself; maybe, just maybe, it will all go away, and you'll be back to normal.

The soft whirr of your cooling systems gets louder. The poor mechanism overworking itself to cool down your frame. You barely notice how the buzzing sound of the drills seems quieter now, changing into the ringing in your head.

The loud clank of the metal against the ground quickly catches Elita's attention. A frown etched on her faceplate, the immediate ‘...by the name of Solus Prime, what's next?’ she quietly grumbled under her breath, turning her attention to the source of that sound.

Your boss was ready to scold you again, another lecture about the importance of teamwork and how it affects the whole squad—but all the annoyance quickly changes into panic the moment she sees you. Close to falling on your own knees and forehead pressed against the wall as you lean against it.

She quickly approaches you, placing her servo on your shoulder to turn you over so you can face her. Your frame is so warm, no, too warm it's almost burning hot. Your spark beats so hard she can practically feel it under her palm. The signs of sickness are obvious, and she cursed her luck yet again that now she has to explain the situation to the supervisors.

Elita helps you to lean your frame against her own instead, holding her arm around your waist, asking countless questions about what the pit you were thinking, and starting your shift without telling her about your well-being. She's the leader of your group! She has to know everything! It doesn't help with her concerns that you barely say anything, too weak to even open your mouth.

She is so annoyed with you, at everything right now. Great, just great, now she has to— a pause. Her optics widened for a mere second. Elita-One looks down at you with a mixture of confusion and a growing shock. The beating of your spark. Twice as fast, too unusual for any cybertronian even if put under the stress. Her servo reaches to your chassis, hovering over the spot where the spark chamber is. You're sparked up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Quiet, too quiet, perhaps. The first thing you notice before finally opening your optics. The soft light of the room makes you want to go back to recharging again. Another innocent dream will be a good place to escape the harsh reality, until the slow realization creeps into your mind.

“It wasn't my fault, how could I—” the distant sound of Elita's voice is heard outside the room you were in.

“It was your job to lead the group and make sure everything goes according to the protocols. Just like ensuring that every bot in your squad is in the right shape for work,” you don't have to check twice to understand who it would be. Darkwing.

You can hear Elita trying to defend herself again. After all, it wasn't really her fault. You never wanted to tell anyone about it. But what choices did you have? How can you explain being sparked up? By who?

Now you feel guilty. Shame. She got into trouble because of you, and knowing how hard she worked to reach her position...You're so, so sorry.

You slowly move to sit up on the berth in the...what was this place exactly? It reminds of the infirmary, but surprisingly, any medic is absent today. Ratchet? Lifeline? First Aid? Completely gone.

As the door opens, your optics meet Darkwing's own. It was always hard to understand what exactly he was thinking about when he looked at you. The visor, the battle mask, it seems like every single thing in him has a purpose to make you self-conscious. Nervous and scared. Unlike him, you never had the chance of hiding.

Once you two were alone, he's fuming. He breathes heavily, trying to suppress the anger burning inside his chassis. If you were any other miner, another speck of dirt under his pedes, he would have disciplined you without thinking twice.

But you're no ordinary miner now, are you?

“You hid this from me, on purpose,” Darkwing looks down at you, servos clenching into tight fists. “And this is how I find out about it. Do you have any idea what you just got yourself into?”

The mere idea of him being together with  some nameless miner? Ridiculous. He never planned it to develop into something more. Just a one-night stand, nothing more. He would have forgotten about it by the next day if it wasn't for something, making him think about you since then.

The perfect size, fitting in his servos just right. A tiny toy to play with and use however he wants. A cute one too; isn't this a great deal? The curves, the shape of your frame...if you had a cog, what kind of alt mode would you have? A jet like him? Maybe a car? A boat?

Any other of his fellow supervisors would have left you immediately once they found out. If any bot gets to know about it, he's screwed. Darkwing, who claims to despise every single cogless bot? And now he's having second thoughts about whether he should let you be on your own or...participate?

You lowered your head, as if in shame. There's no fight in you left, not after Darkwing personally stripped you of your dignity. Now the only thing left is a sense of responsibility over that sparkling inside you. You're not even sure if your body can take it. The slowly growing little thing takes up a good half of your energy, and with the energon portions you receive, it is hardly enough for the two. You might die from starvation if this keeps up.

Just standing next to Darkwing is a struggle. You wonder, if he even understands what he costantly puts you through, or maybe he finds some sick pleasure in it. Watching you suffer. Is that what he wants? While you live with the responsibility that he put on your shoulders, nothing ever changes for him. This is so unfair.

You will be no surprised if he drags you to the mines to continue working just to please Sentinel Prime right now.

“Can't even look at me. You miners are only good at one thing,” another taunt. His servo reaches to cup your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

The touch is gentler, not the usual roughness you started getting used to. You learned that whenever he is near you, the pain should be expected the next. That's why it's hard not to flinch every time he gets a little too close. This time, it's something different. Your optics closed, as if expecting a punch, a slap, or another bunch of degrading words?

Nothing.

Trembling in his grasp like some sort of wounded animal next to their predator. Obedient, quiet and timid, the cycles he spent to shape you into a perfect doll to play with. But you're carrying his sparkling, the part of him is soon to be born in this world. It is too late to get rid of it, even though some time ago the sound of it seemed tempting. No, even a useless doll like you deserves a second chance to prove yourself. From some faceless miner, you can grow into something more. Better. A carrier.

He can't let you go back to that place; it would be too cruel even for someone like him to let the carrier of his sparkling to continue this. The best thing is, no one would even suspect you were gone. A tragic event, one of the miner bots neglected their health until it was too late.

Sad, sobbing story, but don't worry, being stuck with your ex-supervisor is not too bad. By the all old rules, it's a shame not to claim a carrier of your sparklings as your conjunx.

“You should be grateful that I have better plans to use you, cogless,” Darkwing's hold on you tightened just for a fraction. To make sure you listen and understand his intentions. No other options but to obey. His words echo in the back of your mind.

The act of profference.

Gifting you a freedom, something you wished for and craved so deeply supposed to make you happy. If only it wasn't the same day you lose it.

[agathasfamiliar]

you better make me better (pt. 1)

agatha harkness x fem!reader

it's 1780, your coven has been chosen by agatha harkness herself to walk the witches' road with her. but you've caught her eye and when things don't go exactly as planned, agatha might just make an exception to her rules.

other parts: 1 2 3

word count: ~1400

warnings: brief mention of blood

author's note: i've been reading so much agatha x reader that i needed to give it a shot. i intend for this to eventually be smut, hense the need for this secret blog. let me know your thoughts and send any requests pls i need ideas for practice.

This is our only chance.

The words of your fellow coven members echo in your head as you navigate clumsily through the punishing brush of the wood east of town. Each slap of a branch feels like a blade and you’re unsure if the wetness you feel on your face is from the slowly mounting storm trickling through the canopy or bloody evidence of the sharper foliage.

Your coven told you they need you for this ritual, and though it sounds far too good to be true, you trust them. For some reason. Your leader, ever the ambitious witch, spoke of a mysterious and palpably powerful woman she’d stumbled upon that told her of a place called The Witches’ Road. A place you could all finally reach your full potential as witches, something you’ve been longing for for longer than you can remember. 

You’ve always been the least naturally gifted of the group when it came to the arcane, picked on by the others for always having your nose in a book memorizing the rules of the craft rather than “letting the magic flow through you.” But you know all too well the dangers of allowing your emotions to rule your power. That’s the true reason you’d agreed to humor this meeting at the witching hour, because of the certain way your leader had phrased the proposition. 

“At the end of the road, you will find what is missing.”

There wasn’t a long enough parchment in the world to contain the list of what you were missing. What you had lost. Maybe walking this road could bring what you really need into focus. Give you some sort of much needed direction.

It’s as you continue to ponder what this missing piece may be that you reach out to steady yourself on a branch and it gives way with a noise that is more alarmed in offense and irritation than true fear. You, on the other hand, expel a gasp of true fear and stumble forward having expected to put your weight on the “branch”. 

The branch that is actually a woman’s arm, whom you failed to see, leant up against a tree in the lightless and rain-obscure space.

Before you can even register the fact that you’re falling head first into thorny undergrowth, you feel hands around your middle. They pull you back upwards and against a warm body, the owner of which lets out the slightest grunt of effort. Your back rests against the figure's front as you briefly catch your breath, your heart beat attempting to return to normal from the jolt. 

Once you’re able to consider your surroundings and settle on which way is up, you stiffen, bracing for a chiding from one of the other coven members about being more careful. You’re unsure which of your sisters it is, still unable to see even a foot in front of your face. You’re more so surprised that any one of them would deny themself the opportunity to see you fall rather than help you up.

Instead, a wry feminine cackle, foreign to your ears, breaks the silence. Whoever this is, it is not one of your coven members. And somehow that settles your nerves rather than increasing them. 

It’s as if she, this woman, leans impossibly closer to ensure her breath ghosts over your right ear and down the back of your neck in a way that sends chills down your spine. It feels so familiar that for a moment you distantly wonder if you’re in the midst of a terribly vivid dream. 

Even more confused now, and with her hands showing no sign of loosening on your waist, you turn in the arms of the strange woman that’s now holding you. You decide you ought to actually see this person before you speak.

She allows you to turn, but her grip only laxes enough for the small movement, reclining once again against the trunk of the tree. This serves to further steady you but also forces you to allow her to support your full weight.

“Careful, dear. You don’t know who could be out here in these woods.” She says mockingly, fingers digging into your corseted frame in a way that simultaneously tickles and pinches. You think from the slight smile you can see in the shadowy swirling of her expression that this is intentional. 

The way she speaks makes you feel like you’ve met before. There’s a familiarity to her banter that one might call rude if it wasn’t so enthralling. The voice, you also note, matches the cackle if any voice ever could, and the hushed melodic tone coupled with the indistinguishable features in the darkness only add to the doubts you have in regards to your own consciousness.

“Thank you for your help, I’m sorry to have-” Your sentence trails off as clouds ahead must part to allow moonlight to cast over the face of the woman, instantly wiping your memory of any intended end to your sentence.

You’re met with piercing blue eyes that you think are icy enough to freeze over hell, but instead burn into you with a fire that might rival it. Her eyes make quick work of your face and shamelessly trail down the rest of you as you realize she is also seeing you for the first time in the newly illuminated space. The pale skin of her face almost seems to glitter silver under the moonbeam and the way her wild mane of dark hair falls around her makes her one with the surrounding gnarled trees. You’re unsure where the tendrils end and the stray branches framing her visage begin. 

You suddenly think about the branches that cut your face as you made your way to this place and wonder if the locks of her hair may do the same if they were to brush over your skin. You oddly find yourself hoping they will.

Shaking yourself from the odd thought, your tongue darts out almost involuntarily to taste iron as you wet your lips. You realize the woman is no longer holding you to her, rather you’re leaning into her on your own accord, transfixed. 

You step away quickly, as if burned, almost stumbling once again into the brush but catching yourself. This earns another short laugh from her. 

“You must be Y/N.” She finally says when you stare at her dumbfounded. You half think to ask if she’s some sort of nymph or other preternatural beauty you’ve heard tales of in your books, unable to reason at the moment why anyone else would be out here at this hour. 

Luckily, something about hearing her actually say your name sobers you from the odd dream-like state this encounter has had so far. 

“How do you know that?” You ask, slightly defensive but with a softness that comes from the fact that you definitely want to hear her say your name again.

“We’ve been waiting for you.” She ignores your question playfully, stepping past you and further into the clearing behind. When you don’t immediately make a move to follow she pauses, walking back over to where you stand and looping a long fingered hand around one bicep. She pulls until you start to step, leading you forward with a theatrical amount of effort to emphasize her point. 

“Your coven sisters are a hoot.” She raises her eyebrows and rolls her eyes with an air of sarcasm that only makes you like her more. You smile apologetically, thinking about what embarrassing things they must’ve said about you to this woman.

“Come on, pretty girl. I don’t bite…” She says, though her nails do bite into your arm pointedly at the statement as you round the bend in the clearing to reveal your fellow coven members standing in a lowly torchlit circle. You try not to acknowledge the slightest disappointment you feel at the statement.

“Usually.” She adds with a wink, as if reading your mind, before reaching the circle and throwing her hands out to the group in a very performative show of arrival that brings a genuine smile to your face.

Of course this is the woman that charmed your leader into gathering you all here. You just started following her deeper into an unfamiliar forest alone after less than a “hello”, so you really can’t place blame. 

You’ve known her for less than five minutes and haven’t even gotten to ask her name yet, partially because once you finally looked into her eyes you’re pretty sure your tongue stopped working all together. However, you are unwaveringly sure you have never met anyone like her before and probably never will again.

[howlett-n-morgan]

More Than Words

1. Familiar Stranger

Logan Howlett x OC!Reader

Series Summary: Having lived for over two hundred years and never having the privilege of skin to skin contact is the biggest burden imaginable, until someone comes along with the healing ability to withstand the touch of death.

Chapter Warnings: This might be a lot for the start of a series but: mild language, canon typical violence, mention of a witch trial, burning at the stake, death, mutant experimentation, and a depressive episode briefly described. Logan's claws come out lol... I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Chapter Summary: Nightmares that were long forgotten come crawling back, seemingly without meaning, until everything falls into place with the arrival of a familiar stranger... and he gets nightmares, too.

Word Count: 6.5k

And now there was this Logan character. “Bulletproof, huh?” he didn’t seem skeptical, just unimpressed.  “And fireproof,” you added with a small smile, turning and going down the hall to find the next open room. It was the one besides yours, and yes, you absolutely did that on purpose. “Forgive me for being forward… but I think I know you.” “You know me? Doubtful.”

The X gene -  typically found in people with mutant family history - begins showing itself around the time of adolescence, usually blossoming in young teenagers. You remember the first time you realized there was something wrong with you. The year was 1780.

You were only thirteen, and were showing signs of something no one could put a finger on. The first instance was doing laundry with your cousin, Sarah, and dipping your hands into the water the same time that she did. Her hands started to burn, and she pulled her fingers from the basin quickly, only to find her hands were fine, and the water wasn’t even that hot. You thought that maybe it was a fluke, but then the second occurrence took place. 

You’d been playing near the lake with some of your friends on your twentieth birthday, when a bolt of lightning struck you. Your friends gathered nearby to see if you were alright, but were baffled completely to find you standing there as if nothing had happened. 

That was the day that time stopped, and you never grew older. 

These were things that told you there was a difference within you, but you never knew how lethal it actually was until it reached its full potential. You only wish you’d been given a warning. 

The day it all went for worse, and your life became hell, was actually a very sunny day. You woke up the same, got dressed the same, even went out back to milk the cow… but the second you touched her, she fell limp, collapsing to the ground. Your eyes widened in terror when you realized the lovely farm animal had lost her life in that split second, unable to move, or breath. 

You ran back inside to tell your mother, but you were not careful, because how could you have known it was your fault? How could you have known your body was capable of this?

Your mother laid a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, and you brought your hand to meet hers. She too fell instantly, and it was then that you realized. 

Your touch is death.

You clung to your mother, the last person you were able to touch, crying and wailing out. 

That was the first of your crimes, but many men made the mistake of coming into contact with you that day, and it stands to reason why you have been sentenced to death. Witchcraft being their assumption on your methods, and mass murder being the charge.

You almost believed them. Almost thought that something evil was possessing you, making you do wicked and unholy things… 

Standing tied to the stake by a man with thick leather gloves, all eyes were on you, waiting for your atonement. You saw every torch that was burning, closing your eyes and accepting the punishment. You killed your mother, and eleven men. There were enough witnesses to send you straight to your grave. You waited for the flames, and felt the heat when they finally set the fires, quickly approaching you. When your eyes opened, you could see the wall of fire over the hay bales, nearly ten feet tall and at every corner. It crawled up by you and then-

You sat up in your bed, sweat dripping from your brow, and the digital alarm clock going off in your peripheral vision. 

It’s just another dream… but you haven’t had it in years. 

You treat it like the rest, going about your morning like it never happened. You’d discuss it with Charles later, he seemed to know what your nightmares meant most of the time. He knew your mind better than most, and could enter with a single thought. 

Downstairs, the commotion was rowdy, but you went ahead through the crowded space carefully and slipped on your favorite pair of forest green gloves, buckling the cute straps on the back as you made your way to the kitchen. Ororo had just brewed some coffee, and Scott was carrying two plates towards the doorway when you entered. 

“Smells good,” you said, smiling at them both, and going for a mug from the cabinet. 

Scott stopped short, turning on his heel to ask you a question. 

“I forgot about this yesterday,” he started, looking over in your direction through his red shades. “Can you take a look at the School’s Enrollment system when you get a chance? I couldn’t add a new student and I’m not sure why.”

You nodded, pouring the coffee and giving him a look of confidence. “I’m sure I can fix it, probably just the computer again.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, going to leave again, but then remembering one more thing. “Oh, and Jean loves that book you lent her, she’s been up late reading.”

“I knew she would… if she wants anything else, my library is always open,” you replied jokingly.

He left afterwards, taking his plate of breakfast and his wonderful girlfriend’s out of the room. 

“You do too much, y’know?”

You looked at Ororo, her eyes just barely peeking over her own mug. 

“I like to keep busy,” you shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee and finally letting yourself settle into the morning. “And it’s not too much if I can help you guys.”

“You know that’s not what I mean… you’ve been looking exhausted.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“I’m not being critical, I’m concerned,” she said, stepping to lean against the kitchen island so she could look at you straight on. “If there’s something going on, you can tell me.”

Yes, you could tell her. She and Jean were the closest thing you’d had to a sister in years. 

“The nightmares are back again… the last few nights have been a little rough.”

She pushed away from the counter, the look on her face reading confusion and worry. “I thought you were doing better.”

“I was,” you drank more coffee, eyebrows raised. “I don’t even know where they’re coming from. Some of these dreams I haven’t had for over fifty years. Usually they’re only about…” 

“Charlie,” she finished for you when you trailed off. You nodded, your head falling forward a bit at the mention of his name. You hadn’t dreamt of him for a while, not even good things.

“I need to visit the professor after class, he can usually tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s probably best. Those dark circles will only get worse, believe me,” she joked, gesturing to her own eyes, a bit worn with exhaustion from working late this week. 

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” you spoke with a small grin, finishing off your coffee in a big chug before rinsing the mug out in the sink. “Have a good class.”

“You, too.”

-

Looking out the window of Professor Xaiver’s office, you recalled the events of your nightmare, trying to put yourself back in the situation to see it clearly. It wasn’t easy, to relive these memories, even worse when they plagued your unconscious state… but Charles would know what it was about. He always did. 

“Tell me again, first the cow, and then your mother?” He squinted, trying to put pieces together. 

“Yes, I went out to milk the cow in the morning, like always,” you paused, the green grass outside the mansion reminding you of the pastures you lived by. “I touched betsy first, then my mother inside the house.”

All the little details should have painted a very vivid picture, but for some odd reason, nothing was coming together for Charles. He couldn’t see how this dream equated with your life as it was, and why it plagued you now. 

“I’m sorry to say it, my dear, but this may just be a regular nightmare. I cannot, from what you have told me, recognize any pattern or significance.”

“There has to be something… I haven’t had this dream in years,” you argued, unwilling to give up when you know he’s the only one who can tell you. 

He paused, closing his eyes and raking through the files of your mind to try and feel the impact of a cause… but found none. “I’m afraid the only thing I can offer is a theory. Your mind is subconsciously reminding you of your powers, what they mean. You’ve long since learned to control them, so I cannot imagine it is because of self doubt. Whatever it is, you may just have to wait and watch for more signs.”

“More signs? Like more dreams?”

“Something of that sort, yes. Until then, I’m sorry I could not help you.” He rolled his chair towards the door, following you out and into the hall. He had a meeting with Hank, and couldn’t afford to miss it. 

“It’s not your fault… I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m always annoying you with problems that don’t have anything to do with you,” you joked slightly, walking alongside him until he met his destination.”

“And I am always happy to assist you.”

“I know,” you ducked your head, stopping at the door way he entered. “But I am grateful.”

“Take that gratuity and focus it on yourself. You need to rest, you look like a raccoon.”

You chuckled, closing the door for the man, and walking down towards the kitchen again. You only needed a small pick me up before you would inevitably take a very long nap. You’d been going on a few hours of sleep each night due to the grading of homework, and the bad dreams only made the nights worse. You were somehow thankful not to wake up screaming before your alarm went off this morning. 

You headed upstairs to crash, only to find a note in your room from Jean. 

Thanks for the book, I finished it today… gonna need the next one soon. - J

A small smile spread across your face when you saw the book had already been put back on your shelf, neatly placed among the organization you normally kept it in. 

Your bookshelf spanned an entire wall, nearly becoming like a second library to the mansion for whosoever needed it. 

You didn’t necessarily love reading, but you did love knowledge, and books were one of the only ways to obtain such a tricky thing. 

Truth be told, you didn’t like a lot of learning methods, but again, you craved to know everything you could, to be not only educated but able to have a brain that could stand the tests of time. So far, it’s done a pretty decent job. Having been alive for over two hundred and thirty years came with some perks, one being, you can go to college as many times as you want, with only a different ID, and practically nothing can stop you from earning as many degrees as your heart desires. 

When Charles first met you, he knew you were a mutant, but more than that, he knew you had the aptitude of a scholar. It was no wonder you excelled in his training. If only you just attained his powers of neurological exploration, there would be no stopping you. 

You flopped backwards on the bed, looking up to your wall of diplomas and degrees. Master’s in Technological Sciences, Bachelor’s in Archival History, a silly little Associate's in Music Theory, mainly because you were feeling artistic, and lastly, the certification for practicing Law in the state of New York. You didn’t even go to law school, you’d just been bored for a while in the seventies, and the bar wasn’t that hard to pass for someone that’s been around since the first laws were written into the constitution. 

All these degrees, all these years of mastering different types of knowledge, and yet you felt completely in the dark about your own mental state. You couldn’t even figure out what your own dreams meant, or why they were back in the first place.  

You passed out cold while raking your mind for possibilities, finding none along the way.

It was a dreamless sleep this time, and for that you’d be grateful, earning some uninterrupted rest for the first time in weeks, not having to worry about waking up in a panicked sweat again. 

You were supposed to take a thirty minute cat nap… maybe an hour at most. Looking at the clock as you came to, it was 6 pm, meaning two and a half hours had come and gone, and you had missed much of the after school activities.. 

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, climbing out of the sheets and running to the bathroom to become a bit more human looking. 

You'd run down the stairs to find the usual amount of commotion, but none of the adults were here, just the kids. 

“Bobby?” You asked, making him halt his walk towards the next corridor. “Do you know where everyone is?” 

“They left about a half hour ago. Something came up,” he turned to leave but stopped throwing a line over his shoulder. “Almost forgot… they left you in charge.”

“Great,” you mumbled, nodding to him in thanks for the information. 

You were fine dealing with the kids, but being the sole adult present in a room full of on edge teenagers put you under some stress. The one person in this entire mansion that could kill someone with a single touch was left responsible for the safety of these younglings? It was a bad idea to begin with, but you took a deep breath, knowing you had to until they were back. 

You only wondered what happened that they were gone so quickly, without a chance to tell you themselves. 

The only way to control a mutant child is to just not even try, so with knowing you were now heading the household until everyone returned, you decided to just go and kick back in the main entertainment room. The more authority is pushed, the more the kids would resist. So you didn’t push at all, just started a game of uno with some of the kids. 

“This isn’t that serious, just lay down a card!” John scolded the younger girl beside him, watching her shuffle through practically half the deck that she had in her hands. 

“I have them organized, I’m looking for the blues,” Kitty explained, ignoring his futile attempts at winning faster. “If I’m gonna lose, I’m gonna take my time.”

“If you had a four or any color, that would have worked, too,” you shrugged, but ultimately let her keep shuffling through until she found a card she was satisfied with. 

“Aha, reverse. And I know you just played your last blue card,” she mocked John, watching him roll his eyes and begin to draw new cards. 

You laughed and little, seeing his deck grow bigger until he found a blue one. 

“Well, that’s uno for me,” you said, laying down a blue five and waiting for it to circle back to you again. “Sorry, John.”

“Kitty I swear, change the color,” he begged, hoping there was something that could salvage the game for him. “She’s gonna win if you don’t.”

“I’d rather let her win, then we can start over,” she gestured to the large amount of cards in her hand, completely stacked with practically every color of the deck. 

“Don’t be so competitive, it’s just uno,” you laughed, trying to lighten his mood over such a silly thing. 

“It’s not just uno, you win at everything…” he trailed matter of factly, giving you a slanted look through his eyebrows. “It’s impossible.”

“I’ve been around a while longer than you have, maybe I’ve just picked up some tricks.”

“With uno?” He scoffed, finally coming to his senses and laughing a little. 

“Maybe,” you smirk, laying down your last card and going out. “But there’s another game for ya.”

“Like I said, impossible.”

You smiled, watching them throw their hands into the pile so you could reshuffle and deal again. This may or may not have been the third game in a row. And yes, you tended to be good at the other board games kept in the entertainment room’s cabinets. 

“Wanna go four for four.?” You asked, already knowing they would play with you, though you beat them every time. 

But then you could feel something in the air, a tension that was coming from outside somewhere. You wondered if it could be a possible intrusion, so you stood up and looked out the window, the sun completely down by now. 

“What’s wrong?” Kitty asked, standing up alongside you to try and figure out what you sensed. 

It was growing, more anxious, and you realized then that it wasn’t an intruder at all, because the anxious energy was radiating off of familiar presences. 

“Something happened,” you rushed to the back door, watching as the jet landed, sinking back into the earth where it usually came up from. The basketball court  closed over top of it, and you could see the trees and grass and bushes become still when the winds calmed down. “You’ll have to play this round without me.”

“What happened? Where did they go?” 

“I don’t know, let me find out. Make sure no one burns the house down, I’ll be back.”

And you rushed to the elevator, going down beneath the mansion to find the X central base. You heard the commotion as soon as you stepped off, all things pointing to the medical bay at the end of the long lit stretch. 

Your legs carried your faster than they normally would, getting you there in seconds. 

“Scott?” you called as soon as you saw him. “What’s going on?”

“Two new mutants, one in critical condition,” he began, pointing to the outline of a man on the surgical table, Jean doing her best to work on him with the help of Ororo on the side. “The other is with Charles, he’s trying to help her calm down, but she’s pretty shaken up.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

“Tell the kids, make sure they don’t panic?” he offered, and you nodded. You can’t touch anyone, so it was unlikely you could aid in either of their situations currently. “Maybe leave out the part where there’s a mutant in critical condition. We still don’t even know why they were attacked.”

“Was it a human group?” You asked, eyes flitting between both corners of the med bay. The chaos was still going on, everyone’s movements were rapid, and the girl in the corner was still crying in fear. 

“No, it was them…”

“Oh,” you understood right away what he meant. Eric and his small gang of misfits that refused to coexist with the humans. They believed mutants were superior, and therefore should not have to conform to any nation’s rules or mandates. You partially understood them from a fear aspect, not wanting laws against mutants to be passed, or mistreatment of mutants for their abilities, but the way they go about it is always wrong, and harmful. They are clearly even willing to hurt other mutants to get what they want. “Are we any closer to finding them?” 

“Nope,” he sighed, scrolling through the tablet in his hands and trying to find out if the tracker he placed actually amounted to anything. He would bet not, since the signal wasn’t even coming up. “Lost ‘em in the snow…” 

“Snow?” You turned to him quickly, “where the hell did you guys go?” 

“It’s a long story, you missed it when you were napping,” he partially joked, going back to his task. “I’ll fill you in later, just go make sure the kids know we’re fine.” 

“Okay,” you nodded, turning on your heel and leaving. You didn’t run to the elevator this time, shaking off the feeling that something big was coming. You didn’t know what or why you felt it, but it was creeping up on you since you stepped off the elevator. 

-

The next morning, the entire house was buzzing with the excitement of new recruits. You’d yet to meet them, but felt their energy in and around the house, coming and going from different rooms when you started to go about your day. 

You knew that the time for introductions would come eventually, and likely when classes were over. 

Everything had been nearly the same as the day before, except Scott didn’t have a computer problem that needed solving, so you actually got done with your other work pretty quickly. You went to get the mail that Hank always just left on the entryway table, trying to sort through so you could drop it off at each person’s individual rooms. 

“Alice?” 

“Yeah?” you mumbled without turning around, hearing Jean’s voice.

“I want to introduce you to some people. These are our new guests. Rogue, and Logan.” 

You’d turned around during Jean’s introduction of the two new recruits, however short it was, like she needed to leave them with you. You understood this was a vital time for the team, and distractions weren’t welcome… but she’d only just now handed off said distraction, and boy was it one to behold. The girl was sweet looking, about fifteen if you had to guess, but the man? You look him over once and immediately you have a flash of deja vu. Dark hair, a soft grin, and pretty hazel eyes. He’s much taller than you, and you have to look up to meet his stare.

You smiled to them, giving a nod and placing your hands behind your back in the case they might want to shake one. 

“Rogue has a mutation with similar effects to yours. If she touches someone for even a few seconds, they could die.”

You furrowed your brows when looked down at the sweet girl before you. What a sad thing to share with someone. You can see her whole life ahead of her, and the things she will have to endure just as you did, and it makes you feel compassion. 

“I’m very sorry to hear that, I know how hard it can be,” you told her. She smiled and nodded this time, just as you did but in return. She seemed to be a shy thing, head dipping every so often to appear smaller than she was. 

“Could you show them the open rooms? I’ve got to be back with Charles in a moment,” Jean rushed through, seemingly pressed for time. You were only all too happy to take them off her hands. 

“Of course. Let me know what happens in there, will you?” 

She nodded, squeezing your clothed shoulder before turning on her heel and heading down the corridor. 

“So you’re like me?” Rogue asked, trying to make conversation now that she knew you had something in common. 

“A bit, yeah,” you cocked your head in one direction, getting them to follow after you. “My body is made up of a few types of radioactive energy. One is regular matter, the other is anti-matter, but the third is something completely unknown to the human or mutant race.”

“How does it work?” She followed you up the stairs, and Logan did, too. He was listening, but didn’t give off the vibe that he was interested. 

“Well, the instant I touch anyone, they die. The professor was the one who finally helped me learn to control the energy, though. Now I can use it to shield myself and others from dangerous attacks.”

“Attacks… you mean like guns and stuff? Are you bulletproof?!” 

You smiled at her endless curiosity, boundless in asking questions that you barely even knew the answers to. 

“Pretty much, yeah. Bulletproof, fireproof, everything really.”

“Whoa…” she trailed, and luckily, to stop the flow of questions, you turned down the hall and opened a door to an empty room. 

“This one’s for you,” you smiled at her and let her walk through the doorway, almost immediately becoming more settled now that she had a place to stay. “Let me know if you need anything, I’m at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.”

A smile, and a small dip of your head as you closed the door allowed her to relax. 

And now there was this Logan character.

“Bulletproof, huh?” he didn’t seem skeptical, just unimpressed. 

“And fireproof,” you added with a small smile, turning and going down the hall to find the next open room. It was the one besides yours, and yes, you absolutely did that on purpose. “Forgive me for being forward… but I think I know you.”

“You know me? Doubtful.”

“No, I definitely know you,” you opened the door for him, but didn’t intend on leaving yet. You didn’t say anything in front of the girl, but the moments you turned around downstairs, you recognized him from somewhere. The downside of living for over two hundred years is that maybe you didn’t always remember people years down the line. “The question is, how did I meet you?” 

“Look, doll… I only have the last fifteen years of my memory, and all I really know is that I’m not human, and I can’t die either,” he paused, taking a step closer, but keeping a safe enough distance as to not make contact with the previously mentioned radioactive skin. “But even if I remembered before that, you’re too young to have met me.”

“Young?” you raised your eyebrows, not to mock or belittle him, but just shocked he would make such an assumption, especially knowing the school that he’s at right now. 

“Yeah, young. What are you, nineteen?” 

“Two hundred and thirty three this year,” you answered with a dull expression of normalcy. 

For a minute, he didn’t know if you were being serious, but upon searching your face for more indications, he found nothing that told him otherwise. 

“Really…” he reacted skeptical this time. “Got an ID?”

The joke was mildly entertaining, but if what he said was true, he wouldn't be able to tell you when or how you met. It was a dead end, and there were much more pressing matters downstairs.

“Let me know if you need anything. That's my door,” you pointed to the one beside his, and he nodded with a smirk. You absolutely did that on purpose. 

“Will do.” 

He didn’t bother you the rest of the evening, but you kind of wish he had… 

-

Your cell was cold and binding, your claustrophobic tendencies getting worse with every day you spent here. Your body was broken, your legs crumbling beneath you whenever you would try to stand. 

There was nothing you could do to help the pain, your energy was depleted from everything they took out of you, and you couldn’t even summon the strength to shield them if they come again. You know you'll die. The next time they come, opening your cage and dragging you through the halls in their self righteous futuristic looking uniforms. They always scoffed at your mistreatment. Mutants were the scum of the earth, and by torturing you and your kind, they thought they were doing mankind a favor. 

The sirens that suddenly blared in your ears brought about a sense of danger that hadn’t ever settled in the cell block before. Something that was foreign and unknown. This had never happened before. It was always silent as mutants were taken and used for their abilities, experiments falling over most of them. 

You thought that maybe the government had finally gotten ahold of Striker and his plans, ready to shut down the program and finish the job. Humans these days hated anything that was different from them, most of all the mutant race. 

You braced yourself, curling into the corner of the cage and closing your eyes. It would come any minute now. The blow of death while you were unable to shield yourself. 

You heard the cage squeak on its hinges, but there was no blow of death, only kind words from someone you've never met. 

“C'mon, get up… we're getting you out,” he said, pulling you from your feared bracing and making your eyes shoot open. Your arms and legs were bare in the clothes they gave you, meaning your skin was open to be touched. 

He grabbed at your arm, and you couldn’t even stop him… but he didn't fall, he continued to help you up, shouldering you out of the cell and onto your own two feet. By now the adrenaline kicked in, and you were able to walk through the pain, knowing this was your only shot to be free. 

“Who are you?” You asked in wonder. You met his eyes, and they were the most beautiful you think you've seen. Hazel, with gold in the middle. 

“Just someone that wants to help,” he said, letting you fend on your own now that he could feel your legs carrying you on their own. He went to help more, and you had to try and shake him from your mind just for the moment. There would come a time when you could ask questions, but now was for you to run. 

You caught up with one of the groups heading for the exit, and came across a few guards. You wondered if you even had your power anymore. That man, he touched you and survived. That's never happened before. Your skin is death, and no one escapes the reaper… 

You touched one of the guards with your open flesh and he instantly died upon contact. And that could only mean one thing. The mutant who was saving everyone was immune to your powers, and nobody else was. 

You have to find this man, but going back would almost mean certain doom for you, and you can't bring yourself to die yet. There's more life left to live. 

Once you escape the bunker, coming outside to a clearing, there waits a man in a wheelchair, rolling down from a hovering jet… and you know that jet. It belongs to-

“Charles?” You murmur, and within an instant, he was back in your head for the first time in over ten years. “Is it really you?”

“It's really me. I must look different than last time we met,” he smirked, handing you a pair of gloves and letting you lean on his chair to walk up the ramp. The others followed, and then the jet took off, no time to waste. “But you haven't changed at all.”

You collapsed into the seat closest to you, and then -

You sprung up from your pillows. 

This nightmare wasn't even a nightmare. It was still a memory, but not a bad one. It was something you tried to forget, but of course there was a single detail that could not be wiped from your memory if you tried. 

Logan.

He's the man that saved your life all those years ago. And more than that, he's the only person in the world you've met for over two hundred years that can touch you. 

It’s late, and when you turn to find that your clock says three in the morning, you hesitate… but things like this never happen, so your ability to wait until the sun at least rises is completely destroyed. You throw the sheets and comforter off your bed, and forget modesty in your haste. Wearing only the tiniest shorts from your dresser and the only clean shirt on hand, you made a quick trek from your room to the one next door. 

Knocking was out of the question, obviously. He’d be asleep, right?

When you barged in, he seemed to be having the same conundrum as you only a few minutes ago. His brows were furrowed, his mouth twisted in a look of something painful. Perhaps the very reason you were awoken from your slumber was to assist him with his… or maybe you were delusional and needed to go back to your room. 

“Logan?” you approached gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out for him. You wanted to calm him down if you could, he looked so scared in whatever dream he was having. 

He startled awake with lightning speed, his reactive senses making him sit straight up in bed, claws out and ready to attack. You yelped and fell off the bed, leaving a loud thunk on the ground. The amount of terror rushing through you suddenly left for the oddest reason. 

Looking down, your arm had been cut in three parallel lines. Not deep enough to severely wound you, but enough that you could feel the sting, and see the blood rising to the surface of the skin. You didn’t think you could bleed.

“Alice?” He calmed down, immediately worried over what he’d done. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” you looked up at him, a look of utter joy on your face and he had no idea why. His confusion soared even more when instead of running from him you pulled yourself back up onto his bed, leaning closer. 

“Are you… alright? What’s going on?” 

“I remembered you. Where I met you,” you explained, getting even closer and making him nervous, considering your specific mutation he’s heard so much about. You completely forgot about your arm, leaving it for later.

“Where?” 

He was eager to remember anything about his past before the blank space. He wanted badly to know where he comes from, and if you had anything to do with how he got here. He knows it’s probably a slim chance, since you had to try hard to remember him upon his arrival.

You closed the gap and reached your hand out to his arm, and he flinched away. “Are you crazy? You could kill me.”

“No, I can’t,” you told him, watching his eyes as you finally reached again and touched his skin. He didn’t drop dead, or have any other side effects for that matter, and you breathed out in relief, a smile spreading across your face.

He was again confused, and more so shocked. His features couldn’t comprehend how this was happening if what everyone said was true. You’d killed people even accidently with the brush of an elbow, so how is he still living and breathing, your hand on his forearm?

“How did you know?” He wondered, his full focus now on what you could tell him. 

“Does the name William Striker ring a bell?” You squinted, knowing it was a longshot, but hoping he might know, anyway. 

“It sounds familiar, but I don’t recall a face or a history to go with it.”

“He gave you these,” you reached for his other hand, claws still drawn from his nightmare. “And he gave me these…”

You gestured to the scars on your legs and raised your shirt slightly so he could see the ones on your torso. All healed over by now but still reasonably protruding if you stare at them too long.

“He’d held so many mutants captive, but you set us free,” you watched as his claws retracted back into his skin, and then you took his unclenched hand. “You saved my life.”

“I don’t think that was me,” he shook his head. He doesn’t remember who he was, but he knows who he is now, and it couldn’t be that far from his past self… yet you spoke of him as though he were some caped figure with an agenda for fighting bad guys. “I don’t do things like that.”

“Logan,” you huffed, unwilling to let him negate himself, especially when you’ve waited all these years to talk to him again, to give him the gratitude you felt he deserved. “I have been alive for over two hundred years. During that time I have been all over the world, met as many mutants as there are stars in the sky… and not one could touch me, until you. I know it was you who saved me.”

“I’m no hero, kid…” he shook his head, his eyes falling to the cuts on your arm, the blood getting thicker and threatening to run down the expanse of your arm and onto your shirt. 

“You were to me,” you smiled sweetly. “You saved my life that day… and so many other mutants. Scott being one of them, he just doesn’t remember.”

“I saved Scott?” he cringed, and you laughed, having gotten notes of their instant rivalry in the energy around the mansion. 

“Yes, you did… and I never got to thank you for it, so… thank you.”

He nodded, still unsure of this past exchange and how much he had to do with it. You clearly remembered being helped by him. Enough so that you were willing to bet his life on whether or not he could touch you. He feels bad, now, seeing the red begin to run down your arm, he certainly doesn’t feel like a hero, and his actions don’t show him being one, either… but he can do something about that.

“Can I help you with that?” He pointed to the bloody open wound, which had been ignored until now. 

“I’ll take care of it, it’s not too bad.”

“No, I wanna do it… I’m the one that put it there,” he sighed when he stood up from bed, going into the hall and finding the bathroom. He’d seen a first aid kit in there somewhere. 

When he comes back he looks clueless on how to even open the box. 

“It has a child lock on it, lemme see,” you reached, and he batted your hands away softly, figuring it out himself. 

“I’m not a child,” he retorted dryly, reaching into the box and finding the proper supplies. 

He did decently, you’d have to say. Started with the cleansing wipes, then moved on to the antibacterial treatment and gauze wraps. Finished it off with a good layer of medical tape, securing it with a soft movement of his hands. They looked rough, but had been nothing but gentle. 

“You do this a lot?” You asked, wondering if perhaps it might trigger a memory. 

“Not to myself, and not to anyone else I can remember.”

“Well you did a good job.”

He nodded in thanks, and you went to stand up. Going back to your room seemed like the thing to do, and you wanted to let him get back to sleep.

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.” His words halted you in your step, making you sit back on the bed where you’d been since arriving, minus the brief trip to the floor. “I usually don’t sleep after…”

“Nightmares?” Your soft question had him giving a small dip of his head, slightly embarrassed. “I get 'em, too. Not usually so much as lately, but I get 'em.”

And when he reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, you had no longing to go back to bed. You’d stay up the rest of the night with this man to ensure he didn’t let go of you. It was here that you decided he could touch you for a reason, and you weren’t going to let it go to waste. 

Tags: open

[takenbypeter]

Hey! Jumped on the Wonka train since yesterday and had two thumbs up! Can I request a Wonka x single mom reader where during the course of the movie they’ve built up a bit of a flirtation/relationship and he bonds with her kid (s) bc of course they love the magician with chocolate who makes their mama smile. Specifically I’m looking for like a scene towards the end of the movie or post-canon where he expresses interest in adopting her kid (or kids) and of course marriage so they can all be one real happy family together. Sorry if that description’s a lot

Beginnings of a New Dream

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 1780

Ahhh this one is so bad 🙈 I tried with this one but honestly I hate it, Idk I think it's cause I can't relate to parent fics so I just suck at them but still I wanna thank you for requesting

“Where is he?” You said to yourself, as you turned around in search of the young child. You’ve left him alone only for one second and now, poof, he’s nowhere in sight. 

Your eyes scanned your surroundings quickly until it spotted a familiar tiny figure standing upright among the white snow and you wasted no time to catch up. 

“There you are,” you breathed out, worried tone evident in your voice, “I told you to stay put,” you reminded, before noticing the stranger who was with him. 

The unknown man was wearing a tattered overcoat, along with a worn out top hat. His outfit was very…unusual, to say the least. And he was quite handsome.

But what concerned you the most, was his outstretched hand which held a small piece of wrapped candy. 

You glanced at your son who was already chewing on what you could assume was a different piece, then back at the stranger who instantly understands how bad this looks. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Willy Wonka and I’m a chocolatier hoping to open my own shop very soon.”

“Mommy he can do magic!” Shouted your son.

“Oh he can now, can he?”

Willy Wonka. You’ve heard that name around town a few times, but this is the first you’ve seen of the man. 

He held out a hand to which you firmly shook, “well Willy Wonka, surely you, being a stranger and all, understand why I find it odd you’re giving candy to my son, knowing how dangerous it is for children to talk to, no less take candy from a stranger.”

“Ahem,” he let out an awkward cough as he retracted his hand. “I do apologize. It wasn’t my intention to cause fret. The little guy looked lost so my only intent was to keep him safe and occupied, honest.”

You squinted slightly unsure of the man. He stood arms up and opened in an innocent manner. His eyes were big with his thick eyebrows angled upwards at the middle before curving down. He did seem to be of no harm, and he did keep your son safe. 

You let out a relaxed sigh, “it’s alright, it’s my fault anyway, I should’ve kept an eye on my son. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

Wonka’s shoulders dropped and his facial muscles relaxed at your pardon. 

You reached down holding your child close, “we’ll leave you be. Thanks again.” 

“Wait,” his voice rang out, catching you before you departed. “Would you like to try a piece?” He held out the same small piece of chocolate from earlier in his palm upwards towards you. 

You’re just about ready to decline the offer but again he speaks out, “it would really be helpful to have a mature opinion on this chocolate.”

You nodded caving in because honestly, who were you to deny free chocolate, your mind thought showing you to be just as gullible as a child. Taking the sweet treat, you pop it past your lips.

 Immediately a rich flavor overtakes your mouth and as you bite into it, a milky chocolate filling spreads around. 

It was quite good. 

“Mmm,” you nodded towards the man, “oh you are going to go far with this chocolate Mr.Wonka.”

“Thank you. Your words mean much to me,” he said genuinely, and you let out a chuckle, “you’re welcome Mr.Wonka,” you say, as you turn around, hand in hand with your son.

Willy watches you fade from view with a prominent smile on his lips, because although he knew his business would do well, with the justification of your words he felt he was on the right path. 

And honestly he hoped to meet you on this path again. 

Days passed until you met the self proclaimed chocolatier again. 

You had been traveling, hand clasped with your sons, when you spotted Mr.Wonka’s pop up store in the center of town. Initially wanting to pass the store along with the small crowd surrounding it, your plans are thwarted when your son pulls you towards it.

“It’s Mr.Wonka!” Shouted your son as he pointed towards the herd, “alright, alright we’ll just stop by.” He runs, his little feet taking him as fast as he can while dragging your body along.

“Mr.Wonka! Mr.Wonka!” Shouts your son as he rushes to the front with you following close behind. 

Willy’s eyes widened in recognition, “well hey there, little guy, back so soon?” He asks, prompting your son.

You watch, looking on as the chocolatier chats with your child. They go back and forth creating small talk, before Wonka pulls out one tiny piece of chocolate, He waves his hands around and the crowd watches as he turns one piece into two right in front of their eyes. 

“Woah, do it again!” Clapped your boy in amazement, and truthfully you felt the same way. 

He performs the trick once more and again your son laughs as Wonka gives him one of the pieces before turning to you and handing you the other piece. 

“You are surprisingly well with children.”

He shrugs, at the comment, “it helps when you have such a sweet child…who has such a pleasant mother.”

He tips his hat while all you can do is chuckle trying not to look too moved by the man’s remark. 

“Thank you Mr.Wonka.”

“Please, call me Willy,” he adds and you nod while he returns his attention to other customers.

That Willy Wonka, what a charmer he was.

The week goes by before you run into the young man again, however, this time you were alone. 

“Willy!” You announced, trying not to sound too excited when you saw the chocolatier, who was walking along the street with a young lady. (You soon learned her name to be Noodle.)

You exchange greetings while Noodle makes her exit leaving you be. 

“What are you doing all alone? Where is the little one?” He asks, glancing around. “Oh I had to run some errands today so I had a friend watch him for me.”

Willy shares a soft smile, “he really is a brilliant kid, with a brilliant mother of course.”

“You flatter me Mr.Wonka.”

“Willy,” he reminds.

“Willy,” you repeat, sharing a look together before he blinks readjusting his focus. 

“Oh!” His eyes enlarge as he reaches behind him into his battered briefcase, “I had something made for the little guy, and for, ahem, the mister back home,” he holds out a small jar of candies to which you take grateful. 

“Please, there’s nothing of the sort, just me and the kiddo.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. It’s been that way for a while, it’s sort of the only way we know.” 

Willy shares a look with you, one unlike the look of pity most give when they hear your story, it was more of admiration? Respect? Either way, you thank him for thinking of you and as you do so, you hear a siren noise nearing before the chief of police arrives. 

He steps out of his vehicle and Willy turns to you, “I think you should go. Now. I’ll talk to you soon,” he says and you nod in understanding leaving the scene as the chief of police nears. 

That’s how your time gets spent whenever you spot the man; your son talks with him, you talk with him, Willy performs a magic trick. You try to buy some candy, Willy refuses and instead gives it to you for free and then you’re on your way. 

“Willy! Willy! Look, my tooth is missing!” Your son yelled running up to Willy. 

“Oh wow, that is outstanding! But you know what I heard?” Willy lowers himself to your son’s level, hushing his voice. 

“I heard this year, the tooth fairy started leaving candy underneath the pillows, for all the good boys and girls.”

“Really?!”

Willy looks up in your direction shooting you a quick wink. 

“Really.”

Your son turns to you with a smile from ear to ear present on his face as you nod confirming his curiosities. 

Mirroring his grin you watch on as Willy and your son continue in conversation. You’ve grown to the sight of them both, chatting and laughing. It was a very lovable sight. 

 That’s how it went, your meetings together.

And with each meeting you found yourself drawing closer and closer to the man, staying longer and longer on your visits.

The last time you saw Willy was at his opening for the factory, when everything went south. People rioted and burned his shop down and in the craziness you grabbed your son and ran putting his safety first. 

After that you didn’t hear from Willy. 

That is until today. You weren’t there when all the mess went down. When Willy and his team practically outsmarted the Chocolate Cartel, having them arrested. 

But you made sure to be there for Willy Wonka’s new opening of his shop. 

You stood in the crowd, your hand clutching your sons as the people gathered around trying the various sweets and treats. 

Walking around taking in all the beautiful colors and lights you stop at a wall full of jellybeans and gumdrops. And giving your son permission to collect some, you stand a short distance keeping an eye on him. 

“You made it,” said a voice as a figure emerged beside you. You smiled at Willy who was positioned just as you were towards the colorful wall. 

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

You watch for a moment as your son collects snacks, putting them into a bag that was provided. You were so occupied with him that you hadn't realized Willy was holding out one of his own creations for you.

“A chocolate flower for the lady.”

“It doesn’t have any yeti sweat does it?” You asked, eyebrow raised. You were lucky enough that you hadn’t managed to eat any of the poisoned chocolate last time.

“No, no yeti sweat.”

Beaming you take it and happily munch on it. 

“So this place…is it everything you’ve dreamed of.”

He glances around taking it all in. The smiles on peoples faces, the way they’re in full enjoyment, but then his gaze returns to yours, “yes it is. But it’s strange.”

You tilt your head silently, allowing him to continue his thought as he turns his attention back to your son then you again. “I think…I think I have a new dream now.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your new dream?”

Willy’s eyes lock onto yours. 

There are no words shared between you two but somehow you seem to understand what he means.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Fashion History

to try to include in your poem/story (pt. 3/3)

Pelete Bite - a fabric created by the Kalabari Ijo peoples of the Niger Delta region by cutting threads out of imported cloth to create motifs

Pelisse - a woman’s long coat with long sleeves and a front opening, used throughout the 19th century; can also refer to men’s military jackets and women’s sleeved mantles

Peplos - a draped, outer garment made of a single piece of cloth that was worn by women in ancient Greece; loose-fitting and held up with pins at the shoulder, its top edge was folded over to create a flap and it was often worn belted

Pillow/Bobbin Lace - textile lace made by braiding and twisting thread on a pillow

Pinafore - a decorative, apron-like garment pinned to the front of dresses for both function and style

Poke Bonnet - a nineteenth-century women’s hat that featured a large brim which extended beyond the wearer’s face

Polonaise - a style of dress popular in the 1770s-80s, with a bodice cut all in one and often with the skirts looped up; it also came back into fashion during the 1870s

Pomander - a small metal ball filled with perfumed items worn in the 16th & 17th centuries to create a pleasant aroma

Poulaine - a shoe or boot with an extremely elongated, pointed toe, worn in the 14th and 15th centuries

Raffia Cloth - a type of textile woven from palm leaves and used for garments, bags and mats

Rebato - a large standing lace collar supported by wire, worn by both men and women in the late 16th and early 17th century

Robe à L’anglaise - the 18th-century robe à l’anglaise consisted of a fitted bodice cut in one piece with an overskirt that was often parted in front to reveal the petticoat

Robe à la Française - an elite 18th-century gown consisting of a decorative stomacher, petticoat, and two wide box pleats falling from shoulders to the floor

Robe en Chemise - a dress fashionable in the 1780s, constructed out of muslin with a straight cut gathered with a sash or drawstring

Robe Volante - a dress originating in 18th-century France which was pleated at the shoulder and hung loose down, worn over hoops

Roses / Rosettes - a decorative rose element usually found on shoes in the 17th century as fashion statement

Ruff - decorative removable pleated collar popular during the mid to late 16th and 17th century

Schenti - an ancient Egyptian wrap skirt worn by men

Shirtwaist - also known as waist; a woman’s blouse that resembles a man’s shirt

Skeleton Suit - late 18th & early 19th-century play wear for boys that consists of two pieces–a fitted jacket and trousers–that button together

Slashing - a decorative technique of cutting slits in the outer layer of a garment or accessory in order to expose the fabric underneath

Spanish Cape - an outer wrap often cut in a three-quarter circle originating from Spain

Spanish Farthingale - a skirt made with a series of hoops that widened toward the feet to create a triangular or conical silhouette, created in the late 15th century

Spencer Jacket - a short waist- or bust-length jacket worn in the late 18th and early 19th centuries

Stomacher - a decorated triangular-shaped panel that fills in the front opening of a women’s gown or bodice during the late 15th century to the late 18th century

Tablion - a rectangular panel, often ornamented with embroidery or jewels, attached to the front of a cloak; worn as a sign of status by Byzantine emperors and other important officials

Toga - the large draped garment of white, undyed cloth worn by Roman men as a sign of citizenship

Toga Picta - a type of toga worn by an elite few in Ancient Rome and the Byzantine Empire that was richly embroidered, patterned and dyed solid purple

Tricorne Hat - a 3-cornered hat with a standing brim, which was popular in 18th century

Tupu - a long pin used to secure a garment worn across the shoulders. It was typically worn by Andean women in South America

Vest/Waistcoat - a close-fitting inner garment, usually worn between jacket and shirt

Wampum - are shell beads strung together by American Indians to create images and patterns on accessories such as headbands and belts that can also be used as currency for trading

Wellington Boot - a popular and practical knee- or calf-length boot worn in the 19th century

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Fashion History ⚜ Word Lists

[endereies]

JUNCTION

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Contains: arguing, yelling, angst, kind of happy ending??

Requested?: no

Author's notes: i gotta stop posting and disappearing for a while, school has been a pain in my ass. thank fuck i only have a week left. I havent abandoned my matt series, i only obtained writers block instead. I promise another chapter will be out soon. ANYWAY, tumblr needs more angst so i must deliver. :)

Word Count: 1780

“Matt. You have to see where I’m coming from..” 

You had been arguing with Matt for the better part of two hours. Small fragments of pent-up opinions finally formed a full set that was being thrown back at you.  

“I don’t have that much time to throw in your face whenever you need it.” His voice was slightly raspy as he choked out words at you constantly. You weren’t sure if this was the first time he said these phrases, or the seventh. But it was getting to you. 

“You think that’s what I want. I don’t want time! I want you. But you aren’t here anymore.” Tears had brimmed and fallen your eyes long ago and now stained your cheeks with the pure begging from your tone. 

“You think this is easy? I want to be near you, but I have to film, to edit, to create. I’m so sorry I’m too busy for an extra five minutes with you.” At this point you were both exasperated. Empty. And worn out by each other. Your arms were crossed in a self-comfort stance but his were in self-defence, refusing to let up. 

“Matt. You have a schedule, but you spend so much extra time and it’s wearing us both thin! Surely you see that..” As much as you were pulling at your hair, he was pulling at your heart. Tugging on each string as his facial expressions softened. 

Neither of you wanted to stretch this out as much as you did. Several hours had gone by and you both hadn’t been able to access your points without the other interrupting. Pleading internally began, begging to speak to one other.  

Having two stubborn people force their views was always a hard situation to be in. Two passionate people always adding to a fire created something that wasn’t worn down for days. It gnawed at you both endlessly.  

After nearly two weeks of this same argument, it was hard to talk about anything new. The points kept repeating themselves as language grew vile. 

“All I see is you being needy and it’s overwhelming me so much. Don’t you see.” 

You stood stunned at his tone of voice, the words he used and the pure spite behind it all. The silence wrapped around you both, creating an instant tension that was sharp and stabbed you. Your chest felt heavy with the weight of burdening someone you care so much about. It wasn’t simple words being aimlessly thrown to stand by your choices. It was hatred that had slipped though. 

Were you really that needy. To the point that it was overbearing? Arrogant? Despotic? You didn’t know. 

You only wanted to spend time with him. The memory of an old DVD that was clutched in your hand, crashed on the floor with an open case. 

Your expression faltered quickly, lacking any patience that you had left. 

“Right..well. I’ll stay out of your way then” Even saying those words hurt you more than it should’ve because all you wanted to do was be around him. But if he felt like you had to back off, you were going to choose any option that may lead to resolving this. Neither of you wanted to back down, but neither of you also wanted to lose the other and so you caved. 

It wasn’t long after those words were muttered that you left, returning to the front room. It hurt when you saw the DVD player unloaded with the abandoned disc. You switched the box back to the normal programmes and clicked into the YouTube app. You shoved on a random commentary video that you had seen before. It was the quickest things you thought of to change your mood.  

Matt had gone in the other direction, upstairs to his own bedroom to lounge in his chair and play Fortnite. He had been obsessed with the new chapters and ever since his audience requested runs of it. He wasn’t going to turn that down as a distraction. 

- 

It had been a few hours of your YouTube series, and you were starting to get agitated. Every small argument from it made you flinch as your mind flashed back to the past two weeks between you and Matt. Call-backs of loud voices caused those remnants of hurt to spark inside your mind. That was when you had to turn it off.  

When the screen changed to black, your head did too, void of most thoughts. A strong exhale escapes your lips when you push yourself off the sofa. Your sweats slid up your legs and your shirt was a little twisted.  

Yet, the only thing that mattered to you was rest, especially once you saw how dark the sky was. You sought out the stars in the sky, but many clouds covered the brightest ones.  

Hesitation filled your body with each step towards the edge of the stairs, not as much due to the lack of energy as it was to nerves. Nerves that got worse each time you thought about passing Matt’s room. You knew you had to go there in order to get blankets, you just hoped to go unnoticed.  

In full honesty, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to make many first moves with Matt, no matter the circumstances, and this was no exception.  

It was like you were a child again, sneaking through the house when you know you should be asleep. Trouble wasn’t going to land in your lap, internally you knew that. If only your mind did.  

You were just paranoid that you’d be caught in conversation with him. Every ‘conversation’ between the pair if you had ended in some sort of a remark, if not a fight. 

Your body edged its way to the door of Matts room, and you were thankful to find his headset on. Without a stream watching. 

Curses fell from his lips as he fought off other players, and you just wanted to avoid that noise. One night. That’s all you wanted. You didn't want to be in his way again. 

A burden. 

With your arms full of a thick blanket, close to a duvet, you carried it through the door. The pillows that lined the couch, sufficed for your head as you laid them below your neck.  

This wasn’t as comfy as being in a bed, yet, knowing that Matt would soon follow seemed a bit more intimidating. The past two weeks had been hell for the both of you and with you both wearing thin, so did your patience. 

The duvet gave you some comfort against the chills of the night, but something was missing, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.  

You knew. 

- 

“UGH FUCKS SAKE” Matt threw his controller onto his desk and watched as it clattered across his things before falling to land just by your foot. He let an exasperated sigh slip past his lips while he rubbed his face. His headset had slowly become more knocked off with every movement of his neck. With a lack of care to fix it, he threw that the same way as his controller. Each games grew to be challenging to complete and get past a place of #50. 

He let the headphones fall to his neck and hang as he laid his head in his hands. The atmosphere was tense, and the air seemed colder than normal.  

With the game dimming in volume, he realised how quiet the house was. No fans were turned on, no quiet mumbling of your voice singing a song, no show in the background. 

Nothing. 

It was unlike you to not have any sound playing around the house and it made him question if you were even home. Neither choice seemed good. 

He pushed his weight away from his desk and stood up. The hours of playing were only a distraction from the argument and now it had started to seep back into his thoughts. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been such a dick today. The balance between two passionate people had shifted to hurtful words towards the other.  

In full honesty, you never overwhelmed him and now he was missing how you both felt two weeks ago. It felt cold and lacked remorse. He had fucked up.  

Once Matt collected his thoughts his body begrudgingly moved along the wooden floors. He needed to find you and talk to you.  

You heard Matt’s footsteps through the ceiling with each creaking floorboard he stepped on. The covers immediately went up to your face and you turned your body on the sofa.  

You sling an arm over your face when the light above you flicks on, your eyes used to the dark night. 

“Are you awake..?” his voice was timid, unlike the spiteful tones from a few hours ago. 

He stammers a bit before sighing heavily, not knowing how to relieve the situation. 

The shine in your eyes was barely visible against the minimal light from the moon. 

Even if you didn’t respond to him, he knew you were awake as you moved away from the bright light. 

You internally expect him to turn around and return to his own bed, but he only etched closer, examining my body. 

The light above is suddenly shielded by his shadow and the cushions around you move as he lays himself alongside you. Before you even register anything, he snakes an arm around your waist. 

Your throat tightened when he nudged his face into the crevasse of your neck. 

“Matt..?” you rotate your head and notice his exhausted expression that was etched in his eyes. Your heart clenched as he lay next to you, wondering if you were the reason for his distress or guilt. 

A quiet hum escapes his lips, vibrating against your skin. 

“I know.. can we just leave it for a night. I miss you.” 

You felt your stomach turn with one too many emotions for you to process. His words uttered a silent apology 

“Is this hurting you as much as it is me?” Matt takes in a sharp exhale once the damage of the past two weeks sits between you. Silent but deadly. 

“I mean maybe we shoul-” His lips pepper a few kisses to your cheek before silencing you with a kiss to your own lips. 

“I know..I’ve been thinking it too..but all I ask is if we can forget this for just one night.” A pause settles between us. 

“Can we just remember each other one more time?” 

You weakly sigh and turn yourself one last time to face him, your eyes slowly brimming with tears. 

“Okay, Matt. One night..” 

© ENDEREIES 2024

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerslover @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @sleepysturnss @jnkvivi

[eggluverz]

hello!! would like to request a modern au with blade, where he’s a idol and due to him being busy with work, he didn’t have the time to visit/spend time with the reader (can be gn! or fem!). hence, he took it upon himself to surprise his s/o

bonus points if they are in a secret relationship and let’s say the reader works as a barista, so imagine the chaos the cafe will be if they see idol! blade having a lover SHSHDHDH

take ur time to write it hehe :3

— EVERYTHING I NEED

In which you’re feeling down about not seeing your boyfriend in a few months and Blade takes time out of his busy tour schedule to surprise you.

PAIRING. idol!blade x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 1780

GENRE. modern au, idol au, fluff

NOTE. thank u for the request !! <3 i chose gn reader btw :) this was soooo much fun to write ٩( ᐛ )و i enjoyed this sm but warning it’s so very cheesy heh if u don’t like fluffy romcom cringe look away :3 hope y’all like it xx sof

It wasn’t always easy having a long distance boyfriends of sorts. A busy long-distance boyfriend who you sometimes didn’t see in person for months on end. 

You knew he was busy, but you also knew he dedicated most of his free time talking to you. The relationship was important to the both of you— There was no doubt in your mind about that. Still, there were times the sadness and loneliness crept in. 

Today was one of those days. 

It wasn’t a “special” day as one would say. It wasn’t your birthday. It wasn’t Blade’s birthday. And it wasn’t even an anniversary. But still, you missed him so much. 

You had gone months without seeing him. Your only solace was knowing Blade has gone just as long without seeing you and missed you just as much. He has been in and out of the recording studio whenever he had time in between performances, which limited your ability to call or even text each other even more. 

You were aware the life of an idol could get hectic at times, you knew that well before the two of you started dating. But at times, it took more of a toll on you than you would expect. 

“What’s gotten you so down in the dumps?” The voice took you out of your negative thoughts.

You turned to look at your close friend and coworker, Serval. You sighed, thankful afternoon rush hour had just died down so only few customers were at the coffee shop. “Nothing, really. Just missing Blade.”

She patted your back sympathetically. “I can only imagine. It’s hard enough barely seeing my brother because of military service.”

“How is Gepard, by the way? I haven’t seen him in ages!” 

“He’s coming back for a bit next month! We’re having a little party if you want to come,” said Serval excitedly. “But back to you and Blade. When is the last time you saw him?” 

“Over two months,” you said with a pout. You knew some people in long distance relationships would view that as nothing— Some would even be grateful that a month of not seeing their partner was a long time. But that wasn’t you and you felt yourself growing more dejected each day. “We haven’t even video chatted or called for longer than ten minutes in the last few weeks.” You tried to look on the bright side. “But at least I know he’s doing what he loves. I just hope management isn’t pushing him too hard.” 

“That’s a big ask for money-hungry corporations,” Serval said dryly. “Poor boy is definitely overworked. Have you seen their back to back show dates? It’s all over social media. I’m sure he’s using any possible moment he can to spend time with you without being too obvious and letting the press know about your relationship.” 

You nodded, trying to cheer yourself up the moment you saw a group of customers walk in. It was the end of work hours for most office workers around here so you mentally prepared yourself to give your best customer service smile. “I know he is doing his best. I just get sad about it sometimes, but I know it’s all worth it.”

“There you go.” She smiled. “And you’ll see him in no time, I’m positive. But for now, get ready for the evening rush!”

“One step ahead of you,” you sang, already at the cash register prepared to take the orders. 

As you greeted the hoard of customers and helped your coworkers make drinks if they needed extra hands, you realized the rush lasted longer than normal. 

“Is today international coffee day or something?” you asked as you passed by Serval. “It’s crazy busy right now.”

She shrugged, placing two drinks down at the ready table. “Not that I’m aware of. But this has been more than a rush hour. The sun isn’t even out anymore.”

“And people are coming in without buying anything or sitting down?” 

As you wondered what was going on, you heard a loud, high-pitched scream coming from outside. The sound was followed by more and more squeals of excitement. 

You and Serval looked at each other. 

“Speak of the devil,” she said, shaking her head with a grin. “What a grand entrance.”

All reason left your mind as you were filled with hope and joy. You looked back at Serval, asking for permission to leave the cash register. 

“Go,” Serval laughed. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift.” 

“Thank you! I love you!”

With a big smile on your face, you rushed out of the coffee shop and pushed through the crowd outside. Standing tall above the group of fans, Blade stood there with black sunglasses and a face mask— A poor disguise that did little to nothing to protect his identity. 

You lifted your hand up and waved from the back of the crowd, unsure if he would even be able to spot you amidst all the people. You wondered, even, if you should acknowledge him like this in public. You knew the press was crazy and the fans could be even crazier. Blade’s manager thought it was for the best he keep your relationship away from public eye. 

But he was right here. And you didn’t want to wait another second before running up to him and giving him the biggest hug. Still, you refrained. 

You did not want to jeopardize his image, no matter how much you wanted to give him a kiss right now.

Blade looked around the crowd before his gaze landed in your general direction. He lifted his shades to expose his captivatingly red eyes. When he saw you, he gave you a crooked smile. 

“There you are,” he called, his deep voice rumbling over the muffled chatter of his fans. “It’s been too long.”

He maneuvered through the crowd, ignoring all the photos his fans were taking of him. The only thing Blade was paying attention to was you. Not caring you were in front of a large crowd, Blade immediately takes you into his arms. Time stops as you feel yourself melt into his embrace. The scent of his expensive cologne filled your senses, your face warm as it laid flushed against his chest. 

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair. 

“I missed you, too,” you said. “But when did you get here? I thought you were in another continent? And are we allowed to be like this in public?” 

As happy as you were to be with him, you didn’t want to get him in any sort of trouble with his management company. 

“I got here just a few hours ago.” Blade rubbed slow circles on your back, not releasing you from his embrace. “I have a show in two days but I needed to see you. And, yeah, I might get in trouble by management but who cares?” 

You pulled back urgently, looking up at him in concern. “You should care! I don’t want you to put your career in danger.” 

Blade frowned and closed to distance between the two of you once more. “Management has worked me to the bone for years, if they want me to keep working for them, then they’ll have to put up with this being public. I’m tired of hiding you.” 

Your arms wrapped around him, a small giggle escaping your lips at how ridiculous this must have looked to the public. You didn’t like being in a secret relationship either. You knew it was for his work, but when you happened to watch his interviews and had to hear him lie and say he was single, it hurt your heart, just a little. 

“Besides, at this point in my career, I’m sure they need me more than I need them,” he said with a cocky look on his face. Even with his mouth and nose covered by the mask, you could see it in the crinkle of his eyes. 

“That’s my Bladie,” you teased, running your fingers through his tangled hair. “Mr. Popular and you know it.” 

“And I also know I want to be alone with you right now,” Blade said with a smirk. “Is your shift almost over? Let’s go back home once it ends.” 

“Serval said she’ll cover the rest of my shift for me. We can go home now.” 

“Thank you, Serval,” he said happily. Blade held your hand as he lead you to his car. “I might have to drive a little fast to lose the fans that’ll inevitably try to follow us. Is that okay?”

You noted his mischievous smile and laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the thought of escaping them excites you.” 

“I’m a simple man.” He opened the passenger door for you and gave you a small slap on the ass as you crawled in. “Buckle up, baby.”

“I can’t believe you did that with everyone watching!” you cried as he gently shut the door. You shook your head even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “It’s a good thing I love you.” 

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

When you woke up the next morning, your phone was filled with texts from your friends. You opened Serval’s first. 

Serval: LOL guess who’s famous now

Serval: #CoffeeShopASScape #BladieOnTheLoose ... all the trending hashtags are about you and Blade

Serval: I wish you luck LMAO

You stifled a laugh, only mildly concerned about what people had to say. As you shuffled around on the bed, Blade stirred awake. He inched closer to you and lazily draped his arm around your waist. 

“G’morning,” he mumbled. 

“Good morning,” you greeted, kissing his forehead. “Blade… Have you checked your phone yet?” 

“Yeah, when I woke up an hour ago. My manager let me know just how much chaos I caused over voicemail. Then I decided to go back to sleep with you and deal with it later,” he said simply. 

“Blade!” 

He noticed the furrowed crinkle between your brows and he rubbed it away with his thumb. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll get it all sorted out eventually. All that matters is I’m here with you right now.” 

“You’re right. Let’s enjoy this before you have to go back on tour,” you said, placing your phone on your nightstand and ignoring the notifications lighting up your phone. “And if damage control is too hard to deal with, know that I’m always here for you. I’ll answer your call even if it’s in the middle of the night here.” 

Blade cupped your face and softly kissed your lips. “What did I do to deserve you?” 

“I ask myself the same thing,” you said with a smile. “Now, wanna get some coffee?”

[ltwilliammowett]

Mourning brooch, c. 1780

An oval mourning brooch with, on the left, against a background of rocks, a symbolic classical female figure facing right with arms raised. Over its head are a flying dove and the head and torso of a winged putto, pointing down to the right. Above are the words 'NOT LOST BUT GONE BEFORE'. The backplate is inscribed 'In Memory of Henry Bryne of the Andromeda'

Henry Bryne was captain of the 28-gun frigate 'Andromeda' (a sixth-rate, built 1777) and drowned in October 1780 when she was lost in a West Indies hurricane.

[elletheactualmenace]

Party In France

Pairing: 11th Doctor x fem!reader

Summary: You and the Doctor go to a party in France.

Warnings: guns, suggestive, a window breaks?

Word Count: 2.7k

a/n: Enjoy!

“How does this one look?” You ask as you walk into the consol room. You’ve got on a teal and pink dress with white lace on the top rim. It's got a huge train and a tight corset.

The Doctor spins on his heel to look at you. He’s dressed already, but waiting for you to find a dress that you like. His smile morphs into a small frown when his eyes land on you. It makes you worry. Do you really look that bad? You think to yourself.

“What?” You ask the Doctor and his shoulders slump. “It’s a beautiful dress. It just won't work for this party. Plus it doesn’t match my handsome outfit.” He states with a proud smirk plastered on his face. Your worried attitude quickly slips away into an annoyed one. Of course that was the thing he was thinking about.

“Ok, sure. Whatever you say. It would be a felony if the Doctor's plus one didn’t wear a matching outfit.” You sarcastically reply rolling your eyes.

“You know we can’t do this all night, right? We’ll be late.” You utter out with a huff, trying to adjust the corset to be more comfortable against your rib cage.

“Oh, but on the contrary, dear. We are time travelers and with this beautiful machine,” He says in an almost sugar sweet voice towards the control panel. You raise a brow at his tone. “We technically can’t be late to anything.”

“Oh, oh, oh but you forget, my dearest darling,” You mockingly rebuttal. “Our beautiful Tardis doesn't alway like to listen to you. Does she?” You point out, hand on your hip. “So if she wants us to be late, we’ll be late.” The Doctor gives you an unamused look.

“It has happened once or twice, yes.” He mutters quietly, because he doesn’t like being refuted. “You better hurry up then, you annoyingly beautiful, know-it-all. Before I leave you here.” He tuts out. You roll your eyes with a grin.

“Of course, my liege.” You sarcastically remark curtsying. He just smirks and tries to make a sound similar to one of annoyance. But he instead gives in and chuckles with a smile. You turn and shuffle back to the hall leading out of the console room to try on, and probably get another disapproved dress. You smile softly and shake your head at the Doctor's fussiness. But you know that he can tell when you like a dress and when you don’t. He will make you keep trying them on until he knows you like it. He also just likes you putting on snarky attitude fashion shows for him, so he can comment back at you with snarkiness as well.

——

“Doctor?” You tap your foot with an annoyed look on your face. You sense something is off and know it has something to do with him. He just turns to you with a worried expression on his face, and smiles nervously as you raise your eyebrows in confusion.

“Okay umm slight problem,” The Doctor chuckles nervously.

“And the problem being?” You ask, giving him a threatening smile. He breathes out a sigh and looks behind him at the people in huge gowns and fancy suits, like the one he has on. “I may have brought us to the wrong time…” He fiddled with his long blue and gold coat. 

You sigh and put your face in your hands. “Please do not tell me you put that stupid unlucky bow tie of yours on under your outfit” You shake your head and peek from between your fingers to see him scratching the back of his head. You let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Wanted a bit of fun?” He tries, but he seems unconvinced himself.

Both you and the Doctor are wearing clothing from the late 1780s. The Doctor is wearing a blue, gold and white outfit that was commonly worn during the time period. And you finally decided on wearing a classic puffed up blue dress with layers of skirts beneath the colorful top one. The bustle you are wearing is making it hard to breathe. It may have taken you over an hour to find a dress, but you look stunning.

The Doctor had promised you a safe enjoyable night. Obviously it has not gone to plan. The night began slowly and wonderfully. It looked then, like it was going to be, and would stay, calm and normal. Well as normal as a night in the 18th century could be.

“Okay,” you breath out “What have you gotten us into this time?” You sigh hands on your hips.

“You know some French history, right?” He asks, still fiddling with his outfit. “Yes.” You reply looking up at him.

“Okay good, that’s good. Now before I get you too worried or anxious about this whole thing,” he holds out his hand to you. “Let’s get our daily dose of running in. How ‘bout it? What do ya’ say?”

You look at his hand, shake your head, smile and take his hand. “Oh what the hell, Geronimo.” He grins and repeats your words before dashing hand in hand with you through the big 18th century doors.

——

You run with your dress in your hands so it doesn’t trip you. The Doctor runs next to you.

“So,” you pant out, “where are we running to?”

“The Tardis!” He responds. “We shouldn’t be here, so we are leaving.” You nod in understanding.

You both continue to run down the long high ceilinged hall of the palace that the party was taking place in.

“If we aren’t supposed to be here, why did we come in the first place?” Your eyebrows scrunch while you huff and pant down the halls.

“I was invited a long time ago and I assumed it would be fine!” The Doctor says marking a sharp turn and you stumble after him.

“What are we running from?” Ask almost tripping in your heels. The second the Doctor opens his mouth to speak, a loud crash and bomb flashes behind you. You duck and try to cover your head as you continue running. 

“I’m going to kill you,” you mutter and the Doctor takes hold of your hand grinning.

“Promise you can, as soon as we’re safe.”

You continue running, not looking back. Panting as you hold your dress up. The Doctor makes a sharp turn around a corner and you stumble after him.

“Doctor!” You call as you begin falling behind. He glances back.

“Hurry up!” He shouts. You grumble loudly.

“I’m trying!” You shout back. The Doctor slows down to match your pace and grabs your arm.

“I know it’s hard in your outfit, but we’ve really got to go.” The Doctor says in a hasty voice.

“What are we running from?” You pant.

“The French.”

“What?!” You yelp.

The Doctor pulls you with him through large doors and into a room. You double over, hand on your legs, trying to catch your breath.

The Doctor scans his sonic against the doors lock and a sound clicks.

“Okay.” He sighs, turning to the large window opposite you. 

“Stop.” You state firmly making him quickly spin to look at you. His face scrunched with confusion and concern.

“Tell me what’s going on. Right now.” You grumble out angrily as your chest rises and falls as much as possible in the tight bustle.

“Well you know of the French Revolution, yes?” He asks as he turns to begin inspecting the window, trying to avoid eye contact.

You hum with a nod and he continues.

“Alright well, the French people are mad, and the French royals are about to be killed. Or overthrown I suppose.” He huffs trying to open the large window. But it seems to be sealed. He continues.

“And while getting our drinks I found out that some of the people here aren’t in fact French humans.” 

“French aliens?” You ask, confused.

“Yes, French aliens. That I- erm, that I…”

“Insulted? Offended?” You list and the Doctor rolls his eyes.

“Yes and yes.” The Doctor sighs.

The Doctor walks over to you and picks up a fancy looking chair sitting next to you. You move out of his way and watch him as he takes the fancy wooden chair to the window. He lifts it up to his shoulder.

He grins at you before bashing the chair against the glass of the window, in the process tossing it out of the building. Glass sharers all over the floor with a loud crash. The Doctor reaches his hand out for you to take.

“Come on darling,” He grins breathlessly, you roll your eyes at his pet name.

“Fine, but if I die you better leave me in the dress. People should know what you put me through.” 

He scoffs as you take his hand.

“Just come on.” He sighs.

——

Your heels sink into the muddy ground. You have to pull your leg up like a ton of bricks are attached to them just to take a step. The Doctor isn’t having as much trouble. He’s practically walking on it as it’s not there.

“Doctor, slow down!” You whisper yell, and he quickly shushes you.

“Y/n what have I said? You need to stay quiet. It’s a matter of life and death-“

“Not unlike any other day for us,” You comment with a sigh.

“Unfortunately yes, now please, shush!” You roll your eyes but trudge on.

At this point you have given up on your dress, letting it drag in the mud. Hopefully if you are buried in this dress, someone will have the decency to clean it up a little.

“Look! I see the Tardis just over there!” The Doctor smiles and takes hold of your hand. You make sure your grip is firm so his hand doesn’t slip from yours. It’s happened before, he doesn’t even notice so it usually ends bad.

“Thank god.” You say with a relieved smile. 

The Doctor pulls you along with him and you try to keep up in your treacherous outfit. But you don’t have such luck. Your foot slips from your shoe and your body halts completely. In the presses the Doctor gets pulled back. The Doctor looks at you confused.

“Y/n? What’s the matter?” He looks you up and down worried. Why did you stop, did you see something, did you get hurt?

“My shoe’s in the mud and so is my foot.” You practically whine out. “Sorry, we can keep going, it just startled me.” You try to brush off.

“You sure? I can just grab it for yo-“

“Doctor, we're wasting time, just keep waking. This is a useless conversation.” You huff and move to take the lead. This time you are in front.

“Right. But I could just get it-“ You snatch his hand shaking your head as you continue walking. 

“Life and death, remember?” You question as the mud covers my bare foot like a sock. At this point you don’t even care about the mushy mud between your toes. The Doctor just nods, suddenly remembering the seriousness of the situation.

As you near the Tardis you can hear shouting coming closer. You and the Doctor make eye contact, both silently agreeing to sprint the rest of the way to the Tardis. 

The Doctor begins sprinting first, almost making you stumble at his speed. The Doctor quickly drags you along. Your feet continue to sink deep in the mud but this time you push harder to keep up with him.

The shouting becomes louder. And suddenly you and the Doctor are surrounded by people from the party you just escaped. The aliens, you assume when you see their non-human guns. You sigh in defeat.

“Nothing can work with you,” You grumble out, turning to the Doctor. He just smiles at you nervously.

“I can get us out of this,” He whispers to you.

”Hands up! Where we can see them!” One of the men circling you says. You raise your hands in surrender and have to nudge the Doctor with your elbow to do the same.

”Gentlemen, so sorry if we seem suspicious, me and my date were, uh, we were…” The Doctor starts, trying to come up with an excuse.

”We were going to have sex.” You finish for him, ignoring the heat on your checks. It was the only reason you could think of as to why you would be sneaking away. The Doctor's head whips around to face you, his face red and his eyes wide. His brows scrunch as he looks at you.

“What?” The Doctor squeaks out.

”Nevermind what you were going to do,” The man growels out, “You’re coming with us.” He says taking a step closer, and aiming his gun at you. The Doctor seems to snap out of his embarrassment trance when he notices the threatening gun directed towards you.

”Really quickly though, do you mind if me and my date get a few kisses in, in this blue odd looking box?” You ask, smiling shyly. The man looks like he’s thinking it over, and you hold your breath.

”We’ll be quick, you men can be outside the whole time, just for modesty.” The Doctor quickly adds on, glancing at the others surrounding us. The man with the gun grunts and nods.

”Fine, but no more than five minutes you horny scum.” He says pointing for us to move into the Tardis.

You thank him with a curtsy. You and the Doctor rush over to the doors of the Tardis. You make sure not to open the doors too wide so that they can’t see the inside of the Tardis. 

“We’ll be fast.” You add before slipping in, the Doctor quickly follows. 

As the door shuts, the Doctor sighs loudly and leans his weight against the door. You stand, panting, with your hands on your hips. You watch him with a small laugh. Even though you could’ve died, the thrill of getting away was always fun. 

You move over to the console and start it up. You’re not sure where you’re bringing it, just away from France. The Doctor now moves from against the door as the Tardis begins to whirl. 

“What now?” You ask as you begin to loosen the ties on your uncomfortable corset. 

The Doctor says nothing, and it looks like the gears are turning in his head. It looks like he is trying to think back. “I’m pretty sure I remember dealing with this earlier.” The Doctor speaks, still thinking. Your head tilts in confusion.

“Remember?” He asks, “I think I had those sandshoes and the tight suits.” The Doctor pounders aloud.

“You mean the sexy suits?” You ask with a slight smirk. The Doctor blushes, but then becomes a bit defensive.

“You don’t think my tweed jackets are sexy?” He asks with a furrowed brow. You smile playfully.

“I never said that.” You chuckle. The Doctor just rolls his eyes and moves on with the conversation.

“Maybe, but were you thinking it?” He asks suspiciously.

“No. I think you’re quite handsome.” You admit. The Doctor seems content with the answers and turns.

“We really get everywhere.” You note. The Doctor nods and smiles.

“We do, so we can just leave,” The Doctor explains simply as he goes over to the console. He turns knobs and switches, redirecting the Tardis from the random place you put in earlier.

“That’s a first,” You comment with a smile and you pull the ties on your dress even looser.. “It’s kinda nice, though.” You say smirking slightly. 

You walk over to the Doctor to place your hands on his chest. You smile up at him lazily. “Well since we’re off the hook, we did say we’d get a few kisses in.” You mumble up to him. 

The Doctor blushes but smiles. “As you wish,” he says softly, “you horny scum.” The Doctor adds with a playful smirk. He then glances down at your muddy feet.

“Maybe you should get cleaned up first.” He says with a chuckle. You look down to my feet and then to his muddy shoes.

“You’re one to talk.” You utter out, before reaching up to crash your mouth against his.

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Could you do a fanfic where the marquis meets the reader in a museum and they bond over their live of art

Meet Me in the Hallway

Pairing: Vincent de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: VERY mild language

Summary: *in req*

Word Count: 2.3k

The Louvre has maintained a particular place in my heart for as long as I can remember. As a child, I recall visiting during tourist season. The other children darted around, driving their guardians to the brink of insanity. However, I stood in front of the immense paintings, carefully analyzing each aspect of the art. I remember visiting The Louvre as a teenager during the winter, when the immense corridors were barren. I'd find a place to sit and ponder, observing faces and objects in the quiet halls. I recall taking advantage of any occasion to talk about art with friends and family.

My friends were perplexed by my preoccupation. When I rambled on, they would nod and appear to be attentive. But I could always tell by the look on their faces that they were eager for my rant to end.

I've always been drawn to art's beauty. One bad stroke, one outburst of rage, and the finished result may be jeopardized. Art is more than just a painting or a sculpture; it is a way of life. You must be able to look beyond what the eye can see in order to produce art. You must be able to view the world in a completely unique way. You must look for a message behind the eyes rather than simply viewing things analytically. Painters paint, artists interpret.

That is what separates the good from the iconic.

I enjoyed the near silence as I wandered through The Louvre. Because it being January, the museum was nearly totally populated with a sprinkle of wandering locals. I took a tour around my favorite section, French paintings 1780-1850. The gold frames stood out against the dark burgundy walls.

The atmosphere was serene. As night fell, the hallway was illuminated exclusively by a few fluorescent lights. The sensation that washed over me was one of sheer nostalgia and amazement.

The dimness of room 700, when combined with the massive displays showcasing the complexity of the human mind, gave off an ominous vibe. There was everything and nothing at the same time.

Nothing else on the planet can make you feel this way.

I proceeded to one of the most well-known works of art in the entire museum.

Ah, one of my favorites, Liberty Leading the People. Eugene Delacoix created this work of art in the year 1830. Delacoix depicts a scene during the July Revolution of 1830, when King Charles X-

Woah.

My gaze was drawn to a man sitting on a beautiful white couch.

I tightened my teeth to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.

He was breathtakingly beautiful.

Was he a tourist?

No way, no how. No tourist would dress up in an expensive three-piece black suit to visit the Louvre. He's got to be a local.

He was staring at the enormous painting, his mind fixed in deep thought. Many locals stopped to look at the paintings, but he seemed to be examining every face and object.

Should I introduce myself? It would be the polite thing to do as I’ve been obviously staring at him for-

“Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

My trance was broken by his velvety accent. I hid my gitters by slipping my hands into the pockets of my beige trenchcoat.

“I’m sorry,” I said smugly, “You caught my eye.”

He sneered, a slight smirk playing on the edges of his lips. He couldn't take his gaze away from the painting. I swallowed, unsure how to dispel the uneasiness. The man uncrossed his lanky legs and pushed himself up to his full height.

He's tall, Jesus.

He strolled over to the picture, decreasing the distance between himself and the work of art to a few feet. He cocked his head upwards, his gaze wandering over the magnificent painting's many intricacies. The man put his hand on his hip and pushed his jacket to the side, revealing an astonishing variety of golden buttons along his vest.

“What do you think of this one?”

He asked, motioning with his free hand towards the canvas. I followed his movements, taking in the painting I know and adore.

“It’s a beautiful piece of art.”

I said hesitantly. The man chuckled, turning his head to meet my gaze. Despite being only three feet away, I found myself completely engrossed in his captivating green eyes.

“That’s it? It’s beautiful?”

His smirk now more prevalent than before. I exhaled a shuddery breath.

“Well, it’s one of the most famous paintings in art history. I think it's wonderful how this artwork has become a universal emblem of liberty and freedom from oppressive dominance.”

The man raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“That’s excellent insight. It’s good to meet people with an appreciation for the finer things in life.”

He returned his gaze to the canvas, motioning with his fingers for me to come towards him.

“Come closer, look at this.”

I was hesitant to approach this intimidating man, but my curiosity was far too strong to ignore. So I narrowed the gap between us to a mere six inches. As I took up a place next to him, our sides nearly brushed against each other.

He raised his finger to the stunning representation of liberty.

Take note of her features, such as her straight nose, plump lips, and delicate chin. They all look like antique Greek and Roman statues. She pays homage to both Ancient Greece, the birthplace of democracy, and Roman republican culture.”

I narrowed my eyes, mentally applying his words to the painting.

“Here, look at this,” I began, pointing to the left side of the painting.

“See that guy with the pistol? He's wearing a shirt but no jacket. He belongs to the lower class. But look at the man next to him; he's wearing a top hat, jacket, and vest. He belongs to the upper class. Delacroix aimed to include all classes of people in the fight against royalist oppression.”

The man exhaled in amazement.

“How fascinating. Delacroix’s artistic vision is truly unmatched.”

“I agree. This piece is probably my favorite in the entire museum.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly.

“It is certainly impressive. But my favorite would have to be Venus de Milo.”

He shifted his head to face me, sweeping his gaze up and down my figure. I shuddered, his heated gaze making me feel like I was under scrutiny.

“However, I suppose that opinion could simply be mine because I enjoy the presence of a beautiful woman.”

Holy shit was he flirting with me?

Heat climbed onto my cheekbones. I hoped my flush wasn't too visible, as his gaze was still fixed on me. I chuckled awkwardly.

“I suppose that could certainly contribute to your fondness of the piece.”

He motioned towards the white couch.

“Here, sit, let’s talk.”

He sat closer than I had expected. Our thighs were almost touching, and the arm slung around the back of the couch was almost brushing my shoulders. Despite the color on my cheeks and my minor intimidation of the man's large stature, I felt strangely at ease. I was intrigued rather than nervous. He exuded mystery, and I had every intention of unraveling the web of secrets.

“Do you believe talent like this is given at birth, or developed as the individual grows?”

I licked my lips, carefully contemplating my next words.

“Well, I believe we are all born blank canvases, and if we find something we are exceptionally passionate about, then we can grow those specific talents.”

I swallowed, hoping he was satisfied with that reply.

“How about you?”

“Oh, I believe people with true artistic talent are born with promise. Because if we go by your logic, anyone who loves art has the potential to become the next Delacroix.”

Wow, he was certainly quite the intellectual.

“Well, allow me to elaborate. Anyone can become a mediocre artist if they try,” I began, “but yes, I agree with you, only a few are born with the promise of artistic greatness. I mean, someone like Coco Chanel could never become the next Van Gogh or Delacroix, it just isn't meant to be. That isn’t where her talents lie.”

The man's lips curved into a smile. I locked my attention on his lovely green eyes. We were closer than I had imagined. His breath was cascading across my face. I inhaled sharply. He smelt amazing, like an expensive floral fragrance. It crept into my head, confounding my already hazy thinking.

“I like you… Miss…”

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.”

His smile widened even more, splitting his face to reveal a stunning row of white teeth.

“What a gorgeous name... It’s fitting, a gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman.”

His accent was dripping with charm. There was no way in hell this man didn't have a significant other. He was far too enticing and attractive to be single.

“You know, plenty of people wander these halls, knowing every name of every piece. Yet they don’t contemplate the true meaning of the art.”

His eyes were drawn to Liberty Leading the People. The man’s tone became somewhat agitated as he ran his tongue along his smooth bottom lip, his eyes narrowing.

“They only think about the art, they don’t contemplate it.”

He inhaled deeply, his chest softly rising and sinking beneath the pricey cloth.

“Thinking is simple, thinking is the most simple thing in the entire universe for humankind. Anyone can think, but not everyone can contemplate.”

I concur. It was pleasant to meet a thinker who cared so deeply about the beauty of art.

“Who’s your favorite painter?”

My face broke into a genuine smile.

“Paul Cezanne.”

“And why is that, Miss. Y/N Y/L/N.”

I adored how he said my name. It rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like butter on a hot pan. I could spend the entire day sitting next to him on a couch at the Louvre, listening to him utter my name.

“Well, because his distinct color-building technique and his analytical approach to nature had a great impact on the art of Cubists, Fauves, and many generations of avant-garde artists.”

I've never encountered somebody who would listen to my raving with such enthusiasm. And there was no one who properly comprehended my words and had the knowledge to respond intelligently. Not only on the subject of art, but also on the issue of life.

“Ah!”

He exclaimed, shooting a finger towards me.

“There it is!”

His hand fell to his lap.

“You, Miss Y/N Y/L/N, do not just think, you were born with the gift of careful contemplation.”

I'd dated a few men previously, but none had ever made me feel as great as this mysterious man. And I'd only known him for about 30 minutes. My eyes lit up with wonder when I heard his voice, and I hung on to every word with excitement.

“You have a dizzying intellect.”

His velvety tone dropped to an endearing whisper. My stomach flipped.

“It is very rare I meet a woman with such beauty, not only in her appearance, but in her demeanor as well.”

His long fingers pushed a stray hair behind my ear. I nearly flinched before realizing the gesture was benign. I could still feel his contact on my cheek after he removed his fingertips. He set fire to every nerve he came into contact with.

“Will you grant me the opportunity to become your acquaintance?”

His eyes were filled with anticipation. There it was, the date I'd been looking forward to throughout the duration of this conversation.

“I would like that very much Mr…”

“Vincent de Gramont.”

I hummed in delight.

“That’s a handsome name. It’s fitting, a handsome name for a handsome man.”

I said, slightly mocking his previous remark.

Vincent chuckled.

“Oh, you are a comedian as well. I like you more and more as time goes on.”

Vincent waited for a beat of silence before rising to his full height. Being the one seated while he stood certainly flipped the script. I felt small under his demeanor as his presence was felt throughout the room. He was comfortable in his own skin, demanding control of the atmosphere like a conductor.

“My bodyguards will ensure that you have all the information necessary to find my estate.”

Bodyguards?!

He indicated to two men in gray suits who were standing with their backs against the nearest maroon wall.

Wow.

I surely hoped they wouldn’t be hanging around when I finally seized the opportunity to speak with Vincent in private.

“Wonderful.”

“My estate is beautiful if I do have to say so myself. You will enjoy it.”

I can only imagine how magnificent his house was if this was the suit he decided to wear for a chance visit to a museum.

“There is lots of space, plenty of rooms to explore and places to sit and talk for hours.”

I couldn't keep a smile from breaking my face. Who would have guessed that when I walked into the Louver today, I'd walk out with a lovely new date?

“That sounds like a dream come true. I can’t wait to see it.”

Vincent returned my grin.

“I can not wait for you to see it. You will melt.”

He extended his hand. I hesitated for a moment before realizing he wanted me to lay my palm in his. Vincent leaned down and kissed the top of my hand in an exceedingly trendy gesture.

Wow, very gentlemanly.

If my cheeks weren’t pink before, they surely were bright red now.

“Thank you for granting me the pleasure of becoming your acquaintance, I look forward to seeing you around my estate.”

After his departure, I remained seated on the couch. I was unable to move, wanting to preserve the moment for as long as possible

[valend]

Just curious about your opinion! Do you think real historical Hamilton was queer?

Short answer- yes, Hamilton was most likely some level of queer

Longer answer- it’s complicated to say what the sexuality of any historical figure was after their death, especially if they didn’t label themselves outright. What makes this question even more difficult is the fact that the definition of what is considered queer or homosexual keeps changing. For example two men in an Ancient Greek army engaging in what we today consider homosexual acts was something completely normal back then. Now I’ll be real I haven’t researched homosexuality in the 1700s at all but from what I do understand Hamilton’s relationship with Laurens mainly would definitely be considered more intimate than ‘just friends’. People back then often used flowery language when writing to one another but the way Hamilton wrote to Laurens differs from the way he wrote to his other friends.

I really like the way Chenrow puts it in his biography.

When John C. Hamilton was preparing his father’s authorized biography, he omitted a loose sheet that has survived in his papers and that describes the relationship between Hamilton and Laurens thus: “In the intercourse of these martial youths, who have been styled ‘the Knights of the Revolution,’ there was a deep fondness of friendship, which approached the tenderness of feminine attachment.” Hamilton had certainly been exposed to homosexuality as a boy, since many “sodomites” were transported to the Caribbean along with thieves, pickpockets, and others deemed undesirable. In all thirteen colonies, sodomy had been a capital offense, so if Hamilton and Laurens did become lovers—and it is impossible to say this with any certainty—they would have taken extraordinary precautions. At the very least, we cansay that Hamilton developed something like an adolescent crush on his friend. (RC. p95)

The best way to determine whether Hamilton was queer is to look at his own letters to Laurens.

“Cold in my professions, warm in ⟨my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it m⟨ight⟩be in my power, by action rather than words, ⟨to⟩ convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that ’till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. […] To excite their emulation, it will be necessary for you to give an account of the lover—his size, make, quality of mind and body, achievements, expectations, fortune, &c. In drawing my picture, you will no doubt be civil to your friend; mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I ⟨– – – – –⟩.” -From Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, [April 1779]

According to this post the words omitted by John Church Hamilton say “do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I <never spared you of pictures>” which could just be friendly banter amongst friends but again we can’t really be sure

“I have written you five or six letters since you left Philadelphia and I should have written you more had you made proper return. But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful ——.” -From Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, [11 September 1779].

He was writing to Laurens in the same manner her wrote to his wife!!!

“I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation. My Mistress is a good girl, and already loves you because I have told her you are a clever fellow and my friend; but mind, she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise.” -From Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, [16 September 1780]

One of the most telling examples of Hamilton’s queerness he’s basically inviting Laurens to witness “the final consummation” between husband and wife but noting that Betsey loves Laurens in an “American” way (friendly) not in a “French” way (romantically).

Besides these very obvious examples, Hamilton often had very strong, often obsessive, attachments to other men. For example being jealous of John André and trying to prevent his execution. And you already know my thoughts on whatever psychosexual obsession he had going on with Burr, especially in 1800. I mean just look at this:

In short, I think it’s relatively fair to assume, applying modern terminology to older times, that Hamilton was queer

[whencyclopedia]

Marie Antoinette

Marie Antoinette (l. 1755-1793) was the queen of France during the turbulent final years of the Ancien Régime and the subsequent French Revolution (1789-1799). With the ascension of her husband Louis XVI of France (r. 1774-1792), she became queen at the age of 18 and would shoulder much of the blame for the perceived moral failures of the French monarchy.

Early Life

She was born in Vienna on 2 November 1755 as Maria Antonia Josepha Joanna, archduchess of Austria. Her birthdate was an inauspicious one, coming as it did a day after a great earthquake killed 30,000 people in Lisbon, a chilling portent of her unlucky future. But her parents, the Habsburg Empress Maria Theresa of Austria (l. 1717-1780) and Francis I, Holy Roman Emperor (l. 1708-1765), were at the zenith of their own glory and saw no reason not to celebrate the birth of their fifteenth and penultimate child, the future queen of France.

The young archduchess, affectionately nicknamed 'Madame Antoine' by her mother, enjoyed a happy childhood, spending her winters sledding down the hills near the family lodge at Laxenburg and her summers in the comforts of Schönbrunn Palace in Vienna. It was at Schönbrunn where Maria Antonia met child prodigy Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart when they were both seven and where she would take up her own interest in music, playing both harpsichord and flute, and excelling in the art of dancing. In a family so large, Maria Antonia found comfort in the friendship of her sister, Maria Carolina, future queen of Naples and Sicily.

Maria Theresa was never the warmest of mothers, but the death of her husband in 1765 would send the empress into a state of grieving that would last the rest of her life, often taking the form of dissatisfaction with the behavior of her youngest children. This distant and complex relationship with Maria Antonia, who was as much a political pawn as she was a daughter, could best be summed up in the later words of an adult Marie Antoinette, "I love the Empress, but I'm frightened of her, even at a distance; when I'm writing to her, I never feel completely at ease" (Fraser, 22). However, for a family as significant as the Habsburgs, duty would always come before filial love, and so Maria Antonia found herself betrothed to the dauphin of France in 1769.

A Franco-Austrian alliance was certainly a controversial development, as many people in each country hated the other; prior to the Seven Years' War (1756-1763), King Louis XV of France (r. 1715-1774) himself had been an enemy of Maria Theresa. Yet following that conflict, the weakened Kingdom of France had begrudgingly entered into an alliance of necessity with Austria, with both nations agreeing that such an alliance should be solidified with a marriage. It was eventually decided that Maria Antonia would be married to Louis XV's grandson, Louis-Auguste, Duke of Berry (l. 1754-1793) who had become heir and dauphin of France upon the death of his father in 1766. So, after a proxy marriage and a renunciation of all claims to Habsburg lands, Maria Antonia set off for France to meet her new husband and arrived in Versailles on 14 May 1770, aged only 14. Along with the title of dauphine, she also adopted the French version of her name: Marie Antoinette.

Continue reading...

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Were any French Revolution figures involved in duels and what was the general attitude towards dueling by the revolutionaries? (I know plenty of French historical figures who participated in duels before and after the French Revolution but it seemed less popular during the republic?)

According to the article Duelling in eighteenth-century France: Archaeology, Rationale, Implications(1980) by George Armstrong Kelly,  ”the great majority of ”patriots” abominated this feudal survival, but they found it less than simple to legislate manners.” On February 3 1791, the deputy Chevalier introduced a new law against duels, which carried, despite opposition from the right. One year later, September 17 1792, the Legisaltive Assembly did however pass an act of indulgence agaisnt all cases of duelling that had transpired since July 1789, giving as its reason that ”political and patriotic considerations might have legitimately provoked such combats.” But two years after that, July 17 1794, the National Convention, after determining that no existint legislation had dealt with duelling, instead decreed that a committee ”examine and propose means of preventing duels and the penalties to assign those guilty of duelling of provoking it.” According to Armstrong Kelly, under the ”Jacobin regime,” renewed attemps were also made to eradicate duelling in the armies.

When it comes to individual revolutionaries attitudes towards dueling, Armstrong Kelly notes two known duels between actual deputies of the National Assembly:

In the first case, it was Cazalès, the spokesman for the ultramonarchists, who delivered the injure to Barnave, then the spellbinding young speaker of the Left, having called him a "tramp" and a "brigand." The duel was fought, à l'anglaise, with pistols in the Bois de Boulogne on the morning of 11 August 1790. Despite the courteous disposition of the two men toward each other personally, they fought lethally. Eventually Barnave managed to wound Cazalès on the forehead. Surprisingly, the duel cemented a friendship across political barriers, and the two antagonists were mutually hailed with applause when they greeted each other next in the Assembly. Barnave's victory won him much popularity, especially in his native Grenoble. In the second case, the well-known friend of Barnave and future Feuillant Charles de Lameth, though avoiding the consequences of one injure by a young officer named Chauvigny de Plot, could not ignore the ensuing insults of a deputy of the Right, the due de Castries, son of the marshal. Their combat took place with swords on the Champ de Mars on the afternoon of 12 November 1790; Lameth was painfully wounded on the left hand. Though a literary descendant of the due describes the encounter as "a simple explanation between gentlemen,” more serious political implications were attached to the act, for Lameth, though a noble, was at the time a popular spokesman for the Left. Word was passed that Castries's sword had been poisoned, and on the following afternoon a large, angry mob sacked the Hôtel de Castries on the rue de Varenne. The following evening Castries left Paris for exile. Important political repercussions attended this episode, gravely damaging Mirabeau’s rapprochement with the Court.

He furthermore notes that both Brissot and Louis Sébastien Mercier wrote  about duels in the 1780s, both celebrating the fact that the amount of the them had been waning during the reign of Louis XVI and contributing this to ”philosophy” or ”the spirit of the century.” Nicolas Guénot, future agent of the Committee of General Security, "was in and out of prison throughout his [military] service [1775-1783]; and in one of the brawls in which he was involved and in which sabres were drawn, he was severely wounded in the left arm, the use of which he never fully recovered." Finally, in July 1790, Barère inserted some remarks about dueling in the journal Le Moniteur, complaining that ”the egislators are witnessing how a feudal practice is surviving the destruction of feudalism,” and calling the duelist ”a wild animal who should be handed over to the discretion of the constituted authorities of protection” and ought to even be declared an outlaw. Armstrong Kelly uses Barère’s demand as ”unquestionable evidence” that during the revolution, ”the French were continuing to draw their swords against one another”

[my-deer-friend]

I have a stupid question. How do you find out about current history scholarship and research? I am sick of reading books I've read a hundred times and were published decades ago. Is there like a forum or something where historians share research or lectures or things?

Not stupid at all!

The key is 1) knowing which sources provide the most up-to-date information, and then 2) using the appropriate strategy to access them.

Conference and lectures

Conferences are where you find the most cutting-edge research – usually work that has not been published yet, or is still in progress. Accessing conferences can be both expensive and difficult (if they're limited to people with certain affiliations, for example), but there are also conferences that are free for the public, and ones run by groups like the Organization of American Historians that are reasonably priced for the digital attendance option. You can browse conference programmes (here is the OAH's 2024 version) to at least find the names of academics relevant to your field of interest, which will help with the kinds of searches you will want to conduct below.

Finding these is a mix of luck and effort. You can set a search alerts on various platforms, literally just do a search for "[topic] academic conference", find relevant organisations and subscribe to their newsletters for updates, or do some browsing on social media. I found History Symposium (free, current, deep-dive history lectures and a virtual conference) because of something shared here on Tumblr. Following the Instagram account of the Powder House in Charleston keeps me updated on their history lecture programming (which host virtual talks including showcasing new research on the US colonial era). Then there are institutions like the Royal Museums Greenwich who publish a range of high-quality historical content on their YouTube account (they have a good series on black history and the Transatlantic slave trade, as well as a fascinating recent lecture by a historian on the queer history of the British navy, which I also found here on Tumblr).

Academic journals

Journals are where you get the most recent published academic scholarship. A journal article generally is a fairly narrow/focused exploration of a topic that adds something new to the ongoing academic conversation (e.g., a new discovery, a new analysis of existing material, a new theoretical perspective, a challenge to a previous author's work).

Other useful kinds of journal content are book reviews, as well as "review" articles, which summarise and synthesise recent research in a field – as well as newly arising questions and research directions.

Getting your hands on articles requires two steps: 1) finding the research, and 2) accessing the research.

Finding articles

For better or worse, the best generalist search tool for journal articles is Google Scholar – it allows you to search across hundreds of databases and independent publishers for relevant content.

If you're a member of a university library (not necessarily staff or student – check if your library allows external membership), it will have its own search tool which allows you to find material in the databases and journals that the university is subscribed to. Individual databases, archives or publishers (think JSTOR) will also have their own internal search.

My advice is to start your search as narrowly as possible, and then expand out slowly if you don't find anything relevant. So, for example, I might start my search with "same-sex relationships london 1780s", and if nothing comes up, I might broaden it out to "england" or "late eighteenth century", and so on.

The other thing to do is follow citations (i.e., who referenced what?). You can travel "backwards" through the literature by looking at the reference lists of books or articles you already have (in other words, which works the author used to base their research on).

But you can also travel forwards – the "cited by x" link below a reference on Google Scholar is your friend, because it shows you who used that particular source in their (by default, more recent) work.

Accessing articles

Unfortunately, a lot of academic research is gatekept by the academic publishing industrial complex – not by academics themselves, to be clear. This results in those ludicrous charges for single papers:

(And $30 is hardly the upper limit...)

But hope is not lost! You still have some options if you're willing to do a bit of work.

1) Sometimes, if you're lucky, the article will be freely available online. In Google Scholar, for example, check for the "PDF" or "HTML" link to the right of the title:

Some entire journals are freely available (usually called "open access") – one example is the Journal of the American Revolution. You can also search on DOAJ for open-access-only articles and journals.

2) I've also occasionally found the article just by googling "[article name] pdf". Some scholars will make these available for free on their personal websites, for example.

3) You can also try contacting the scholar directly through a platform like Academia.edu. Find the article there, and check if there is a "request full-text" option on its page (or, even, if the full text version has already been posted).

4) For slightly older articles, try searching on JSTOR, which gives anyone with an account free access to 100 articles a month. (I say "older", but there's even scholarship from 2024 on there these days.)

5) If all else fails, definitely do not type "sci hub" into your search engine and check there. That would be bad and naughty and very, very sexy of you. I repeat, do not do this. 🤫

Academic books

Books are not usually a great source of super-current research, both because the format doesn't lend itself to it and the publishing cycle can be very long, but they can be an excellent source for a decently recent and detailed overview of the topic. Note that you specifically want academic books here (not the ones in the "history" section of your local chain bookstore).

If you've done some digging in journal databases, you should have a good sense of which authors are writing about the topics you're interested in. Find their websites or social media feeds and subscribe to get updates on their latest work. For example, historian and Tumblr darling Joanne Freeman has a website with links to her books, lectures and podcast, as well as other media. The Museum of the American Revolution has a "Read the Revolution" speaker series featuring newly published books on relevant topics (and they're certainly not the only museum or public institution to do this). Their newsletter will keep you updated on the upcoming sessions, and the website often has a free recording of the talk available.

The prices can be quite extortionate, so again, see if you can find a free version online using the methods above. You might also have some luck finding the book on Archive.org (which might allow you to loan it out for free for an hour at a time) or Google Books (which sometimes shows you a decently large preview). Definitely do not type "libgen" into your search engine and try to download the book form there.

In summary...

There's a lot out there. A bit of persistence and a lot of searching (on databases, social media and the internet in general) will open up a huge spectrum of intereting and relevant resources!