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okiedokrie · 3 months ago

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All Is Fair In Love And War Pt.1

Summary: Joshua is nothing if not determined. If he wants something, he'll get it; not that he even had to try before. But sometimes, like Icarus, he flies a little too close to the sun. But hey, all is fair in love and war!

Characters/Pairing: Aphrodite Incarnation!Joshua x Fem!Detective!Very Mortal!Reader

Genre: smut, fluff, crack, angst if you really squint

AUs/Trope Info: Greek God!AU, Partners In Solving Crimes, Strangers to Lovers, "time isnt linear" trope, "holy shit im kind of obsessed with you" trope

Word Count: 3,194 (Full fic is around 10k)

Warnings: Depiction of a crime scene (gore, blood, gun, conspiracy), depiction of drug use, character death (major and minor), smut warnings in the next part

Rating: 18+

A/N: I decided to split this into parts since I'm not confident ill be able to finish this within the deadline, this is part of the The 13 Gods of Olympus: A Seventeen collab hosted by @beomcoups and @wooahaeproductions! This is just the first part, so if you enjoy it, please consider signing up for the taglist. Thank you!!

In the summer of 2000, Joshua Hong was almost five years old. People always commented on how pretty he was for a kid, that he’d surely grow up to be a very handsome man.

Which is why it was a tragedy when he died from a freak truck accident.

Yes, Joshua Hong died at the age of five. For like, 10 minutes.

The doctors called it a miracle - a small child should not have survived a whole six of the twelve truck wheels, but somehow he was resuscitated, much to his parents’ delight.

This incident caused two things to change dramatically - Californetherlands now has stricter trucking laws and Joshua woke up to memories of literally being Aphrodite.

Throughout the years, from that fateful summer day to the present day, Joshua flopped back and forth between believing that the memories were just fever dreams and genuinely considering that he may be a reincarnation of the goddess. But ever since he got to hone his powers, he’s been more inclined to believe the latter.

By the age of 28, he has mastered the art of seduction. No, not sleeping with people constantly. It was more so the art of getting people to say ‘yes’ to everything he asked of them.

This made Joshua a very powerful and influential figure in Los Amsterdam; You see, the way he dealt wasn’t by out-witting people or being richer than them. He dealt in favors. If you wanted to be a popstar, he’d introduce you to a famous producer, and get you a record deal that would solidify your career - all for the low, low price of free.

In turn, you’d owe him, like the many powerful people who owed him large favors.

Joshua found himself in downtown LA, in the club that he owned, just under his penthouse. He enjoyed playing the guitar and performing for his patrons, everyone seemingly captivated by his voice, or his beauty, whichever one caught their attention first. He finally strummed the last chord of his song, enjoying the applause of the crowd as the DJ started to play the usual club music. Just as he was about to retreat to the bar, a feminine voice stopped him.

“Joshua! Hey!” She said, hair bouncing over her new fur coat, jumping excitedly, calling him over.

Joshua smiled widely at her - she was one of the people he had helped start her career as a singer. He didn’t do much other than introduce her to the CEO of her current label, it was her natural talent that got her this far.

“Ah, Diana, good to see you!” He said, going over to meet her in a friendly hug, the kind that didn’t touch at all. “How has being a singer treated you? Any good news?” He said, making small talk with an old acquaintance.

“Oh please,” she started, her new haughty attitude showing, “It’s all over the news! I just got nominated for a Grammy!” She said in a sing-song tone. Joshua just nodded Truth be told, he didn’t really have much interest in pop music, but he did try to match her enthusiasm.

“That’s great! I knew you’d make it big.” he said, remembering the first time she came to him, a girl in clothes that almost looked like rags, now decked out in every designer brand you could think of. “So, what brings you back here then? Surely you already have everything you ever wanted?” He said lightheartedly. Even if all of Joshua’s connections owed him favors, it was quite uncommon for them to come back to him after having achieved their dreams.

“Well,” She said, her old, meek bashfulness coming to the surface. “I just wanted to see you again, to thank you for what you have done for me.” She tucked a hair behind her ear. “And I know no matter what favor I do for you in return, I could never break even for just how much you’ve impacted my life. So, thank you, Joshua.”

Joshua genuinely felt relieved to hear her say that - usually, people’s pride and greed got in the way of them acknowledging those who truly helped them along the way, but as he suspected, this girl still had a soul so pure. “Let's get some drinks by the bar and chat some more, yeah? My treat.” He offered, which she gladly took, the conversation between them flowed naturally, Joshua enjoying her tales of success.

It was an hour after the club closed that Diana decided it was time to head home. Joshua offered to see her off, like the gentleman he was, and so they walked to the sidewalk, her hand around his arm.

Joshua opened the taxi door for her, offering her a few bills in cash to cover the fare, “It was nice seeing you again, hopefully, you’ll make time to catch up with me in the future.” he said through the taxi window.

“Yeah, I hope I get the chance to see you again soon. Goodnight Joshua.” She said as she rolled up the taxi window.

Joshua watched the taxi drive until the end of the block, and everything seemed to be going smoothly. Then, another car intercepted her in the intersection.

It happened so quickly, too quickly for Joshua to even register the new car’s window sliding down, holding a gun out to the taxi Diana was in. Gunshots echoed through the street, the sound of tires popping and glass shattering but all Joshua could make out was the sound of two sets of four tires screeching against the concrete. Diana’s taxi collided with a nearby lamppost, the taxi flattening and curling around it.

That was the last time Joshua saw her alive.

It was all over the news “Beloved Grammy-nominated rising star, Undyne, passed at a downtown intersection in a successful assassination.” Headlines went crazy with her story, telling her life before her short-lived success as a pop star.

The police were on her case, and the street cameras identified a black car with a non-existent plate number. they couldn’t find the people who owned it, but they did have enough evidence to call it a homicide.

Joshua, being close to the scene at the time when it happened, was one of the key witnesses to the whole case.

Currently, Joshua is in the waiting area of the police station, waiting for the detective on the case to lead him to the interrogation room where he will give his statements. He was just mindlessly scrolling through his phone when a voice snapped him out of it.

“Mr. Hong? Correct?” One of the officers asked him. He nodded to confirm it, repeating his full name. The officer just nodded too, “Okay, please follow me. Detective L/n will be there to ask a few questions.” He turned to the direction of the interrogation room, Joshua trailing behind him quietly.

The officer stopped in front of a door, “Here we are, just head on in.” He said, nodding at him. He walked into the interrogation room, the chilly air making goosebumps rise on the surface of his skin, the thin cardigan he wore did nothing to shield him from the cold. He took a seat at the chair facing the door, poking at the cold metal table as he waited.

“Good Morning Mr. Hong, I’m Detective L/n. I’m here to ask you a few questions, everything said here will be transcribed as evidence for this case, do you consent to this?” You started, taking the seat in front of him, your tone was very professional, as he expected, you didn’t even bother with pleasantries other than introducing yourself, which didn’t bother Joshua. He confirms his consent verbally, politely smiling at you with his hands clasped over the table.

“Great, I’d like to ask a few questions about you first.” You said, taking out your folder for the case, “You’re Joshua Hong, born on the 30th of December, 1995. You own the club downtown where your place of residence is also. Is all of that correct?” Joshua confirms all of the information is correct.

“You can just call me Joshua, by the way, Mr. Hong makes it seem like I’m someone important.” He said bashfully, scratching the back of his neck.

You just nod, writing something down in your notebook, “What was your relationship with Diana Kamatayan?” You asked, reviewing the official file which states that she is one of Joshua’s ‘clients’.

You were well aware of how the king of Los Amsterdam does his business, favors for favors. That’s how he got this far, and if you don’t hold up your end of the bargain, he’ll take away everything he gave you. You knew asking for Joshua’s help would make this investigation go quicker, but that would mean you’d owe him.

Owing Joshua Hong anything is a dangerous position to be in.

So while you have him in this interrogation room, you’re going to try to milk every bit of information out of him while it’s free.

“Well,” he started, getting comfortable in his seat, “She was one of my clients, I’m sure your file on me already knew that. Other than a professional relationship, I don’t really have one with her. That night was the first time I’ve seen her in a little over a year, actually.”

You nod, the timeline matches up, “And why did you meet her that night?” You ask next, trying to get more out of the nature of this last meeting.

“She approached me while I was in my nightclub. I was just about to turn in for the night when she came up to me to catch up. She thanked me for introducing her to a producer and wanted to catch up.”

Joshua really wasn't giving any information for free, as the interrogation went on you could only collect information you already knew. He didn't reveal any more than a simple google search did.

You drop your file folder onto the table, where Joshua's posture remained calm, cool, collected across from you, the small, charming smile still on his face.

“Did you get what you needed, Detective?” Joshua asks politely, tilting his head with his query.

“All I got was everything we already knew.” You sighed, rolling your shoulders in your seat. You turn in your seat, facing Joshua head-on once more. “Joshua, you are one of the most powerful and influential men in Los Amsterdam. We need your help in solving this case. All our leads have gone cold. We need your connections.”

Joshua smirked, the only time his expression changed from the relaxed and polite smile he had for the rest of the interview. His posture relaxed, leaning forward over the table, he placed his palms down on the cool metal surface, and said, “You do know what that would mean, right? The price you’d have to pay?”

You nodded, “I know all too well.”

“Asking me for a favor would mean that you’d owe me, do you think you can afford to pay that price?” He raised his eyebrows, you’d think your eyes deceive you when his irises glowed a soft gold—tilting his head in an almost teasing manner, taunting you.

Your breath hitched as you looked back at the one-way glass, knowing your co-workers were watching every detail of this interaction. “I promise I’ll deliver what I owe you. Just- please help us.” You said, not being able to look at him directly in the eyes.

He straightens his back once more, his polite smile returning to his face. “It’s settled then, I look forward to working with you Miss.”

Driving through the streets of a somewhat more affluent neighborhood, you stop in front of a well-known party den. There are plenty in Los Amsterdam, but this one was popular because of their ‘free-love’ policy.

Essentially, if you want to fuck, every surface is available to borrow for the duration.

You don’t look forward to entering the den, especially since you don’t know which surfaces are good to touch, but your partner beside you seems to be relaxed and content to visit such a place.

“God, I haven’t seen Jackson in forever. I hope he’s still having the time of his life here.” Joshua said with his bright eye-smile. You turn back to him, eyebrows furrowing in disgust. How could he find a place like this enjoyable? You don’t understand how the minds of party-goers work.

“Okay, how exactly is visiting a party den supposed to help with our investigation?” You finally ask him, he refused to elaborate on how relevant this location was when you met up with hiim, or during the entire car ride to said location.

“Well, Jackson still owes me, and he’s Diane’s ex’s first producer. If there’s anyone with a motive to get her killed, it’s her ex. I asked him to get Johnny drunk enough to pass out in one place. Now you have the perfect stage to corner and investigate him!” He said, with a smile on his face as if his plan didn’t just open up a whole new can of worms for you.

“You do know it’s illegal for me to just interrogate him without a warrant right? He might lawyer up if he figures out we’re onto him.” You said running a hand through your hair.

“Which is why I got you this,” he pulls out a skimpy party dress and matching heels from his duffle bag, “We blend in with the party-goers, that way you’re not interrogating him, you’re just having a conversation.”

“Joshua Hong you are insane.” You said, tone raising, “I’m not walking into a sex den looking like a hooker!”

“Don’t worry, we’re just trying not to stand out, please, just trust me.” He said handing the outfit over to you. You think over his words, it would be wise not to draw too much attention to yourself. If you made it obvious that you were a cop you’d have to resort to improvising.

You were never good at improvising.

Joshua gave you the decency to turn away while you changed, he was already in his usual relaxed suit that already made him look like a pimp, so he was already dressed for the occasion.

You both step out of the car, your heels clacking on the pavement below you. How Joshua managed to find your shoe size is in itself impressive, but you don’t have the time to dwell on that.

You both enter the bustling house filled to the brim with people indulging in their vices, whether it was alcohol, drugs, the ‘free-love’. It was a mess of bodies and fluids that you’d rather not inspect closely.

Joshua expertly weaved through the crowd, parting it like Moses did to the red sea. He didn’t have any difficulty locating Jackson Wang, the host of these parties.

“Jackson!” Joshua called out, the man was sitting in one of the many loveseats, a can of beer in hand and two ladies under his arms, giggling and getting very comfortable with him.

Jackson squints over the flashing lights, eyes widening in recognition after seeing Joshua. “Joshua! My man! Glad you finally made it! Got to say though, that favor of yours was an odd one. But you’ll be able to find him in my room. You know the way.” He waves him off, resuming to talking to the women clinging onto him.

You follow after Joshua, quickly climbing a few sets of stairs to get to the third floor, the entirety of the third floor was just Jackson’s room. He made sure to lock the door behind the both of you when you guys arrived.

The floor was far quieter than the floors below you, and less of a mess than them too. This room felt like Jackson’s actual home, and not like a party den.

Joshua spots Johnny stumbling around the room, nursing a liquor bottle- a few of them.

“Joshua we can’t interrogate him when he’s like this, he can barely even stand!” You said, waving your arms in front of you to point at the inebriated man.

“That’s not a problem, watch this.” Joshua takes long and purposeful strides toward him, once he finally reaches him, he takes his face in his hands and stares directly into his eyes.

You watch in awe and slight confusion, until Joshua speaks up, “You want to tell us everything we want to know, and you will be sober as a priest while you do so.”

Suddenly the haziness in Johnny’s eyes faded in an instant, his brown eyes now have a golden ring around the irises, like a puppet on a string.

“What did you need to know?” Johnny says, no longer under the influence of alcohol.

“Joshua, what did you do to him?” You ask in slight horror.

“Nothing illegal, don’t worry about it.” He said, “Continue your questioning on him, detective, if we spend any more time here Jackson’s gonna think we’re having sex here.”

Not wasting any more time you ask Johnny, “Are you aware that Diane Kamatayan had been assassinated? Do you know any information about that?” Johnny squints before his eyes widen in recognition, “Diane, yeah, her, we dated a bit. I was obsessed with her. But she broke it off when she got big. Yeah, I’m pissed, but instead of doing anything healthy with my time I just chose to shit-talk her on Twitter and drown in alcohol. When I heard the news about her passing, I lost it, went straight here where Jackson just kept handing me bottle after bottle with no questions.”

You look at Joshua, raising an eyebrow, not much of a motive if he didn’t even contact her directly in the entire duration of their time as exes.

You shake your head, back to square one then.

“It didn’t help that she started dating the old geezer of a producer of hers.” Johnny said, eyebrows furrowing in frustration, “That whore, she probably got big because that sleaze of a producer gave her banger after banger for sucking his dick or something, tch.” he said, clicking his tongue and crossing his arms.

“I’m pretty sure it was him who killed her too.”

You and Joshua look at each other in shock, eyes meeting for a second, almost as if communicating telepathically.

“Why do you think that?” You ask, cautious around the increasingly irritated Johnny.

“He’s always been a greedy bastard, worked with him before. Wanted to claim all the royalties of my song, so I sued him. Pretty sure he got threatened by how rich Diane was getting for that hit.” Johnny spat, distaste seeping into every word he said, “Now Diane is dead, and the bastard is getting married to some Slavic model, most likely cashing in all those royalty cheques.”

You and Joshua nod at each other. Joshua snaps his fingers, it’s almost as if snipping a puppet off its strings, the glow around Johhny’s eyes dims and disappears, suddenly slumping over the seat, stumbling drunkenly like he did when you found him.

“Okay, we have a lead.”

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 year ago

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Youth Team II

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first crush

You first meet her during a friendly.

Usually, Denmark goes to everyone else to play. Not many teams want to make the trek over especially when it was winter and the snow had settled.

But there are always a few dumb idiots who want to play against the Under-Seventeen Euro winners and are willing to leave the warmth of their own countries to come over.

Today, it's Spain.

You haven't really paid much attention to who is on the other team (it's not like you would really recognise any of them anyway) but you're always up for a challenge.

You clap your hands together as you warm up. It's not too cold for Denmark standards but you can spot the Spain girls shivering as they try to get warm.

"They shake like a newborn deer," One of your friends says with a little laugh," Do you think they are just as unsteady on their legs?"

You stifle your own laugh as you head out to your position on your goal line. "They're just used to Spain. It's hot there."

"Hopefully the snow throws them off."

There's a light dusting of snow on the ground that you've found is pretty typical of the Denmark winter but is usually enough to throw off foreigners when they come to visit.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "Maybe they'll slip over when they try to kick the ball."

You don't have much to do during the match. The coaches have put out a heavy offence and your midfield easily scoops up the loose balls.

Spain's keeper is nearly as good as you but lets three goals slip through her fingers (though one is ruled as offside). You're better though.

Morsa always says it's not arrogance if you can back it up.

You know you're better than her which is why you're a bit confused when the ball comes rocketing past your outstretched fingers. You've mistimed your dive and your glove misses the ball by mere millimetres as it slots itself into the left corner of your goal.

You roll out of your dive. You're used to the snow of Denmark but it doesn't mean that you want to be lying on it for longer than you have to be.

You catch a glimpse of the forward that got the better of you and...She's beautiful.

She's celebrating her goal, fist pumping up into the air.

You make eye contact.

She smiles.

You go red and look away, your heart going pitter-patter in your chest. You grab the ball out of your goal and throw it off to one of your midfielders.

The pretty girl is still celebrating and you make a vow to yourself to not let any more of her goals in. You wouldn't let her win.

You don't let her win at the end of the day with a scoreline of 2-1 to Denmark. You'd say that your performance was decent enough but knew it wasn't perfect because you didn't come out of it with a clean sheet.

"Hola."

You jump in shock when the girl from earlier appears in front of you.

"Hola."

She smiles at you. It's a pretty smile and it makes you feel all weird and mushy inside. You don't quite understand.

She offers her hand.

You shake it and introduce yourself to.

"I know," She says with a wink that makes a blush appear on your face out of nowhere," You play for Linköping."

You're a little bit flattered that such a pretty girl knows who you are and where you play. You wish you could say the same about her.

"I'm Natalia, by the way. I play for Barça B," She says," Straight through La Masia." She puffs out her chest and you're not too sure why she's telling you this. "We're staying over for the next two days. You know your way Denmark, don't you?"

You furrow your brow in confusion. "Er...yes..."

She's smiling again. "Can I have your number? I'd love to have a proper tour guide."

"Oh! Okay!" It makes sense why she was being so friendly now.

Spanish girls are touchy. You know this because Tia Tana is a bit touchy sometimes so you don't see anything wrong with the girl pressing a kiss on your cheek. She lingers there for a moment and her cheeks go a little red - though you put that down to the cold weather.

"I'll text you."

"Who was your new friend?" Morsa asks when you finally make your way over to her and Momma in the stands.

"Oh...er..." You look behind you to see Natalia smiling at you. You feel like your cheeks are permanently stained red. "She plays at Barça. I think she wants a tour guide."

Morsa narrows her eyes. "A tour guide," She says," Yeah, sure."

"Magda," Momma hisses in warning," That's lovely, princesse. Why don't you head back and get changed and then we can go to dinner?"

"Okay."

Pernille watches you go. "Don't."

"Don't what?!"

"It's nice that she's making friends."

"I think that girl has more than friendship on her mind!"

Pernille laughs. "Remind you for anyone?"

"Huh?"

"I had a little bit more than friendship on my mind when I invited you on that maths course."

Magda's face goes a little red before she turns away. "That's different. She's still a baby. She can't date."

"First of all," Pernille says as she slips a hand into Magda's," She hasn't been a baby for a very long time. Second of all, we've somehow managed to raise the most oblivious teenager of all time. She doesn't even realise that it's a date."

The tension in Magda's shoulders deflates. "Yeah...Well, at least it isn't a crush on Princesse's end."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

You're walking down the tunnel and feel a hand slip into your own.

It's Natalia again.

She smiles at you, swinging your joined hands.

You feel all mushy inside as you try to hold eye contact. She presses another kiss to your cheek.

"I look forward to seeing you soon," She says.

"Yeah, me too."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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psychicreadsgirl · 7 months ago

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Pick a Novel: Keywords/prominent themes in your life

Pick the novel that draws your attention the most. If you can't decide between two, then look at the 2 readings. This is a general reading, so not everything will apply. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't behind!

Keywords: love, lust, passion, fun, temperament, cafe, sweet, bicycle, pen, books, music, loyalty, winter, sofa, furniture, thoughts, light, intuition, soulmate, art, obsidian, cake, carbonated water, skincare, socks, cooking

Celebrities/Public Figures: Audrey Hepburn, Min Yoongi, IU, Claude Monet, Angela Merkel, Andrew Carnegie, John Johnson, Mark Zuckerberg, Larry Page, Howard Schultz, Sam Walton, Amancio Ortega, Queen Elizabeth I, Jane Austen, Jennie Kim

Countries: Italy, Canada, South Africa, Thailand, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Greece, Madagascar, Qatar, Sweden, Zambia, Taiwan, Solomon Islands

Numbers: 11, 1, 5, 9, 80, 888, 6

Brands: Hermes, Tiffany, Apple, Instagram, Taobao, Lamborghini, Deloitte, Microsoft, Chopard, Givenchy, Patek Phillipe, Chloe, Alaia, Kraft,

Kpop songs: Young Forever by BTS, Shine by PENTAGON, Me Gustas Tu by GFRIEND, Run to You by DJ DOC, Love Lee by AKMU, Deja vu by TXT, Back Down by P1Harmony, Love shot by EXO

Keywords: economy, job loss, new opportunities, play, drama, anger, frustration, lost, compass, computers, battery, feet, head, brain, summer, pearl, avocado, junk food, fried chicken, challenge, frugal

Celebrities/Public Figures: Grace Kelly, Billie Eilish, Keanu Reeves, Rosé, Jung Hoseok, Salma Hayek, Pablo Picasso, Princess Diana, Thomas Edison, Sergey Brin, Mary I, William Shakespeare, Lee Nayeon

Countries: New Zealand, USA, Maldives, Indonesia, United Kingdom, Venezuela, Lithuania, Nepal, Portugal, Poland, Lebanon, Mali, Netherlands

Numbers: 4, 99, 101, 33, 13, 14, 0

Brands: Masion Margiela, Amazon, facebook, Shein, PWC, Missoni, Moschino Couture, Toyota, citi bank, Chaumet, Polene, Pizza Hut,

Kpop songs: Love Dive by IVE, Shangri-la by VIXX, Sweety by Clazziquai, I NEED U by BTS, The Chaser by Infinite, Magnetic by ILLIT, My House by 2PM, ICY by ITZY

Keywords: tales, gossip, lies, funny, movies, theatre, cell phone, cool, kpop, magenta, ancient, history, claws, cats, tiger, fall, jealousy, games, aquamarine, lemons, makeup, pencil, groceries

Celebrities/Public Figures: Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Morgan Freeman, Kim Seokjin, Jang Wonyoung, Matt Damon, Napoleon Bonaparte, Shinzo Abe, Steve Jobs, Voltaire, Kim Jisoo,

Countries: Ethiopia, France, Russia, Ireland, Argentina, Afghanistan, Libya, Rwanda, Nigeria, Pakistan, Morocco, Malta, Kazakhstan, Kenya, Iraq,

Numbers: 2, 7, 69, 25, 55, 79, 1182

Brands: Saint Laurent, miumiu, Starbucks, Mercedez-Benz, Nestle, Oracle, Tod's, Bulgari, Rolex, KFC, SUBWAY, Carrefour, Kellog's

Kpop songs: Supernova by aespa, Maestro by seventeen, Not by the moon by GOT7, Alone by Sistar, Hip by MAMAMOO, Good Day by IU, Bite Me by ENHYPEN, Work by ATEEZ, The Feels by TWICE

Keywords: foreign, spicy, peppery, rice, no, objection, resistance, control, storms, thunderstorms, shower, tension, crush, pop, paper, mango, legs, fragrance, emerald, clothing rack, tomatoes, defeat,

Celebrities/Public Figures: Judy Garland, Margot Robbie, G-Dragon, Jeon Jungkook, Pharrell Williams, Emmanuel Macron, Bill Clinton, King Charles, Warren Buffet, Cleopatra, Kim Mingyu

Countries: South Korea, Philippines, Scotland, Spain, Albania, Guatemala, Malaysia, Iran, Romania, Honduras, Georgia, Croatia, Belgium, Czech Republic, Gambia, Guinea

Numbers: 31, 75, 412, 43, 486, 640

Brands: Chanel, Prada, Bentley, Gucci, Samsung, Disney, BMW, Hyundai, cisco, Van Cleefs & Arpels, Dior, Loro Piana, Shake Shack

Kpop songs: Gee by SNSD, If you by BIGBANG, Antifragile by LE SSERAFIM, Up and Down by EXID, OMG by NewJeans, Lion by (G)I-DLE, Hello by TREASURE,

Keywords: death, mystery, mirror, reflection, shadow, black, grey, white, funeral, video, sprint, pool, gym, streets, metro, subway, chocolate, broken, knees, moon, ruby, surgery, teeth, race

Celebrities/Public Figures: Marilyn Monroe, Barack Obama, Kate Winslet, Kim Taehyung, Aamir Khan, Marie Antoinette, Elon Musk, Robert F Kennedy, Jeff Bezos, Richard Branson, Edward VIII, Charles Dickens, Abraham Lincoln, Park Bogum,

Countries: North Korea, China, Vietnam, Brazil, Bangladesh, Cambodia, Germany, India, Israel, Laos, Haiti, Dominican Republic, Congo, Cuba, Egypt, Mongolia

Numbers: 3, 97, 17, 19, 52, 98

Brands: Ralph Lauren, Celine, Ferrari, Huawei, Uber, intel, UPS, Calvin Klein, Piaget, Guerlain, Berluti, Pepsi, Cadbury

Kpop songs: Shut down by Blackpink, Seven by Jeon Jungkook, God's Menu by Stray Kids, Love Love Love by Epik High, Very Nice by SEVENTEEN, Birthday by Jeon Somi, Psycho by Red Velvet,

Keywords: travel, toxic, break away, departure, memory, dreams, truth, unveil, diary, journal, coffee, jacket, shoes, hands, social media, news, competition, autumn, diamonds, electricity, TV, cheat, fashion

Celebrities/Public Figures: Jane Birkin, Kim Jiwon, Gigi Hadid, Charlize Theron, Park Jimin, Salman bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, Maximilien Robespierre, Bill Gates, Queen Elizabeth II, Vladimir Putin, Henry Ford, James Joyce, Lalisa Manobal

Countries: Japan, Australia, Mexico, Iceland, Finland, Eritrea, Ecuador, Costa Rica, Cyprus, Bolivia, Botswana, Bahamas,

Numbers: 8, 646, 152, 37, 49, 22

Brands: Louis Vuitton, Lexus, Tesla, Fendi, Walmart, Nike, Siemens, Google, Cartier, Burberry, Ferragamo, Burger King, Unilever

Kpop songs: ROCKSTAR by LISA, Cherry bomb by NCT 127, Move by Taemin, Dramarama by MONSTA X, Love Scenario by iKON, Get a Guitar by RIIZE, Replay by SHINee, Candy Sugar Pop by ASTRO, Mr. Simple by Super Junior

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malsmind · 26 days ago

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more than we thought

a bsf!mat xbsf!reader series by @ 𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹

chapter 1

warnings: swearing, slight flirting

wc: 1.5k

chapter 2

english is not my first language!

unexpectedly, you and matt met on the east coast, where you both lived a few years back, making your first actual and geniuine bond of friendship with the triplets when you were fifteen and they were seventeen. you got along with his brothers, then they inroduced you to matt. it just clicked. the both of you got along instantly, the same interests you shared along with your and matts mental health, dealing with similar problems just made you feel understood, and he felt the same.

who would have thought that about four years later, you guys would share a bond thats even stronger, a friendship that you'd never want to lose.

creating content on the internet, making youtube videos.. it was a job that wasn't your cup of tea, but your closest friends loved it. you always supported them, every step of the way til this day, you were happy for them, it made you happy to see them so happy about it.

even when in 2022, when you were seventeen, and they were nineteen, they moved to Los Angeles.

they came to visit, obviously because of their family and friends. it was weird at first, not hanging out with them during the summer, not getting to go for late night drives with matt when school was draining you again, but it wasn't the worst. you knew you'd join them soon after you graduated, that's how you always planned it to be. when that day finally came, you were beyond excited, and so were nick, matt and chris. eventually, you did find your passion in making content on social media. not fully commited to it, but you still did your occaisonal little vlog, posted tiktoks, instagram dumps and appeared on your friends youtube channel every now and then. it was safe to say, you were happy in life. highschool sucked for you, you had friends, sure, but none that you'd actually feel happy around. no real friends, no friends that'd actually have you feeling like you had someone you could trust, laugh with, share memories with. so moving to LA to where your real friends were, getting your first own apartment, growing independent felt like a dream come true.

you were currently sat on matt's bed, looking for some decoration and furniture for your apartment. you moved in almost a year ago but you didn't get the chance to fully furnish and decorate your apartment yet. decisions on what you want and the various options making it harder than it needed to be.

"i can't find a good coffee table. they all just look the same." you sighed, throwing your phone aside and flopping down into matt's pile of pillows.

he turned around from where he was sat at his desk, playing fortnite with chris, taking a look at your phone display layed out with pictures of coffee tables. they indeed all looked the same. "well, you got any idea what you want specifically?" matt asked you, turning back around to face is screen. "anything that doesn't look like those right there. they look too modern and it's just not for me." you picked up your phone again, trying your luck on facebook marketplace, vinted, and other second hand places. vintage was always your way to go. the aesthetic fitting your personality just right. at the end of the day, your apartment was like your safe space, so your goal was to make it look cozy and feel like it too.

noticing you were now back into focusing on your deep dive on furniture, matt didn't say anything more. you scrolled for what felt like ages until you finally found your dream coffee table for your living room, a perfect match for the couch you had bought two months ago. you apbrubtly got up from matt's bed, holding your phone for him to look at your find. "oh my god. tell me this isn't the most PERFECT coffee table you've ever seen" matt turned his head, shoving his headset off on one side to be able to pay you more attention, his eyes squiting at the picture in front of him. "how much is that?"

"$200" you smiled, happy with your find.

"$200 for that old thing??" matt frowned at you as if trying to ask you if you were seriously going to spend that much money on it. "it's a fair price, dude." you returned his expression, turning your phone off and shoving it into your pocket. matt shrugged "you gonna go pick it up?"

"yup, you wanna come along?" you asked him, fixing your hair from laying on it for the past two hours. "yeah, lemme just finish this game" matt said, putting his headset back on, letting chris know too. you made your way out of matt's room, sitting down on the couch next to nick while waiting.

"nick look" you squealed, proud and happy of what you're about to pick up. nick looked up from his laptop, grabbing your phone and swiping trough the pictures. "oh my god, that's PERFECT for your living room!" nick exclaimed, matching your excitement. "literally what i said. i think plants by the wall next to the couch would look SO good with that coffee table in the room." you said, picturing it. nick agreed, handing you your phone back. "you wanna come along with me and matt and pick it up?" you asked nick, typing out a message for the seller to let him know you'll be on your way soon. "i gotta edit our friday video, sorry. but i'll come by when you got it!" nick offered and you nodded. "no worries."

matt's door opened and he walked up to you and nick, stretching. "you ready to head out?" he asked, nodding his head at you. you got up with a yes, waving goodbye to nick and making your way downstairs, matt following close. matt had picked you up earlier today, so your car was back at your place. he drove to the location put into the gps of the car, bobbing his head along to whatever song you put on aux. you were restless with excitement, admiring the pictures of the piece of furtniture that you were soon to call your own.

you arrived at the sellers place after about 15 minutes of driving, getting out of the car with a slight jump of happiness. matt shook his head with a chuckle, locking the car and following you. the coffee table looked just like it did on the photos, just perfect. after getting it into the car and driving to your place, you and matt carried it up into your apartment, placing it down on the rug in your living room. just how you imagined it, it looked perfect. you loved it. "it's so fucking perfect i'm gonna cry!" you chirped excitedly, hugging matt's side tightly. he hugged you back, matching your happiness. "still can't believe you spent $200 on it though."

"one hundred precent worth it and you know it" you smiled, proudly looking at your finally fully furnished living room area.

...

the soft sound of your spotify playlist coming from the TV filled the room, along with conversation between you and your friends. you were laying between matt's legs on the couch, the back of your head resting against his chest while talking to nick and chris. "i mean, it's technically the same fuckin' thing, no?" matt huffed, shrugging. "kid, no. a TV show takes so much more effort to like, get trough." chris spoke. "not really to be honest. if you fuck with it it's not gonna feel as dragging like it would when you don't, obviously."

"nah but still, i'd rather just watch a movie than dedicate a whole day to grinding episodes. like you fully plan your day out around watching a whole season of a TV show" chris argued.

you and nick both exchanged looks, trying to hold your laughter at the meaningless conversation between the other two. the argument about what's better to watch kept going on for a little while longer until it eventually died down.

for the late evening, all of you decided on doordashing some food, eating it while watching a movie. when the movie finished, everyone got up, matt tapped your shoulders that his hands were rested on, urging you to get up so he could too. you got up, stretching, matt matched your movements. "i'll probably be out tomorrow but i can swing by later on." you let them know and they nodded, making their way to the front door of your apartment. hugging you goodbye, nick and chris made their way to the car. matt hugged you, "text me when you guys get home" you mumbled into his hoodie, hugging him back.

you said your goodbyes to matt for the night, closing the door and making your way into the living room, cleaning up the empty cartons of pizza and cans of sodas.

finished with your nightly routine, wiping off your makeup and doing some skincare, you got into bed, picking up your phone.

series link (everything you need to know)

taglist

@grace-sturnz @rcklessheavn @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @chrissturniolossidebitch

#𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 #𝒷𝓈𝒻!𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉 𝓍 𝒷𝓈𝒻!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 🌀#𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 ☀️#matt sturniolo x reader fluff #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo x reader smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #christopher owen sturniolo

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nvirskies · 1 year ago

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sand - c. la rue

idea taken from one of @star-girl69 's asks about married clarisse and immediately went to think about how the vast majority of greek demigods didn't get to live past their 20's or even teen years... and the survivor's guilt that would come with being one of the few lucky enough to live longer.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, traumatic nightmare flashbacks, descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood + war, spoilers for TLO, set after both reader and clarisse leave CHB about 6-8 years into the future, google translated Greek term of endearment, crying, survivor's guilt, platonic RueGard, ooc Clarisse, she's matured more over time and more articulate with her feelings and words

summary: clarisse wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare in the middle of the night, reader comforts her through a breakdown

wife!fem!demigod!reader x wife!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.2k

καρδιά μου (kardiá mou) - my heart

Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου (I kardiá mou eínai i kardiá sou) - my heart is your heart

"but you have more pieces of me than than desert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand" sand, alchemical: vol. 1, dove cameron

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @azrielsdiary @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Greek demigods fell in love hard and fast with an unmatched intensity. They normally didn’t live long enough to even envision themselves in their adult lives, and why would they? Every day was a struggle to stay alive with monsters coming in from all angles and quests most didn’t come back from.

And that was why, as soon as the two of you graduated high school, Clarisse got down on a knee and proposed with the knowledge that you were the one she would want to spend the rest of her life, however long or short, with.

When you two had graduated college, the next thing in the books was to make it official in the courthouse, and that was what you had done. No extravagant party or ceremony, just a quiet day in the courthouse and a night in to celebrate.

But no matter how far the two of you ran from Camp Half-Blood, the nightmares never went away, never got better. As the years passed, more of the people you had considered friends died. One after the other, falling like cursed dominos, helplessly standing by as they all tumbled down.

Soon, the nightmares became more about the people that were lost than the monsters themselves. Nightly plagues of searingly painful memories from watching the life drain from so many demigods’ eyes burned themselves in both of your psyches.

All you could do was hope Charon would be kind enough to ferry them across the Styx without his payment of a silver coin.

And tonight certainly hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary with the two of you and your limbs interlaced in a protective embrace while sleep claimed your minds, as if the both of you could protect each other from the monsters both in and outside.

Your head, nestled into her chest. Her deep, rhythmic breathing made your hair flutter ever so slightly as she exhaled. Her arms, wrapped loosely around your waist, hands not-so-sneakily under the baggy shirt of hers you had stolen to wear as pajamas for the night. It was all perfect. Too perfect.

You would be damned fools to think that peace would last for so long. Demigods didn’t get peace, they didn’t get tranquility, and they especially didn’t get uninterrupted domestic bliss.

Unbeknownst to you, Clarisse’s face contorted into one of distress. Her arms pulled you in closer subconsciously as the all too familiar face of Morpheus greeted her with a sly smirk on his face in her dreams.

In moments, she was transported back to the Battle of Manhattan.

She was seventeen again.

Blood was everywhere. Abandoned weapons lay on the floor, the hands that once gripped them tightly, now loose and limp. Shrill screams echoed throughout the air, all cut short by gut-wrenching sounds of fatal injury. Metal cut through flesh. Acid burnt through metal. Flames licked and greedily consumed anything and everything as fuel.

Her feet felt heavy, her hands numb. She could do nothing but stand and watch it all unfold before her own eyes, forced to relive the carnage and devastation that had ripped through Manhattan on that fateful day.

Morpheus’ voice whispered in her right ear, the sound of it sending an uneasy chill down her spine. “Daughter of Ares. A fitting dream, no? Your father must have been proud of you for the way you fought after… well, I’ll let you relive that, too.” Before she could blink, she was transported to the moment right after Silena had been sprayed by the Lydian Drakon.

Clarisse was too late. She had always been too late.

She was back on her knees, choking and weeping bitterly as Silena lay in her arms, watching as life slowly left her once-lively eyes.

What kind of a warrior even was she? So weak that she couldn’t even protect her friend? Too weak to protect the girl who had adorned her armor and led her siblings into battle?

Just as Clarisse reached out to touch Silena’s face to wipe away the one mark of smudged eyeliner that the Aphrodite girl normally would never have even allowed to happen in the past, she was jerked back to consciousness, eyes flying open and arms almost crushing your sleeping form momentarily as she came to.

No longer was she in Manhattan, instead sheltered in the familiarly adorned walls of your shared bedroom. Upon the walls hung framed pictures of joyous times past and her sword collection, among other things.

Familiar faces stared back at her, some faces that would never age again. Immortalized memories of times that would never happen again. Everyone was dead or scattered across the globe.

A particular picture caught Clarisse’s eye. It was a portrait of Silena that she had commissioned one of the Apollo kids to draw for the daughter of Aphrodite’s seventeenth birthday.

She never lived to see that day.

Her eyes locked with Silena’s in the drawing for a moment, and that moment was one too much as hot tears began to prick in the corners of her eyes.

She had inadvertently woken you up with the way her arms tightened around your waist in a near vice grip, slowly coming to your senses. No longer were her breaths slow and rhythmic, their steadfast pattern replaced by one that was erratic and shallow. The once-steady thumping cadence of her heart as it beat in her chest was now quickened, all of which you could hear with your head having been nestled into her chest.

Craning your head to look up at her, you were greeted with the sight of Clarisse desperately trying to silently blink back tears and control her own breathing.

Hurriedly, you pushed yourself up off her chest and tugged the blankets off the two of you before sitting down on her lap. You took note of the way her hands had never left your waist, holding onto you as if she were drowning and you were the last life ring thrown out.

It wasn’t anything you and Clarisse hadn’t dealt with before. The nightmares had been a part of your lives as far back as you could remember, it just came with the territory of being a demigod. But they never got any easier as time went on.

She watched silently with eyes brimming with unshed tears, pleading wordlessly with you to do something, anything to make it all go away.

“Let’s switch, yeah? You can lay on me and completely cover me if you want, love,” you offered up, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Wordlessly, she nodded and you slipped off her lap, laying back where she had just been moments ago.

Gently patting your chest, you motioned for her to rest her head on it, knowing that the rest of her body would soon follow, completely engulfing your form with hers. After she had positioned herself, her arms snaked around your waist again as she simply held you for a few moments, her face pressed into your chest as tears slowly soaked into your shirt.

One hand reached out to gently run along the length of her back, the motion meant to soothe. A few beats passed in silence before you spoke in a hushed whisper, the bedroom devoid of sound beyond the two of you breathing in tandem with each other.

“You hear that, love? That’s my heart,” you murmured softly, craning your neck to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “It’s beating, beating for you. Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου.”

She didn’t respond beyond releasing another shaky sob into your chest and tightening her grip around your body, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t need her to talk just yet.

“You’re also η καρδιά μου, you know that, right? My heart, my wife, my love, my everything. And I’m yours. Entirely yours, and I”m not going anywhere.” You craned your neck again to press another kiss against the crown of her head, hand never stopping its path of running gently along the length of her back.

“I would go down to the depths of Tartarus for you. I would challenge Hades himself to a fight if it meant I had even a glimmer of a chance in getting you back.”

Never once did you try to rush her into talking or shushing her tears. You knew her better than you knew yourself, and giving her time to let everything out was the best thing you could do for her at the moment.

You were her safe space, the one woman that she could let her walls down around. She wasn’t Ares’ star daughter in your arms, she was just Clarisse. No expectations dangling over her head, just open arms and understanding.

After another few quiet moments, she finally spoke up in between half-choked sobs, whispering so quietly that her voice was nearly inaudible, “Silena… Manhattan… should have been able to save her,” before letting her face fall back down onto your chest, releasing another pained cry.

“She’s gone- a-and everyone else too- why me?”

Her question left you speechless, mouth partly opened in an attempt to come up with a reassuring response, but nothing seemed to come to mind immediately. It was rare for this to happen, as you normally had just the right words at the top of your tongue, weaving them as Arachne once wove tapestries on her loom.

“They’re all gone and- and- ”

“Shh, love…” you cut her off, gently pulling her head up to look her in the eyes, your other hand leaving her back to wipe the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks with the pad of your thumb. “Please, don’t go back into that self-sacrificial spiral. Talk to me, tell me what the dream was about?”

She only shook her head in response, unwilling to divulge details of the memory that had shattered your night of otherwise perfect proportions.

Deflating back on top of you, she whispered, “They’re all gone, and we’re one of the only ones remaining. It was like every time another one of them died, that small part of myself that I gave to them died as well.”

Her arms that were wrapped around your waist tightened for a moment before going limp along with the rest of her body as she lay atop you, her head pressed against your chest.

“Love…” you began softly as one of your hands found its way to her head and carded gently through her curls. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. None of it was your fault. We didn’t ask to be born, to be thrown into this mess of a world and tossed around like pawns in the gods’ game of chess with our lives.”

“We didn’t ask for this life, and we were so young at the time. For fuck’s sake, we were only seventeen- we hadn’t even made out yet. We hadn’t graduated high school yet, there were so many things we couldn’t control.

“None of it was your fault, I promise you. You were so brave, and you did everything you could.” She stayed silent as you spoke, the only sounds coming from her were the soft, shaky breaths as she sniffled and burrowed her face further into your shirt.

“I can’t explain to you why so many things had to happen, that’s up to the Fates. I can’t give you the pieces of yourself back that you lost when we kept losing everyone,” you murmured whilst your hands kept on with their idle motions.

It shattered your heart to give her such an incomplete answer when you knew it was tearing her apart inside to live with it all, but there was nothing you could do beyond offer solace and comfort. “And for that, I am so, so sorry. But the one thing I can do is keep the piece you’ve granted me to keep, safe and sound.”

She only nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak in fear of her own vulnerability. Her tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that was important was that Clarisse was here, in your arms, and slowly calming down.

Clarisse knew just as well as you did that everyone had done the best they could with the circumstances given, and that the loss affected you just as deeply. But she didn’t dig into that, it would be a can of worms to open for another time, another sleepless night where your own troubles caught up with you after running from them for so long.

And so, the rest of the night stretched on into early morning, the two of you half-awake, seeking silent solace in each other until sunlight crept into the bedroom through the cracks of the curtains the next day.

The two of you might have been running from your trauma like runners to a marathon, but at least you were running hand-in-hand with matching strides.

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse larue #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo tv #im not sorry #maybe i am #no im not

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asegunda · 1 year ago

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The Spear and the Belt

Pairings: Clarisse La Rue x Aphrodite! GN! Reader

Summary: You are an Aphrodite kid, and you are given a mission...you just feel the whispers around the camp...who the hell can you make it? Clarisse offers some help. ( 3 + 1)

Warnings: This was written in a platonic form, but in this case you can read it in what form you want. Fluff + Angst so be ready.

Notes: Thank you so much for all the love, and I was waiting to write a Clarisse fic, well here it is. 😘

Walking around camp now was for you a 'death treat', the gossips, the way you heard your name being whsipered among all the campers...even the satyrs...

'Can't they just do their job?' You think as you walk back at your cabin, seeing the familiar pink building. As you open the cabin door and enter it you sigh in relief.

Why did you accept that mission? It was just a real death treat for you...You don't know how to fight, you weren't blessed by your mother with the charm speak like your two sisters. It was hard to admit but you are useless. You go to your bed and scream in your pillow in frustration.

'Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.' It's the only thing you can think of now.

As you are now looking at the roof you hear another person unlock the door. 'Weird.' You think and look for who is there, it was lunch time but you leaved out earlier after some Hermes kids were 'toasting' your success in this mission, and by toasting you mean just joking, they even said earlier to you: 'Hope you come back alive.' If it wasn't for Mitchell you would slapped them in the face.

As you go to the door you see Clarisse standing there...Clarisse, the Ares cabin head conselour, here at lunch time, by herlsef, just at the door? It was too confusing to argue in your mind. You and the Aphrodite cabin were greatfull by the efforts the Ares cabin made to help your cabin in anything necessary, but you were still confused as hell.

"Clarisse." You say and she stops looking at the rest of the cabin. "Do you need something?"

"I was trying to find you. We need to talk." She says and you point at your bed, the rest of the cabin would still take time to finish eating.

You two sit and she starts speaking again. "I heard about your mission."

You grunt to yourself as she says that, 'Of course you heard.' You think.

"And I just wanna say that I'm here to..." She pauses for a moment and continues. "To help you train your fighting, maybe I could train you..and we could do some spars?" You can see the expectative in her eyes. You weren't expecting Clarisse to just want to help you like that, you didn't know her very much...but, hey, it's better to try to survive than just sit and wait for your death. Atleast you can try to outcome it!

You look at your hands and then back at her. "I would like too..it would be of a great help." You smile at her and she nods back.

"Okay then, see you tomorrow." You jump in suprise. 'Tomorrow?' You think and Clarisse can see your suprise.

"Hey, your mission it's just two weeks away, better start now." She says and you nod back, it makes sense...

"See ya." Clarisse says and leaves the cabin, you say a small goodbye and wave, she waves back.

'It's for the better if I don't tell that I heard all the scream in the pillow, right?' Clarisse thinks as she is walking again at the dinning hall. 'Yeah it's for the better...'

The next day Clarisse is waiting for you in the sparring place. You enter it and the Apollo kids who were trianing archery look at you weirdly, but you ignore them and just go to Clarisse who is sitting in the back of it.

"Hey Clarisse!" You smile at her and she makes a small smile back.

"Hey. So...ready for it?" Clarisse asks.

"I...think so." You add and Clarisse nods.

"That's a start." She says. "So let's start this."

In the next hours you two train like you never trained, wich is ironic because you never trained fighting.

Clarisse is agile and fast and her attacks are strong as hell, you weren't expecting less of her of course.

After the training finished you two are sitting at the back drinking water.

"You are good for the real first spar." Clarisse says as she sips water.

You fell you your heart warm by that.

"Thanks, and you are as amazing as I thought you would be." You smile at her and she smirks back. "Of course you thought." Clarisse tells and you chuckle with that.

After some minutes of silence you decide to ask. "Why are you helping me Clarisse?" As you see her grunt you add. "It's okay if you dont tell of course!" Clarisse relaxes with that.

"I didn't want you to die of course." She smirks and you look at her with a 'seriously?' face.

"We both know ith wasn't for that." You tell her and she look at her water bottle.

"Silena." Clarisse says and you look confused. As she sees your face she adds. "You asked why I wanted to help you it's because of her." Your face brights in realization.

"Oh." You say and Clarisse says. "I don't want never one of her girls to have the same destiny as her." She says and you can see the hurt in her eyes. "Thank you." You say and Clarisse says. "No problem, and now it isn't just because of her, I really hope you don't fail." She puts an hand at your shoulder and smiles.

"Well it's dinner time." Clarisse says and starts leaving.

"Wait!" You say and she turns back. "Tomorrow at the same hour?" You ask and Clarisse smiles. "You know it." She says and waves you wave back.

"This was good." You whisper to yourself and go have dinner too.

After those two weeks passed it is time for your mission, your two other colleagues are there too (an Apollo and an Hephestus boys).

All of your cabin goes to you to says the goodbyes and give you presents for the mission, a good pair of boots, some food and swetts, and and a belt ?? 'Thanks anyway Lacy!' You think and wonder what you could do with it, but after you see that it isn't just one normal belt, it had all the cabin member signatures in it. 'Cute..now really thank you Lacy..' You think and mess her hair.

You wait to see someone at the croud of people who are saying the goddbyes for the three mission members and then you see it. 'Clarisse.' You think and she goes to you.

She smiles. "Good Luck, show them you are something to be feared of!" She says and you can feel your eyes water. You nod. "Yes mam!" You say and hug her. She hugs you back as you hug her you feel something touching you as Clarisse sees you looking at it she smirks. "One last present." She takes out a spar, a really beautiful spear. "Hope you like it." She says and you hug her again. "I love it, thanks."

After all the goodbyes you three start going, you look back one last time, you wave at Clarisse and your cabin mates. You see them wave back, you smile.

+1.

Camp Half-Blood is waiting for the three of the mission to come back, they were supposed to come back three weeks ago, wich isn't a good sign.

As Chiron sees the familiar shadows he rings the bell, and all the camp (mostly in pajamas) comes outside, waiting nervously for their arrive.

Clarisse and the Aphrodite cabin are there too. As the shadows become closer all the camp can see that it is just two shadows, they all start to whisper nervously and worried. 'What if it is one of their siblings?' It's what they think.

But then they can see two boys, and nowhere sight of you.

Aphrodite cabin starts all to worry.

"Were is Y/N?!" Piper asks tears alreafy falling through her checks.

The two boys are at really bad state.

"I'm so sorry. It is all my fault." The Apollo boy cries and Clarisse hisses in anger. "What did you do?!"

"He did nothing...Y/N...saved us." The Hephestus boy says. "What do you mean by that?!" Drew asks yelling.

"Three furies appeared, we didn't know what to do...they charged at us and Y/N distracted them..." Tears fall out of the Hephestus boy eyes as he holds the Apollo boy.

"I'm so sorry." He cries and gives a bag. "That is the only thing we could save." Piper takes the bag and opens it, tears still falling.

In it there is a belt, the Aphrodite cabin belt. All the Aphrodite cabin sobs, and there is also a...spear...

Clarisse cries in despair.

"Not again!" She yells at nothing at particular.

Days later it was the second funeral of an Aphrodite cabin member in 2 years. The coffin is of a beautiful pink, a spear with a belt glued to it.

'Why...why..." Clarisse cries in her cabin. She didn't want to show weaknesses. "Why...why.."

She still fells your last hug, how can she trained you for two weeks and she was still feeling like this?

"Why...why.." It's the last things she says before sleeping of exaustion.

Oh your sweet, sweet seventeen years.

#clarisse la rue #pjo #gn reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #percy jackson x platonic reader #Spotify

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darl-ingfics · 3 months ago

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Come Lean Your Back On Me (Pt. 1)

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie/Whumpee: S.Coups, Jeonghan, Joshua (pneumonia)

Caregiver(s): Seventeen (Woozi, DK, and Dino get highlights)

Word Count: 3,656 | Part 2

Notes: This takes place around Seventeen's third year as a group. They're still new-ish, and the pressure on the eldest members to be there for/provide an example to the younger ones is still high cause they haven't fully figured out how to be a team yet. Scenes between the three 95ers will balance out; if someone's featured more heavily here, and others' time is coming in part 2.

Title is from Seventeen's "S.O.S." Taking one out of @fairyniceyeah's playbook for a title 🩷 Finally, there's probably some medical inaccuracies, but c'est la vie. Enjoy!

It wasn’t supposed to be a problem. Until it very much was.

It was a three day concert engagement. Nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, they’d never done three in a row before, but there had to be a first time for everything, right? And Seventeen was ready for the challenge. Ready to prove themselves yet again. Each time the bar rose higher, they rose to meet it. The sky was, is, and always would be their limit.

But, as luck would have it, fate tried its best to ruin their plans.

A week before the concert, the three maknaes got hit with food poisoning after stopping for some ill-advised snacks at the seedy convenience store two blocks from the dorms. It had taken 48 hours for them to be even remotely human again. 48 hours of tears, puking, and dehydration, all supervised by the careful eyes of their hyungs. Particularly the 95 line. Seungcheol gave the best hugs, and also had no problem manhandling (read carrying) a member back to bed when their legs gave out. Jeonghan was in peak form managing a sick member, somehow knowing exactly what someone needed before they even knew themselves. And Joshua had a way with words, soothing the worst post-fever dream ramblings and singing them to sleep to ignore the pain for a while.

Five days before the concert, Wonwoo broke his glasses. It was easy enough for him to get a replacement pair the next day, but the suddenness of the break had rattled him. Mostly because it had been his fault. He’d been messing around with Mingyu in the studio during practice, even after Soonyoung had told them to stop, which was big because it was SOONYOUNG, king of mess arounds, telling them to cut it out. They hadn’t listened, and when Wonwoo tripped, his glasses flew off of his face and crashed to the floor, one lens popping free and cracking on the floor. Wonwoo was, above all, embarrassed. Seungcheol had sought him out after practice, reassuring him that it was okay, and he’d have new lenses in time for their big day. Everyone deserved to mess around from time to time.

Four days before the concert, Minghao twisted his ankle. It had been a complete accident, unavoidable, and yet Jun had appeared at Jeonghan’s door that night dragging a sobbing Minghao, begging the elder vocalist to help him convince Minghao that he hadn’t ruined everything. They’d spent two hours on Jeonghan’s bed, consoling and distracting and loving on the dancer until Minghao finally cracked a smile. His ankle wasn’t broken or torn, but it hurt like hell, and he was still limping the morning of the first show, but he felt better about the whole affair.

The day before the concert, Seokmin and Mingyu had gotten in an argument over stolen leftovers and dirty dishes. And while that was a topic that usually only sparked a minor skirmish, it exploded into an all out yelling match with the nerves and anticipation of the concert coursing through their veins. It had set everyone on edge, only grinding to a halt when Joshua had intervened, physically standing between the two and talking them down. He’d convinced them to hear each other out, to apologize and mean it, and had the duo hugging it out before the fight could infect the rest of the members.

In short, the week leading up to the concert was pure chaos.

And in all the chaos, no one had noticed a detail that would prove to be of dire significance in a matter of days.

Jeonghan himself hadn’t noticed the symptoms of an oncoming cold. He assumed his throat was dry because of the changing weather, that the headache was the result of the recent late nights taking care of his members. And because he didn’t assume that these little annoyances were caused by anything contagious, Jeonghan had, in true Jeonghan fashion, continued to share drinks and steal food from his best friends. Not to mention hanging all over them; it was rare for a day to go by without Jeonghan poking, hugging, and just generally laying all over Seungcheol and Joshua. Which was exactly how all three of them ended up sick on the day of the first show.

But that wasn’t a problem. They’d been at this idol thing for three years; it wasn’t like a scratchy throat and the sniffles would stop them from performing.

Besides. It couldn’t be a problem. They had the kids to worry about.

Junhei would later comment that perhaps the group’s biggest problem that day was how well the three eldest members could hide their own suffering for the sake of the group. They had used the chaos of the day to their momentary advantage, been allowed to still perform in the cold night air of the first day, the rain of the second day, the misty chill of the third, when they would have stopped any other member from doing so. They had fueled themselves on pain killers and Dayquil, playing symptoms off on natural causes (“Yes, we’re all shivering, because we’re wet. Did you notice it’s raining?” “You’re sniffling just as much as me, ya goof. It’s cold outside!” “Yeah, I know, three days in a row has been rough on my voice. I need to build up my stamina.”). They had taken their role as the eldest to the extreme. And no one had noticed.

Until they did.

The day after their second concert, Jihoon had arranged a morning meeting with Seungcheol and Hoshi to review some of the tracks he wanted for the new album. The first two shows had him extra hyped for the next project. Yes, he was on a performance high, but who could blame him? His group was taking off, and Jihoon wanted, needed, to do everything in his power to keep their wings aloft. He knew Seungcheol had left for the studio before him and that Soonyoung would be meeting them a little later.

When Jihoon pushed open the door to the studio, he expected to find Seungcheol… anywhere else than where he currently was. Maybe he would be at the soundboard, listening to some of the new tracks. Maybe he’d be on his computer, tapping away lyrics on the keys. But never could Jihoon have imagined finding his leader curled up in the fetal position on the crappy couch they’d finagled into the corner, limbs wrapped as tight around himself as they could get.

“Cheol?”

No response.

Jihoon raced to the couch, collapsing on his knees, shaking the leader somewhat roughly. Seungcheol came to with a gasp, eyes snapping open in fear.

“It’s me, it’s me,” Jihoon replied, holding up his hands to sooth the crazed look in the older man’s eyes. Seungcheol sighed, relaxing instantly. Jihoon didn’t like the raspy sound when he exhaled. “You look like shit. What’s wrong with you?” From anyone else, it would’ve been unnecessary cruelty. From Jihoon, it was a testament to how seriously concerned he was.

“Just a cold,” Seunchaol mumbled, swallowing thickly as he began to uncurl his limbs. He grimaced, the movement seemingly very unpleasant.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“Have you been sick?” Seungcheol shrugged. “Was it last night? The rain?”

Seungcheol shook his head. “Felt bad before that.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Jeonghan’s fault.”

Jihoon frowned. “Okay, but when was that?”

“Maybe… the day before the show?”

Jihoon bit his lip. He pressed the back of his hand to Seungcheol’s cheek, detecting an unusual heat.

“I don’t think this is just a cold, hyung,” Jihoon said. His hand moved to Seungcheol’s hip, squeezing slightly to comfort him. “Maybe you should sit out…"

The leader shook his head. “I’m fine, Jihoonie.” He pushed himself to sitting, rubbing at his eyes. Jihoon’s frowned deepened as the leader coughed again.

“When did you get here today?” the producer asked.

“Maybe thirty minutes ago? I walked in and…” Seungcheol paused, took a breath, “and I felt kind of… I don’t know, breathless? So I sat down to take a breather for a minute and I guess I fell asleep…”

“You felt breathless after walking into the building?” Jihoon repeated. Seungcheol nodded. “Hyung, a cold wouldn’t make you feel winded after walking a few feet.”

Seungcheol waved him off. “Jihoonie, it’s fine. We can deal with it tomorrow…”

“Hyung…”

Seungcheol’s hand clasped Jihoon’s shoulder. The smile on his lips was meant to be reassuring, meant to be a resigned acknowledgment of the unfortunate situation facing them. To Jihoon, that smile just looked like a thin, flimsy mask. “We need to make it through today. I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow if I’m still not feeling my best. Promise.”

Jihoon held his gaze defiantly, desperately wanting to argue his point. But he caved. Because Seungcheol was the oldest, and if he wanted to put himself through hell, let him.

The third show had gone off without a hitch, much to Jihoon’s surprise. He’d kept his eyes glued to Seungcheol, sparing a few suspicious glances towards Jeonghan, remembering that the leader had blamed him for his illness. Both appeared perfectly fine on the surface, but Jihoon, as their brother, could see the cracks brewing underneath. Jeonghan was just as poorly as Seungcheol. And even though Carats would never know how much they were suffering, Jihoon couldn’t fully stomach the idea that his hyungs had subjected themselves to performing in such poor weather when they were feeling so unwell.

(Of course Jihoon would’ve tried to do the same in their position, but that was besides the point.)

The producer didn’t try to push the point after the concert, though, as their managers were doing an excellent job hurrying the members off stage, into warmer clothes, and in the vans back to the dorms. Despite the inevitable post-performance buzz, everyone was worn out and exhausted. Three concerts in a row was tough on the body, and the adrenaline crash was imminent.

Jihoon spent the whole ride home debating whether or not to text the group minus the two eldest to tell them about Seungcheol and Jeonghan, but thought better of it. They were adults (albeit young adults,) and the leader and vice leader could deal with the consequences of their actions how they saw fit. Still… something felt off. Jihoon bit his lip and looked out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he could physically hear one of his hyungs wheezing behind him (he hadn’t fully grasped where everyone was in the van).

The group dispersed quickly when they returned to the dorms. Shower order was determined quickly and quietly, and everyone swiftly separated to the kitchen for a snack or their own rooms to wind down. They would celebrate their accomplishment later: tonight was for rest.

Later that evening, after the shower cycle was complete and most of the members were squirreled away in their own rooms, Seokmin emerged from the comfort of his bed to shower last. He had originally drawn the second spot, but forfeited his rights to Jeonghan after some confusing but pointed hints from Jihoon. He’d then become rather engrossed in a game on his phone, and hadn’t realized the shower was free for quite a while. Sure, it was later than he’d like it to be, but at least he’d out-waited the line. The hallway was quiet, which he fully expected.

What Seokmin didn’t expect, though, was the bathroom light to still be on. Eyebrows furrowed with curiosity, Seokmin peeked around the doorframe to find Joshua leaning heavily against the counter, nearly hyperventilating.

“HYUNG!” Seokmin raced forward, grabbing Joshua by the shoulders, turning the older man towards him and searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t read it,” Joshua cried, nodding towards the counter. Seokmin turned and saw their digital thermometer sitting there.

“What? You can’t…” Seokmin peeked closer at the number on the screen. 38.6. “It’s not that high.” Seokmin turned back around to the now very clearly panicked Joshua. He cupped the older boy’s cheek in his hand, feeling the slightly abnormal warmth on his skin. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Your body’s probably just reacting to the stress of the concert, yeah? All we need to do is cool you down a bit. No problem.”

“How high is it?” Joshua asked, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Not that high…”

“But the number’s so low?”

Seokmin’s face fell. “Low? What… OH!” Seokmin snapped his fingers as his brain put the pieces together. Joshua was raised on Fahrenheit, not Celsius. “Hang on. I’m getting Sollie.”

As Seokmin turned towards the hall, Joshua’s hand struck out and latched onto his sweatshirt. “Please, don’t go.” Seokmin felt his eyes prickle with tears. Joshua had never, ever shown such vulnerability around him before. Sure, he’d been sad, homesick, anxious. But there had always been a sense of restraint, as if he were holding back the ‘worst’ of his emotions, keeping them hidden from the younger members. Seeing him like this, emotionally unrestrained, made Seokmin emotional himself.

He turned around, grasping Joshua’s hands in his and squeezing tight. “Do you want to come with me, then? Cause we need Hansol right now. You need him.” Joshua looked terribly unhappy with the prospect of moving, but nodded. Seokmin smiled reassuringly, wrapping his arm around the older vocalist’s shoulders and leading him down the hall. Seokmin could feel Joshua shaking, and silently prayed that this wasn’t anything more than a post-concert crash. He wasn’t sure his heart could handle watching his gentle, reserved older brother fall apart right now.

Despite the ache in his bones and the exhaustion creeping at the edge of his thoughts, Chan couldn’t sleep. The rush of performing was partially to blame; as a dancer, Chan lived for the moments he got to perform on stage, letting his body take over and live to its fullest extent, any future soreness be damned.

The other reason he couldn’t sleep was his useless Jeonghan-hyung.

Their rooms shared a wall, and Chan could hear Jeonghan coughing and sniffling, groaning with frustration, tossing and turning violently in his bed. This was… unusual. Chan didn’t often hear noises from Jeonghan’s room, even when the elder was under the weather. That set off some sort of alarm in his overtired brain.

Pushing off his own blankets, Chan made his way over to Jeonghan’s room. When he pushed open the door, the older man turned to look at him right away.

“Channie, save yourself.” A hand was extended in his direction. “I’ve caught the plague, and I will perish before sunrise.”

Chan resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “Dramatic tonight, aren’t we?”

Jeonghan sniffled pitifully. “I’m allowed to be. I’m dying.” He coughed, a rough, barking cough.

Chan frowned. “I know. I can hear you through the wall.” He didn’t move closer, not yet sure if Jeonghan would allow him any closer. “Can I get you anything?”

“I already took medicine about an hour ago, so I can’t have more of that,” Jeonghan replied forlornly, slumping into a new position against his pillow. “I have water…” He shrugged. “I think I just need to wallow in my misery.”

“What about a humidifier?” Chan suggested. Jeonghan cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raising in thought. “Think that might help?”

“Actually, that would fucking rock.”

Chan smiled. “Then consider it done.” The youngest member raced down the hall to the closet where they kept their humidifier, the image of Jeonghan smiling at him affectionately on repeat in his mind.

Try as he might, Seokmin couldn’t sleep. After leaving Joshua with Hansol, he’d finally gotten a shower and returned to his bed. But something felt… wrong. He tossed and turned for a while, snatching a few minutes of sleep here and there, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to be somewhere else. And he knew, in his heart, exactly where he needed to be: he hadn’t been able to silence the worry in his chest since the thermometer incident.

Pushing out of bed with a huff, Seokmin padded down the hall and carefully, quietly pushed open the door to Joshua’s room.

The older vocalist was curled up in bed, seemingly asleep. Leaving the door cracked open, Seokmin crept closer. And the closer he got, he could practically hear Joshua’s teeth chattering, he was shivering so hard. Seokmin frowned as he stepped next to the bed and pressed his fingers to his friend’s forehead. His heart broke feeling the scorching heat radiating from Joshua’s skin, sweaty and clammy beneath Seokmin’s hand. Significantly higher than before.

With a determined nod of his head, and a deep breath to calm down, Seokmin hurried from Joshua’s room straight to the kitchen. He grabbed a small bowl, filling it with lukewarm water. On his way back, he snagged a washcloth from the bathroom and a mask from the cabinet (because, if by some miracle Joshua was actually coherent, he’d be upset at Seokmin for getting too close and risk getting sick from him.)

Joshua hadn’t moved since Seokmin had been gone. The younger man quickly soaked the cloth in the water and gently pressed it against Joshua’s forehead. Without fully waking, Joshua unconsciously tried to squirm away.

With one hand holding the cloth still, Seokmin grabbed Joshua by the shoulder, gentle but firm. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We have to cool you down, love.”

Joshua attempted to pull away again with a small, involuntary whine. That tiny sound, though, got caught in his throat, bubbling into the terrifying kind of cough that sounded so, so much like choking. Seokmin’s body moved on instinct, pulling his hyung’s body from horizontal to vertical, attempting to free his airways, in tandem with Joshua’s now very much awake attempts to push himself up. Once sitting, though, Joshua’s body immediately began to slump forward, unable to hold itself up. Seokmin dove forward, arms circling his hyung’s waist, one knee on the bed to stabilize him. He could feel Joshua’s muscles tensing under his hands as he coughed, struggling to expel the gunk from his lungs.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Seokmin chanted under his breath, resting his cheek against the top of Joshua’s head. “It’s okay, I’ve got you…”

Joshua finally took a deep breath, and the fit was over. Another whine escaped from him as his body completely gave out, Seokmin’s arms the only thing keeping him upright.

“I don’ feel so good,” Joshua slurred, his eyes slipping closed as he clutched at his chest. His breaths were coming in ragged, wheezing pants. Seokmin fought the urge to squeeze him, knowing that likely wouldn’t help at all.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Biting his lip, Seokmin looked desperately at the door, still cracked open. As if just willing someone to appear would make it happen. There was no way in hell he could leave Joshua alone right now, but he also needed help, to get Joshua help. He’d left his phone in his own room, not expecting to be gone this long. He glanced, panicked, at the nightstand, reaching quickly for Joshua’s phone. “What’s your password?”

“Huh?”

“Your phone password.”

“Our debut date.”

“Cute.” Seokmin quickly entered the passcode. He opened their group chat on Instagram, since it would indicate if anyone was online. A green circle appeared for Mingyu. Perfect.

Seokmin texted Mingyu: Please come to Joshua’s room. Need help.

He heard footsteps almost immediately. A very confused Mingyu pushed the door open, his eyes widening as soon as they fell on the bed.

“I wondered why Joshua was texting in third person,” he muttered as he ran to them, kneeling next to the bed. His hands fluttered over Joshua, touching his shoulder, his cheek, anything he could reach. “What’s wrong?” His eyes flicked to Seokmin.

“Can you grab the thermometer? Please? He’s burning up.”

Mingyu nodded, immediately moving to follow Seokmin’s instructions. As soon as Mingyu had gone, Joshua lifted his head.

“Who was that?” he asked, words jumbling together.

“Mingyu. We need to check your temperature.”

“Oh…” Joshua coughed again, thankfully once twice, but still so congested and terrible that Seokmin’s chest ached in sympathy.

Mingyue reappeared, thermometer gun in hand. With a nod to Seokmin, he pointed the instrument at Joshua’s forehead and waited for the beep. Seokmin didn’t like the way the rapper’s eyes widened. Or the way that Joshua’s breathing started sounding less raspy and more congested, each inhale almost hitching in his throat.

“39.6.”

“Fuck,” Seokmin cursed, looking at the floor as if it could help him figured out what to do. “That’s… is that hospital?” He looked searchingly at Mingyu.

The rapper bit his lip. “I…” His moment of indecision was cut off when Joshua began coughing again, that terrible barking sound from before. He had bent forward, hands cupped over his mouth, Seokmin's arms stretching to hold onto him. The younger vocalist's eyes flew to Mingyu in pure terror. Mingyu, somehow incredibly calm, simply pushed Seokmin back and thumped his hand against Joshua's back a few times until the coughing stopped on a suspiciously wet note. Seokmin snagged a few tissues from the box on the nightstand, holding them in front of Joshua until he felt ready to move again and remove whatever awful shit his lungs had produced.

"You poor thing," Seokmin whispered, one hand scratching at the nape of Joshua's neck while the other continued to hold him up.

Joshua slumped back against Seokmin. "I can't breathe..." he rasped, eyes struggling to stay open.

“Definitely hospital." Seokmin's eyes snapped to Mingyu, who, again, looked way too calm. Good, someone had to be. "Should I wake Cheollie-hyung?”

It was Seokmin’s turn to suck his bottom lip in thought. He finally nodded. Mingyu darted off in earnest. Seokmin pulled Joshua closer to him, despite the small moan of protest from the older man. Something was terribly wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

#seventeen sickfic #seventeen sick #kpop sickfic #kpop sick #svt sickfic #svt sick #sickie s.coups #sickie jeonghan #sickie joshua #caretaker seventeen #darlingfics

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favorite-music-tourney · 1 month ago

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Round 1 match ups

Deny Defend Depose by Joe Devito - Todos Juntos by Los Jaivas

Union Maid by the Almanac Singers - Color in your Cheeks by the Mountain Goats

II: The road Giveth by RENT STRIKE - Two Headed Boy by Neutral Milk Hotel

For What It’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield - I'm not a good person by Pat the Bunny

I ain't Marching Anymore by Phil Ochs - Ballad of a Wobbly by David Rovics

Do you believe in magic by the lovin spoonful - Let the Mystery Be by Iris Demont

California Dreamin by the Mama's and the Papa's - I'm a Believer by The Monkees

Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen - A Song for a Computer Programmer by Cricket!

Blackbird by the Beatles - The Gambler by Kenny Rogers

Feed the Machine by Poor Man's Poison - Curses by the Crane Wives

Big Rock Candy Mountain by Harry McClintock - Pure Obsession by Mirabai Kukathas

Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls - I want wind to blow, the microphones

War isn't Murder by Jesse Welles - Delta Dawn by Tanya Tucker

Place to Be by Nick Drake - The Wrote and Writ by Johnny Flynn

Time in a Bottle By Jim Croce - Ohio by Neil Young

Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons - Space Girl by Shirley Collins

A Horse with No Name by America - Fuck it by Days N Daze

The Galway Girl by Sharon Shannon and Steve Earle - The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

Heave Away by the Fables - Stick Season by Noah Kahan

Rule #4 Fish in a Birdcage by Fish in a Birdcage - Your Heart is a Muscle the Size Of Your fist by Ramshackle Glory

War on the Workers by Anne Feeney - The Funeral by Band of Horses

Blister in the Sun by the Violent Femmes - Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation by Tom Paxton

Season of the Witch by Donovan - I’m against the government by Defiance, Ohio

Everybody's Talkin' by Harry Nilsson - Kill the Boy Band by She/Her/Hers

Me and my Bobby Mcgee by Janis Joplin - O Valencia by the Decemberists

Wayward Prodigal by Cora Reef - The War Racket by Buffy Sainte-Marie

The Times they are a changing by Bob Dylan - Miracle of Life by Bright eyes

At Seventeen by Janis Ian - Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds

I am a Union Woman by Bobbie McGee - Electricity by Sister Wife Sex Strike

Annie's Song by John Denver - Roll On, Columbia, Roll On by the Highway Men

Puff the Magic Dragon by Peter Paul and Mary - Solidarity Forever by Utah Phillipps

I'm Gonna Be an Engineer by Peggy Seegar - Follow Me up to Carlow by the Young Dubliners

Take Me to Church By Hozier - 32 Flavors by Ani Difranco

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman - Murder in the City by the Avett Brother

Mrs. Robinson By Simon and Garfunkel - The Chemical Worker's Song by Great Big Sea

The Fox by Nickel Creek - Oak & Ash & Thorn by The Longest Johns

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald By Gordon Lightfoot - Strangers by Apes of the State

American Pie by Don McLean - Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash, And Young

Everything I own by Bread - Fire and Rain by James Taylor

The Trolley Problem by Windborne - Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison

Where have all the flowers gone by Pete Seeger - Dream a Little Dream of Me by Cass Elliot

Glad to be Gay by Tom Robinson Band - The Battle of New Orleans by Johnny Horton

Vienna by Billy Joel - Cats in the Cradle by Harry Chapman

One Kind of People by Amigo the Devil - Brave as a Noun by AJJ

Every Town will Celebrate by Mischief Brew - Wild World by Cat Stevens

Plastic Jesus by Tia Blake - Ho Hey by the Lumineers

Ballad of Ho Chi Min by Ewan MacColl - City of New Orleans by Arlo Guthrie

Loose Lips by Kimya Dawson - Excursion Around the Bay by Great Big Sea

Who would Jesus Bomb by Jordan Snart - Rhododendron Honey by Leslie Fish

Hungry Dog on the street by the Taxpayers - The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down by The Band

Mr. Tambourine Man by the Byrds - Nebraska by Bruce Springsteen

You're So Vain by Carly Simon - Ooh La La by the Faces

Budapest by George Ezra - Paradise by John Prine

Tear the Facists Down by Woody Guthrie - House of the Rising Sun by the Animals

One Great City by the Weakerathans - Diamonds and Rust by Joan Baez

Bread and Roses by Judy Collins - Angel From Montgomery by Bonnie Raitt

March of the Jobless Corps by Daniel Kahn - There is Power in a Union by Billy Bragg

What a time to be alive by Matt Press - Rhinestone Cowboy by Glen Campbell

Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Ernie Ford - All The Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands by Sufjan Stevens?

Not Yet/Love Run by the Amazing Devil - Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers

Tom's Diner by Suzanne Vega - It's too Late by Carole King

Hurt by Johnny Cash - Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell

Jolene by Dolly Parton - Have you ever seen the rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival

I'd work for Free by Blake Rouse - You're Dead by Norma Tanega

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ultimateshixiongfuckertournament · 9 months ago

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Semifinal 1: Fei Du vs Jiang Cheng

Semifinal 1 is between Fei Du (shixiong: Luo Wenzhou) from Mo Du vs Jiang Cheng (shixiong: Wei Wuxian) from Mo Dao Zu Shi

Propaganda under the cut

Fei Du:

Fei Du: evidence? The entirety of Mo Du. His shixiong is is Luo Wenzhou, a dude with an eight-pack and parents who love him and love fei du as well, and a dude whom fei du is willing to not die/consider the future with, and consider himself not a monster to be with. Fei Du says shixiong to Luo Wenzhou so flirtatiously that they both stop and stare. Luo Wenzhou gets him birthday cake, a video game when he was small and a promise. (Also, they are cat parents)

Jiang Cheng:

Clinged to WWX constantly for 7+ years, wanted to have WWX as his right hand man forever after becoming sect leader, cried after WWX left, cried when he discovered what WWX sacrificed for him, was TORN APART when it got explained to him that if they were more outwardly close knit, WWX might not have died

PROPAGANDA!! to start, i'm still very bitter about how fairy lost the sentient animal poll and i want to win this badly. very very badly. current stats are 50.6 in favour of jc but that's too less of a gap for me. jc should be winning this by a landslide, y'all hear me? anyways. starting with a class act, like the clown i am->

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a few links ( because i'm chengxian trash, as always and i'd love if poll-guy could copy paste them on the og post): one, two, three, four (gif), five, six, seven (gif), eight (thoughts on different wavelengths), the absolute circles of them saving each other, the fucking golden core reveal scene. golden scene reveal part 2, jiang cheng will always forgive wei wuxian

to start with. jiang cheng is literally the picture of "i knew from the moment i met you that i'd spend a lifetime forgiving you".

the earliest dynamic of jiang cheng and wei wuxian is jiang cheng giving away his dogs (the only gift his father has ever given him, btw) because wei wuxian is scared of the dogs. tis only the start of it.

his father very obviously prefers his shixiong over him, his mother berates him for not being as good as wei wuxian and tells him his inheritance is in danger, and his sister (in my opinion) has more care for him (visibly. maybe jiang yanli doesn't show it because jc is an emotionally complicated purple grape, maybe because jc doesn't need it, or wei wuxian is traumatised but that's my opinion). but still. still. Jiang Cheng loves Wei Wuxian. so much. jealousy is like. the most tame response i can think of. and jiang cheng is proud of wei wuxian, okay? he'd believe his big brother if he'd said anything. want proof? well, here you go-> link

to paraphrase the link:

Jiang Cheng had just lost his family, his home, and his very golden core, and his older brother - his brilliant older brother who could fix anything, who could sneak wine into Cloud Recesses and defeat an ancient turtle nearly-god and make Jiang Cheng share a smile when Jiang Cheng’s mother was disappointed and furious at both of them - His big brother smiled and said, “I can fix this.”And Jiang Cheng believed him then, and believed him three months later when Wei Wuxian crawled out of the Burial Mounds (just the second miracle in three months), and believed him every day of the next seventeen(?) years until the pieces were shoved into place for him to see.

also. the circle these two go in protecting each other. (gif set by @sandushengshou), the 'if one of us is to die, then, i beg, let it be me' that they both do for one another in a seemingly neverending loop of sacrifice. via this post a la my lovely @backtoyunmeng

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jiang cheng is a cannonically ruined woman archetype, justified via the countless posts you'll get in the top posts of jiang cheng tag. he keeps chenqing, wwx's flute in perfect condition even when he hates wei wuxian, even when wwx, if only indirectly, has a part in jiang yanli's murder and oof okay someone pointed out to him that he's known to have killed wei wuxian and he almost cries. he absolutely believes, with his whole heart, that wei wuxian lives even when the world is sure he doesnt. and it always read to me like, i'd know if he was dead. he's a part of my soul, so i'd know if he was dead. he can't be dead.

this is getting too long, so, to sum up, some absolute poetry by @jiangchengsjawline

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#JC On The Other Hand Has His Entire Life Shaped By His Shixiong And Ended Up Cast As The Ruined Woman By The End

#jiang cheng though. wasn't able to fuck his shixiong but his shixiong definitely fucked with him

#hello?? the answer is Jiang cheng pls#he's the shixiongfucker or all shixiong fucker you wish you could be as pathetically in love with your shixiong as he is#chengxian

#i do not go here (chengxian) but the propaganda is incredibly correct they are insane abt each other#also sorry jiang cheng ik you're suffering but they are so funny to me#neway VOTE JIANG CHENG FOR CLEAR SKIN

#look I rarely go here#(here being chengxian)#but by GOD their lvoe compels me#they’re tragic and doomed and they love each other without knowing how to say it in words the other would understand#or in words at all because communication??? we don’t know her???

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he didn't even think about sacrificing himself, and consequently his entire bloodline, his sect, pretty much everything that depends on him for his shixiong??????????

is this not convincing->

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#had to vote jc though i have more feelings about chengxian#i think jc should have a huge gege kink

#like. jiang cheng should win the entire tournament hands down period

#fei du #luo wenzhou #mo du #silent reading #zhoudu #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #mdzs #the untamed #chengxian #priest vs mxtx

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kpopbestie96 · 4 months ago

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Thank you Seventeen, LA for an incredible weekend 💜💕

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 7 months ago

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How close Desmoulins and Fréron were? And what did they think of each other? I'm asking because I discovered they managed a journal together, La Tribune des Patriotes.

The seventeen year old Fréron was enrolled as a paying boarder at the college of Louis-le-Grand on September 30 1771, and just a day later, the eleven year old Camille was as well. I have however not been able to discover any evidence indicating the two were friends back then, or even an instance of one referring to the other as ”college comrade,” something which Camille otherwise is proven to have done with a whole lot of other fellow students. Perhaps this should be read as a sign the two did not know each other back then, six years after all being a rather big age difference for kids. They also don’t exactly appear to have been the same type of student, Desmoulins winning a total of four prizes during his time at the college and Fréron zero, and their teacher abbé Proyart admitting (despite his massive hostility) that student Camille had ”some success,” while Fréron ”showed few talents” and ”was cited as a rare example when speaking of laziness and indolence.” (for more info on the school days of them and other Louis-le-Grand students, see this post).

Fréron graduated from the college in 1779, Camille five years later. I have not been able to find anything suggesting they had anything to do with each other in the 1780s either. But on 23 June 1790, one year into the revolution, we find the following letter from Fréron to Camille, showing that the two by this point have forged a friendship. Judging by the content of the letter, said friendship was probably much grounded in their joint status as freshly baked patriotic journalists (Desmoulins had founded his Révolutions de France et de Brabant in November 1789, Fréron his l’Orateur du Peuple in May 1790):

I beg you (tu), my dear Camille, to insert in your first number the enclosed letter, which has so far only appeared in the journal of M. Gorsas; its publicity is all the more interesting to me as I have just, I am assured, been denounced to the commune as one of the authors of l’Ami du Roi. It is a horror that I must push back with all the energy I can. If you cannot insert it in full, in petit-romain, at the end of your first number, at least make it known by extract; you would be doing me a real service. It’s been a thousand years since I last saw you; I have had a raging fever for more than a fortnight which has prevented me from returning to Rue Saint-André; but I will go there next Saturday. Ch. de La Poype came to your house with a letter from M. Brissot de Warville, but he was unable to enter. It was to talk to you about a matter that you no doubt know about. If patriotic journalists don't line up, then goodbye freedom of the press. A thousand bonjours, my dear Camille I am very democratically your friend, Stanislas Fréron.

l’Orateur du Peuple has unfortunately not gotten digitalized yet, so we can’t check if Fréron wrote anything about Desmoulins there that could tell us more about their relationship. But in Révolutions de France et de Brabant we find Camille listing Fréron among ”journalists who are friends of truth” (number 37, August 9 1790), calling him a patriot (number 33, July 12 1790), protesting when national guards were sent to seize the journals of Fréron and Tournon (number 63, February 7 1791) and when the numbers of Fréron and Marat got plundered (number 83, July 4 1791), as well as republishing parts of the journal he finds inspiring (number 83, number 85 (July 18 1791). In both number 1 (November 28 1789) and number 65 (February 21 1791) Camille republished a poem he had written in 1783 that mocked Fréron’s father, the famous philosopher Élie Fréron, as well as his maternal uncle Thomas-Marie Royou, him too a member of the counter-enlightenment (and who, as a sidenote, had also been one of their teachers at Louis-le-Grand). Given Fréron’s open hostility towards both his father and uncle, it does however seem unlikely for this to have had any negative effect on their relationship.

Just a few days after the letter from Fréron to Desmoulins had been penned down, we find the two about to enter into partnership. On July 4 1790 the following contract was signed between Camille, Fréron and the printer Laffrey (cited in Camille Desmoulins and his wife: passages from the history of the dantonists (1874) by Jules Claretie), establishing that from number 33 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant and onwards, Fréron will be in charge of half the pages of the journal, while he from number 39 and forward will be in charge of an additional sheet particulary devoted to news:

We, the undersigned, Camille Desmoulins and Stanislas Fréron, the former living on Rue du Théâtre Français, the latter on Rue de la Lune, Porte St. Denys, of the one part; and Jean-Jacques Laffrey, living on Rue du Théâtre Français, of the other part, have agreed to the following: . 1. I, Camille Desmoulins, engage to delegate to Stanislas Fréron the sum of three thousand livres, out of the sum of ten thousand livres, which Jean-Jacques Laffrey has bound himself, by a bond between us, to pay me annually as the price of the editing of my journal, entitled Révolutions de France et de Brabant, of three printed sheets, under the express condition that said Stanislas Fréron shall furnish one sheet and a half to each number, and that during the whole term of my agreement with said Laffrey. 2. I, Stanislas Fréron, engage to furnish for each number of said journal of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, composed of three sheets, one sheet and a half, under the direction of the said Camille Desmoulins, with the understanding that this sheet and a half shall form one half of the three sheets of which each number is composed. I engage to deliver a portion of the copy of this said sheet and a half on the Wednesday of each week , and the rest during the day on Thursday, and this counting inclusively from the thirty-third number until the close of the agreement between Camille Desmoulins and Jean-Lacques Laffrey. 3. I, Jean-Jacques Laffrey, accept the delegation made by Camille Desmoulins of the sum of three thousand livres, payable, in equal payments, at the issue of each number, to Stanislas Fréron, to the clauses and conditions hereinunder; and I engage, besides, to pay to said Stanislas Fréron the sum of one thousand livres, also payable in equal payments, on the publication of each number, which thousand livres shall be over and above the said salary of three thousand livres on condition that the said Stanislas Fréron shall furnish to the journal an additional sheet per week which shall be devoted to news to begin from the thirty-ninth number, which commences the approaching quarter. And I, Stanislas Fréron, engage to furnish , at the stipulated periods the said sheet over and above, in consideration of the sum of one thousand livres, in addition to the three thousand livres delegated by Camille Desmoulins. Done, in triplicate, between us, in Paris, July 4, 1790. Stanislas Fréron, Laffrey, C. Desmoulins.

According to Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018) by Hervé Leuwers, nothing did however come about from this contract, Révolutions de France et de Brabant continuing to rest under the authority of Camille only, while Fréron instead kept going with his l’Orateur du Peuple. Why this project never saw the light of day one can only speculate in…

When Camille and Lucile got married in December 1790, Fréron neither signed the wedding contract on the 27th, nor attended the wedding ceremony on the 29th. Following the marriage they did however become neighbors, the couple moving to Rue du Théâtre 1 (today Rue de l’Odeon 28), and into the very same building where Fréron had gone to live a few months earlier.

In number 82 (June 27 1791) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, Camille writes that he a week earlier, the same night the royal family fled Paris, he left the Jacobins at eleven o’clock in the evening together with ”Danton and other patriots.” The Paris night comes off as so calm Camille can’t stop himself from commenting on it, whereupon ”one of us, who had in his pocket a letter of which I will speak, that warned that the king would take flight this night, wanted to go observe the castle; he saw M. Lafayette enter at eleven o’clock.” According to Hervé Leuwers’ biography, this person was Fréron, though I don’t understand exactly how he can see this…

A little less than a month later, July 17 1791, Fréron and Camille find themselves at Danton’s house together with several other people discussing the lynching of two men at the Champ-de-Mars the same morning. At nine o’clock, Legendre arrives and tells the group that two men had come home to him and said: We are charged with warning you to get out of Paris, bring Danton, Camille and Fréron, let them not be seen in the city all day, it is Alexandre Lameth who engages this. Camille, Danton and Fréron follow this advice and leave, and were therefore most likely absent from the demonstration and shootings on the Champ-de-Mars the very same day (this information was given more than forty years after the fact by Sergent-Marceau, one of the people present, in volume 5 of the journal Revue rétrospective, ou Bibliothèque historique : contenant des mémoires et documens authentiques, inédits et originaux, pour servir à l'histoire proprement dite, à la biographie, à l'histoire de la littérature et des arts (1834)).

In the aftermath of the massacre on Champ de Mars, arrest warrants were issued against those deemed guilty for them. On July 22, the Moniteur reports that the journalists Suleau and Verrières have been arrested, and that the authorities have also fruitlessly gone looking for Fréron, Legendre, Desmoulins and Danton, the latter three having already left Paris. Both Fréron and Camille hid out at Lucile’s parents’ country house in Bourg-la-Reine, as revealed by Camille in number 6 (January 30 1794) of the Vieux Cordelier. The two could resurface in Paris again by September.

On April 20 1792, the same day France declared war on Austria, Camille and Fréron again put their hopes to the idea of a partnership from two years earlier. That day, the two, along with booksellers Patris and Momoro, signed a contract for a new journal, La Tribune des Patriotes, whose first number appeared on May 7 (they had tried to get Marat to join in on the project as well, but he had said no). In the contract, Fréron undertook to each week bring 2/3 of the sheets, Camille the rest. According to Leuwers, Camille did nevertheless end up writing most of it anyway. The journal did however fail to catch an audience and ran for only four numbers.

On June 23 1792 Lucile starts keeping a diary. It doesn’t take more than a day before the first mention of Fréron, in the diary most often known as just ”F,” appears — ”June 24 - F(réron) is scary. Poor simpleton, you have so little to think about. I’m going to write to Maman.” One month and one day later Camille tells Lucile, who is currently resting up at Bourg-la-Reine after giving birth, that ”I was brought to Chaville this morning by Panis, together with Danton, Fréron, Brune, at Santerre’s” (letter cited in Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république). Lucile returned to Paris on August 8. In a diary entry written by her four months later it is revealed that both Fréron and the couple were at Danton’s house on the eve of the insurrection of August 10 — ”F(réron) looked like he was determined to perish. "I'm weary of life," he said, "I just want to die." Every patriot that came I thought I was seeing for the last time.” She doesn’t however, and can in the same entry instead report the following regarding the period that immediately followed the successful insurrection:

After eight days (August 20) D(anton) went to stay at the Chabcellerie, madame R(obert) and I went there in our turn. I really liked it there, but only one thing bothered me, it was Fréron. Every day I saw new progress and didn't know what to do about it. I consulted Maman, she approved of my plan to banter and joke about it, and that was the wisest course. Because what else to do? Forbid him to come? He and C(amille) dealt with each other everyday, we would meet. To tell him to be more circumspect was to confess that I knew everything and that I did not disapprove of him; an explanation would have been needed. I therefore thought myself very prudent to receive him with friendship and reserve as usual, and I see now that I have done well. Soon he left to go on a mission. (to Metz, he was given this mission on August 29 1792) I was very happy with it, I thought it would change him. […] F(réron) returned, he seems to be still the same but I don't care! Let him go crazy if he wants!…My poor C(amille), go, don’t be afraid…

Following Fréron’s return from his mission, he hung out with the couple quite frequently. On January 7 1793 we find the following letter from him to Lucile:

I beg Madame Desmoulins to be pleased to accept the homage of my respect. I have the honour to inform her that my destination is changed, that I shall not go to the National Assembly because I am setting out for the countryside with MM Danton and Saturne (Duplain). Will she have the goodness to present herself at the assembly, before ten o’clock, in the hall of deputations; she is to send for M. La Source, the secretary, who will come to her, and she will find a place for her by means of the commissary of the tribunes. I renew the assurence of my respectful devotion to Madame Desmoulins. Stanislas Fréron. Kindest regards to Camille.

Two weeks later, January 20, Lucile writes ”F(réron), La P(oype) came in the evening.” The day after that Fréron writes her the following note: ”I beg the chaste Diana to accept the homage of a quarter of a deer killed in her domains. Adieu. Stanislas Lapin.” This is the first known apperance of Fréron’s nickname within the inner circle — Lapin (Bunny). In Correspondance inédite de Camille Desmoulins(1834), Marcellin Matton, friend of Lucile’s mother and sister, writes that it was Lucile who had come up with this nickname, and that it stemmed from the fact Fréron often visited the country house of Lucile’s parents at Bourg-la-Reine and played with the bunnies they had there each time. In her diary entry from the same day, Lucile has written: ”F(réron) sent us venison.” The very next day she writes the following, showing that Fréron, as she already put it in December, ”appears to still be the same”:

Ricord came to see me. He is always the same, very brusque and coarse, truly mad, giddy, insane. I went to Robert’s. Danton came there. His jokes are as boorish as he is. Despite this, he is a good devil. Madame Ro(bert) seemed jealous of how he teased me… F(réron) came. That one always seems to sigh, but his manners are bearish! Poor devil, what hope do you hold? Extinguish a senseless r [sic] in your heart! What can I do for you? I feel sorry for you... No, no, my friend, my dear C(amille), this friendship, this love so pure, will never exist for anyone other than you! And those I see will only be dear to me through the friendship they have for you.

One day later, January 23, Lucile writes: ”F(réron), La P(oype), Po, R(obert) and others came to dinner. The dinner was quite happy and cheerful. Afterwards they went to the Jacobins, Maman and I stayed by the fire.” The day after that she has written the following, and while it’s far from confirmed Fréron is the one she’s alluding to here, it would fit rather well with the previous entries:

What does this statement mean? Why do I need to be praised so much? What do I care if I please? Do you think I’ll be proud of a few attractions? No, no, I know how to appreciate myself, and will never be dazed by praise. To you, you’re crazy, and I’ll make you feel like you need to be smarter.

Lucile’s diary entries abruptly end on February 13 1793, and a month later, March 9, Fréron was tasked with going on yet another mission by the Committee of Public Safety. This time, it would be a whole year before he was back in Paris again. It is probably during this period the following two undated letters from Fréron’s little sister Jeanne-Thérèse, wife of the military leader Jean François La Poype, were penned down and sent off to Lucile (both cited within Camille Desmoulins and his wife… (1874) by Jules Claretie. I also found a mention of a third, unpublished letter with the same sender and receiver):

Coubertin, this Monday morning. How good you are, my dear Lucile, to take such pains to answer so punctually, and to relieve my anxiety! I rely upon your kindness to let me know any good news when you know it yourself. Neither my husband nor my brother has written to me; but, according to what you tell me, M. De la Poype will be with you immediately. Scold him well, I beg, my dear Lucile, and beat him even, if you think it necessary; I give him over to you. Goodbye, dear aunt; I embrace you with all my heart. Do tell me about your pretty boy; is he well? We shall, I hope, see him at some time together. Be the first to tell me of my husband's arrival ; it will be so sweet to owe my happiness to you! Fanny is perfectly well. I received most tenderly the kiss she gave me from you. My compliments to your husband. Fréron de la Poype.

Here I come again, beautiful and kind Lucile, to plague you with my complaints, and the frightful uneasiness by which I am tormented. The letter your husband had the kindness to write to me does not allay my grief; he tells me that my brother has given him news of my husband, but he had not heard from him before his departure. He has not been absent long enough to have had time to give us news of himself since he set out. I do not hide from you, dear Lucile, state; for pity's sake, try to restore composure to my heart; let me owe tranquillity to you. They say the enemy is within forty leagues of Paris; if this is so, the country will not be safe. Will you promise to warn me of danger, and to receive me into your house? I count upon the friendship you have always been willing to show me, and I shall throw myself into your arms with the greatest confidence. I beg you to give my compliments to your dear husband. Fréron de La Poype. Coubertin, near Chevreuse. The 5th. Madame Desmoulins.

On October 18 1793, Fréron too picks up his pen again and writes the following two letters, one to Camille and one to Lucile. He is at the time in Marseille preparing for the siege of Toulon, a subject which he spends the majority of the ink on discussing, but also blends this with nostalgic remarks. Fréron addresses Camille with tutoiement, but Lucile with vouvoiement. The parts in italics got censored when the letters for the first time got published in Correspondance de Camille Desmoulins(1834):

Marseille, October 18 1793, year 2 of the republic one and indivisible Bonjour, Camille, Ricord will tell you about a lot of things. Our business in front of Toulon is going badly. We have lost precious time and if Carteaux had left La Poype to his own devices, the latter would have been master of the place more than fifteen days ago, but instead, we have to hold a regular siege and our enemies grow stronger every day by the way of the sea. It is time for the Committee of Public Safety to know the truth. I am going to write to Robespierre to inform him about everything. You may not know everything that has happened to me; I have upheld my reputation as an old Cordelier, for I am like you from the first batch; and although very lazy by nature (I say my fault), I found in the great crises a greater activity than I would have believed. But it was a question of saving the south and the army of Italy; because I am not talking about my skin; for a long time [unreadable word for me] have been an object of [unreadable word] for the counter-revolutionaries without [unreadable word]. I will prevent Toulon from forming its sections and consequently from opening its port to the English and from dragging us, at the onset of winter, into the lengths of a murderous siege. La Poype commands a division of the army in front of Toulon; you have no idea how Carteaux makes him swallow snakes: he had seized the heights of Faron, a mountain which dominates a very important fort from which one can strike down and reduce Toulon. Well! Carteaux left him at this post without reinforcement, and he was obliged to evacuate it. Carteaux would rather have the capture of Toulon delayed and missed twenty times than allow another to have the glory. Speak, thunder, burst. La Poype did not contradict himself for a single moment; you know him, he has not changed. I am perhaps a little suspicious: that is why I abstain from writing on his account; but ask all those who come from here and they will tell you what the patriots think. Did you learn from Father Huguenin that I had printed in Monaco six thousand copies of your Histoire des Brissotins which I distributed profusely in Nice and in the department of Var? You did not think you would receive the honors of printing in Italy. You see it's good to have friends everywhere. I have been very worried about Danton. The papers announced that he was ill. Let me know if he’s recovered. Tell him and give him a thousand regards from me. I look forward to seeing you again, but this after the capture of Toulon; I dream only of Toulon; it’s my nec plus ultra. I will either perish or see its ruins. Is Patagon (Brune) in Paris? Remind me of him. Farewell, my dear Camille, tell me the story of Duplain Lunettes. Is it true that he is in prison? Attacking Chaplain! ah! he is such a good man! Tell me the reasons for his detention. Has he really changed? This is inconceivable. We are doing a lot of work here; we are impatiently awaiting the troops which were in front of Lyon and the siege artillery which we lack; without that the only thing we would make in Toulon would be clear water. Answer me in grace; Ricord will give you my address. I embrace you. Fréron. PS. You have known for a long time that I love your wife madly; I write to her about it, it is indeed the least consolation that can be obtained for an unhappy bunny, absent since eight months. As there is a fairly detailed article on La Poype, I invite you to read it. Adieu, both of you, think sometimes of the best of your friends; answer me as well as Rouleau (Lucile).

Marseille, October 18 1793, year 2 of the republic one and indivisible How lucky Ricord is! So he is going to see you again, Lucile, and I, for a century, have been in exile. Communications between the southern departments with Paris have been closed for more than three months. Ever since they’ve been restored, I have wanted to write to you. A hundred times I have picked up the pen, and a hundred times it has fallen from my hand. He is leaving, this fortunate mortal, and I finally venture to give him this letter for you, the content of which he is unaware about. May it convince you, Lucile, that you have always been in my thoughts! Let Camille murmur about it, let him say all he wants about it, in that he will only act like all proprietor; but certainly he cannot do you the insult of thinking that he is the only one in the world who finds you lovable and has the right to tell you so. He knows it, that wretch of Bouli-Boula, because said in your presence: "I love Bunny because he loves Rouleau."

This poor bunny has had a great deal of adventures; he has traversed furious burrows and he has stored up ample stories for his old age. He has often missed the wild thyme which your pretty hands in small strokes enjoyed feeding him in your garden in Bourg de l’Egalité. Besides, he was not below his mission, exposing his life several times to save the republic. In seeking the glory of a good deed, do you know what sustained him, what he always had before his eyes? First, the homeland, then, you. He only wanted and he only wants to be worthy of the both of you. You will find this romantic bunny and he is not bad at it. He remembers your idylls, your willows, your shrines and your bursts of laughter. He sees you trotting around your room, running over the floor, sitting down for a minute at your piano, spending whole hours in your armchair, dreaming, letting your imagination travel; then he sees you making coffee at the roadside, scrambling like an elf and cussing like a cat, showing your teeth. He enters your bedroom; he stealthily casts a longing eye on a certain blue bed, he watches you, he listens to you, and he keeps quiet. Isn’t that you! Isn’t that me! When will these happy moments return? I don’t know, I am now pressing the execrable Toulon, I am determined to either perish on its ramparts or to scale them, flame in hand. Death will be sweet and glorious to me as long as you reserve a tear for me.

My heart is torn, my mind devoted to a thousand cares, My sister and my niece, little Fanny, are locked up in Toulon in the hospital like unfortunates; I can't give them any relief and they may lack everything. La Poype, who adores her, but still more his homeland, besieges and presses this infamous city; he cannons and bombards it without reserve, and, as the price of such admirable devotion, he is calumniated, he is hampered, his efforts are paralyzed, he is left devoid of arms, cartridges, and artillery; they water him with bitterness, they cast doubts on his civism; and while Carteaux, to whom Albitte has made a colossal reputation, but who is in a condition to take Toulon no more than I am the moon, seeks, through the lowest jealousy, to lose him in the mind of the soldier, sometimes by passing him off as a counter-revolutionary, sometimes by spreading the rumor that he has emigrated and fled to Toulon. He alone attempts daring blows, and having made himself master of a fort which dominates Toulon, he would have taken that town in a week, if Carteaux had sent him the reinforcements he in vain asked for. One thing that must not be forgotten is that in the army of Italy, the traitor Brunet, the federalist Brunet, made La Poype pass for a Maratist and an outraged montagnard. Why? Because the staff of which he was the chief, had been composed by him only of Marseillois from the 10th of August and of Cordeliers. This is the truth. Make it known to your husband. Prevent from being oppressed the most patriotic general officer perhaps of all the armies, who has never contradicted himself; who has sacrificed his wife and child to the homeland; who began by besieging the Bastille with Barras and me; who since has not varied; who has worked for a long time with l’Orateur du Peuple; who was decreed in the affair of the Champ-de-Mars, etc, etc. I leave it to your so persuasive mouth to assert these titles.

I embrace you, divine Rouleau, dearer than all the rouleaux of gold and crowns that could be offered to me. I embrace you in hope, and I will date my happiness only from the day when I shall see you again. Remind me of your dear maman and of citizen Duplessis. Will you answer me? "Oh! no, Stanislas!” Please answer me, if only because of La Poype. Show my letter to Camille, for I do not wish to make a mystery of anything.

Lucile wrote a response to Fréron that has since gone missing, but it was clearly satisfying for him judging by his next letter, dated December 11 (incorrectly September 11 in the published correspondance) 1793 and addressed to Lucile:

No, my answer will not be delayed by eight months as you put it; the day before yesterday I received, read, reread and devoured your letter; and the pen does not fall from my hands when it comes to acknowledge receipt. What pleasure it gave me !... Pleasure all the more vivid than I dared to hope! You think, then, of that poor bunny, who, exiled far from your heaths, your cabbage, your wild thyme and the paternal dwelling, is consumed with grief at seeing the most constant efforts for the glory and the strengthening of the republic lost... They denounce me, they calumniate me, when all of the South proclaims that without our measures, as active as they are wise and energetic, all this country would be lost and given over to Lyon, Bordeaux and the Vendée. I did not deign to answer Hébert (Fréron (and La Poype) had been denounced at the Jacobins on November 8 by Hébert, who said he ”was nothing more than an aristocrat, a muscadin”). I thank your wolf for having defended me, but he, in his turn, is denounced. They want to take us one after the other, saving Robespierre for last. I invite your wolf to see Raphaël Leroy, commissioner of war for the Army of Italy, who saw me in the most stormy circumstances and the most critical situation in which a representative of the people has ever been. He will say if I am a muscadin, a dictator and an aristocrat. This Leroy is one of the first Cordeliers. Camille knows him; no one is in a better position to make the truth about La Poype and me triumph.

I dare say that never has a republican behaved with more self-sacrifice than your bunny. The fact that La Poype is my brother-in-law was enough for me to make it a rule to keep him away from all command-in-chief, albeit his rank and his seniority, but even more his foolproof patriotism called him there. From then on I foresaw everything that malevolence would not fail to spread. I’d rather be unjust towards La Poype, and make obvious privileges, than I’d give arms to slander, and make people suspect even that the most vicious motives of ambition or of particular interest were involved in my conduct for some reason. When Brunet was dismissed, what better opportunity to advance La Poype? He came to command naturally and by rank. He was the oldest officer-general of the army of Italy. Well! I dismissed him and we named the oldest member of the same army, a man who had only been a general of division for a fortnight, and yet La Poype wanted to sacrifice his wife and his child, saving the national representation, with the certainty that both were going to be delivered to the Toulonnais, which did indeed happen. And these are the men that the most execrable system of defamation pursues! Vulgar souls, muddy souls, you have lent us your baseness; you could not believe, still less reach the height of our sentiments; but the truth will destroy your infernal machinations; we will do our duty through all obstacles and disgusts; we will continue to be useful to the republic, to devote ourselves to its salvation; we will sacrifice our wives and our sisters to it; we will make to our fellow citizens the faithful presentation of our actions, our labors and our most secret thoughts, and we will say to our denouncers: have you produced more titles than us to the public esteem?

Dear Lucile, tell your wolf a thousand things from me; make sure he puts forward these reasons based on notorious facts. Pay him my compliment on his proud reply to Barnave; it is worthy of Brutus, our eternal model; I am like you; a gloomy uneasiness agitates me; I see a vast conspiracy about to break out within the republic; I see discord shake its torches among the patriots; I see ambitious people who want to seize the government, and who, to achieve this, do everything in the world to blacken and dismiss the purest men, men of means and character. I am proof of that. Robespierre is my compass; I perceive, in all the speeches he holds at the Jacobins, the truth of what I am saying here. I don't know if Camille thinks like me; but it seems to me that one wants to push the popular societies beyond their goal, and make them carry out, without them suspecting it, counter-revolution, by ultra-revolutionary measures. What has just happened in Marseille is proof of this. The municipals who had dared to give the order to two battalions of sans-culottes whom we had required to march on Toulon, not to obey the representatives of the people, and who, for this audacious and criminal act, were dismissed by us, were embraced and applauded in the popular society of Marseilles, as the victims of patriotism. Fortunately we have stifled any counter-revolutionary movement; the largest and most imposing measures were taken on the spot. Many intriguers who only saw in the revolution a means of making a fortune, or of satisfying revenge or particular hatreds, dominated and led society astray, all the more easily because they are interesting in the eyes of the people through the persecutions of the sections and a few months in prison. Do you believe that there were secret committees where the motion was made to arrest the representatives of the people? Within twenty-four hours, we have mixed up all these plots: Marseille is saved. It must be observed that this new conspiracy broke out the very day when the English pushed three columns upon our army before Toulon, and seized the battery of the convention, from which they were repulsed with a terrible loss on their side.

It is not useless to notice again that the aristocrats, the emissaries of Pitt, the false patriots, the patriots of money who see their small hopes destroyed by these acts of vigor, repeat with affectation what has been said about me by Hébert at the rostrum of the Jacobins. But the vast majority of true republicans do me justice. This is the harm produced by vague denunciations, made by a patriot against patriots. I see it well; Pitt and the people of Toulon, who doubt our energy because they have tested it on more than one occasion, want, by all possible means, to keep us away from the siege of Toulon, because it is known that we are going to strike the great blows. Well! let us be reminded; we are ready. The national representation did not cross our heads like so many others. Don't come here, lovable and dear Lucile, it's a terrible country, whatever people say, a barbaric country, when you've lived in Paris. I have no caves (cavernes) to offer you, but many cypresses. They grow here naturally. Tell your glutton of a husband that the snipes and thrushes here are better than the inhabitants. If it weren't so far from here in Paris, I would send him some, but you will receive some olives and oil. Farewell, dear Lucile, I am leaving immediately for the army. The general attack is about to begin; it will have taken place when you receive this letter. We are counting on great successes and to force all the posts and redoubts of the enemy with the bayonets. My sister is still locked up in Toulon. This consideration will not stop us: if she perishes, we will give tears to her ashes; but we will have returned Toulon to the republic. I thank you for your charming memory; La Poype, whom I do not see, because he is in his division, will be very sensitive to it. Farewell once again, madwoman, a hundred times mad, darling rouleau, bouli-boula of my heart; this is a very long letter; but I gave myself up to the pleasure of chatting with you, and I took the night for it. Tell loup-loup to write to me; he's a sloth. With regard to your reply to this one, it will probably take a year to arrive. What does it matter to me! On the contrary. It's clear as day. I remember those unintelligible sentences; I remember that piano, those melodies, that melancholy tone, abruptly interrupted by great bursts of laughter. Indefinable being!... Farewell. I embrace the whole warren and you, Lucile, with tenderness and with all my soul. Stanislas.

PS - Don't forget me to the baby bunny (Horace) and his pretty grandmother Melpomène. I would also like to hear from Patagon (Brune), Saturn (Duplain) and Marius (Danton). The latter must have received a letter from me. I will write to him again. Make sure Camille communicates the parts of this letter regarding La Poype, and that his eloquent voice pleads the cause of a friend always worthy of him, always worthy of the Cordeliers. Remind us of his memory, for we love him and are attached to him for life. Consternation is in Toulon. We have killed the English, at the last incident, all their grenadiers. The Spaniards are assassinating them with their stilettos. They have already stabbed thirty of them. It’s now or never to attack. So I am leaving; the cannonade will begin as soon as we will have arrived. We are going to win laurels or willows. Prepare, Lucile, what it is you intend for me.

In the fifth number of the Vieux Cordelier, released January 5 1794, Camille did like Fréron had asked and defended both him and la Poype, clearly using Fréron’s letter as a source:

Note here that four weeks ago, Hebert presented to the Jacobins a soldier who came to heap pretentious praise on Carteaux and to discredit our two Cordeliers Fréron and La Poype who nevertheless had come close to taking Toulon in spite of envy and slander; because Hebert called Freron, just as he called me, a ci-devant patriot, a muscadin, a Sardanapalus, a viédasse. Take note citizens that Hebert has continued to insult Fréron and Barras for two months, to demand their recall to the Committee of Public Safety and to commend Carteaux, without whom General La Poype would perhaps have retaken Toulon six weeks ago, when he had already seized Fort Pharon. Take note that when Hébert saw that he could not influence Robespierre on the subject of Fréron because Robespierre knows the Old Cordeliers, because he knows Freron just as he knows me; note that it was then that this forged letter signed by Fréron and Barras arrived at the Committee for Public Safety, from where no one knows; this letter which so strongly resembled one which managed to arrive two days ago at the Quinze Vingts, which made out that d’Eglantine, Bourdon de l’Oise, Philippeaux and myself wanted to whip up the sections. Oh! My dear Fréron, it is by these crude artifices that the patriots of August 10 are undermining the pillars of the old district of the Cordeliers. You wrote ten days ago to my wife ”I only dream of Toulon, I will either perish there or return it to the republic, I’m leaving. The cannonade will begin as soon as I arrive; we are going to win a laurel or a willow: prepare one or the other for me.” Oh! My brave Fréron, we both wept with joy when we learned this morning of the victory of the republic, and that it was with laurels that we would go to meet you, and not with willows to meet your ash. It was in the assault with Salicetti and the worthy brother of Robespierre, that you responded to the calumnies of Hébert. Things are therefore the same both in Paris and Marseille! I will quote your words, because those of a conqueror will carry more weight than mine. You write to us in this same letter: I don't know if Camille thinks like me; but it seems to me that one wants to push the popular societies beyond their goal, and make them carry out, without them suspecting it, counter-revolution, by ultra-revolutionary measures. What has just happened in Marseille is proof of this. Oh well! My poor Martin (this could be a reference to the the drawing ”Martin Fréron mobbed by Voltaire” which depicts Fréron’s father Élie Fréron as a donkey called ”Martin F.”), were you therefore pursued by the Père Duchesnes of both Paris and Bouches-du-Rhône? And without knowing it, by that instinct which never misleads true republicans, two hundred leagues apart, I with my writing desk, you with your sonorous voice, we are waging war against the same enemies! But it is necessary to break with you this colloquium, and return to my justification.

The very same day, Fréron wrote a third letter to Lucile. Again, the parts in italics were censored when the letter was first published in 1836:

You did not answer me, dearest Lucile, and my punctuality has so dumbfounded you that your astonishment still lasts. You had deferred my answer to eight months; you see if you are a good prophetess. I inform you with a sensitive pleasure (which you will share, I am sure) that my sister and my niece did not perish; that they found a way to wear themselves out in the dreadful night which preceded the surrender of Toulon. She is about to give birth. I informed her of the interest you took in her sad fate; she was very sensitive and asks me to show you her gratitude. Answer me then, lazy that you are, and ungrateful, which is worse. One breaks the silence after a year, after centuries, and one gets, as thank you, a few words written in distraction, Bouli-Boula, what does it do to me? The bunny is desolute; he thinks of you constantly; he thought about you amid bombs and bullets, and he would have gladly said like that old gallant: Ah! if my lady saw me! I realize with sorrow that you are upset, since Camille has been denounced by the same men who have pursued me at the Jacobins. I hope he will triumph over these attacks; I recognized his original touch in a few passages from his new journal; and I too am one of the old Cordeliers. Farewell, Lucile, wicked devil, enemy of bunnies. Has your wild thyme been harvested? I shall not delay, despite all my insults, to implore the favor of nibbling some from your hand. I asked for a month's leave to recover a bit; for I am exhausted with fatigue; afterwards I fly back into the bosom of the Convention, and I stealthily amaze myself on the grass with Martin on the paths of Bourg d’Égalité, under the eyes of la grande lapin? and in spite of your pots of water. You'll have neither olives nor oil if I don't get a response from you. You can tell me whatever you like but I love you and embrace you, right under the nose of your jealous loup-loup. Goodbye once more. Do not forget me to our shared friends. What has become of citoyenne Robert? A thousand things to your old loup-loup; I wanted to write to him, but time is short and the mail rushes me. Tell him to keep his imagination in check a little with respect to a committee of clemency. It would be a triumph for the counter-revolutionaries. Let not his philanthropy blind him; but let him make an all-out war on all industrial patriots. Goodbye again, loveliest of rouleux. My respects to your good and beautiful maman. Give my regards to the baby bunny (Horace). The letter reached Lucile within a week, but it’s with a tone less playful than Fréron’s that she answered it with on January 13 (cited in Camille Desmoulins and his wife (1874) by Jules Claretie):

Come back, Fréron, come back quickly. You have no time to lose; bring with you all the old Cordeliers you can meet up with; we have the greatest need of them. If it had pleased Heaven not to have ever dispersed them! You cannot have an idea of what is going on here! You are ignorant of everything, you only see a feeble glimmering in the distance, which can give you but a faint idea of our situation. Indeed, I am not surprised that you reproach Camille for his Committee of Clemency. He cannot be judged from Toulon. You are happy where you are; all has gone according to the wish of your heart; but we, calumniated, persecuted by the ignorant, the intriguing, and even by patriots; Robespière (sic) your compass, has denounced Camille at the Jacobins; he has had numbers 3 and 4 read, and has demanded that they should be burnt; he who had read them in manuscript. Can you conceive such a thing? For two consecutive sittings he has thundered, or rather shrieked, against Camille. At the third sitting Camille's name was struck off. Oddly enough, he made inconceivable efforts to have the cancelling reported; it was reported; but he saw that when he did not think or act according to their the will of a certain number of individuals, he was not all powerful. Marius (Danton) is not listened to any more, he is losing courage and vigour. D'Eglantine is arrested, and in the Luxembourg, under very grave charges. So he was not a patriot! he who had been one until now! A patriot the less is a misfortune the more. The monsters have dared to reproach Camille with having married a rich woman. Ah! let them never speak of me; let them ignore my existence, let me live in the midst of a desert. I ask nothing from them, I will give up to them all I possess, provided I do not breathe the same air as they! Could I but forget them, and all the evils they cause us! I see nothing but misfortune around me. I confess, I am too weak to bear so sad a sight. Life has become a heavy burden. I cannot even think - thinking, once such a pure and sweet pleasure alas! I am deprived of it… My eyes fill with tears… I shut up this terrible sorrow in my heart; I meet Camille with a serene look, I affect courage that he may not lose his keep up his. You do not seem to me to have read his five numbers. Yet you are a subscriber. Yes, the wild thyme is gathered, quite ready. I plucked it amid many cares. I laugh no more; I never act the cat; I never play my piano; I dream no more, I am nothing but a machine now. I see no one, I never go out. It is a long time since I have seen the Roberts. They have gotten into difficulties through their own fault. They are trying to be forgotten. Farewell, bunny, you will call me mad again. I am not, however, quite yet; I have still enough reason left to suffer. I cannot express to you my joy on learning that your dear sister had met with no accident; I have been quite uneasy since I heard Toulon was taken. I wondered incessantly what would be their fate. Speak to them sometimes of me. Embrace them both for me. I beg them to do the same to you, for me. Do you hear! my wolf cries out: Martin, my dear Martin, here, thou art come that I may embrace thee; come back very soon. Come back, come back very soon; we are awaiting you impatiently.

In number 6 of the Vieux Cordelier, released January 30 1794, Camille responds to Fréron’s critique regarding a committee of clemency while informing him that his father-in-law has gotten arrested:

Beware, Fréron, that I was not writing my number 4 in Toulon, but here, where I assure you that everyone is in order, and where there is no need for the spur of Père Duchesne, but rather of the Vieux Cordelier's bridle; and I will prove it to you without leaving my house and by a domestic example. You know my father-in-law, Citizen Duplessis, a good commoner and son of a peasant, blacksmith of the village. Well! The day before yesterday, two commissioners from Mutius Scaevola's section (Vincent's section, that will tell you everything) came up to his house; they find law books in the library; and notwithstanding the decree that no one will touch Domat, nor Charles Dumoulin, although they deal with feudal matters, they raid half the library, and charge two pickers with the paternal books. […] An old clerk's wallet, which had been discarded, forgotten above a cupboard in a heap of dust, and which he had not touched or even thought about for perhaps ten years, and on which they managed discovered the imprint of a few fleur-de-lis, under two fingers of filth, completed the proof that citizen Duplessis was suspect, and thus he was locked up until the peace, and seals put on all the gates of this countryhouse where you remember, my dear Fréron, that we both found an asylum which the tyrant dared not violate after we were both ordered to be seized after the massacre of the Champ-de-Mars.

Fréron was back in Paris by at least March 14, less than a month before the arrest and execution of Camille and Lucile. He is not confirmed to have tried to do anything to save his friends. Following their death, he does however appear to have laid low. He is not proven to have spoken at the Jacobins following March 26, and so far I haven’t found any recorded apperances at the Convention either. I don’t think it would be completely out of the blue to speculate in whether his choice to play an active role in the fall of Robespierre (he was one of nine deputies designated in the thermidorian pamphlet Conjuration formée dès le 5 préréal [sic] par neuf représentans du peuple contre Maximilien Robespierre, pour le poignarder en plein sénat (1794) to on May 24 1794 have formed a plan to stab him to death, and also spoke against the robespierrists during the session of 9 thermidor) to some extent was motivated by the urge to avenge his dead friends, especially since I can’t find any instance of Robespierre openly denouncing Fréron or anything to that effect.

When Fréron shortly after thermidor revived his journal l’Orateur du Peuple, he used it to rehabilitate Camille’s memory, but also used said memory as a weapon against the Jacobins. These are all mentions made of Camille and Lucile in the part of the journal currently digitalized:

[The Jacobin Club] threw from its bosom and sent to the scaffold the unfortunate Camille Desmoulins, who was guilty of no other crime than of having wanted to uncloak and put an end to those of this detestable faction. Number 7 of l’Orateur du Peuple (September 26 1794).

Camille Desmoulins to the Jacobins of Paris: Citizens, I come to open your eyes to the abyss that is growing under your feet. I have just lifted you from the lethargic sleep into which it seems that a genius enemy of our joy and your safety had plunged you. Frenchmen, wake up! Never have the scroundels that do not show themselves, but who make their numerous beutenans act, according to the expression of Legendre, been more, in labor of the counter-revolution. They feel themselves lost, carried away, like in spite of themselves and tears; so to speak, in the tumbril of public opinion. [”Camille” then goes on to conduct Fréron’s politics for approximately seven pages, most of the entire number.] As it’s Robespierre who signed my passport for the other side, and who had the attention to send my wife there too eight days later, it’s him I must thank him for the good that I have now. […] Number 9 of l’Orateur du Peuple (September 28 1794)

Have they (the Jacobins) overlooked and denounced the abhorrent tribunal of Robespierre and his co-dictators? No, they’ve even sent innocents there, such as Phelippeux [sic], Camille Desmoulins and many others. Number 28 of l’Orateur du Peuple (October 19 1794)

In Réponse de Fréron, représentant du peuple, aux diffamations de Moyse Bayle (1795), we also find the following passage:

You (Bayle) who plunged the dagger (for your pen was the knife of our colleagues) into the bosom of Camille and Phelippeaux [sic]: your features cannot freighten me; I am stronger than your insults. […] A constant truth today, in Toulon, is that at most there were a hundred and fifty rebels immolated in the national revenge. In this regard, I appeal to my colleagues Barras, Ricord, Crevés, Rovére and all the inhabitants of the Medi: if I had only told Moyle Bayle this small number, we would have been recalled and guillotined as moderates and as being necessarily the same as this poor Camille, of the indulgent faction.

And in Mémoire historique sur la réaction royale et sur les massacres du Midi (1824, published posthumously?) he writes:

During a dinner at citizen Formalguès’ where I found myself together with Legendre, Tallien, Barras and other deputies, the conversation fell on Camille Desmoulins, this child so naive and spiritual, murdered for having proposed a committee of clemency. I tell Lanjuinais, whom Camille had pleasantly called le pape of the Vendée, and who was sitting in front of me: ”But, Lanjuinais, if the poor Camille had lived, would you have him guillotined?” ”Unquestionably,” responded the jansenist. As I was very glad that other witnesses heard, from Lanjuinais' own mouth, this sweet monosyllable, in which his beautiful soul was depicted, I turned a deaf ear and began my sentence again. "Without difficulty, there is no question," resumed the holy man in an impatient tone; and thereupon one rose from the table, he made the sign of the cross, joined his hands, and said his graces.

Furthermore, Fréron stayed in touch with Lucile’s mother Annette Duplessis, helping her get back the objects confiscated by the state after Camille and Lucile’s execution, obtaining the pension their son Horace in 1796 had been promised by the Council of Five Hundred, and making sure Horace got a good education at the Prytanée Français (former Louis-le-Grand):

I have just written to Fréron, as we agreed. This is what I think you ought to ask of him: 1. Being your children’s friend, that he should take all neccesary steps in Horace’s favour with the committees. 2. That he should claim for him the family papers and his father’s manusscript. 3. That he should claim for Horace the family books; they also will be useful for his instruction; they are indispensable for the supply of his wants; besides, this justice has already been done to Citizen Boucher’s widow, therefore there is a precedent for it. Committees composed of the friends of justice ought to be proud to being useful to the orphans of patriots. Fréron and his friends cannot refuse to act in concert with you. Greetings and friendship. Brune in a letter to Annette Duplessis, March 3 1795

22 vêntose year 8 I’ve spoken to the Minister of the Interior, Madame, about your (votre) position and that of Horace with so much interest that you inspire in me. He finds it right that the son of Camille Desmoulins enters the Prytanée Français. He told me about it, but it is essential that the child knows how to read and write perfectly before his admission. I will have the honor of seeing you over the next décade, and we will discuss together the procedure to follow; I do not doubt for a single moment the success, based on the way the minister responded to me. You personally have not been forgotten. I told him (because he was unaware) that the National Convention had granted you a pension, which was not paid, and has never been paid, I fear. He is equally prepared to make you receive it. You must send me, 1. the Convention’s decree or the copy of it; 2. your demand or petition, without forgetting to specify since when your pension has not been paid. Citizen Omae? will arrive in 15 days. Yesterday I saw his wife who had just learned of the news through a letter he sent her this Thursday. A thousand hugs to the charming little Horace, and a thousands attachments to his good maman. On the first fine day I’m going to early in the morning read and re-read all the packages from Bourg Égalité and the idyll of the most lovable woman I have known. Salut and respect. Fréron. Fréron in a letter to Annette Duplessis, March 13 1800

Aside from these two letters, there’s also several unpublished ones, one dated February 20 1795 through which we learn that Fréron, with the help of deputies Aubry, Tallien, Ysabeau and Rovère obtained a reprieve on the sale of Camille’s confiscated bed and libary, which they managed to save for Horace, one dated March 1 1795 and co-authored by Fréron and Laurance to the commissioners handling the sale of the property of convicts of the section of the Théatre-Français, one dated June 17 1800 from Fréron to Annette regarding Horace’s schooling (all of these were mentioned in Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république), and finally one dated April 27 1800 Fréron adressed to Duplain, promising his support to Napoleon so that Horace could enter the Prytanée Français (mentioned in Journaliste, sans-culotte et thermidorien: le fils de Fréron: 1754-1802 (1909).

Finally, according to Marcellin Matton, Fréron named his two children Camille and Lucile in honor of his dead friends. However, I’ve not found any information about said children (which, if they existed at all, must have been illegitimate since Fréron never married) anywhere, neither in Fréron’s family tree nor in the 1909 biography, so perhaps Matton is mistaken here…

#fréron helping take care of horace and selling his soul to naps so that he could get a good education is like his 1 redeeming quality #guy srs wrote ”i dream about banging you in that bed you’ve got there lucile” 🤤#desmoulins #camille desmoulins #lucile desmoulins #fréron #stanislas fréron #horace desmoulins #frev friendships #frev #ask #fréron having the dead camille guest write in his journal though…#brings a whole new meaning to the term ghost writer

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