#all he did was veto most of my ideas

[irishbreakfst]

Saw 4 SEPARATE SPECIES OF BUG IN MY STUPID APARTMENT TODAY (none of them were bed bugs at least but they were some of the other bug species I loathe and fear the most) I know the fact that its really hot is probably the main reason they're being so active and getting in here, but God damn I'm already crawling through zillow to find my next apartment and I've still got 11 months in this lease. If I ever see a cave cricket in this house with my own two eyes I'm breaking the fuckin lease tho I can promise you that

[miloformula123fan]

Full fic??

I’ve read that Logan S. felt really lonely being the only American in F1. Like, he wasn’t completely accepted in the grid. Maybe he has an overprotective older sister who is a professional soccer player (like World Cup level good) who finally has time to attend his races. She dislikes most of the grid, except Alex and Oscar, for how they treated her brother. quick to defend Logan and even as far as annihilate them during the annual driver soccer match to prove a point. Im thinking G. Russel pairing due to Logan living in England. he wins her over by treating logan right, acknowledging he could have been welcoming, etc. Just a thought!

OKAY I HONESTLY LOVED THIS! IT WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE (let me know if you want a part 2, because it is a bit of an interesting ending haha)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

edit: i wrote part 2 - it is here

part 3 is here

George Russell x reader, logan sargeant x sister!reader

---

Y/N loves her brother, she really does. Yeah, she’s tried to get to a few of his F2 rounds, but with her soccer taking her around the world, she has had very little time. She has the entire month off though, so what better to do than visit her brother at his home grand prix. Miami is always a party, so maybe she could let loose for a bit, try and relax, and find a guy.

This is quickly vetoed when she finds Logan cooped up in his drivers room. While most people would think that he was excited for the race, most people weren’t Logan’s sister. She could tell he was thinking too hard about something, and it wasn’t good.

“Hey Logie Bear! Whatcha thinking about?” She tried to appear happy, but she could see that Logan’s smile did not reach his eyes

“Nothing, just excited for the race, the car is quick, just aiming for some points, hoping for a safety car. The garage is over there, sorry I have to warm up.” Y/N looked up as Benny entered the room and Logan stood up. She could tell how closed up he was, how he didn’t want to talk at all

“Okay, we’ll talk after the race Logan! Good luck, you'll smash it!” Y/N walked out of the drivers room towards the garage seeing the chaos of it.

Y/N watched as Logan apologised over again and again to his engineer for not making up any more places. She stood there listening to his engineer reassure her younger brother. She eventually decided that she couldn’t listen to it anymore and decided to wait in his garage room.

When he walked in, Y/N could tell he wasn’t sure whether to throw stuff or cry. 

“Hey, hey, come here! It’s okay, it’s okay!” She opened her arms and sat down as Logan fell down into them and hugged her baby brother, as he started talking the words just rushed out

“I just wanted to prove that I deserve to be here, feel like I’m a part of the paddock.” Logan hugged his sister back tightly, hesitating slightly.

“What do you mean? Of course you’re a part of the paddock, you’ve got your seat, y’know?” Y/N was confused as to what her brother meant, from what she had seen, he was welcomed warmly by everyone.

“Yeah but, I’m never invited to the grid parties, no one really ever talks to me, except Alex and Oscar, and Oscar is getting into the rest of the grid through Lando, and Alex is only really talking to me because I mean, he’s my teammate we have to be friends, and I just want everyone to like me… so I thought maybe if I got some points and good overtakes, then people would like me..”

“Oh, Logie… It’ll be okay. If they don’t like you then I think they’re just idiots, but they won’t. They’ll warm up to you, I promise.”

---

George watched as Y/N sprinted up and down. Okay the F1 team was never going to win, particularly when multiple women who were playing in the world cup were playing on the opposition team, but ‘Sargeant’  (who also had the same name as the rookie driver this year, who was sitting in the stands) was dominating, she had more goals then all of the f1 team, so of course the celebrity team won 4-1. She’d almost immediately jumped into the stands once the referee blew the whistle and started talking to Logan, maybe the kid got married young and just didn’t want anyone to realise. 

Although she looked quite similar to Logan, so maybe his sister instead. Either way, she did not seem to like them, she called them all dickheads and shoved them over a few times. George’s knees were sore. But she was still pretty. So he approached Logan and the girl.

“Hello! I’m George and…’

“I’m pretty sure my brother knows your name, Georgie! Why don’t you say hello to him?”

“Y/N-”

“No. Say hi to Logan, George.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, almost forced.

“Hey Logan! Looking forward to the grand prix this weekend?”

“Uhhhh… yeah. ” He turned back to Y/N “I’ve got some stuff to do, so you can make your way back. See ya!”

As soon as Logan was out of listening range, Y/N pulled George in and started whispering, “Listen, I don’t know what problem you have my brother, but you need to get over it ASAP, understood?”

“I.. don’t have a problem with your brother.”

“Well, then why is he telling me that there have been 2 people, Oscar and Alex, who have actually welcomed him to F1. Everyone else has snubbed him and he doesn’t understand why you don’t like him. He’s lonely. So fucking sort your shit out.”

George stood there, mouth gaping as she stormed off to grab her bag and then sprinted after Logan. He could almost hear the f1 team laughing at his failed attempt at flirting, but all he could think about ‘was what she said true?’’

---

Y/N was going to cry.

She could see Logan in the family and friends box, hands over his mouth, eyes glassy.

That corner kick should’ve gone in, she thought, we had so many chances and we still fucked it all. Couldn’t even give Megs a proper farewell.

She walks slowly over to her younger brother and let his arms wrap around her

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Dragged you halfway ‘round the world when you should’ve been training only to lose the first game.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. Go pack up, we can head home and spend some time in London relaxing. I’ve got next week off before I need to be back in the factory.”

—

Y/N was awoken by a knock on the front door. Hearing Logan snoring from his bedroom, she got up off the couch, rubbing her eyes and opened the door.

Of all the people she was expecting to see, George Russell would’ve been just about the last on her list “Uhh, hey?”

“Oh, morning! Is your brother up?”

Y/n paused for a moment to let George hear the snores coming from Logan’s bedroom. “Yeah, no, sorry. I can pass on a message?”

“Oh, No I was just going to offer if he was still up to go on a morning jog with him, but as he isn’t…”

“You been doing this often?”

“Almost every week we’ve been in town. I don’t think he understands what or why I’m doing this. But, he’s a good kid, opens up a bit when you talk to him. He likes you, respects you a lot for 2 siblings pursuing their sport across the globe.”

“I’ll make some breakfast and you can stay til Logan wakes up, okay? As a thanks for looking out for him. Hard for me to do from across the globe.” Y/N looked tense, with an almost forced smile. She looked awkward, before stepping back, holding the door open so George could come in.

---

“LOGAN SARGEANT!”

“Hello, dear sister, what do you want?”

“YOU GOT POINTS!”

“I think you must have watched a different grand prix, I got P12.”

“Hamilton and Leclerc got disqualified, something about wood, but you got points!”

“OH MY! AHHH! I had no idea, oh god!”

“YEAH! MY LITTLE BRO FINALLY GETTING F1 POINTS! WOOHOO! We must celebrate when we’re both in town!”

“AHH! Shit, wait I think people are coming in, give me a sec.

You’re on speaker dear sis, Alex, Oscar and George are here.”

“HELLO OSCAR! HI ALEX! HI GEORGE! DID SOMEONE BRING CHAMPAGNE???”

---

Y/N looks at the buzzing phone on her bedside table. Well clearly she had grabbed Logan’s phone before bed last night. She looked at the contact name

‘George - probably calling about something from the GDPA.’

She picked up.

“Before you start talking, I’m not Logan and I have not signed any NDAs related to his contract so, don’t talk to me.”

“Hi Y/N, do you know where Logan is?” George’s voice was way too cheery for however fucking early it is right now.

“Yeah he’s in his bedroom, he grabbed my phone and I grabbed his, why?” Y/N swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, still rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, can you come answer the door?”

“The door, why?” Y/N got up, and walked to her front door and opened the door to …nothing.

“George, are you pulling a prank on me? There’s nothing at the door.”

“You haven’t opened the door!”

“George… Logan and I are in Florida for Christmas. I’m guessing you’re in London.”

“Oh…yes. Bugger. I came to congratulate him on his contract renewal and so now I’ve got food and flowers and stuff and he’s not here!”

“If you go round the block to 20 XXX Close, there’s a single mom there, who will appreciate some Christmas cheer Georgie.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send it over.”

“Why were you congratulating Logan, George? I didn’t think you cared. Only Alex and Oscar have reached out so far.”

“I..I remember what you said at the soccer match, about Logan feeling ostracised by all of us. So I’ve been trying to make him feel welcomed… not just because you said that, and I like you, but also because I kinda realised we’d all be failing him as a grid, so i thought if I started it, maybe others would catch on. It didn’t work, but I think he feels more included.”

“That’s very nice of you Georgie. I’ll pass on your congrats. Now it’s like 7am here, and I didn’t need to be awake today, so i will be heading back to bed. Night Georgie boy.”

[furiousladyking]

It's a Date - Part 2

Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: This is probably going to be slow going, but I think I like it so far?

Summary: Jake Seresin is feeling defeated. His youngest sister, Brooke is getting married in 3 weeks, and he has yet to find a date. While he loves his family, he can't say he enjoys getting those comments from his mother about when he is going to find a "nice girl" and settle down. In comes Y/N "Casper" L/N, a prime target to get rid of the one on Jake's back.

Warning: probably incorrect military information, not really proof-read.

__________________________________________________________

“You said you would give me whatever I wanted if I agreed to come with you,” you started, pointing toward a coffee shop kiosk to your left. They had just made it through security screening. Being in the Navy had its perks, including the fast lane through the always dreaded process. 

“Casp, you want to spend your compensation on a coffee?” It was early, too early if you ask Y/N. Hangman begged to differ, he wanted to check their bags and head toward their gate as quickly as possible so they wouldn’t be rushed. It was a little hypocritical, but that wasn’t something you were going to bring up at this hour. 

“Oh, Honey,” you begin, with a playful grin on your face. “You’ll be giving me whatever I want all weekend.” Hangman snorts at your comment, causing you to pull a face at his insinuation. Quickly brushing it off and rolling your eyes, you plant your feet where they stand and cross your arms. It was Hangman’s turn to roll his eyes.

“In that case, Sweetheart, how about you go over and get us something while I check our bags.” He adjusts the bags on his shoulder. “What do you have in this thing anyway? An F-18 manual?” His tone indicates joking, but his face is set in an almost glare.

“Just my love for you, baby,” you grin, reaching out your hand towards his cheek, getting ready to squeeze. He swats your hand away before shaking his head. While walking away, toward the check-in desk, he most definitely did not smile at your giggle. 

“Here,” you mumble as Hangman walks up to you after checking your bags. In your hand is a coffee cup, which he quickly accepts. You both grab the handle of your carry-ons and start walking in the direction of your gate. Lifting the cup to his mouth, Hangman admits to himself that coffee is definitely appreciated, it doesn't matter if it is the way he likes it.

“You remembered.” He looks to his side; head cocking slightly after the first sip. You look back, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“What?”

“Casper, you remembered the way I like my coffee,” He starts. You simply shrug and go to sip your drink once more. Hangman continues, “Y’know, someone might get the wrong idea and think you like me because you remembered this.” The sing-songy tune at the end of his sentence makes you snort. 

“Don’t get a big head, Bagman, it’s just a coffee. A black coffee,” you say as you shake your head softly.

“If we’re going to pass as a couple, you can’t be calling me that this weekend.” Your walk turns into more of a stroll as people rush past you. 

“But what if you’re being ridiculous,” You counter, your eyebrows raised.

“I have never, in my life, been ridiculous.” You cackle. Hangman does what he can to suppress the grin on his face, blaming it on the fact that your laugh was hilarious. “I think we should think about what we are going to call each other so it sounds natural when the time comes.” At that moment, someone who was in a particularly large rush passed you, clipping Hangman’s shoulder. His coffee splashes on his hand and wrist, causing him to hiss in surprise. “Asshat,” He grumbles under his breath. Hearing a gasp beside him, he notices the look on your face. “No - not that!”

“Fine, but you can’t veto my next one. I’m calling you baby and there is nothing you can do about it,” you say, shrugging mostly to yourself. “It just flows, so it’ll make pretending easier.”

“And you can be Honey,” He states. Looking at you, he sees the shake of your head. “Princess?” Giggles follow. “Sweetheart?” you pause for a moment, causing those behind you to grumble as they pass. 

“It’s not the worst choice.” You begin to walk once more, not looking back to see if the man you are with has followed. “So, Hangman, how long have we been dating?”

“It needs to be at least six months - that’s when I told my sisters that I would have a date for the wedding.”

“And they are just hearing about me now after over half a year because...?” Hangman’s shoulders move up and down.

“Being in the navy, and a pilot at that, we wanted to make sure things worked on a personal level before getting others involved,” He says. 

“If I had use of both of my hands, I might actually applaud you. It’s like you have thought about this or something.”

As the plane touches down on the tarmac, you feel yourself getting more and more anxious about the whole plan. You knew you were friends, and possibly could even categorize yourselves as good friends at this point, but would anyone buy that you were in love? 

You look to the seat beside you, and Hangman’s pleasant disposition washes away a bit of the worry. You can tell how excited he is to see his family. Like most of the dagger crew, he visited home as often as he could and would invite his family to see him, but being away was something Hangman never really got used to. He missed coming home to the smell of a hot, home-cooked meal wafting through the house. He missed teasing his sisters, then inevitably threatening someone who spoke or acted against them. 

You decide to pull him out of his focused state when those in front of them start to stand up and get ready to disembark from the plane. You place your hand on his forearm and find yourself smiling when he jumps slightly. 

“Your hands are freezing,” He spoke with his eyebrows knit together, words filled with pretend malice. “A little Texan air will do you some good, hopefully, return you to being a warm-blooded creature,” he said, with his face screwed up. You pretend to scoff, but a smirk was clawing its way onto your face, with nothing you could do about it.

Jake takes it upon himself to lift both of their carry-ons from the overhead compartment, seemingly slipping into the boyfriend role easily. Before walking down the aisle to disembark, he takes your hand in his and squeezes it as if he can feel your anxiety. You guess it was probably radiating off you considering how much you felt building up in your chest. 

Walking through the hallways of the airport, you are impressed. You knew Austin was big, but in all honesty, you were expecting something a little more… country. Through the walls of windows, you notice the large crowd of people at the bottom of the escalator. Most of them looked so excited to be here, likely reuniting with some of their favourite people. You watch as various groups embrace passengers from the plane and feel a pang in your chest. Is it wrong to trick Jake’s family like this? Surely there was another-

“That’s them there”, Jake interjects, jolting you from your possibly spiral-inducing thoughts. Though he is pointing toward the crowd, you can’t help but look at his face first. He looks like a kid on Christmas who just opened a present containing a puppy. You follow his hand and try to filter through the crowd. You had seen pictures of his mom and his sisters from an old photograph in his locker but adding an extra 20 years really changed people. 

Jake’s point turns into a wave, and suddenly you see them. His mother has the same smile, and his sisters have the same bright blonde hair that Jake adorned. 

The both of you walk up to Jake’s family and you are immediately enveloped in a hug by his mother. Your mouth opens into an “o” shape, a little taken aback by the prompt physical affection. You hear a snicker from beside you.

“I hope Jake told you we are a family of huggers,” his sister jokes, taking Jake into a hug herself. 

“Oh, hush, Emily,” Jake’s mother chides before partially releasing you. She holds onto the tops of your arms and smiles. “It is so nice to meet you, dear.” 

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Seresin. Thank you so much for having me.” She still hasn’t let you go of your arms, seemingly trying to take you all in. You flush red, looking away for a second, worried she will be able to see the lie on your face. 

“Dear, call me Alice, Mrs. Seresin is far too formal for such an important person in Jake’s life.” Her hands brush down your arms, to stop to hold your hands for a quick moment. Almost abruptly, she releases your hold to turn toward her son. “And you, I swear it’s been years since I have seen my favourite son,” she teases. He chuckles.

“It’s been maybe five months, Ma.” He doesn’t touch on the favourite son bit. Sure, he was her only son, but it didn’t stop her from telling him he could still be her favourite. Her hug with Jake is much shorter than the one she shared with you, something Jake couldn’t help but notice.

“Okay then, let’s get this show on the road. Your nieces were practically bouncing on the couch in anticipation of meeting Y/N.” 

_________________________________________________________

@keyrani @djs8891

[tagthescullion]

The Undead Diary of Luke Castellan

Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: T

Summary: It's not Luke's fault the Underworld is understaffed and some of its doors connecting with the living world are left unattended.

Words: 2929

AO3 link

I’d like to begin this story by saying this wasn’t my fault.

Not completely. Or well, not exactly.

The decision was mine, I guess. Except that it wasn’t a decision. More like an impulsive action that turned out to have big consequences.

But, in my defence —a line I’ve been using a lot these past few years, and, come to think of it, all of my life—, I was left unsupervised.

Let’s go back to the beginning.

I died.

Was it painful? Yes, very. Was it unfortunate? Many would disagree. Did I have it coming? I might have, yeah.

At any rate, my arrival in the Underworld had been most expected (by both the demigods alive and the ones whose deaths I’d had a hand in). All things considered, betrayal to the gods and my old camp-mates and whatnot, I hadn’t exactly hoped for a loving welcome committee. 

If I’m honest, my judgement and the execution of my sentence were far less harsh than I probably deserved.

Hades himself was in charge of my fate, and to my utmost surprise, he vetoed the judges’ decision to let me burn in acid in the Fields of Punishment. Instead, he suggested I made myself useful, to account for all the destruction I’d brought.

“My domain has expanded exponentially in the past century,” Hades had said. “Daedalus has proved a worthy addition to my efforts to keep it organised efficiently, and you will follow his example if you’re smart.”

And for the past year I had done my job well enough to keep the Lord of the Dead content.

Daedalus was grateful for another pair of hands, so to speak, for I’m not entirely sure I really had hands, or if my spirit’s consciousness believed it hard enough to make it feel that way.

The old man was an incredible and astute engineer, but he had trouble controlling his workers. I, on the other hand, had no idea how to even build a bridge with legos, but I had lots of experience in the field of leading reluctant people, monsters, and even minor deities into battle, which meant organising souls into efficient work groups was a piece of cake. And so I did —carefully watched by one of Hades’ Furies, of course—.

At the beginning, I didn’t see any fellow demigods. Not any I knew, anyway. I was sure some of the souls working under me had been demigods in the past century. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t have the time, Hades had given me Wednesdays off —I didn’t really know what day of the week it was, time is an elusive variant in the Underworld, but the Fury was kind enough to remind me—. I just didn’t have the courage to face my old acquaintances just yet.

I kept to the outskirts of Elysium. Souls don’t need to sleep, don't need to eat, don't need to do anything, truly. So I wandered around, looking remarkably like the souls who’d forgotten themselves after so many years. 

One day, I was spotted by Lee Fletcher. 

It felt like a dagger through my unbeating heart. Lee Fletcher had been my best friend and the second person I’d failed to convince to turn to Kronos’ side. I was glad Lee hadn’t joined in the end, but I’d been shattered when I learned of his demise in Zeus’ Fist at camp.

Lee didn’t look particularly surprised, though. 

“I was hoping you’d show your face around eventually,” he’d said. “You deserve a punch in the face and a friend to listen to an explanation.”

I had then offered my old friend a crooked smile. “That’s why I didn’t come round.”

Lee walked with me for a while in silence. I didn’t feel like explaining, and I suppose Lee didn’t feel like forgiving just yet.

After a couple of weeks, it became our Wednesday routine. Lee dared to speak before I did. He told me of what he knew of our respective siblings, and what he knew of everybody else, really. Demigods died and brought news even after the Battle of Manhattan. Obviously, a lot less frequently, but demigod life wasn’t easy in peace times either.

At some point, Lee managed to convince me to meet Silena. 

I assumed if anybody was also wary of our former friends it was her. She’d been a marvellous informant, but that had also made her an incredible traitor.

There was a fraction of a second of tense silence when we stood face to face. Then Silena bursted out into sobs and hugged me tight.

“We fucked up,” she cried. “We fucked up, we fucked up…”

I agreed, of course. Gods, we’d fucked up big time.

Slowly, Lee threw more people my way. 

Traitors at first, all of them filled with guilt and remorse. I imagine if they weren’t, they would’ve been burning in the Fields of Punishment with the acid the judges had wanted for me.

Then, there’d been a couple of kids who’d never joined my side. They were reluctant, I knew, but they clearly respected Lee enough to go along with him. 

Eventually, I got used to the nasty glares, but, more surprisingly, I started getting comments around the lines of, ‘Something had to be done, though’, ‘They really don’t care much about us, do they?’.

Through Lee’s diplomacy and my visible humility and apologetic behaviour —which wasn’t natural to me, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to start defending myself—, my old friends appeared on my Wednesday walks without being coerced. And I even stopped dreading those meetings so much.

That was until spirits started disappearing.

It was rather chaotic at first. There was fear around, which wasn’t common in Elysium. 

But then the fear turned into hope. They didn’t disappear. Rumours said they were going back to life.

My inner curiosity got the best of me, as it always did.

One Wednesday, I led Lee and Silena to Melinoe’s cave. She wasn’t home, which made me wonder whether she was in her father’s castle or just roaming around, scaring the shit out of innocent mortals. 

When Melinoe wasn’t in her cave, there was always Thanatos, I knew, making sure nobody snooped around like we were doing. Thanatos was a rather strict fellow, and a very good ally to Hades. 

In retrospect, it was easy to see he hadn’t been seen around in a long while. But then again, it’s easier to notice those things in hindsight. Time, as I said before, is hard to keep pace of in the Underworld.

“I don’t like this,” Lee said. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Worst case scenario, they’ll blame me.”

Lee smiled. That had been a thing even before I left camp. Whenever something fishy happened, Chiron was always quick to point at me rather than Apollo’s golden son.

“I’d rather they blamed nobody,” Silena said. “This place feels terrible, let’s go back.”

I stared at my friends. Didn’t they realise? Thanatos wasn’t here, neither was Melinoe, the Furies would need some time to catch us.

“It’s a way out, guys!”

“Out?” Lee’s expression turned uneasy. “Listen, Luke, we shouldn’t mess around with that idea.”

“It’s been done before,” I insisted. “Or almost.”

“I’m with Lee,” Silena said. “What’s happened, happened. We can’t leave. We can’t go back.”

“There’s nobody here!” I took another tentative step into the cave. I felt a pull, pushing me out into the open, but I went further in. “It feels… strange.”

I felt warm and cold at the same time. I hadn’t felt much since I’d died. My spirit had felt a trace of sensation, but it was muted. As if it was a memory rather than the real thing.

Could I possibly go out? Into the living world?

Over the past year I’d pushed down those feelings of incompleteness. There were still so many things I wanted to do. So many apologies. But two in particular. There were two people I’d have given anything to see.

And perhaps, if there was nobody to stop us, we might be able to leave!

“Luke, stop it!”

But Lee’s voice grew dimmer in my ears. 

I could meet them again, my two girls. Explain, tell them how sorry I was. 

The force pushing me back grew stronger with every step, but it was no match for my determination.

Step after step, the sensations enhanced in my chest. Cold and warmth, and even a hint of nausea. The ground sloped down, slowly at first, then steeper as I kept going.

Then I realised I could smell. It didn’t smell like a musty old cave, it was the smell of summer. Of hot wind and freshly cut grass.

It only made my resolve stronger.

It was pitch dark. The light from the entrance of the cave had been lost completely. 

I went another step further. Then another step. And another step.

I took a deep breath. I could breathe. I was breathing!

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears. Loud, strong, quick. Deafening.

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The force pushing me back was so strong now, that I almost tripped. But I regained balance and managed to keep going.

Another step… Another step… Another step…

Then the ground disappeared. 

And I fell.

-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z

My first sensation when I woke up was warmth in my face. 

A memory stirred in my mind. The smell of ripe strawberries, the laughter of children free for the summer holidays, the rhythmic sound of waves, a towel under my body, and the warmth of the sun hitting my exposed skin. 

It was the sun. The sun! I was feeling the sun on my skin!

Then the feeling disappeared, and the brightness I could see through my closed eyelids banished.

A soft hand patted my cheek carefully.

“Hello?” Said a woman’s voice. “Young man?”

I opened my eyes slowly. Outlined by a halo of sunlight the face of a pretty woman of about thirty hovered around a metre away from me.

I tried to speak but my throat felt like sandpaper. 

“It’s okay,” she said. Her voice held a trace of an accent. “It takes a while to get used to being back.”

Back.

In spite of the burning feeling in my throat, my face split into a grin.

“Back,” I rasped. “I’m back.”

The woman helped me sit up. 

I studied her properly now. Her skirt, blouse, and sweater looked old-fashioned. Her hair was loose, but it curled in that style I’d seen in a thousand WWII movies. She had a warm smile and a clever look.

“I’m Luke,” I said, offering her a hand. “My name’s Luke Castellan.”

“Maria,” she replied. 

She looked at my hand and shook it after a second of hesitation. 

“I keep forgetting Americans shake hands. So impersonal,” she stated with a raised eyebrow. Her tone was teasing though.

“Are you—” I caught myself. “Were you dead too?”

“Right to the point, yes?” She smiled. “Yes, I was dead. I have been for a while. But now I’m here, and I need to find my son.”

“Your son?” I was surprised. 

My perception of ‘mother’ isn’t the best, but this woman didn’t look like a mom to me. She looked like an old time movie star, those that always had perfect make-up, in the black-and-white photos I’d seen in the cinema close to my place in Connecticut. 

“Yes,” she said. “My little boy. He should be an old man by now, I would have expected.”

“But he isn’t?” I wondered.

She shook her head, anger and sorrow transformed her expression.

“My daughter passed away,” she told me. “Not too long ago. She should have been old, but she was still a girl.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I looked down, and when I spoke it was full of bitterness. “Children’s lives should never be at risk.”

And despite what many may think, I do believe that kids shouldn’t be put in the line of fire.

Maria nodded, swallowed, and composed herself so fast I felt a little thread of envy. If only I could’ve put up a cheerful façade that quickly…

“You don’t look old enough to die either,” she decided, giving me a once over.

“I think I deserved it,” I admitted. ‘It was my choice’ sounded a bit too harsh. “Besides, I’m 23, that’s better than dying as a child.”

Maria huffed. “23 is still so young.”

“As opposed to…?” I asked. 

She seemed horrified by my audacity. 

“A lady doesn’t ask nor answer that question,” she said firmly. “And neither should a gentleman.”

I shrugged. She sounded fancy. I guessed in whichever time she came from, old-money people stuck to those ridiculous social rules.

“What do you know of your son?” I wondered. “Do you know where we can find him? Hell, do you know where we are?”

I scanned my surroundings. My eyes were unused to the sun, which made me squint a bit. 

It looked like a meadow. The land was flat, not a hill on sight. The grass was green and soft under me, and far to my right, there was a big house.

“Italy,” she said. “Veneto.”

Holy shit. 

“A bit far from where I expected to be,” I said.

“The Underworld has many exits,” Maria told me. 

My muscles tensed. I had assumed she was a lost mortal, who had followed the path out of the afterlife by accident, but mortals in Italy wouldn’t be likely to call the Underworld by that name. Nor, I guess, would they be likely to have children who were supposed to be old but looked young.

“Oh, I know about all of this,” she smiled. “My children are— were, like you. Demigods. I’m… what’s that term he used? Clear sighted?”

I nodded.

Italian demigods. Did I know Italian demigods? Probably a fair few, but I wasn’t sure if any of the ones I’d met were from Veneto.

And she said she had died ages ago. Whoever her children were they would have been taken out of time. 

It rang a bell in my memory, but my mind wasn’t clear enough yet for me to recall properly. Not to mention I’d known dozens of demigods who had bizarre stories. 

Thalia was a tree for a while, she’d looked younger than she should have been that time she pushed me off that cliff. 

Annabeth and her little gang had been in that Casino thing in Vegas, that had messed up time for them, too. 

And the Sea of Monsters, there were a lot of islands there where children could have been stuck in time for decades.

“Are your—,” I hesitated. “Did your children ever get to camp? Camp Half-Blood, in New York?”

Maria’s expression turned dubious. “I think so. Bianca didn’t explain much, she didn’t stay long. But I reckon wherever my boy is, it’s in America. That’s the last place I saw them.”

That’s where she had died then.

“Then camp’s our best bet,” I said. “He’s alive, he’s likely to have at least crossed paths with somebody from there.”

She nodded. 

She turned and pointed at the house in the distance. “That’s my family’s home. You can stay there for a bit. To rest.”

She stood and offered a hand for me to get up too.

“I— Yeah, thanks,” I said. I felt weak. I’d just come back to life. She was right to say it took some adjustment. I wondered how long she’d been back. “I could use a place to sit for a bit.”

In exchange, I could help her find camp and her son. Assuming the kid was still alive, that was. I wouldn’t go to camp myself. I’d be stoned the moment I set a foot in there. But leading Maria there was the least I could do after she’d been so kind to me.

I just hoped her son wasn’t somebody I knew. That could make things awkward.

We walked for a bit in silence. As we got closer, the house grew bigger and bigger. ‘House’ was an understatement, I thought. The place was huge. 

Balconies, huge floor to ceiling windows, at least four storeys tall. It had a path that led to the main entrance lined with orchard trees, and off to the side there was a less pretentious dirt path that I assumed went to the servant’s entrance.

“I’m sorry,” I said, before I could stop myself, pointing at the immense building in front of us. “But did your family own Italy?”

Maria gave me a funny look. “It’s not such an ostentatious place.”

Perhaps if you are related to the Windsor family, then Maria’s family’s house isn’t ostentatious. If, like me, you come from the US suburbs, then it’s something taken right out of Downton fucking Abbey.

“My father was a marquess,” she explained, when she caught my cynical expression. “Sua grazia, il Signor di Angelo, and all the paraphernalia it came with. The house is all right, but we weren’t…”

But I had stopped listening.

Di Angelo. I did remember that name. Di Angelo was that little kid who’d popped out of nowhere with an army of undead soldiers and his godly father on toe.

But not even I couldn’t be that unlucky. 

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked, as casually as I could.

“Niccolò,” she said with a proud smile. “But everybody always called him Nico.”

Nico. Nico di Angelo.

Well, fuck. To nobody’s surprise, I could be that unlucky.

[amateurvoltaire]

When I first saw a draft of what failed to  become David’s Oath of the Tennis Court, one man caught my eye. He stands out from the others around him, with his hands pressed over his heart, his emotion so intense, so clear, it’s almost unbearable. He’s not just joining in the moment, but he is giving himself completely to the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. This man is not simply swearing an oath but dedicating his very heart. This is Robespierre.

Beside him stands another man. Perched on a chair, firm stance and extended arm, he swears the oath but doesn’t lose himself in the moment. This is Dubois-Crancé.

They make for an interesting and contrasting duo, don’t they?

In 1792, Dubois-Crancé wrote a book expressing his views on his fellow members of the Constitutional Assembly. It’s an interesting collection of portraits of men whose work still shapes the world we live in today. This is what he said about the person forever depicted beside him.

As always, this is my translation and is by no means perfect. Explanatory notes are included at the end.

Portrait of Robespierre by Dubois-Crancé (translation)

General of the Sans-Culottes, the enemy of all subjugation and fearless defender of the rights of the people, Robespierre lacked only an imposing physique, a voice like Danton’s, and, at times, less presumption and obstinacy. These minor flaws often harmed the cause he defended; he was proud and jealous yet just and virtuous. His fiercest detractors have never been able to accuse him of a moment of misjudgement. Always steadfast in the most austere principles, he never wavered.  Like he was in the beginning, so he remained until the end, and such praise applies to very few individuals.

In the Constituent Assembly (1), Robespierre was neither president, secretary, nor member of any committee. The patriots themselves respected him but did not love him. The reason is simple: this man, nourished by the morality of Rousseau, had the courage to emulate his model.  He possessed the same austere principles, manners, reclusive nature, uncompromising spirit, proud simplicity, even moroseness. He lacked the talent, but that did not make Robespierre an ordinary man. Taking counsel only from his own heart, he often faced disfavour for his opinions, which were almost always seen as extreme because Robespierre never wanted a monarchy and believed that freedom exists only in a state of perfect equality. He always spoke from his principles, and at the time we were concluding our constitution, he spoke as if its amendments did not exist.

Robespierre had enough discernment to constantly despise Barnave (2), the Lameths (3), and that minority of the nobility who had betrayed their order only to rise individually on its ruins. Calumnies, even outright insults, never deterred him. I saw him resist the entire assembly and demand, as a man conscious of his dignity, that the president calls it to order.

The Jacobins contributed more to Robespierre's glory than the National Assembly. There, he had friends, was listened to and encouraged, and often developed excellent ideas. He rarely had this opportunity in the National Assembly. In the beginning, he was almost non-existent, even showing a condemnable indifference in deliberations that did not please him. At that time, he would have seen limited liberty as objectionable as slavery. He refused to support the suspensive veto (4) because he wanted no veto. He was right, but since the cause was lost, was it better to leave to the schemers the ability to grant an absolute veto?

After the death of Mirabeau (5), the defection of the patriotic party (6), and the betrayal of the Lameths (7), Robespierre showed great character. Despite the extreme disfavour of his opinions, he compelled the respect of his enemies, even triumphing over them in some very thorny circumstances, and at least deprived them of the right to scheme in the following legislature.

I do not know if Robespierre was well-versed in the tactics of the Assembly. This seems unlikely, for he would have sacrificed his zeal or self-esteem for the public good. He did not place himself next to the president’s desk to seize and stubbornly hold the floor. He would have known that the Assembly's scheming leaders called him their Maury (8), deliberately giving him free rein by preference (and then the president was at their command) to alienate the moderates, shape their opinions, and secure a majority. He would have seen that while he might gain glory through the press and the tribunes, he was harming the public cause within the Assembly. Finally, he would have let men as pure but less extreme than himself, less absolute in their opinions, and who, in more measured terms, would have redirected the assembly's focus towards its duties and the principles of the Constitution.

Nevertheless, let us render justice to virtue, honour, and integrity. Robespierre was never involved in any intrigue. Always alone with his heart, he bravely faced the most violent of storms. If the Assembly had been composed only of Robespierres, France might perhaps be nothing but a heap of ruins today. Still, amidst so many intrigues, baseness, vices, and corruptions, amid the clash of opposing interests, diverse opinions, tumults, calumnies, fears, and assassinations, Robespierre stood as a rock, an impregnable rock. Thus, he did his duty, he served his country well, and his example is a precious model for our successors.

Source: Le véritable portrait de nos législateurs ou Galerie des tableaux exposés à la vue du public depuis le 5 mai 1789, jusqu’au 1er octobre 1791. A Paris, 1792

Notes

(1) In the text, Dubois-Crancé refers to two separate bodies, both of which he and Robespierre were members of, the National Assembly and the Constituent Assembly. While related, these are not the same thing. The National Assembly (Assemblée nationale)  existed from June 17, 1789  to  July 9, 1789 and was an initial revolutionary body formed by the Third Estate during the Estates-General. The Constituent Assembly (Assemblée constituante)  was its successor and existed from July 9, 1789, to September 30, 1791. The purpose of the Constituent Assembly was to draft France's first written constitution and restructure the government.

(2) Antoine Pierre Joseph Marie Barnave (1761-1793) was a prominent figure in the National Constituent Assembly who was part of the Feuillants, a group known for supporting constitutional monarchy and advocating moderate reforms. He is most known for escorting the royal family back to Paris during the Flight to Varennes, and secretly acting as Marie Antoinette’s advisor in the aftermath.

(3) The Lameth brothers—Charles (1757-1832), Alexandre (1760-1829), and Théodore (1756-1854)— were French nobles known for their general moderatism and  support of constitutional monarchy. Both Charles and Alexandre were active in the Constituent Assembly, with the former also joining the Jacobin club. The brothers were known for their liberal views and were part of the moderate faction within the revolutionary movement. Dubois-Crancé probably refers to Charles and Alexandre, because Theodore primarly  served as an officer in the French army and did not engage as directly in the political sphere as his brothers. Fun Fact: Like Robespierre, Charles represented Artois in the États Généraux.

(4) The suspensive veto was a political power granted to the king by the Constitution of 1791. This type of veto allowed the king to temporarily block legislation passed by the Assembly. However, it was not an absolute power to prevent a law from ever taking effect; instead, it delayed the enactment of a law. If the king used this veto, the law could be reconsidered and potentially passed by the next legislative session, bypassing the king's objection. This system was designed to limit the monarch's power, ensuring he could delay but not permanently block legislative progress.

(5) Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau (1749-1791) was a prominent politician and orator during the early stages of the French Revolution. He came from a noble family and had a rebellious and scandalous life In 1789, he was elected to represent the Third Estate at the Estates-General as a representative of Provence, where he emerged as a leader and an advocate for constitutional monarchy. He was instrumental in drafting the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen and was a prolific writer and speaker, earning the nickname "the tribune of the people". He died of natural causes in 1791, at the height of his popularity and influence.

(6) The revolutionaries split into several different factions in 1791, because they had more and more divergent beliefs and many members quit the Jacobin club.

(7) The Lameths were initially active members of the Jacobin Club and were influential in its early days. However, they were part of the moderate faction that sought to work within the bounds of constitutional monarchy rather than pushing for more radical Republican changes. As the Jacobin Club became increasingly radical in their eyes, they and other moderates found themselves increasingly alienated. In 1791, this culminated in a split where the Lameths and other moderates left the Jacobin Club to form a new group, the Feuillants Club.

(8) Abbé Jean-Sylvestre Maury (1746-1817) was a significant counter-revolutionary figure, known for his inflexible defence of traditional values and the ancien régime. Initially celebrated for his sermons and literary acumen, Maury quickly ascended as a key clerical voice in the Estates-General, defending the privileges of the Church and the monarchy against revolutionary reforms. As a member of the National Constituent Assembly, he opposed the civil constitution of the clergy and other radical changes, positioning himself as a leader among royalists and conservative factions. Calling Robespierre "their Maury" implies that he was seen as a dogmatic and dominating presence within the assembly, albeit for a different ideological cause.

[liesandmischeif]

Whispers of a new beginning

Part 2

Loki x f!reader

Masterlist

Notes: Part 1 is here

Happy reading!

Warning: teeny weeny argument, language

Two weeks later and Loki still looked blue. He had refused to leave the house or to go to see doctor strange (the irony!). You had moved from feeling cold to feeling frozen, as if someone had forced you to ingest thousands of ice cubes and none of them would melt. It meant you were currently living off of soup and tea (that Loki offered to make at every opportunity, claiming you would burn yourself). And all of your other symptoms seemed to be getting worse. You were irritable, you couldn’t sleep, you threw up in the night and most mornings, although whether this was a response to your newfound abnormal eating habits, you weren’t sure. You had both become very emotional and on edge.

After a week of not feeling well enough (or strong enough to fight Loki) go to work, you realised something had to change.

Eventually a deal was made. 

“If I go to the doctors, you have to too.”

“Fine.”

One portal trip later, and Strange said you were most likely experiencing extreme flu symptoms due to being surrounded by the cold all day every day, the diagnosis given with a pointed look in Loki’s direction. Loki didn’t get any diagnosis.

“But there must be something!” you said. “There’s no way this could happen out of the blue.”

Strange just shrugged “ I couldn’t tell you. They didn’t teach alien biology when I went to school.”

“But you have powers, and knowledge of the multiverse, and –“

“And my time is more valuable than your flu and his abnormal skin” he said. “I’m a surgeon, not a dermatologist. Figure it out.”

He swept out the room without a backward glance, leaving you and your husband looking confused and feeling disregarded.

“Pompous twat” you muttered with distain. “Couldn’t even spare us a minute.”  

Loki looked defeated, and simply began to magic you both back home when an idea struck.

“Wait!” you said, “Why don’t we have a look around? There’s a huge library in here and there’s sure to be something on Jontar.”

Your husband just looked perplexed. “You want to raid the library of the sorcerer supreme?”

“Yeah”

“We’ll get caught”

“That’s half the fun”

He contemplated, then subtly smiled. “One condition.”

“What?”

“Stop complaining about me caring about you. I’m worried. I’m not used to sickness, it’s rare on Asgard, and all I want to do is help you get better.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Sometimes I forget why I married you”

“I love you too, my flu-infested mortal.”

After twenty minutes evading capture from the sorcerers helpers, you and Loki teleport back home with a handful of books. It’s been a week of you both reading and re-reading them, from cover to cover. Nothing helps.

Meanwhile, Loki’s overprotective drive went into hyper-mode. He had convinced himself that you were going to die of the flu, and hadn’t let you get out of bed all week. He had been bringing you meals, books and snacks every day since the visit with strange, and would constantly be by your side. The only time you were alone anymore was when you were using the bathroom. Even then though, he was still hovering around, and you had since caved and let him help you get washed, although mainly because you were feeling too drowsy to do it yourself. You had been trying to work from home, but you kept dozing off through the day, probably because you were sick and had made no effort to do anything during the day. And on the rare occasion that you wanted to get out of bed, Loki immediately vetoed the idea, saying you were far too sick to even consider it.

You realised you had to get out of bed and start doing something when you decided to step on the bathroom scales.

5kg? How on earth did you gain 5kg just by sitting in bed for a week? Illness be damned, you had to do something.

You went back in the bedroom and walked over to the wardrobe.

“What are you doing?” comes the cautious voice of you beloved.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“No my love.” His magic closes the wardrobe door. 

“Yes I am.” The door doesn’t budge. “Loki, open the door.”  

“No chance. You’re sick-“ 

“Open the door!” 

“NO!” He yells. “My love, you are not leaving. You’re sick. You can’t go. What if someone hurt you? What if you got attacked?”

“I am perfectly capable of going for a walk!” You retort “It’s London, it’s not a bloody war field! It does neither of us any good being cooped up here!” 

“It’s not my fault my magic doesn’t work!”

“It’s not mine either, and I’m not a prisoner in my own home! You aren’t going to stop-” Your rant was interrupted. You suddenly felt lightheaded, like you couldn’t breathe. And so, so cold. Like your bones had turned to ice. 

You remember falling to the floor before it all went black. 

 

It’s like everything is floating. You can’t really feel or touch anything. You can’t really open your eyes properly. But you can hear. The sounds are jumbled and confusing, and you should know the words but it’s too hard to discern what they are. The only comfort is in the background, you hear Loki’s soft voice, murmuring words that sound so pretty, even if you don’t understand what he means. It’s him that makes you feel safe. 

You come to in a hospital room. Loki is sitting by your side, holding your hand. The other arm has several needles and an IV drip sticking out of it. You can’t talk, your voice is too raspy, so you settle for a cough. Loki nearly jumps a mile, but when he looks at you, his eyes are bursting with love, like you’re the most precious thing in the universe. He gently moves to cup your face, pressing kisses to your cheeks, nose, forehead, lips, anywhere he can reach. He whispers confessions of love against your skin, and promises you the world. You try to tell him that you love him too, that you’re sorry, but you feel like your throat is drier than a desert. He only leaves to call the nurse, but when he has to step away from you, it feels like the only thing tethering you to sanity has left. You’re crying now, but there’s no tears, just empty, croaky sobs, and his arms around you.

After a while, everything calms down. The nurses check you over and give you some fluids. Loki doesn’t leave, he holds your hand the whole time.  Eventually you find your voice.

“I’m sorry Lo.”

“Don’t apologise love. I understand now.”

“But you were right. You knew there was something wrong, you were trying to protect me.”

Loki just takes a deep breath. “Love, there’s something you need to know.”

“What?”

“When you passed out, I called an ambulance. They wouldn’t let me come with you because I was -and still am, unfortunately-  Jontar.” He explains. “Apparently it goes against standard practice to let aliens in medical buildings. Even now, Stark pulled some strings to arrange for me to be let in. So I couldn’t give them any of your details. They didn’t know anything about you and had to do tests from scratch.”

“Alright...” you say, slightly curious. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, because your body temperature was so low, they began treating you for hypothermia, but it didn’t work. So they wanted to run more tests to see what was wrong. When all the MRI scans came up negative, they wanted an X-ray, to see if any part of your skull was fractured or if there was anything obstructing the pituitary gland.” You’re getting confused now. Loki looks like he’s on the verge of tears. You give his hand a squeeze and smile.

“Loki, I’m ok-“

“Love, they had to follow procedure. I wasn’t there. So, because you were unconscious, they took a sample to test for pregnancy.”

Your jaw his the floor. “It came back positive” he says.

Everything starts spinning. You feel like you cant breathe, like there’s not enough air in the world to make you feel right again. God, why does it feel like you’re about to pass out, please don’t pass out.

“Love?”

“But... how?” you stutter. “How Loki? We never... I have an implant. It couldn’t...”

“Apparently your records say your implant was fitted too long ago for it still to be active. We just didn’t realise.”

You are scared to look at him. You don’t know what he’ll say. You’ve never really considered anything like this.

“Darling? Are you alright?” he asks gently.

“I don’t know.” You begin to fidget until his hands cover yours. “I don’t know Loki. It just feels so... sudden.”

“There’s something else. Jontar biology and mating rituals are closely linked. The baby is causing you to make the hormonal equivalent of nerve depressant. It’s common on Jotenhiem for the female to spend pregnancy in a sort of hibernation, only waking once food reserves had run out.” He says. “I may also have broken into Strange’s library. Again.”

“But humans don’t hibernate?” you point out.

“No love, but they do get tired and stay in bed all day. And the males are responsible for collecting food and protecting the mate. Hence the change in routine and” he gestures to himself “skin colour.”

“Oh” you stutter. “That... makes sense.”

There’s a pause. Neither of you know quite what to say. You’re just digesting all the information thrown at you. And there’s so many conversations that need to be had and questions that need to be asked. You’ve wanted kids, and you want them with him, you just haven’t said anything. You had assumed it wouldn’t be possible, with the two of you being not only different species but from a different planet. Having swept it under the rug for so long, now that it’s staring you in the face, you can’t feel anything but fear. So when you do finally find your voice, you just turn to him and ask “What do we do?”

“What do you mean love?”

“I mean... we have a baby. I’m pregnant. I don’t... how do you feel? About ... everything?”

He takes a deep breath. “I actually feel... good. I’m less terrified and more so at the same time. Now I know what’s happening, I can keep you safe, and help you better. You’re pregnant. We’re having a baby. And even though that is absolutely petrifying, I’m happy. How... how do you feel?”

“Erm... scared. Confused. Exited. Nervous. Very nervous. And I don’t know anything about frost giants. And I don’t know what to do, I mean, how am I supposed to get through pregnancy and have a life if I can’t get out of bed for the next... how far along am I?”

“They think 7 weeks.” He says, “but I’m not sure how long Jontar pregnancies last. I can only assume it will default to the midguardian timings, since it’s growing at the same rate a human would.”

“So we have… 7 more months. And then, we have a baby.”

The two of you sit there in silence, pondering the next steps and the new life growing inside you. And you realise you feel… ok. You trust Loki. You know he’s scared, but he would do anything for you. And for your child. And you have ultimately to wanted children with him from the start, it just wasn’t expected to happen like this. But you want this. A new person in your small family, your child. 

“I love you. And I want our baby.” You say “I want everything, as long as it’s with you. I need you to want this too.” 

He lets out a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you’d say that. I love you too, and I want to give it to you. Everything that the nine realms has to offer.” 

And so, your family of three was born. 

[coff-in]

¡Hihihi!, Excuse my bad writing in English, it is not my native language and no matter how well you read my writing is terrible so I use the translator to make sure it's okay (it will probably end up unintelligible but I do what I can)😿

Sooo, I was thinking, what about a situation in which the reader is the middle sister of both graves?

I think that in this situation the dynamic could change a lot, that is, the reader (Fem reader if possible) would really suffer more than all the attachment to Andrew as he is the most present figure for her, but he would not suffer what would be the extreme and unhealthy obsession that Ashley would develop since she does not really suffer from any mental condition genetically, but still has a certain dependence on Andrew due to the lack of presence of her parents

and with his relationship with Ashley it would be more complicated, why would the reader try to do things to help Andrew with Ashley during parenting, but at the same time feeling this sense of jealousy why Andrew was giving attention and more care to Leyley so he could keep her out of it. But with the passage of time he would not notice that because in spite of everything the reader if he becomes more socially active with more children his age which helps in a certain way to that

I'm thinking that despite that Leyley (obviously as expected) is going to develop a dependency on the reader for seeing her as a mother figure in certain aspects, which would lead to annoyance, jealousy, etc. As in the case of Nina, at this point Ashley not only killed Nina because she did not want to lose Andrew, but also the reader who was a close friend of Nina, which the reader would be in the scene but would take a while to arrive. realize the situation since on this occasion, they made the reader be the one who was looking for them

The relationship with Ashley would be more platonic but equally toxic, like the fear of losing her older sister and her mother figure who, despite everything, continued to give her love and attention. And in the case of Andrew, more romantic and at the same time obsessive like Leyley would be but much more discreet and cautious, but he was in constant denial with his feelings for his relationship as brothers... but he would not avoid doing what would be things that he knows They will pass that limit discreetly but looking for ways to not feel so guilty until eventually you just accept it

notes from coff-in: omg... i loved this request!! thank you so much for requesting (and sorry for the late reply)!!

[fem] reader-insert, [reader] is 1 year older than ashley and 1 year younger than andrew, talk/mentions of incest

When middle sis [reader] was born a year after Andy, she was just little sis [reader]. She and Andy were close friends with each other (as much as you can be at one year old I guess). [reader] was a quiet child, like Andy was, and so Mrs Graves thought that it would be okay if she popped just one more child out. She learned quickly after that it was a bad idea, teehee.

Now dubbed “middle sis [reader]” she was expected to help raise Leyley along with Andy. She plays the middleman for the most part, used between Leyley and Andy to be the tiebreaker between fights they have. There are moments where her final say gets vetoed by the siblings, however; like in the case of Nina.

Middle sis [reader] didn’t want to lock Nina in a box overnight, just for a couple of hours maybe… she didn’t like the idea of Andy getting a girlfriend. His attention was so divided already, if he got a girlfriend it meant that there would be even less time for her! That’s not even mentioning how poorly Leyley would react.

So when she and her siblings go back to the warehouse to find a dead Nina, [reader] is reasonably scared and freaking out. She was an accomplice by not stopping them, right!? Burying Nina was truly a bonding experience for them all. 

Since Nina was out of the way now, Leyley didn’t have to worry about any other hussies trying to steal away her big brother and sister! And if they try to leave her, she’d just tell on them :) Middle sis [reader] would scold Leyley a lot due to her childish tantrums and overall recklessness, but when even she can’t reel Leyley in [reader] would turn to their big brother for help.

There are moments where middle sis [reader] would be a menace with Leyley, too, just to also get some more of Andy’s attention. Terrorizing other kids, getting into trouble at home, and then seeking Andy out for comfort. She’s his little sister also, isn’t she? He has to take care of her too, not just Leyley! Even when [reader] tries to get Andy’s undivided attention to herself, Leyley is always there to pester them both… they’re like three cramped peas in a pod!

As they get older, middle sis [reader] would be more independent like Andrew. Her attachment to her siblings was still there, obviously. [reader] would hang out with Andrew during his breaks to study and see him off to his classes. Whenever Ashley would get bullied [reader] would step in to beat up the bullies and also goof around with Ashley, too.

But middle sis [reader] would have her own friends to hang out with. She’d get a job or find some way to make money that would drag her away from her siblings. Ashley doesn’t fucking like this. You’d think after Nina that all these hussies would fuck off! [reader] wouldn’t let Ashley make her leave her job but she would let Ashley drive off her friends. 

“I don’t understand why you hang out with them.” Ashley groaned as she lay on the couch, a crappy horror movie played as white noise on the TV. “They’re a bunch of stupid whores! Did you see how they immediately ditched you at lunch today? They’re quitters!” She shot up in place and looked at [reader] who was bent over the back of the couch. [reader] sighed and chuckled lightly at Ashley’s comments.

“You are… very effective at scaring them, Ashley, but thanks for getting rid of the weeds.”

The quarantine wasn’t entirely unpleasant for the Graves siblings (minus the starvation). Middle sis [reader] took up their parents’ bedroom as her own but every once in a while, she’d sneak into Andrew and Ashley’s bedroom to sleep in their beds. She mostly sneaks into Andrew’s bed while he’s sleeping, hoping to not get caught acting so childish. 

I mean… who still sleeps in the same bed with their siblings at 21 years old? 

Cue to her sleeping next to Andrew in his small single bed, his hand wrapped around her in an attempt to not just full-on cuddle her. Maybe he’d spoon her a bit, trying to reason with himself why it’s okay, then trying to come up with excuses as to why she’d wake up to him snuggling her.

I bet Andrew is always acutely aware of where middle sis [reader] is in the apartment. I forgot where I saw someone say this (it was somewhere on Tumblr) but Andrew definitely takes any chance he can to move a sleeping or passed out [reader] or Ashley onto his lap. I bet he looks at her lips a lot, too. Wondering how they may feel on his lips or his skin… but he pushes them down with all the other thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

Ashley would go to middle sis [reader] for advice for cooking, since I think it’s canonically that she doesn’t cook well. She’d even look to [reader] for her opinion when they’re all eating their cultist neighbor.

“So? Did I cook him right, [reader]?”

“... uh… y-yeah. It’s… better than what I thought it’d be.”

----

coff-in

[ejzah]

A/N: Happy Father’s Day to all my US fathers out there and a happy Sunday to everyone else.

***

The Handprints of My Heart

When Kensi and Deeks first got together, she’d almost dreaded the holidays. She’d never been very good at gift giving or decorating and usually had to work through them. Five years into their marriage, and three kids later, she actually approached holidays with anticipation.

With that in mind, Kensi and Rosa had spent a good amount of time brainstorming Father’s Day presents for this year. After a lot of scrolling Amazon, Etsy, and craft sites—Rosa had given an admirable argument for getting Deeks a new puppy, but Kensi ultimately vetoed that suggestion—they had a nice collection of gift ideas.

Today, while Deeks went for his daily run, they were making Kensi’s favorite gift.

She’d picked up a large canvas and paints from the craft store for Rosa to decorate. She’d painted a large heart in the center and and the topic, the words “These Hands Hold Something Special, to the Most Loved Dad and Husband”. Surrounding the heart, the would stamp imprints of each other their hands.

It was admittedly a little cheesy, but Kensi thought Deeks would love the sentimental aspects. Not to mention, Caleb and Sophia’s six-month-old handprints preserved for eternity.

“Do you think we’ll have enough time to get it all done?” Rosa asked as she poured paint into little trays, pausing to turn and look for over her shoulder in Kensi’s direction.

Kensi adjusted her shirt, having just finished nursing Sophia. She set her on the carpet amidst a pile of soft blocks to play with Caleb.

“I think so,” Kensi decided, surveying their supplies.

“What if he comes back early?” Rosa worried at her thumbnail.

“He almost always runs for at least an and hour. And, just in case he should decide to come back early, I asked him to grab a couple things from the store. That should give us plenty of time to finish and stash it at Roberta’s.”

Nodding, Rosa scooped Caleb up, and held him over the table, placing one of his hands in a light blue paint.

“Ok, I’ve got he’s ready,” she said, holding Caleb’s arm out at an awkward angle so there was no chance for it to come in contact with the rest of his body or hers. “No, mijo, don’t grab the paint!

“Geeg!” Caleb said in protest, kicking his legs out as he made another grab for the tray of paint.

“No, you cannot cover yourself in paint,” Rosa told him with mock severity, and he giggled, grabbing a handful of her hair in his free fist. Shaking her head, Rosa carried him over to the large square of canvas on the table.

Kensi took his hand and carefully unfolded it. Somehow between the two of them, they managed to press it to the canvas without too much difficulty.

Down on the floor, Sophia made an inquiring sound, having scooted herself across the floor. She tugged insistently on Kensi’s pants.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be next,” Kensi told her, bending to caress her soft honey blonde curls before she turned her attention back to Rosa and Caleb. He was now attempting to taste his paint coated fingers . “Ok, quick do his other hand.”

They followed the same process three more times—Sophia did manage to smear blue paint through her hair. Once they’d thoroughly cleaned the twins’ hands, they each chose a different shade of blue for their own handprints.

When it was done, Kensi took a step back and surveyed the results critically. It had a definite handmade look to it and a few extra paint splatters thanks to Caleb’s efforts, but somehow that made it even better.

“It’s perfect,” she decided.

***

“Mm, this is the perfect day,” Deeks sighed, brushing his nose against Sophia’s soft cheek. She made a happy little sound, and grabbed at his beard with both hands. Not to be outdone by his sister, Caleb sank his little fingers into Deeks’ hair.

Kensi and Rosa watched from the loveseat with twin smiles as the three snuggled up on one chair together.

“You know, most dads would want to go golfing or ,I don’t know, a massage or something for Father’s Day’s,” she teased.

“What, and miss out on celebrating with my four favorite people?” Deeks asked. He made a dismissive sound. “This is way better.” He tweaked Caleb’s big toe. “Am I right, kiddo?” Caleb nodded seriously in response. “Thanks for everything today. Breakfast and lunch were delicious and those surfboards ornaments are going to good use.”

“Well, there’s one more thing,” Rosa said with a grin as she retrieved a large bag from behind the loveseat.

“Another gift?” Arching an eyebrow, Deeks accepted the bag, giving it a slight shake. “Do you have any idea what this is?” He addressed that question to the twins, who giggled, somehow managing to look mischievous.

Kensi leaned forward in anticipation as he shifted the babies to free his other arm, and started pulling out the many bunches of tissue paper she and Rosa had used to cushion their masterpiece. When Deeks pulled out the canvas, his brow furrowed for a second, then almost immediately softened, and he licked his lower lip, shaking his head slightly.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were suspiciously shiny.

“Kensi, Rosa, this is beautiful,” he murmured. “Come here.”

They came at him from either side, enveloping him in a hug.

“I know it’s a little silly,” Kensi apologized, when they pulled back.

“No.” He laughed, rubbing at his eyes. “No, this is perfect. It’s going straight in my office. I love it. Thank you.”

“Happy Father’s Day,” Rosa said, kissing his temple. “From all of us.”

***

A/N: Enjoy the fluff!

[acotarobsessed]

Sunlight, Shadows, and Secrets pt. 2

authors note: I don’t think this story is near done yet, but here’s part two of Sunlight, shadows, and Secrets. Since I’m the only one who has proofread this there may be some spelling and grammar mistakes. Also yeah, CoN and Hewn city are unrealistic. It’s part of the story, and if it were realistic wouldn't work right. Thanks!

warnings; Languge, bit of angst, SUGGESTIVE, leads to smut

Minors DNI

After arriving and getting settled into their individual rooms, they all split up to go their separate ways for the afternoon and evening, Cassian checking on security, Azriel checking with his spies, and Mor and Y/n waiting for Feyre, who was coming with Rhys. Y/n was glad they were all there, it made the wretched place slightly better.

A few hours later, having collected Feyre, they sat side by side in a meeting room, waiting for the males to get back from their individual tasks. Y/n’s part of the mission depended on them doing their jobs, and would most likely not be happening for at least three days. As it so happend, Cassian had been right when he said they would be able to have “fun” while being on the mission. Rhys, who they did not expect to be there, had told Feyre that the Court of Nightmares had a few comforts and entertainment, if you knew where to look. Feyre said he was lying, and Rhys being, well Rhys had to prove her wrong in the best way possible. So they had all decided they would do their work during the day, but when night fell they would all indulge in the bars and pleasure halls that the Hewn city offered.

“I’m still not sure what Rhys meant by “entertainment” but if they don’t hurry up and get here, we won’t have time after the debrief,” Feyre said, her brow wrinkling as she realized how late her mate was.

A few moments later, Feyre stood with a smirk on her face “Ladies, it seems the boys are taking their sweet time, and it’s already dark so what do you say we get started on this “fun” my mate promised me?”

Mor raised a shaped brow. “Why are you so eager? Hoping someone tall dark and handsome will forgo his job and join you? ” Her tone was light and teasing, her rich brown eyes sparkling happily, a rare sight seeing as where they were.

“Maybe” Feyre said with a grin “I’ve heard they’ve got a special kind of bars that allows females to dance on the tables, it sounds like it could be fun, and we all need to relax and let loose a bit”

Mor smirked “we could do that… or we could go to a strip club, I’ve heard they’ve got quite the male show”

Feyre wrinkled her nose in a clear veto of that idea. “I’ll pass on the strippers. The only male I want to watch strip naked is Rhys. That male is so freakin’ hot I’d give him a lap dance any day,” she said with a giggle as Mor made a disgusted face.

Yeah, Feyre was head-over-heels in love, and Y/n couldn’t help but envy the fact that her friend had found the one—and Rhys was equally smitten. Their unwavering relationship and feelings for each other made Y/n all the more aware of her own lack of male companionship, and made her wish for more.

Even though she’d harbored more intimate feelings for Azriel for years, she’d tried to give other males a chance. She’d even been in a few short-term but committed relationships with nice, decent guys. Safe males who didn’t intimidate her and treated her with the kind of respect a female deserved. Easygoing males who didn’t judge her by her purple-tipped hair, her eccentric clothing, or her sleeve of tattoos that made others label her as different or strange.

But deep inside, Y/n knew that focusing on those more passive qualities when it came to the males she’d dated had been part of the problem and why those attempts at a relationship hadn’t worked for her. She wanted that safety and trust and respect—what girl didn’t?—but she also yearned for intense passion and the kind of heated desire that overwhelmed her body and senses. She wanted a male who was confident in his ability to take control and introduce her to the kind of forbidden pleasures her body craved, without making her feel cheap or dirty or vulnerable afterward.

So far, she hadn’t met a male with that unique ability, and maybe she never would. Which meant she’d eventually have to settle for a male who made her feel appreciated and secure, and forgo her fantasies of hot, demanding sex.

Mor gave Feyre’s idea about the dancing bar serious consideration, and after a few minutes said “Hell yes!”

“Sounds good to me,” Feyre said with an enthusiastic nod.

Y/n shrugged, up for anything that didn’t include having to endure seeing Azriel enjoy himself with another female. Indulging in a few drinks and dancing, even with just the girls, sounded like a fun way to spend the evening. “I’m game.”

With their evening agenda settled, the three of them finished in the office, then headed up to their individual suites to change and do their makeup and hair. Wanting to feel sexy for their night out, Y/n decided on a pair of slim black leather pants that rode low on her hips and a dark purple bustier that displayed her armful of tattoos. The front of the top laced up tight, and the snug bodice lifted and shaped her breasts so a bra wasn’t necessary. She finished off the look with a stack of silver bangles on her bare arm and a pair of strappy high heels.

She tucked her room key into the front pocket of her pants so she didn’t have to worry about a purse, and an hour and a half after parting ways to get ready, the three of them met up again. They grabbed a quick dinner, then walked the short distance to where the was located, which also gave them the opportunity to look around hewn city. Everything was dark and bleak, Y/n hoped the bar was worth it.

By the time they arrived at the establishment, the place was packed and rocking from the music blaring out of the jukebox in the corner. There weren’t any traditional booths or chairs, just standing-style tables on the outskirt of the dance floor, which was filled with males and females having a great time. Other female patrons were dancing on the bar counter, and guys were crowded around, egging them on.

Y/n led the way to one of the standing tables so they could order a drink, assess the situation, and watch the entertainment at the main bar before they decided what they wanted to do. Mor and Feyre followed her through the crowd, and by the time they reached a vacant table, Feyre had a spaced out look on her face. Judging by the smile on her face, Y/n assumed she was touching base with Rhysand. When a bar waitress came by, she ordered a round of shots for the three of them.

Feyre finished up her mental conversation just as their drinks were delivered, and Y/n raised her small glass to her two friends.

“To our first official girls’ night out, even if it is on the eve of a mission,” she said in a loud voice to be heard above the noise level. “When we get back home, I think we need to do this more often, just the three of us, no males.”

“Agreed,” Feyre and Mor said at the same time.

They tapped their shot glasses together and swallowed the liquor in one gulp. It wasn’t enough alcohol to get them drunk—no way did Y/n want to explain to Rhysand that his mate had a hangover on the first day there—but it was just enough to warm her insides and loosen and relax her body.

A good-looking guy came up to Mor and asked her to dance, and with a little finger wave at her and Feyre, she followed him out onto the dance floor. Feyre and Y/n watched for a while, both of them dancing where they were standing at the table along the far wall.

After a while, another male approached them, this one big and burly, rough around the edges, as most were in the Hewn city, and clearly well on his way to being drunk. When he grabbed Y/n’s hand to pull her away without asking if she wanted to dance with him, she yanked her arm back and gave him a sharp look that hopefully conveyed her feelings and made it clear she wasn’t interested.

His narrowed gaze slid down the length of her in the kind of leer that made her stomach roil. Then he puffed out his wide chest and flexed his biceps as if he were trying to make up for the fact that he’d just been rejected. “What’s the matter? I’m not good enough for you?”

And this was why she didn’t go to bars. Hell, she rarely went to Rita’s on their busy nights because she hated dealing with egotistical males who looked at her like an easy conquest, and bloodying them over a dance was frowned upon. Instead of provoking him further, she gave the male a sweet smile and said, “I don’t dance with strangers.”

It was a ridiculous statement considering that’s what most people did in a nightclub, but her comment was so worth it when he frowned in confusion at her, as if she’d just given him a puzzle to figure out. Then he shook his head and slid his gaze to Feyre. There was no way Y/n was letting this guy even think about taking one step toward her.

“She doesn’t dance with strangers, either,” Y/n said just as the lug opened his mouth to say something.

After giving Y/n an irritated look, he turned around and finally left them alone.

Feyre laughed, her eyes full of playful mischief as she leaned closer to Y/n. “So, since we don’t dance with strangers, want to dance with each other?”

Considering Feyre wasn’t going to dance with any guy in the place and Y/n wanted her to have a good time, she nodded and the two of them joined the crush of people getting down to the rough and tumble music comig from seemingly everywhere. Even though she didn’t do it often, Y/n loved to dance, loved the sensuality of her movements and the way the beat of the music made her body come alive.

The two of them danced a few songs until Y/n lost track of time. But they were having fun as they laughed and watched other couples bust out trendsetting dance moves, and Y/n found herself envious of the females who were brave enough to get up on the bar top and dance in front of everyone.

She had no idea how much time had passed, but when she saw Feyre’s gaze move to someone behind Y/n and watched her face light up like a woman in love, she wasn’t surprised to see that the person she was beaming at turned out to be Rhysand, who had somehow found his mate in the crowd.

Y/n leaned closed to Feyre so she could speak directly in her ear and be heard over the music. “What is Rhys doing here?”

When she moved back, Feyre’s expression was sheepish, and a tad apologetic. “I told him where we were and asked him and the boys to come join us.”

Which meant that Azriel was here, as well. Fucking fabulous, Y/n thought, not at all happy that the boys had just crashed their girls’ night out and fun. Then again, it was hard to be upset with Feyre when all she wanted was to be with her mate, but Y/n had expected it to be a Azriel-free evening.

“Sorry to cut in and steal away my beautiful mate,” Rhys said as he wrapped his arms around Feyre and pulled her close.

The sinful gleam in his eyes told Y/n he wasn’t the least bit sorry to be able to spend extra time with her before they went to their individual suites for the night.

“Last I saw, Cassian and Azriel were getting a beer and heading over to one of those tables with Mor,” Rhys went on, jerking his head in the direction where the girls had been earlier. “I’m sure if you ask Az, he’ll dance with you.”

Oh, hell no. That was one activity she’d avoided at all costs with Azriel throughout the years, knowing that it would be sheer torture for her to have his hard, muscled body pressed so close, and to feel the grind of his hips against hers like a slow, sexual tease. And that’s all it ever would be, since Az wasn’t attracted to her in the same way she was to him.

She made her way back to the area with tables and found Cass and Mor at one of them, both drinking a beer. No Azriel, of course.

“Where’s Az?” she asked, knowing it was a bad idea even before she spoke, and that she wouldn’t like the answer.

“He took my comment about getting female a little too seriously,” Cassian said, his tone droll but barely hiding his laughter, leaving no doubt in Y/n’s mind as to what he meant. Man-whoring. And while he was no where near as bad as Cassian, who used to openly flaunted his conquests, it still stung to know that Azriel had no such hang-ups when it came to sleeping with strangers.

“He’s over there by the bar, trying to charm his way into that girl’s pants,” Mor added unnecessarily as she pushed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. . . you’ll just get upset over something you can’t change Y/n’s subconscious warned her.

Like an idiot, she glanced over her shoulder and looked, her stomach in knots even before her gaze zeroed in on the one male who had way too much power over her emotions. It was a scene she’d witnessed so many times before—hot, gorgeous, tattooed Azriel, with his shadows out of sight, flirting with some random girl who had caught his eye, his devastatingly sexy smile promising the kind of pleasure most females couldn’t resist. Judging by the way the pretty girl put her hand on his arm and swayed toward him so their bodies brushed, he was close to sealing the deal.

Hurt and anger warred within Y/n, the latter of which she had no right to feel. Logically she knew Azriel was free to do what he wanted, with whomever he chose, but what upset her the most was the fact that he’d managed to ruin the fun she’d been having. He’d crashed their party, and she resented him being there and forcing her to watch him most likely leave the place with another woman.

She exhaled a deep breath, trying to release the ache tightening in her chest, but the tension remained, especially when she added in the fact that he’d called her uptight earlier today and accused her of not being able to loosen up and have fun. During that time they were waiting to leave for the Court of Nightmares, he’d suggested she find a random guy to have a fling with, and in a moment of frustration, she’d told Azriel that she would.

She remembered that dumbfounded look on his face, and his shock that she’d actually agreed to do something so out of character. She’d given him that flippant reply because he’d provoked her, but now she seriously considered putting herself out there to see what would happen, and how Az would react.

And hell, maybe she’d get lucky tonight, too.

The bartenders were urging females to dance up on the counter, and Y/n realized that it was the perfect opportunity to show Azriel that she was fully capable of letting loose and having a good time without him. She was finished standing on the sidelines, waiting and pining for something that wasn’t going to happen because Azriel didn’t reciprocate her feelings.

You can do this, her inner vixen coaxed, bolstering her courage and confidence. Get up on that bar and give Azriel a show he’ll never forget.

And that’s exactly what she intended to do, Y/n vowed as she headed for the stairs that led up to the staged bar, just as a fast paced, sexy song started to play.

***

One minute Az was trying to figure out how to nicely extricate himself from the overly aggressive female who’d seemingly staked a claim on him the moment he’d walked into the bar, and the next he was distracted by a round of loud cheers, appreciative male whistles, and catcalling coming from the direction of one of the bars.

Mildly curious as to what had the crowd all worked up, he glanced over the woman’s shoulder toward the commotion. Every muscle in his body tensed when he saw Y/n dancing on top of the bar, looking hotter and more seductive than he’d ever seen her before. He’d also never seen her so . . . uninhibited, and especially in a public place.

What the fucking hell?

A combination of shock and awe held Azriel’s gaze hostage, and his mouth went dry as dust and his shadows swirling irritably as he watched her body move so sensually to the beat of the music. Those small hips circled and swayed with lithe grace, and her cloud of gorgeous hair cascaded down her back as she tipped her head, raised her arms above her head, and drove the men around her wild with a shimmying move that nearly brought Azriel to his knees right where he was standing.

Lust made his blood surge like molten lava in his veins, spilling through him in a rush of carnal hunger. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He could only stare at this bold, brazen, uninhibited woman he barely recognized as his best friend

Who was this siren girl and what had she done with his composed and reserved Y/n?

Not that he was complaining. The tight leather pants she wore molded to her sexy curves and her perfect ass—the same luscious ass she was currently putting on display as she bent over and ran a hand up her leg in a slow, sultry caress as she straightened once again. When she lifted her smoky gaze, Azriel could have sworn that she was looking directly at him with those dark, come-hither eyes. Teasing him. Taunting him. Tormenting him with what he couldn’t have. Fuck.

Or maybe his wild imagination was just playing tricks on him, because she’d never, ever given him any indication that she wanted to get down and dirty with him. Then again, this racy performance could be for another man entirely, and why did that thought make his stomach feel as though he’d just swallowed a dozen burning coals?

Hips gyrating to the music, she continued to skim those mesmerizing hands over her stomach and cupped her breasts over the corset top that was held together with just the thin ties that laced up the front. So fucking naughty. Her lips parted, and a hint of a smile played across her sinful mouth.

A mouth he suddenly wanted to do filthy, wicked things to. Right now.

Another ovation of rambunctious cheers attracted even more male attention to Y/n. Some guy offered her up a shot, and she took the glass and tossed back the liquor in one gulp, then sent a defiant glance in his general direction before continuing with her dirty dancing.

Gods, was she drunk? It was the only thing that made sense to Azriel. Y/n wasn’t an attention seeker, and she wasn’t the kind of female who paraded herself in front of males, not unless it was for a good reason. Then again, nothing about her behavior lately had been predictable or typical, and this little display of rebellion was the last straw. He’d had enough. Tonight, he was going to find out what the hell was going on with her.

Before he could figure out a way to get Y/n out of there without causing a scene, one of the guys at the bar made the huge mistake of reaching out and touching her. The dickhead curled his hand around her calf and started sliding it upward, and Azriel thought he was going to lose it, his hand going to the small blade he kept on him even while wearing cause clothing, as he was now.

He saw bright red as hot, fierce jealousy jolted through him. An unprecedented depth of emotion flooded him as he pushed his way through all her admirers to make his way up to the bar. He told himself he was being a friend and protecting her from one of these douchebags who might take advantage of her being drunk, but that didn’t explain the possessive feeling pumping through him with each step he took toward her. Add to that the steady stream of adrenaline ramping him up, and it was a potent combination that had him on edge and itching for a fight.

Realizing that the mob around the bar was too crammed and it would take him too goddamn long to get to Y/n, he instead went for the stairs that led directly to the top of the bar. As he climbed up, she caught sight of him and her eyes grew wide with panic, as if she realized she’d provoked him a little too far. He narrowed his gaze ominously and his wings flared, conveying his thoughts with that one look. That’s right, Y/n. Be afraid. Be very afraid because tonight we’re finally going to hash out what the fuck your problem is.

Now that Azriel was on top of the bar—and yeah, he knew males weren’t allowed up there, but tough shit—their audience grew. Heads turned their way as everyone watched the scene about to unfold. Despite how pissed he was, Azriel was determined to set aside his anger and be nice and gentle about getting Y/n out of there.

When he reached her, he circled his fingers loosely around her wrist to make sure she would follow. “Come on, Y/n, we’re leaving.”

She yanked her hand out of his grasp and lifted her chin stubbornly. Her face was flushed and her eyes flashed fire. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Okay . . . Apparently, he needed to line up a Plan B.

“Yes, you are,” he said firmly, all too aware of all the eyes on them. “I suggest you come with me willingly, or you’re not going to like the alternative. The choice is yours.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, a reckless glint in her eyes as she glared at him. “You’re such an asshole, Az.”

Clearly, she was mad at him. For ruining her fun? Or something else? That was the problem lately—he had no fucking clue what he’d done wrong. Since she was already furious, he figured things couldn’t get much worse.

He sighed. “Since you think I’m an asshole, I might as well live up to my reputation.” Before she realized his intent, he bent low, wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs, and hefted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. She was slim and light—he bench-pressed more than what she weighed—and he heard her gasp at being taken by surprise.

She wriggled and squirmed as he headed back toward the stairs, with the crowd now cheering him on.

Her fists pummeled his backside. “Goddamn it, Shadowsinger, let me down!”

He had no intentions of putting her feet back on the ground, because he knew he wouldn’t get this kind of leverage over her again. “Not gonna happen, Y/n, so relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Fuck you!” she bellowed.

He shook his head in disbelief. Cauldron, when had she become such a hellcat?

He reached the bottom of the stairs and encountered Rhys, who was frowning at him in that reprimanding way of his, and Azriel knew that his brother was going to be all... well, brotherly, and try to interfere.

Before Rhysand could say a word, Azriel spoke first. “Don’t you fucking dare try to stop me. Y/n and I have some things to hash out, and it’s happening tonight.”

Surprisingly, Rhys backed down, nodded in understanding, and let him pass by. They all knew how out of character this stunt of Y/n’s was, and his brother also knew Azriel would never physically hurt her.

The next roadblock Az encountered was the big, beefy bouncer standing at the door, muscular arms folded over his chest, who wouldn’t let him walk by

Is she leaving with you willingly?” the bouncer asked gruffly.

“No!” Y/n shouted as she tried to kick her legs, which Azriel held down with his forearm. “He’s taking me!”

“She’s such a drama queen.” Azriel rolled his eyes. “Honestly, no, she’s not leaving with me willingly,” he said, because, hello, he had Y/n flipped over his shoulder and she was yelling obscenities at him. There was nothing willing about this particular scenario or her conduct. “But she’s had a lot to drink and I’d rather her be my problem than yours.”

The bouncer didn’t budge, his expression dubious. The dude obviously took his job seriously, and while Az appreciated him being thorough and cautious, quite frankly, he needed the guy to let them through.

“I can vouch for him.” Cassian came up to the door, surprising Azriel with his support. The bouncer, obviously recognizing the High Lords general, moved aside to let them past.

“Thanks” Azriel said to his brother. “I owe you one.”

Cass gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, you do.”

Behind Azriel, Y/n pushed up on her hands so she could look at Cassian as they walked through the exit—or glare at him, Az was guessing.

“You’re such a traitor, Cassian!” she shouted at him.

Azriel heard his brother chuckle before saying, “See you two at some point tomorrow.”

As soon as they were finally out on the sidewalk leading to their hotel, Y/n started up again, thrashing and pummeling and cursing, yet still being carful not to hurt his wings. She drew curious stares from strangers, but Az just smiled and nodded at the passersby as if this was normal for the two of them, not that anyone would say anything, Az was quite intimidating, and kept strolling toward the place they were staying.

“I can walk, you jerk! Put me down already,” she demanded as she smacked and pinched his butt, then growled in frustration when she encountered mostly firm muscle.

“Nope. And quit wiggling around.” When she didn’t stop, he returned the favor, slapping her bottom so hard she gasped and arched her back from the direct contact. His palm stung from the sharp swat, which meant she’d likely have his handprint on her ass—and Mother above, the image of that possessive mark on her pale skin made his cock hard as stone.

She finally settled down. “I hate you,” she said, a pout in her voice.

There was no vehemence behind her words, but Azriel knew that for the moment, for whatever reason, she wasn’t very fond of him. “I know you do, Angel. I just don’t know why.”

“I already told you,” she said, perking up again. “It’s because you’re an asshole.”

He let it go at that, and when they finally reached the rooms, Y/n was dead weight over his shoulder and uncharacteristically quiet. He figured she’d either fallen asleep or passed out from the alcohol she’d consumed.

He figured wrong. On the ride up the quiet, vacant elevator, she finally spoke.

“Will you please put me down now?” she asked through gritted teeth, her voice clear enough that he knew she’d been awake the entire time. “You’ve humiliated me enough tonight.”

“Me?” he asked incredulously as he bent his knees and anchored her feet on the ground, then helped her to stand. They were facing one another now, and he felt his earlier irritation flare back to life. “I was trying to keep you from humiliating yourself up on that bar!”

Her spine stiffened and her gaze shot daggers at him. “I was doing just fine until you came along and ruined my night. I didn’t want or need your help.”

“Yeah, well, tough shit,” he shot back as he jammed his hands on his hips and tried to keep his gaze above her neck when her heaving chest tempted him to look at her perfect breasts pushed up so enticingly by her top. “That’s what best friends do, Y/n. They make sure their drunk friends get back to their hotel safely instead of leaving with some random stranger.”

Her jaw dropped incredulously. “I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

Hypocrite? Was that what she really thought when he was trying to be a good guy and do the right thing? Gods, he’d never seen her so combative, so angry at him. Sure, they’d had squabbles over their centuries of friendship, but it was as though her current animosity was an accumulation of weeks, or months, of harboring resentments of some kind.

Before he could demand she explain the hypocrite comment, the elevator arrived on their floor. As soon as the doors slid open, she marched out into the corridor all huffy-puffy and turned toward her suite. He grabbed her upper arm before she could walk too far away, and just like back at the bar, she managed to yank out of his grasp.

She spun around to say something most likely rude and scathing, her hair flying around her shoulders, and he took advantage and did the only thing he could think of to keep ahold of her so she couldn’t escape him or the discussion they were going to have. Whether she liked it or not.

Impulsively, his hand shot out and he grabbed the front of her leather pants. He seized the waistband in his fist and jerked her toward him so abruptly that she stumbled on her heels and inhaled a quick breath. Her hands landed on his chest, which allowed her to regain her balance, but she was quick to try and push away from him. She only managed about a foot of space because his grip was strong and unrelenting, and he didn’t intend to let her go.

“What the hell, Az?” she said, her shock as profound as his own.

As he stared into her wide eyes that were a bit too bright with what he would have sworn was desire, he wasn’t sure if her surprise was a result of him asserting a bit of physical control over her, or the fact that he’d tucked four long fingers between the fly of her pants and her lower stomach. Fuck, his knuckles were grazing the softest, silkiest flesh he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.

He gritted his teeth. Cauldron, he literally had his hand down her pants.

Asshole that he was, he wanted to push his fingers a little lower, wanted to slide them between her thighs and discover how hot and wet and aroused she was. And deeper, how tight and slick she would feel around his cock as he buried himself to the hilt.

He swore beneath his breath and shook his head, hard, doing his best to dislodge the indecent images in his mind, because this was not the time or place. Ignoring the erection thickening against the front of his pants took equal effort, and he forced his mind back to the issue at hand.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” he said as he started toward his room while pulling her behind him by the waistband of her pants, being just aggressive enough that she couldn’t stop him and was forced to follow. “You’ve had a bug up your butt the past few months, and you’re not leaving my room until you tell me what the fuck is going on and why you’re acting so irrationally, and why lately you always seem to be pissed off or annoyed with me.”

Reaching his room, he pulled his key out of his pocket with his free hand and unlocked the door. The lock disengaged, and he opened the door and hauled her inside the suite. As soon as they cleared the entry area and were in the small living room, he finally released her.

She quickly put distance between them, then whirled around to face him. There was one lamp turned on next to the couch, and the drapes had been pulled open across the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the shadows of Hewn city at night. The room was slightly shadowed, and while he would have preferred more light, it wasn’t a priority at the moment. She was, and he refused to be the first one to look away from their current stare-off and give her any kind of advantage.

Her chin lifted a fraction, her expression fierce and angry all over again. With her leather pants, purple-tipped hair, and sleeve of tattoos, she looked like the tough chick she liked the outside world to believe she was. But despite her being a spitfire right now, he reminded himself that beneath that stubborn, defiant exterior, she was the sweetest, most vulnerable girl he knew. She’d survived a hellish childhood, had endured the kind of pain that went soul-deep and would leave most people as twisted and fucked up as he was.

But not his Y/n. She’d always been his anchor, the one person who kept him balanced and grounded when his life felt as though it was spinning out of control. She’d saved his ass more times than he could count. Maybe it was his turn to return the favor, to try and be patient and understanding—two things that he admitted had never come easily for him.

Except judging by the tight pursing of Y/n’s lips and the irritation and restless energy nearly vibrating off of her, she didn’t seem to want his empathy. No, she looked like she was ready for an uncivilized altercation with him.

If that’s how she wanted to play this out, he’d give her the verbal brawl she was anticipating. He knew how to poke and prod and push her buttons. She wasn’t leaving this room until that fucking chip was off her shoulder and they cleared the air between them.

Since she didn’t seemed inclined to speak first, he did. “What did you mean when you called me a hypocrite?” he asked, wanting to know what he’d done to deserve that less-than-complimentary label.

“A fucking hypocrite,” she corrected him. “Because that’s what you are. You’re so concerned about me leaving with a random stranger—”

“Because you’d been drinking,” he cut her off, though he knew that excuse was only the partial truth. Watching her dance up on the bar, so lithe and hot and sexy—something she’d never done before—while other men lusted after her, had been the other very strong motivating factor for his rash actions.

“For the record, I am not drunk. Not even close,” she said as she folded her arms over her chest—tempting his gaze to stray once again to those plump breasts straining against the front of her corset top.

Damn, he wanted to pluck that tie and set those gorgeous tits free so he could mold them in his hands and take them in his mouth.

“I had two shots over the course of two hours,” she went on, oblivious to his wandering thoughts and gaze. “So if I decide to get up on top of a bar and dance and shake my ass, that’s my choice, not yours. And if I decide to leave with some hot random guy I want to fuck my brains out—which I was considering since I had so many eager males to choose from,” she said in a tone designed to provoke him, “again, I’m a adult and that’s my decision to make.”

Oh, yeah, she was all fired up, and he was still trying to get past the disconcerting image of her leaving with a guy she wanted to fuck her brains out.

His gut churned with something very green, like envy, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.” Gods, when had he become such a liar? And when had her sex life, and who she chose to sleep with, become his concern? It had never bothered him before, but perhaps that was because he was so caught up in his own he hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, my Gods,” she said incredulously. “Aren’t you the one who told me right before we left that I’m too uptight and I don’t know how to have a good time? And didn’t you bring up the fact that it’s been a long while since I’ve been laid and I ought to take advantage of being here and find myself a one-night stand and fuck him through the Kama Sutra?” she exaggerated.

He bristled in frustration and irritation, because somehow she’d turned all this around and was now intentionally pushing his buttons. “I never said that,” he replied heatedly as he moved toward her.

“Whatever. Close enough,” she said, waving a careless hand in the air. “And I don’t know why you’re so worried about who I might or might not screw when you were well on your way to hooking up with the first woman you came across!”

As he neared, he saw two distinct emotions pass over her features—hurt, which was quickly followed by . . . jealousy? How could that be possible?

Certain he’d misread her fleeting expression, he pinned her with an unyielding look and got a few things off his chest, as well. “I don’t know why you’ve been so irritable lately, or what your problem is, but I’m getting damn tired of trying to figure out your mood swings.”

She sucked in an indignant breath. “Want to know what my problem is?” she said on a sudden eruption of outrage. “You’re my problem, Azriel.”

She turned to leave, but he was faster. He grabbed her arm, and before she could shake him off this time, he pushed her up against the nearby wall. He flattened his hands on either side of her shoulders to cage her in, and pressed his hips hard against hers to keep her in place until he decided they were done talking.

“You don’t get to say something like that and just leave without an explanation,” he said in a low, harsh voice, shadows swirling and wings flared.

Her glittering eyes flashed with a quiet but meaningful message for him to go to hell. Lips pressed tight together, she gave him the silent treatment—something she knew he hated.

He was prepared to wait her out as long as it took. “I have all goddamn night, Y/n.”

Seconds ticked into minutes, her willful and obstinate attitude never wavering, nor did her heated gaze. After a while, she tried to move to the side to escape him, but that maneuver only caused their lower bodies to rub together—the soft mound of her sex against the front of his pants.

He got hard—so fucking huge there was no way to hide his response to her and the position of their bodies. There was no way she could miss his massive erection, and still, he didn’t move, determined to wait her out for the answer she owed him. Except he hadn’t anticipated that the awareness and sexual tension between them would grow so increasingly thick he could barely remember why he’d trapped her there in the first place. To make some kind of point, yes, but all his aggravation gradually dissolved as male instinct and an undeniable bolt of sexual hunger coursed through him.

Forbidden desire and dark lust swirled through his veins like smoke, testing his control and weakening his will to resist this woman and all the dirty, filthy things he’d fantasized about for too long. Everything below his waistband tightened and pulsed as he stared into her eyes and saw her own carnal cravings reflecting back at him. Flecks of gold glittered in her eyes, her scent got heavier, sweeter, and her full, tempting lips softened and parted, as if inviting him to find out just how sweet she was inside.

He licked his own lips, so starved for the taste of her he felt as though he’d fucking die if he didn’t get the chance to experience her flavor. Kissing women, anywhere, wasn’t something he indulged in often, and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to put his mouth on a woman for the sheer pleasure of it.

Sex for him was always quick and uncomplicated, focusing more on his body’s needs and chasing that intoxicating high that rushed through him at the peak of climax. That physical release allowed him to forget the pain and torment that was always lurking just below the surface, just waiting for a moment of weakness to consume and ravage him.

As a result, his sexual urges were dark and dominant and aggressive. He liked control, and he’d only hooked up with females who wanted the same thing and gave it up willingly, without any expectations. Easy females who made it simple to fuck them and walk away without any emotional involvement.

But right now, in this moment with Y/n, he wasn’t looking to forget or escape anything. No, he wanted to document every single trembling breath she took, wanted to memorize the flush on her face and the way her pupils dilated with lust the longer they stood in this position, with his cock aching to be inside her. He wanted to remember how small and perfect her soft curves felt pressed against his straining dick, how her increasingly erratic breathing caused her breasts to lift and quiver as the undeniable anticipation between them escalated, second by second. He wanted to bury his face against her neck, inhale her heady female scent, and lose himself in her sweet, luscious body.

Except there was nothing sweet about the way he took females. He didn’t know how to do slow or gentle or romantic, though for her he would try. When he fucked, he was rough and hard and demanding. Y/n was the one good thing in his life, and he never wanted to taint her with his perverse need to use sex to ease all those underlying raging emotions from the past that he struggled to keep buried so he didn’t hurt anyone or anything.

Especially Y/n. His angel.

But as their battle of wills continued, despite the gradual softening changes in her body language, a part of him couldn’t deny how much he needed this female, how badly he ached to be a part of her, in a dozen different ways that were so goddamn wrong he was a prick for even contemplating corrupting her.

But then she made a soft, aroused sound of need in the back of her throat, and his control wavered as an answering fever thrummed through his veins and the beat of his heart echoed louder and louder in his ears. The intensity between them became a tangible thing, until she turned her head away, finally breaking eye contact with him.

And he hated it. Hated that she was trying to shut him out and ignore this fire smoldering between them. He moved one of his hands, his fingers touching the side of her face while his thumb skimmed along her lush, damp bottom lip.

“Look at me, Y/n,” he demanded softly. This was no longer about their argument or extracting an explanation. No, this was something altogether different, and he was fucking helpless to resist the temptation beckoning to him.

Much to his surprise, she exhaled a shuddering breath that made her breasts tremble and obeyed his command. When her soft gaze met his once again, he knew he was done for. Gone. Lost. Those beautiful eyes, they saw into the deepest, darkest part of his soul. They always had, and in this moment, he felt so open, exposed, and vulnerable.

She swallowed hard, the hands at her sides coming up to his chest, where she lightly gripped his shirt in her fists. Conflicting emotions flashed in her eyes, and he knew she was struggling to deny what they both clearly wanted. What they both needed.

“Azriel.…” Her voice sounded strangled and uncertain.

He didn’t want to hear any excuses. Didn’t want to give either of them a chance to stop what was about to happen. Without thinking of consequences, he pushed her chin up with his thumb and lowered his mouth to hers, finally taking what he’d wanted for the past 200 years.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated, and if you want to be added to my taglist, just ask in the comments! I’m probably going to do a part three, what do we think? Nyx 🌹

[doubledyke]

I think that in "domestic stuff" Edd will torture Eddy. Eddy isn't a slob, but he's a lot more relaxed about it, while Edd obsessed with cleanliness and organization. I think Double D would criticize Edd for everything, including the fact that Eddy likes to buy all sorts of aesthetic “trash.” And if they work together, then Double D will probably nag often too. In short, Eddy will have a hard time if he lives with Double D :D

edd? an uptight nag? say it ain't so...

i agree that they'd BOTH have some things to work on preferably before, but definitely after they move in together. by the time they're at that point in their relationship eddy would have a pretty clear idea of what to expect living with eddward. he's seen the guy's room. and he knows how he gets when he's stressed: the nagging, the nervous chatter, the theatrics. he'd be lying if he said he didn't find it a little endearing. i don't think eddy is a total slob either but yeah he's got his habits. he'll gain a new appreciation for his mother, realizing just how much stuff she did for him that he never noticed. and he's gonna realize quickly that it's a lot easier to just not procrastinate on chores if he doesn't want to listen to edd's yapper. i don't think it'd take him long to pick up better habits. like in my fair ed, but this time it's for real.

shoes + shoe rack = happy edd

dish + sink = happy edd

clothes + hamper = happy edd

simple math.

he's not just doing it for edd though, he wants a neat space too. he's just more the type to clean when it gets gross rather than maintaining on a daily basis. edd's quick to remind him of the microscopic nature of germs.

the aggravation does go both ways. edd's not the way he is for funsies. clutter and filth make his skin crawl and he legitimately cannot relax in an unkempt space. i like to imagine edd getting hit with a reality check when he moves out to go to college and has to share a space with someone who's actually there regularly. he'd be shocked to learn how little importance most people place on tidiness. especially his level of tidiness.

anyway, he fears that his home with eddy could easily start looking like eddy's parents' - 'packrats' whose empty nest is slowly starting to fill back up - unless he keeps a strict inventory binder and cleaning schedule for all household items and areas, separated by category, and color coded with the use of-

as far as the decor, again, he saw eddy's room as a kid, he knows what to expect. i'm sure there would be items that edd would veto outright, like those tawdry leg lamps, or any non-insect taxidermy. and the dusting of so many kitschy antiques in a room containing more than its fair share of velvet upholstery would be a nightmare. buuuut he agreed to let eddy do the decorating, so i think he'd try his very hardest to keep any snide remarks to a maximum of 2 per day... it's one of many things that edd has to learn to cope with. eddy's made a million concessions for him too, after all.

[astriwilt]

Short story with my ocs! This is the first time I posted my writing on the internet and I’m very amateur, so it might not be that good. I decided my first story I post about my ocs would be for the oc I like writing for the most: Jared! Any criticism is welcome!

Paperwork:

Jared was stressed. Yeah…that’s what he was feeling. Stress. Simply because of the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Usually, he was on the ball with his work. Getting it done fast and easily. Tonight he just stared at it all. He wouldn’t have had to stay up all night if he just got everything done earlier. What was with him today?

“No making excuses for myself”, he mumbled. He quickly got to work on the next few sheets of paper. They were bills he had to decide to pass or veto. Sometimes he felt he should dream about bills with how big of a percent they were of his usual paperwork. That was just part of being a king though.

“Pass. Pass. Veto. Pass. Veto. Why in the world would you even consider that? Definitely veto”. He was finally done with all the bills. It took what? About two trillion years? Plus he wasn’t even done with the rest of the paperwork. He was never getting to sleep tonight. He just couldn’t seem to focus. It wasn’t like him at all. Jared got to thinking. Maybe if he figured out what was scrambling his brain so badly; he could fix it.

“Ok”, he thought to himself, “let’s go back through the day”. What was his day like? First, he spoke to a local mailman on his way to work. Seemed like a pretty pleasant conversation. He did have a meeting with the other three monarchs of course. Those were always stressful, but they never affected his work like this. When he got home; he had that conversation with Sydney about the rosebushes outside. Nothing interesting to note there. Evie also showed him a rough draft of the new horror novel she was working on. About that serial killer chasing that girl…..

Jared felt his chest tightening. It couldn’t be that. No, why would his daughter’s story stress him out? He was proud of her writing. He’s only getting stressed now because he’s thinking about things that aren’t his paperwork. That’s it. He just needs to get his work done.

“Ok, what’s next? Someone asking permission to open a school? They didn’t have to ask my permission on that, but yeah…more schools are always great”. He felt himself calming down just a little. Good. Maybe he could power through the rest of this with ease and finally sleep. His next paper was a letter from a Dark Red mayor in the Red Kingdom. Oh, that’s exactly what his nerves needed. A Dark Red who has no idea what they’re talking about; writing a whole letter criticizing him. He deals with this all the time though. If he can handle Andrew; he can handle any annoying Dark Red. Andrew…..he was particularly aggravating today. Not that he doesn’t constantly beat his own record. His immaturity knows no bounds. Jared remembered his conversation with Andrew at the monarch meeting that day vividly.

“Jerry!”, Andrew greeted. Jared hated being called that. Only because it’s the nickname Andrew chose for him with the intent of getting on his nerves. Jared simply gave him a disapproving look in response.

“What’s got you all bothered? It couldn’t be me; could it? I know I’m your favorite person”, Andrew grinned.

“Ignore him”, Jared told himself.

“I think I know what it is! Your doctor told you that it’s impossible to pull that stick out of your ass! My condolences!”.

“Andrew…I don’t feel like entertaining you today”.

“But you exist to entertain me!”.

Jared impatiently tapped his finger on the desk. If Kat and Christine were to just show up already; he’d have someone else to talk to. Mature people to talk to. When Jared looked down…he saw something. Blood. On Andrew’s shoe.

“What?” Andrew questioned; noticing Jared’s locked gaze under the table. Jared didn’t even wanna ask. He knew what kind of disgusting person Andrew was. He knew the immoral things he did. Behind the childish persona Andrew held himself to….was a very dangerous man. A charismatic manipulator. Jared himself knew his enemy like the back of his hand; Andrew could never fool him. However, the more naive…..

Jared felt that feeling again. The tightening of his chest.

“Work. Stop thinking about the past. Work. “. He couldn’t though. He had to step outside his office for a second. He was pacing back and forth through the hallways. Trying desperately to calm himself; as he was only wasting his own time. He couldn’t shake this feeling though. It was too strong.

Soon he approached his daughter’s room. He slowly opened the door. Evie perked up as she saw her father enter her room.

“What are you doing awake?”, Jared asked his daughter.

“Can’t sleep”, Evie answered.

“Yeah, me neither……..let’s watch a movie together”.

[steddietogo]

Spider-Steve

Part 1: The Origin Story

------

Steve Harrington is Spider-man. You can trust him when he says he has no idea how that happened. It seemed like on day he was an average high school douche canoe and the next, bam, superpowers.

It all felt sort of alienating at first. Steve does his best to ignore it because honestly, it couldn't have come at a worse time. Literally the day after his girlfriend of a year and a half cheats on him with her best friend, which Steve felt like he totally deserved it, what with the whole high school popularity contest and the shitty things he did with his so-called friends.

Then one afternoon, he runs into Dustin Henderson who vaguely recognises Steve from a dinner a lifetime ago at the Wheeler's house. He takes one look at him and declares, "You'll do,". Five minutes later, Steve is climbing a tree in the middle of a park and scooping up a scared little kitten, shivering high up in a branch. After that, his best friends are literally middle school children who bully him into chauffeuring them around town for their own convenience. Needless to say, it's a step up from the friends he used to have.

The day his life changes, Steve is wearing a ridiculous sailor outfit, working a closing shift on his summer part-time with his mean lesbian co-worker who absolutely hates his guts. One attempted armed robbery and two concussed assailants later he's gained a platonic soulmate, the only other human on earth who knows his secret.

"The universe is sending you a sign, Dingus!" Robin says when they're hanging out in Steve's room one night, a regular enough occurrence that Mrs Harrington makes dinner for three now.

Together, they come up with the most ridiculous looking red and blue suit. Robin insists the blue brings out the brown of his eyes ("You can't even see my eyes through the mask, Buckley!") and names him Spider-man (Steve used up all of his vetos and cannot think of an alternative himself. Whatever, no one else is ever going to see it).

Everyone sees it.

Spider-man kind of becomes a local sensation after his accidental run in with yet another robber at a diner in broad daylight. Steve just wanted lunch after a 'training session' with Robin Buckley who is more rigorous than his basketball coach.

Even worse (or maybe better?), Dustin finds out about his little secret in the most idiotic way possible when Steve discreetly climbs into his bedroom window of his fourteenth storey apartment one night in full spider-man garb. He closes the door to his room silently so as to not alert his mother and rips his mask off his face in the privacy of his own room. Or so he thinks, until a loud crash has him whipping around to see Dustin Henderson on his bed, having witnessed the whole scene, with his jaw on the floor alongside some complicated-looking machinery in pieces at his feet.

As much as Steve complains about it, he's eternally grateful for the two in his life. His anxiety isn’t as soul crushing when he thinks about going back to school now that he has Robin with him.

———

Eddie Munson has been watching Steve Harrington. Well, not in a creepy stalker kind of way. He’s just very slightly curious.

King Steve’s messy breakup with his girlfriend and suddenly fall from Hawkins High royalty status was the talk of the school for weeks. But Steve didn’t immediately become an outcast or anything like that, no that’s not how the world works for rich pretty boys like Harrington. He did stay on the other side of the cafeteria from his former crowd. Something Tommy H wasn’t particularly fond of judging by the scathing looks he kept throwing him from all the way across the room.

Apparently, a lot more had changed over the summer judging by the two new passengers Harrington pulls up into the school parking lot with. Robin Buckley, whom Eddie would’ve thought was Harrington’s new beau if it wasn’t for the gigantic lesbian pride flag stuck on her locker, and a much younger curly haired boy who waves at the two and books it in the direction of the middle school building.

Eddie isn’t the only one who stops and stares as the unlikely pair make their way past the lockers, bickering like they’d been friends all along. There’s a significant lightness to Harrington’s broader shoulders (man, had he been hitting the gym all summer?) that Eddie hasn’t seen since before the infamous breakup. Not that Eddie spends a lot of time watching him, no. He’s just that observant.

Eddie’s still deep in though and staring in the direction the pair had gone when a heavy binder smacks him square on his chest. He barely manages to grab it before it falls and crushes his toes in his Reeboks.

“Stop drooling and move it, man, we can’t be late on the first day itself,” Jeff complains loudly. Good shoulders are good shoulders, it’s not his fault that the man who has them is a jock and a douche. Eddie grumbles as he follows Jeff.

He wonders how quickly Harrington would revert back to his old ways— maybe he could make bets on it, make some money out of it. He just hopes Buckley doesn’t get too hurt in the fallout. This new school year’s already shaping up to be an interesting one and first period hasn’t even started.

———

[theemporium]

Ok but lestappen birthday month is wild (this got way longer and angstier than I anticipated)

I believe that Charles is one to spoil Max rotten on his birthday, have a chat with you about letting Max have total no veto unless he’s hurting you control for the night and the mascara and the lip gloss absolutely make a reappearance and Max is in complete bliss

so Max knows he has a little over two weeks to top that and he’s planning all kinds of stuff with the idea of letting Charles be the dom for the night, from making a reservation at the most delicious restaurant in Monaco down to ordering a pair of red leather assless chaps for himself that he once saw Charles looking at for a moment too long

the one thing he forgets to factor into his plan is you, so focused as he is on making himself appealing to Charles, to the point that when you ask him if he’s already made birthday dinner reservations he says yes without even thinking about the fact that he’s got a table for two

so when you come home on Charles’s birthday after work with a big bouquet of flowers and a bottle of expensive champagne and those new Air Max 1s that were impossible to get AND the sweater from Loro Piana that was sold out everywhere, ready to bake a cake and then step into the lingerie you bought for today, and the apartment is deadly quiet, you know something’s up

meanwhile, the boys have had a lovely afternoon - Max convinced Charles to put both phones on airplane mode because he had already talked to his mom and brothers and had plans with his friends on a different day - and, though Charles thinks it odd that you’re not here for the walk on the beach and the romantic dinner, he figures that surely you two have a plan

and, yeah, it’s weird that you also don’t show up when Max takes him out dancing after dinner, but by that point he’s drunk already and everything is blue eyes and big hands and plush lips anyway

so when they get home, Max resumes his ministrations immediately, pushing Charles up against the door and telling him that from here on out he’s in charge and his green eyes go dark like the ocean as they wind through the apartment to the bedroom, right past the champagne and the presents and the cake with the melted down 26 numeral candles that are still sitting on the kitchen table, and he goes to push Max down onto the bed when he hears a little whimper on impact

his heart cracks when he sees you waking up from where you had curled up on the bed in the little red lace number that he could see your nipples right through and looking at him bleary-eyed to say “Charlie? I wanted to say happy birthday before it’s over, baby, did I miss it? Why weren’t you picking up the phone? Did you guys at least have some of the cake? I made your favorite”

Max is immediately scrambling to hold you, bracing himself for the impact of having fucked up catastrophically, turning his face back up to Charles to see the expression melding sadness and anger and guilt as you slip out of his arms and mumble something about sleeping in the guest room and how they were in Singapore for your birthday anyway and couldn’t get the times right so they didn’t even call on the day

and as he follows you out of the room, Charles mumbles “happy birthday to me, fuckin thanks, Maxie”

I—

oh my god??? ouch??? babe, why are being angsty today?????🤠

no but max would feel so fucking guilty and just😭😭😭😭😭😭NO THIS IS SO SAD!!! POOR READER!!!!

[cal100]

Roronoa Zoro is laughably bad at minigolf

hi!! just some silly fluff of Sanji and Zoro on a date, hope you enjoy!!

Zoro raised an eyebrow at the giant T.Rex who stood overlooking the entrance to the mini golf course. He still wasn’t sure about this whole affair, but Sanji had insisted it would be fun. Sanji had also provoked his competitive side by saying he would beat Zoro. “Hurry up! I want to get something to drink before we start.” Sanji grabbed Zoro’s hand and started dragging him to the ticket booth.

Five holes in and Zoro was losing horrifically; having successfully only scored one point. He had already lost three balls and had been forced to pay for extras. He was seething. “I thought a kendo champion would have better hand-eye coordination,” Sanji teased while smirking at him. Zoro rolled his eyes and didn’t dignify his boyfriend with a response. They arrived at the next hole which featured a large rock with a statue of another dinosaur perched atop it. He had to score another point. He couldn’t take the shame of losing at mini golf to his irritatingly handsome and talented partner.

He put his bright green ball on the ground and aimed so it would bounce and go around the giant rock. Unfortunately, no such thing occurred as his ball hit the edge and spun off widely causing it to totally miss the hole. After three more shots he finally managed to score another point but knew that Sanji would get the ball in after only one or two shots and get a point as well. He was correct and Sanji began to gloat once he scored.

“Only 3 more holes and I’ll win. I think you should pay for our dinner once I beat you,” Sanji taunted.

“Sure but I get to pick the restaurant,” Zoro acquiesced.

“I get veto power though because you have no taste, mon tigre.” Sanji said almost meanly but Zoro could hear the fondness in his voice.

“Hm, ok, I can accept that.” Zoro smirked at his partner’s confidence.

They finished their final three holes and, as he had predicted Sanji won. Fortunately, he celebrated graciously with only a few taunting remarks thrown Zoro's way. They gave the putters and balls back to the employee in the ticket booth and headed back out to the parking lot.

After fifteen whole minutes spent sitting in the parking lot arguing about where to eat, the two eventually settled on a little Mediterranean place Sanji liked. Zoro then listened to Sanji talk about his favorite ways to prepare lamb for the entire thirty-minute drive, but he didn’t mind. He liked that even for all their play fighting Sanji still felt comfortable enough to talk his ears off.

Once they got to the restaurant Zoro let his boyfriend order for him like he always did. Sanji knew what he liked, and it was just easier than trying to pick something.

“Thanks for paying for dinner mon chu.” Sanji kissed Zoro on the cheek. Zoro hummed in response as they walked out to the car. He looked up at the sky and noticed that the stars seemed to be especially bright tonight and an idea struck him. Zoro pulled out his phone and started playing a slow song he knew Sanji loved. He stopped Sanji from opening the car door and put his phone on the hood. His date raised a curly eyebrow in confusion, and Zoro felt his face darken as he blushed.

“Uh, I thought maybe you would want to dance a little..." Zoro trails off and rubs a hand behind his neck. Sanji grins at him softly. "Y'know since the stars look so nice tonight or whatever.-, Zoro turned his head so he didn’t have to look at Sanji when he surely started making fun of him.

“That’s really sweet, my love. I would love to dance with you.” Zoro looked at his boyfriend who was smiling adoringly at him. Hesitantly they began to dance with Sanji taking the lead. Zoro had never thought of himself as a very good dancer, but it felt almost natural in that dimly lit parking lot with the person he loved most. The stars seemed to shine brighter than ever before that night.

[puppiesandnightlock]

Link Nightwing and Flamebird

Aggggggghhhhhh this is the prompt i was so excited for!!! its my favorite one out of all of them!!

Summary: Its a masquerade ball and Jon is ready...if only he could find who he was supposed to be matching with.

i.e. damian and jon went matching to the gala but damian failed to mention who they were going as and they dance and its really cute.

A/N:

so, just a disclaimer, even tho i did do my reseach on the flamebird and nightwing thing and obviously ive read a shit ton of fics thta deal with this, im shortening it incredibly and switching up some things bc i have to fit it in the context its used for in this story   anyways this is the prompt i was most excited for bc yassss masqurade ball and i almost made it a royalty one but at the last minute did this lol

If anyone would have asked Jon, he would tell them that everything that happened that night was completely Damian’s doing. 

It started off simple enough, when the Kents had gotten an invite to the annual Wayne gala. He hadn't thought much of it, they were invited every year, his parents called to cover the event by the Planet. 

Jon had completely forgotten about it until a week before, when his brother waltzed in one night and asked him what he was going to be for the masquerade ball.

“W-What?” He’d sputtered.

“Yeah, you know the ball Tim’s family puts on? We’re going as demons and angels.” Kon had said, laying in the air with his hands behind his head in a resting position.

“They didn’t tell me that!” Jon whipped out his phone and began spamming Damian with questions until his phone started ringing.

“ Honestly, corncob, must you do this now?”

The familiar annoyed tone drawled through the phone speaker.

“Uh, yeah! What the actual heck am I supposed to go as?”

The two boys could hear the eye roll through the phone, followed by the usual “tt '' of disappointment. 

“ Calm yourself Jonathan, if it worries you so much, you can simply go matching with me. I’ll send something over in your measurements tomorrow, assuming they’re still the same from a few months ago .”

“Fine. What are we going to be?”

“ I think I'll let that be a surprise. I’ll see you next week, Jon.”

The phone clicked, signaling the end of the call. 

“You see, your boyfriend has your back.” 

Kon ruffled his hair, ignoring the angry screeches of “ He’s not my boyfriend, Connor!! You know what he is? He's a flaming piece of sherbet!”

“Still can’t swear.” He chuckled, zooming out the window. 

The fact that Damian wouldn't tell him didnt stop the flow of guesses coming from the farmboy.

He pulled the worst guesses after a while, disappointed when even the best ones had been vetoed. The sun and moon one had come close, Damian had nearly smiled when he said it so that was close at least.

When the night of the gala came, he stepped into his room only to be greeted by an intricate box tied with a ribbon on his bed.

Opening it, he found a black suit, flames running up to his elbow from the cuffs, the suit otherwise black but illuminated by the colors of the sleeves. 

The mask was built up with intricate patterns of gold, and when he put it on, it gave the picture of wearing fire itself. 

Gasping, he stumbled a little, pulling it off before placing it delicately back in the box. As he took the suit out to put on after a shower, he noticed a paper floating out from under it. He snatched it midair and noticed Damian’s elegant script.

“ You have your half, now you will have to come find me. No powers, by the way.”

Of course he couldn't just tell me what we were doing. This is fire, right? What's the opposite of fire?

He dressed, finding in pleasant surprise that the coattails of the jacket had the same flames his cuffs did, cut in an odd jagged pattern. As he spun in the mirror, they flared out, almost resembling…dragon wings?

He picked up the mask again, noticing the way it curved down on his face, resembling a snout.

An idea began to form, it was if he had all the pieces of a puzzle but couldn't yet fit them together.

His parents had insisted on pictures, marveling at the suit and mask. 

“Damian must have designed this himself. It has his mark of dramatics.” Lois traced the fire on the sleeve.

“What is he going as?” Clark asked as they got into the car that had gone to pick them up.

“He hasn't told me. I’m supposed to guess.” Jon rolled his eyes, the concept stupid to him.

Per usual, they were swarmed like celebrities themselves exiting the car, Lois and Clark mixing into the crowd as Jon stood alone at the top of the ballroom's large staircase, scanning the room of masks.

He caught Kon and Tim in the corner, both dressed in matching suits of deep red and soft white. 

Dick had a redhead on his arm, as usual(choose your ship), matching sun and moon. Jason was hidden away by the refreshments, Duke following behind him. Steph and Cass were out on the dance floor, with coordinated dresses like the queens they were. 

Tired, he gravitated towards the refreshments and fought the urge to run a hand through his slicked curls.

As he looked up, his gaze landed on a man there, sipping from a glass of champagne with an amused smirk on his face. 

His suit was a deep navy, almost black, with a thick light blue stripe making up the design. The coattails were a familiar dragon wing shape. It suddenly clicked in his mind who they were supposed to be, and without a second thought, he strode over and offered the shorter man his hand. 

“Care to dance?”

Damian’s green eyes twinkled at him as he set down his flute to take his hand. 

“Took you long enough.”

They swept out onto the dance floor, brushing by Steph and Cass, who winked at them and shot  thumbs up to Damian behind Jon’s back.

He huffed and turned back to Jon, the flaming colors of his mask making his eyes stand out like icy blue pools.

The song played on, and Jon leaned in to whisper. 

“Nightwing and Flamebird, huh?”

“Mhm. You were rather close with your sun and moon theory, and the fire and ice as well.”

They spun, transitioning into formal waltz.

“Never thought you’d go with an old kryptonian legend. They were partners, the best of the best. Soulmates. Flamebird kept Nightwing from falling too far into the dark, and nightwing vowed to be by his side forever.”

“Lovers.”

Jon nearly tripped over his own shoes. “What?”

“They were lovers, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Y-yeah, that too.” He grinned suddenly. “Dami, are you a romantic ?”

“No! The very thought is appalling, I would never stoop to such a level of meaningless gibberish.” 

Being the little shit he was, Jon listened to the skip in his c̶r̶u̶s̶h̶  best friend’s heart as he dipped him slightly, bringing his face closer. 

“I think you are.”

“So that’s the way you wanna play it, Kent?”

 Damian hitched a leg over his waist, doing a specific movement to the beat of the music and smirking at his blush. 

“Because you’re sure to lose.”

“We’ll see about that, bat boy.”

The world around them became blurry, the only thing in the room being the two of them and the rhythm of the music. 

One moved, and the other tried to top it. They wove it all together in a beautiful dance, daring each other with the way they moved, the sly grins and glints in their eyes the only words they needed.

The goal was to make each other as flustered as possible, and every gasp, blush, and breathy laugh was a prize. As the music began to slow, they spun out, back in, and into a low dip, panting heavily.

A flush of exhaustion brushed their cheeks, sweat beaded on their foreheads. For a moment, their surroundings had frozen, and there was just them. All the unspoken emotions, the words missed for years had somehow been spilled out in simple dance, and they were shook, the only thing snapping them out of it was the applause that sounded once they’d stopped dancing. 

Quickly they stumbled apart, smoothing their suits and giving a nervous bow as the gala goers clapped, having watched the whole exchange. 

Grabbing Damian’s hand, he led them through the crowd that had gathered to watch them, ending up in the hallway of the manor. 

Green eyes twinkled at him as he began trying to speak, stuttering out a long drawn confession speech he’d made somewhere around five years ago.

“For the love of- Get over here, Corncob.”

Damian tugged his shirt collar, reaching up on his toes to press his lips against the others.

The flush returned, more prominent than before. 

“I-ah…the feeling is mutual, then?” Jon squeaked, mentally slapping himself for such a stupid response. 

“Quite.” A pink color was dusting the caramel complexion of the shorter boy as well.

Grinning, he bent to place a kiss on the smaller boy’s cheek, taking his hand. “What do you say we get out of here, then?”

“I’d say yes.” 

*********************************************************************

for @super-sons-week-2023

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Hi! Out of curiosity, what was the whole drama with Charlotte and Augustin? I’ve tried reading it in several Robespierre biographies and it’s never made sense

Good question! That you couldn’t find an answer in a biography that made sense is not all that weird, I tried looking over the ones I had access to and those that touched on the fight all got it wrong in some way in my opinion. The reason for this, besides the fact that the conflict is a pretty small detail in the grand scheme of things, is probably that we have several different sources mentioning it that all put their own spin on it in some way or another. I would say these sources fit into three categories:

First off, we have contemporary letters dealing with the fight written by Augustin and Charlotte themselves. These include an undated letter from Augustin to Maximilien, as well as a letter dated July 6 1794 from Charlotte to Augustin.

Second off, we have what Charlotte had to say about the fight in Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères, published in 1834 by Albert Laponneraye.

And third, there’s what contemporaries said regarding it. This mostly includes Armand Joseph Guffroy’s Secretes de Joseph Lebon et ses complices (1795) as well as the memoirs of Maurice Gaillard.

The fight, as far as we’re concerned, dates back to Augustin and Charlotte’s trip to the Army of Italy, where the former was tasked to go by the Committee of Public Safety on July 19 1793. Augustin set off a few days later together with Jean François Ricord, another representative on mission. For company, Ricord brought his wife Marguerite, while Augustin (on Charlotte’s request, if we’re to believe her memoirs) brought his sister. 

We only have Charlotte’s memoirs to rely on regarding what played out between her and her brother during the trip. According to them, the group, after a time of traveling from town to town with counter-revolutionaries constantly after them, finally settled in Nice for a longer period of time. There, Augustin and Ricord made frequent outings to different divisions while Charlotte and Marguerite occupied themselves with making shirts for the soldiers during the day and went for walks and horseback rides in the countryside in the evenings. This latter activity soon proved to be troublesome, as ”several journals paid by the aristocracy” back in Paris started accusing the two women of acting like princesses with their equestrian outings. As a consequence, Augustin vetoed further horseback rides after receiving a letter from Maximilien regarding the issue, and Charlotte promised to abstain from riding from then on. But not long after, Marguerite, who according to Charlotte ”was the most frivolous and inconsiderate person in the world,” proposed they should go on yet another ride, and Charlotte, after trying in vain to remind her of what her brothers had said, hesitantly joined her. 

When Augustin reproached his sister for the ride a few days later, Charlotte called on Marguerite to testify that it had been her idea. But Marguerite, instead of telling the truth, not only enforced the lie that it was Charlotte that had wanted the ride, but also added that she had taken her with her against her will. Augustin chose to believe her, much to Charlotte’s distress — ”My brother knew I was incapable of lying. Why then did he not want to believe me?” After this incident, Augustin started keeping a certain coldness in regards to Charlotte which caused her much despair, though it would not appear she tried to approach her brother to explain herself again.

The straw that broke the camel’s back came when Marguerite a while later suggested to Charlotte that they should go to Grasse together, something Charlotte agreed to do. But hardly had they arrived when Marguerite came forward with a forged letter, telling Charlotte it was from Augustin and that he urged her to return to Paris as soon as possible. A shocked Charlotte obeyed and set out for the capital the following morning, ending her journey somewhere in the fall of 1793. Marguerite in her turn went on to slander Charlotte to Augustin, saying that she didn’t care about him and that this was the reason for her brusque departure. She and her friend Madame Gesnel made him believe Charlotte had caluminated both Augustin and Madame Ricord. According to Charlotte, Marguerite was seducing her brother, who ”believed it essential to his honor and duty” to respond to her advances (it might be added that this is very similar to how Charlotte explains the relationship between her other brother and Éléonore Duplay). It evidently worked, and Augustin refused to see his sister when he too returned to Paris for a short stay (December-January), choosing instead to move in with the Ricords. He told Maximilien about both Charlotte’s brusque departure from Grasse, as well as her compromising the honor of him and Madame Ricord, causing the former to become angry with her too.

Such is the story as presented by Charlotte in her memoirs. Parts of it can and has been questioned, above all the idea of Augustin as completely innocent in the drama. Both Maximilien’s biographer J.M Thompson and Augustin’s Mary Young instead embrace the idea that there did exist a mutual liason between Augustin and Madame Ricord that Charlotte became an annoying witness to. Thompson declares himself sceptical in regards to the idea of Marguerite forging a letter from Augustin, while Young completely dismisses it and instead suggests the letter did indeed come from the pen of Augustin, eager to send his sister away so she wouldn’t be in the way of his love affair. The idea that there was something more than platonic friendship between Augustin and Marguerite also appears in the memoirs of Paul Barras, who served as a representative to Toulon at the same time as Augustin and Ricord:

Fully convinced that women constituted a powerful aid, [Bonaparte] assiduously paid court to the wife of Ricord, knowing that she exercised great influence over Robespierre the younger, her husband's colleague. […] Robespierre the younger was particulary attached to Madame Ricord.

Besides the question of Augustin’s guilt, it can also be observed that the letter where Maximilien tells his siblings about the controversy Charlotte’s horseback rides were causing has never been found. I’ve also not seen anyone point out the journals denouncing Charlotte and Madame Ricord’s outings the memoirs are alluding to…

If this first bit of drama can be boiled down to a mere personal feud, it gets harder to make the same case when we get to the second part of the conflict. This is where the first of the two contemporary letters — the one Augustin wrote to Maximilien — comes into the picture:

My sister does not have a single drop of blood that resembles ours. I have seen and learned so much about her that I regard her as our greatest enemy. She abuses our spotless reputation to lay down the law on us and threatens to take a scandalous step in order to compromise us. We must take a decisive stand against her. We must make her leave for Arras, and thus take her away from us, a woman who causes our common despair. She would like to give us the reputation of bad brothers, her calumnies spread against us aim at this goal. I would like you to see the citoyenne La Saudraie, she would give you certain information on all the masks that it is interesting to know in these circumstances. A certain Saint-Félix seems to be from the clique.

This letter is unfortunately undated, but two things has lead to all historians up until this point to place it somewhere in April-May 1794. The first is the fact that Augustin makes allusions to Guillodon La Saudraie whose first known contacts with Augustin (of whom she, according to the memoirs of Charles Nodier, was the presumed mistress) are from the first half of 1794, when she accompanied him on his second mission. Augustin had already in a letter dated March 24 also asked Maximilien to offer her an audience, and it seems likely for this to have been a follow-up to that.

The second clue is that, on May 19, a letter written by Augustin Darthé revealed that Charlotte had come back to Arras two days earlier, just like her younger brother asks for above. She had been escorted by Joseph Lebon, representative to Arras who Maximilien had recalled to Paris on May 14, saying that the Committee of Public Safety had decided to direct his energy ”in an even more useful way” and telling him to ”come back as soon as possible, to return promptly to the post where you currently are.” I have chosen to believe ”the more useful way” Maximilien suggests Lebon should use his energy for alludes to the mission of bringing Charlotte back to their hometown.

It can be observed that, if it’s true the letter to Maximilien is from April-May 1794, Augustin wouldn’t have met his sister since the fall of 1793 (assuming Charlotte is telling the truth in that he didn’t want to see her during his short break in Paris). The question is therefore evidently what exactly Charlotte had done for it both to reach the miles away Augustin and make him think this ill of her. In her memoirs, Charlotte passes in total silence on both this letter and her exile to Arras (and with that, the question of whether she gave her consent to being sent there or not). Since the accusations in Augustin’s letter are so vague, it gets hard to verify what exactly she’d done to make him so upset, other than it seems to be about her 1, slandering her brothers and 2, doing something scandalous. The first charge I suppose could tie in with Augustin falling for Madame Ricord’s claim that Charlotte was caluminating him, as the memoirs would have us believe. However, we do also have several pieces that could fill the criteria for the second charge that all date back to around the same period Augustin allegedly penned down his letter.

First off we have a letter written on April 25 1794 and sent off to Charlotte. In it, the author brings her up to speed regarding the recent repressive politics their hometown Arras for the past months has been the victim of:

What has been said of your country is true; for six weeks one hundred and fifty people have been guillotined and about three thousand imprisoned. […] I’ll spare you other details that are too atrocious to be believed, when you haven’t been an eyewitness. If I had more time, I could have given you more detailed facts; I cannot tell you what I have heard from different people without having had the time to verify it. We go into the countryside tomorrow. I forgot to tell you that the prosecutor of the revolutionary tribunal is arrested and the revolutionary commissar broken. 

He also makes allusions to a commission Charlotte is part of, that appears to have as its goal to slow down the repression apparatus. This commission may be what the deputy Armand Joseph Guffroy is alluding to in the following part of his Secretes de Joseph Lebon et ses complices (1795):

I was not discouraged; Leblond’s sister, Demeulier’s (sic) daughter, Buissart’s wife, Robespierre’s sister, to whom he was also almost invisible, took every means to reach him.

Speaking of Guffroy, the second piece is a letter dated May 7 to him from the arragois lawyer Antoine Buissart, a friend of both him and the Robespierre siblings. The letter confirms Charlotte’s interest in what was going on in Arras:

We salute the citoyenne Robespierre; my wife has just received her letter; tell her as soon as possible that I will immediately give her the clarifications she requests.

Furthermore, as shown through the above cited letter, Charlotte came to see Guffroy (this was something she would herself confirm when interrogated after thermidor, adding that Madame Duplay reproached her for it). It is not impossible this relation caused dislike in Augustin, who, along with his brother, had ”a great contempt” for Guffroy if we’re to believe the memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas. Since March 3 1794 Guffroy had also become suspect in the political arena, as he on that day had been expelled from the Jacobins accused of having connections with a former marquis, forcing the Revolutionary Committee of the Picques section to release Louis XVI’s former locksmith and having English letters found among his papers. This denounciation had also forced him to resign from his functions as member of the Committee of General Security. Guffroy was himself convinced that Charlotte visiting him was the reason for her fallout with her brothers, as this is what he wrote about it a year later:

[The brothers] drove [Charlotte] out of their house because she did not think like they did, because she came to see my wife and because she saw citizens who were sincere friends of justice and truth.

Finally, there’s also a passage from the memoirs of Maurice Gaillard that’s of interest here. Gaillard claims to have met Charlotte somewhere in May 1794 to hear her opinion on the magistrates of Melun having been denounced for two years earlier signing an adress denouncing the demonstration of June 20 1792. Charlotte not only expressed her disapproval when it came to this affair, but also deplored of the terror in Arras and raged against the Duplay family. She then helped arrange an interview between Gaillard and Couthon, but when the latter gets threatening and makes a move to call on his bodyguards she throws herself on him and holds him still in the armchair he was sitting while yelling at Gaillard to escape. Tracking him down again she tells him that ”the wretched man merely wanted to discover your inmost thoughts” but that she ”succeeded in making him ashamed of the crime which he was about to commit against one whom I had introduced to him in confidence.” She then urges Gaillard to flee the city, which he also goes ahead and does. Curiously, Charlotte appears to think the conflict between her and Augustin to be old news in Gaillard’s account, talking instead about how she’s eagerly awaiting his return so he can help her get Maximilien to move away from the Duplays.

And finally finally it can also be observed that the Saint-Félix Augustin’s letter identifies as being part of Charlotte’s ”clique” was a man by the name of Emmanuel Musquinet (Saint-Félix was his alias), since February 19 1794 under loose house arrest for being compromised in a case of false assignats. The arrest had caused great indignation for Hébert who spoke of “vile merchants who arrest a fine person like the friend Saint-Félix for having made the enemies of the people known.” Saint-Félix also had been a frequent visitor to the imprisoned hébertist Ronsin before the latter’s execution. His brother Musquinet-Lapagne had, according to a report dated October 24 1793, denounced Marat and Robespierre to the Popular Society of Le Havre of which he was the president. He had then been arrested in November 1793 and guillotined on March 16 1794, accused of having tried to ignite civil war between the communes of Ingouville and Le Havre, abused his functions as mayor to make home visits to the citizens of the commune and use these occasions to steal precious objects, as well as for arbitrary kidnappings. A copy of a letter written by Musquinet-Lapagne on September 6 1793, in which he attempted to justify himself, bore at the bottom the following text: ”for certified copy: Guffroy.”

(note that these four pieces are very rarely (I might say never) used by Robespierre biographers who talk about the conflict a bit more in detail).

Whatever it was Augustin’s letter was alluding to, Charlotte ended up in Arras. We know through a letter her step-cousin wrote to Augustin that she doesn’t appear to have made their fallout known to her friends there (so again, pretty far from Augustin’s charge that Charlotte had slandered her brothers). Her stay was nevertheless short, already on July 1 we find a letter confirming she was back in the capital. Charlotte’s reason for leaving is unknown, but according to Guffroy it was to avoid arrest:

Lebon had [Charlotte] denounced to the popular society of Arras, by his cutthroats, as an aristocrat. Her apparent crime, and at least the pretext for her arrest, was to have been with Payen de Neuville la Liberté, an estimable farmer, whom Lebon had guillotined, and brother of another Payen, member of the constituent assembly who had served as father and friend to Robespierre, and whom Lebon likewise had guillotined. […] Without Florent Guyot (sic), who brought her back to Paris, she would have been imprisoned there, because Lebon's accomplices had denounced her in their infernal club which they called the popular society.

While most historians I’ve looked at have dismissed this as mere slander, it can nevertheless be observed that the dates of execution for the two Payen brothers Guffroy is talking about (June 21 and 26) matches rather well with the time Charlotte’s would have departed from Arras… On June 28 we do actually find a letter from Antoine Buissart to Maximilien, telling him that since a month back, he, his wife and Charlotte have been denounced by a certain Carlier, administrator of the department of Pas-de-Calais — ”You know that from this time on I am a conspirator in the eyes of the famous Carlier, and my wife and your sister two intriguers.” Guffroy did in his turn call the same Carlier ”Lebon’s fiercest lieutenant” so it may actually be him he accuses of having denounced Charlotte here above…

Augustin had returned to Paris just before Charlotte. In her memoirs, Charlotte describes the situation between them in the following way:

He seemed to be fleeing my presence. I admit it, I was indignant against him; what had I done to him, I said to myself, for him to treat me this way, for him to say to anyone who will listen that I am unworthy of him, that I conducted myself badly with him, that I no longer deserve his esteem? It was then that I wrote him the letter that Levasseur recorded in his Memoirs.

This is the second of the two contemporary letters regarding the fight, dated July 6. In her memoirs, Charlotte tried to declare certain phrases of it as embellishments by her brothers’ enemies, but an encounter with the fac-simile of it proves that she was actually lying there. 

Charlotte begins the letter by writing that Augustin’s aversion for her has developed into the most implacable hatred, to the point that they can’t even talk to each other anymore. Because of this she will instead try to write to him. She tells Augustin how hurt she has become by his hostility — ”what does it matter to me that I am hated by those who are irrelevant to me and who I despise? Their memory will never come to trouble me, but being hated by my brothers, I, for whom it is a necessity to cherish them, this is the only thing which can render me as unhappy as I am” — a hostility she considers herself completely undeserving of. Despite this she writes that she won’t hold any grudges the day Augustin decides to come back to her, she will only feel joy over having him at her side again.

Like that of her brother, Charlotte’s letter is very emotional and very vague when it comes to the question of what the conflict is actually about. When she gets a bit more specific however, it would once again appear like her relationships is what Augustin had denounced her for:

Nonetheless, do not hope in your delirium to be able to make me lose the esteem of a few virtuous persons, which is the only good which remains to me, along with a pure conscience ; full of a just confidence in my virtue, I can defy you to detract it and I dare to tell you that, beside the good people who know me, you will lose your reputation rather than harming mine. 

Charlotte ends by declaring she will move into the house of her and Augustin’s maid Madame Laporte so that she won’t be in Augustin’s way. Her interrogation held a few weeks later confirms that she went through with that plan. According to Charlotte’s memoirs she never saw her little brother again, and there was therefore never any reconciliation between the two. This is the last thing we know of it.

So the drama is no doubt not just a little confusing. What I personally consider most likely is that Augustin had found out about Charlotte political activities and contacts, felt both his own reputation and, to borrow a phrase from Charlotte’s letter, ’the public good” threatened by it, and written to Maximilien to urge him to send Charlotte away from Paris and with that her connections. While the mistrust of the sister certainly could have been fueled by what had played out between the two during the mission, I am hesitant to buy the memoirs’ story of Augustin simply having been brainwashed by Madame Ricord into hating Charlotte. The fact that Charlotte makes allusions to Augustin having a problem with her friends does also imply there was much more to it than that.

Finally, and I’m totally just speculating here, if it turns out no article regarding Charlotte and her scandalous horseback rides can be found in any contemporary journal, then I wouldn’t be all that defiant in front of the idea that the entire story could be something fabricated by Charlotte and Laponneraye to hide the former’s more controversial activities. We know through her testament as well as this letter that Charlotte, towards the end of her life, wanted to rehabilitate her brothers’ memory and be remembered as a loyal sister. Laponneraye was in his turn someone who evidently didn’t think women belong in politics. This is shown through the following sentence from the preface of the memoirs, which, given what has since been found out about Charlotte, has aged badly in more than one way:

Passionate about the private life, [Charlotte] could never bring herself to leave it, and was always careful not to imitate those women who, forgetting the role that suits their sex, throw themselves madly and ridiculously into a career that is not made for them. So she played no part in the extraordinary events that signaled the time when her older brother was in power. […] Charlotte Robespierre occupied herself with politics only as much as is necessary for her to follow her brothers with her eyes in the arena where they fight hand in hand against crime.

With all this in mind, the idea of Charlotte and Laponneraye redefining the conflict between the former and Augustin to be more appropriate to their narrative doesn’t come off as all that foreign to me. Regardless, I think the two letters line up much better with the version of the drama presented by Guffroy compared to the one presented in the memoirs.