#and I will have another bad day within the week

[snaxle]

I WILL BE OPENING EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS WITHIN THE WEEK

i know majority of the people following me do not follow me for art purposes and so im probably speaking to a brick wall, but if anyone has seen my posts regarding my financial problems and my tablet breaking the other day, i need money.

tldr, the state just took away nearly $1000 worth of income my family makes per month, which is the money we used to pay our rent. more in depth information below the cut

the state just kicked my brother off of SSI, and now we are out of $900 a month (another brother was ALSO kicked off of SSI a few months earlier as well, and as such for the past year my family has been struggling. at the time this wasnt bad enough prior that i felt the need to talk about it, so i never mentioned it). this $900 helped pay for the rent on our house, and without it we are going to be absolutely screwed. not only that, my brothers are all getting kicked off their insurance within the next two months and will probably not be able to get their medication anymore nor go to their monthly doctors appointments anymore because my mom will not be able to afford it (the reason for their medication is not super serious whatsoever, but will affect them badly in the long run if they arent able to take it.) my mom is going to be trying to find a job asap, but she is also disabled and for months now she has been putting in job application after application with no luck whatsoever.

we get no food stamps because the state sees that i live at home and assume that i make enough to afford food for everyone in my house, and the local food pantry quite frankly sucks and often gives out of date food with bugs in it, so we only go for emergencies.

I NEED TO BE ABLE TO SAVE MONEY IN ORDER TO GET MY DRIVERS LICENSE AND GET A CAR. this is a priority. i cannot get anywhere where i live without a vehicle, and my mom has to drive me around. once i get a car, i will be trying to get a second job so i can drive myself, and will then be working on trying to move out in hopes that if i leave my mom is able to get her income back. i CANNOT move out right now, due to the fact that i dont make enough money to afford my own place and i also walk to work everyday. these will not be happening anytime soon unfortunately, but most of the money i save per month was going towards being able to afford a car and a cheap apartment in the near future.

if you saw my post the other day regarding my tablet breaking and me wanting to purchase another one, i will not be buying a new one unless absolutely necessary. my current tablet works enough duct taped up for now. if i make any money from commissions, i will be putting it towards at the very least affording to pay for all my animals necessities, so i can focus on using all the money i make for my family. if you are aware of my ongoing medical problems, i will not be seeking out medical attention for my heart problem for the time being, considering the fact that i do not have insurance and i think any money i would pay for appointments would be better spent elsewhere. i would rather my family can keep a roof over their heads.

i will share the prices i think will be good in a bit, and i am really sorry if theyre expensive. if you read all this, thank you from the bottom of my heart. i will get them set up as soon as i can.

[bellamoooon]

Childhood best friends to lovers, i love this concept a little too much and got carried away lol <33

She’d never know, at least that’s what he convinced himself of.

She’d never know that she was like a breath of fresh air after drowning for hours, that she was like the first bit of light rising up in the morning, that she was like the feeling of warmth when getting praised, that talking to her was like hearing his favorite song for the first time again, that her laugh was engraved in his brain and he could hear it even when she wasn’t around, that her presence radiated light that seeped right into his bones, that seeing her was like a shot of espresso immediately waking every nerve in his system, that her smile gleamed with such brightness it could light up the whole world in an eternal darkness, that her eyes said so much more than anything she had ever said, that she was a perfectly aligned harmony when everything else was out of tune.

She’d never know, but he did.

She lived within him; His whole life had been reduced to her.

“Wow Art, this is really good!” his literature teacher spoke as she read his paper, “y’know, if the whole tennis thing doesn’t work out, you could be the next big writer, I mean it.”

For his literature class, as a “creative exploration exercise”—his teacher calls it—they had been assigned to write a paper on someone of something which they could understand as unrequited love, of course he had chosen you, because what better example than you and Art.

You and Art have known each other since diapers due to your parents being best friends from their college days up to the present day, which sort of brought the two of you together one way or another, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would art.

Growing you with you might’ve been one of the best things he has ever been able to experience, he wishes people could actually get to feel what its like to be shined on by your light, for him, it truly is unearthly every time.

Sure, you two had distance shoved in your faces when he went to MRTA, but when he returned home for breaks, it was like nothing changed, it was just you and Art.

And of course as cliché as it may be, the inevitable happened, Art began to fall in love with you.

At first, he tried to convince himself that it was just the affection he had for his best friend, but he had no way to deny it. From the second he stopped just seeing you, but when he started seeing you.

He could try to blame it on his hormones and being a teenager, but everything else contradicted that.

In the summer, seeing you in your two-piece swimsuit didn’t seem the same, especially since you had started to grow into your big girl body, as his nana said.

At Christmas when he saw you walk into the living room dressed as Cindy Lou who from shoes to hair, with a goofy smile, but why did it make him blush? You seemed the same, you did this every year.

Patrick mocked him for having a small picture of the two of you in his wallet, but he didn’t care, whenever he was having a bad day, or missed home, he’d look at the picture, instantly erasing anything that disturbed his thoughts.

But you’d never know that. And he was okay with that. For the most part.

A couple of weeks he went back home for spring break, he was feeing at ease, he’d see his parents, his nana, and…you.

“Artie! My sweet boy!” his grandmother called out as he walked out of the car to the front porch with a suitcase in his hand, and a wide smile. His grandmother ran up to him wrapping her arms around him, her warmth immediately transferring to his skin, he was home.

“Nana, hey, how’ve you been?” he spoke with a sweet tone as he hugged her back. Sure, tennis was his whole life, but coming back home felt like a weight was lifted off his back, he doesn’t have to be THE Art Donaldson, he was just…Art.

“You look so tired baby boy, let me take your bags, go take a shower” his nana said as she shut the door behind her.

“Nana, seriously don’t worry—“

“Will you just let me take care of you while you’re here? You’ve gotta do all this yourself at school, but not here Artie” and well, there isn’t much arguing with nana Donaldson, it’s just how it’s been his whole life.

After his shower, Art walked in his room with a calm breath and loose muscles, how he needed that warm shower, as he walked over to his bag, which was placed next to the window he began to look for some clothes.

He wasn’t one to feel prying eyes on him but by reflex, Art lifted his head as he looked through the window, it was you.

You covered your mouth clearly giggling as he looked down at himself completely naked only covered by a towel wrapped around his waist, “fuck me” he muttered as he looked up once again but now face completely flushed and the tips of his ears burning red.

He waved awkwardly as he pulled the curtains closed feeling flustered, he wanted to get his mind off of her, so he said, how’s that going? Not great.

His nana looked up as he came downstairs with a puzzled expression, your name left his lips.

“What about her?” She asked as she left a plated grilled cheese in front of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was home for the break?” She laughed, why is she laughing?

“Sweetie, I thought it was obvious, she always come back home for breaks” she shook her head as she smiled playfully, “though, I think there’s something about her being here that bothers you”

“What— no, no, it doesn’t bother me, I just— would’ve expected something else, I don’t know”

“You sure?” She slid the paper across the counter with delicacy, “are you absolutely sure baby?”

“Nana! I told you to stop snooping, come on!” He said taking the paper as quickly as possible, could this day get any worse?

“One, I wasn’t snooping, it fell out of your backpack, and two, Artie, you know you can tell me anything, right?” He lowered his head ever so slightly as he grabbed the sandwich to then take a bite.

“I know.” He said once he swallowed, she leaned against the counter with curious eyes.

“She’s good, she’s smart, and really talented, did you hear she put out a song?” He lifted his brows in surprise, you really had picked music, over psychology, huh…

“Huh…well that’s great, I’m sure she’ll do great with all that” his nana scoffed as she muttered a small “art…” with a warning tone, “what? I mean it”

“You gotta give me more than that after that thing you wrote, Art, I taught you better than this.”

“I just—! I don’t know what to say, Nana, that’s the problem. Not to you, not to Patrick and most definitely not to her” he spilled, fiddling nervously with his hands, “I’d screw our friendship, one sided feelings aren’t worth risking years of trust.”

“Well you never know Artie, sometimes holding onto those feelings is painful, even if something is on the line, it isn’t worth it if you’re hurting” she was right, but Art would never say that out loud, this was all too much for him.

“It’s just…it’s not easy”

“Well my boy, no one said love was easy, and sometimes, just sometimes, the most complicated loves, are the most beautiful ones” he listened intently as he finished off the grilled cheese, she was right, maybe all he needed to do was tell her.

You had to know.

So there he was at 2:34 a.m throwing small pebbles at your window, just like he did years ago to then go the skate park at midnight and sit at the top of the ramps while you talked till sunrise.

“Stop throwing rocks Donaldson, you’ll wake the dog” you came out the door in pjs but wrapped in a jacket, he turned with a confused expression “I came running down when I felt the first two rocks” you laughed softly as you blushed slightly, God you missed this.

It’s like being kids all over again.

“So how’s tennis and all, Mr. Stanford?” You asked as you swung your hanging feet off the ramp.

“Y’know tennis is the same always, trust me, you don’t care” he laughed as he shook his head, “but Stanford is nice, just not the same without you and Patrick on my ass all the time”

“Ah, of course, because that’s the biggest change you’ve had since we were kids up to today” you rolled your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah…” he chuckled dryly as he looked away, could he be more obvious, goddamn.

“What?”

“No— no, it’s nothing” he insisted.

“Art I know you, it’s not nothing, what’s up?” You pushed as he looked up at the sky biting his lip while humming, “Art?”

“Hm?” He turned to look at you again, you lifted a brow silently asking once again, “ah…I— I love you” he blurted out unable to stop himself.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

“I have since the summer you turned fifteen, you just— you kinda started to seem different to me, and I— I fell in love with you.” He sighed, “and I know timing sucks and it’s gonna make things weird, but if I didn’t tell you, it would eat me alive, y’know it’s been so long—“ his rambling got cut off as your lips crashed onto his almost immediately.

His body tensed up completely, the feeling of your lips foreign to his, but so familiar at the same time, the reality was better than any dream he had ever managed to build up in his mind, your plump lips tasting faintly like cherry lip gloss, he was most likely dreaming, he thought, cause there is no way he had told you how he felt, and even less probabilities of him kissing you.

As you pulled away, he found himself instinctively following you with parted lips and eyes shut, he was so high with your mere presence, a soft giggle from you snapped him back to reality as his eyes opened up slowly, pupils blown, he looked as if he had just seen God.

“…Did you just—“

“Kiss you?” You ask slightly tilting your head with a giddy smile, “seems like it”

You shrugged as you snorted softly.

“Oh.” Oh was the only thing his brain could process for him to say still stunned.

“Okay— so you tell me you love me, but I kiss you and all you say is ‘oh’, I mean—“ you said as you licked your lips as you thought.

“I just— I didn’t think you’d— like…you…like…” he fumbled as he tried to pull a thought out of the back of his brain.

“Art, you’re telling me you didn’t expect me to kiss you, when I’ve literally had this…I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and I’ve been as subtle as a marching band” you tell him as a blush creeps up your face while you chuckle nervously.

“You’re kidding, right?” You shake your head with a small grin, he scoffs as he covers his face with his hands, “am I just that dense?”

“Not dense, more like…oblivious” you laugh as he glares back playfully.

Then there’s beat of silence, that moment where suddenly everything had fallen into place, he’s been pining over you for years, and you’ve waited for the right moment for as long as you can remember, but then the question settles in, what now?

“Uhm…art…?” You turn to him with hesitation, he hums in response “what now? I mean, you’re going back to cali after break and I’m going back to New York…”

“Hm…I hadn’t really thought that far into it” he said softly turning to look at you with gentle eyes, “what now?” He asks back softly.

“I— I like you, Art, I’m in it for the long game.” You spoke honestly as you fiddled with your fingers.

“I’ll play the long game. You’re out there, I’m out there too, we’ll see each other in summer, thanksgiving, and Christmas…I mean it, I— don’t just like you.” He confessed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously.

“I can do that” you said softly, smiling back at him, letting out a small breath, “long game…?”

Your hand cupped his cheek making him face you, he smiled as he nodded, looking down at your lips and back at your eyes “long game.” He muttered as he leaned in kissing you once again, holding you gently in a fear of breaking you.

That right there. That was it, you were the living proof of unrequited love for him.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Crockett Marcel x Reader

Crockett started falling for you not long after meeting you but respected that you were happy, until Jay broke your heart.

Companion Piece to New Truck

Crockett met you his first day working at Chicago med and by god did you know how to make an impression. “Incoming, one of fifty one’s. She caught a beam to her shoulder. Refused to come in so her lieutenant overrode her” Maggie called out and he saw Will Halstead cut his eyes up and shake his head “Nope, not me”

“I’ll take it” he offered and Will smirked “Better you than me” 

When the ambulance rolled in, the first thing he heard when the doors slid open was “For the love of Christ Sev this is embarrassing. Couldn’t you have just driven me back in once we got to the house?”  he walked out and the sight he was met with was you on the gurney, glaring daggers at Kelly who shrugged “No. You got clocked pretty good. Besides Stella would’ve kicked both of our asses if you didn’t come in” 

When you cut your eyes up at him his first thought was just how beautiful you were even in your full gear and covered in the soot and grime from a fire but he quickly scolded himself for how unprofessional that was. “Ms Y/N?” he asked and you smirked “Drop the Ms. Please just tell my Lieutenant I’m ok so I can go back to work. No offense but none of us are big fans of hospitals”  “I understand, I really do but hows about I do a quick x-ray on that shoulder? Just to make sure?”   he offered and you smiled slightly “I guess, but just because I like your accent and you did make it a question instead of a demand”

Kelly shot him a grateful smile “Thank you. I’m gonna call my chief and let him know her stubborn ass is getting seen” and to Crockett’s amusement you stuck your tongue out at Kelly who just shook his head “and I chose her to be my second in command on rescue” then walked off. 

You watched Kelly go then looked back at him “Don’t listen to Sev, doc I am a fucking delight once you get to know me” he laughed “I believe you darlin. Drop the doc though. You can just call me Crockett” you grinned “Crockett”

_____________________

You were just getting settled into an exam room and Crockett was listening to your lungs while he waited on the portable x-ray when there was a knock at the door before Will’s brother Jay came in. “Detective Halstead? What are you doing here?” Jay nodded to you “You’re working on my girlfriend doc” you grinned over your shoulder at him “Who told I was here? Was it you Crockett?” he shook his head “Wasn’t me but Will did hear the call coming in”

Jay raised an eyebrow then smiled at you “What happened sweetheart?” Crockett finished the exam  “Well x-ray will be down soon. You sound good and as long as I don’t see anything broken you’ll be out of here within a couple hours” he told you and you smiled “Thanks Crockett” “Yeah, thanks Doc” Jay told him with a smile.

Crockett was in Molly’s, sitting with Ethan and April. He was sipping on a beer and talking to Ethan about one of the cases they’d handled that week when he spotted you coming in the backway with Herrman.  He’d known you for a while, would even go out on a limb to say you and him were somewhere near friends so when it looked like you were upset that worried him a bit. Then when you headed straight for Stella and downed three shots in a row he knew something bad was wrong.

“Uh oh” April spoke, her eyes on you as Jay walked in the door and you turned to look at him, your face twisted in anger and disgust. “That doesn’t look good,” Ethan muttered. The three of them weren’t meaning to be spectators but they couldn’t help it either. Jay stepped closer like he was going to kiss you but you leaned back and laughed and Crockett barely caught your response of “Like hell”

April turned to look from him to Ethan “What happened?” Ethan shrugged as you shoved Jay then tried to grab another shot but when Stella wouldn’t let you, you stole Tony’s beer and took a swig of it before asking Jay loudly “Did you miss me when you were in between whoever’s legs you crawled between?” “That bastard cheated on her” Crockett hadn’t realized he’d stood up until Ethan shoved him back down “Not in our place. She can handle it, her house will back her if she can’t” 

Sure enough Jay reached for your arm and when you said “Don’t touch me” every member of fifty one that was around you echoed “Don’t touch her” they watched as you walked across the bar to talk to Jay, knowing this was wrong that they should give you privacy but it was like the human instinct to look at a crash. 

You talked to Jay for a minute then turned to walk away then they weren’t sure what Jay said because the next few seconds were chaos. Kelly and Stella damn near ran across the bar because you spun around to swing on Jay and Kelly managed to throw you over his shoulder at the last minute. The last thing they heard as the four of you headed outside was you yelling “FUCK YOU JAY!” 

“It really seemed like he loved her” April muttered after a moment and Crockett scoffed “He’s a fucking idiot if he had a woman like her and couldn’t keep his damn dick in his pants” Ethan turned towards him with a smirk “Doctor Marcel, do you have a thing for a certain firefighter?” Crockett shrugged “I’m not about to swoop up like some damn vulture on the woman but yeah, she’s a beautiful woman who deserves a lot better than to spend years of her life with a man to get treated like that”

Crockett would see you from time to time. Rather it was in Mollys, when you would end up in med for one reason or another or just bumping into you around town. He started to see your transition from heartbroken to putting yourself back together and it made a smile slip onto his face every time he saw another noticeable change towards you being you again. You were an amazing woman and he just hoped Halstead didn’t make you doubt that.

____________________

Ok, he wasn’t glad a member of fifty one had gotten injured by no means. He was however glad that you were the one charged with bringing him in because that meant while Sam Carver’s tests were run and the examinations were being done you were right there next to him the entire time.

You’d only stripped your helmet and jacket off from your gear as you paced in front of Carver’s room. That was exactly why Severide had picked you for his second in command. You cared about your people. He called your name and you looked up with a smile so he said “Good news, your boy’s fine” and your smile deepened into a full blown grin “That is good news doc. Thank you” he nodded “Happy to help”

You let out a breath, smoothing down your hair with one hand and before he thought about himself his mouth was moving on its own “Y/N…I know you and Jay Halstead split a few months back but would it be too soon for me to ask if you would want to get coffee or dinner some time?” he watched you cut your eyes down at yourself as if you were trying to make sure he saw you. He did indeed. You were fucking beautiful. You finally looked back up at him and shrugged “If you’re asking me out while I look like this? I’d say it’s perfect timing. Got your cell handy so I can give you my number?”

He felt a grin slip onto his face as he pulled his cell out and passed it to you “Yes ma’am” he watched as you typed your number in, adding a fire and firetruck emoji after it. When you handed it back you looked up at him and he couldn’t help but comment “Cute” you shrugged and explained “I always add emojis to my contacts” 

He hit your number and let your phone ring before saying “Make sure you add me good ones” then felt the need to clarify “but just so you know I wasn’t saying cute about that darlin” and winked at you as he handed you Carver’s discharge papers  you ducked your face slightly before saying “Call me soon ok Crockett?” he glanced at the clock on the wall “I’ll call you as soon as I get a break which in in half an hour. Soon enough?” you grinned “Yes, it is” l

Crockett understood your hesitations going into this new relationship. After all, you'd been with Jay for three years and the man cheated on you while he was undercover. He didn’t even have the decency to cheat with someone who knew his actual name. He opened up to you about his past, his daughter, all the struggles he faced because he knew he could. He knew you weren’t the type of person to turn away. You were the type of person to love with your whole heart that was why Jay had crushed it so damn bad but if it was the last thing he did he was going to fix those damn breaks one by one.

Every time you rolled into med he’d greet you with a kiss and most of the time try to grab you a coffee too. Hell your job was dangerous and tiring. When you had a bad call he’d drop anything and everything to come to your side. The nights you and him didn’t get together he would call you just to let you know what he was up to. Had you asked him to? No, of course not. Did he see that dark look in your eyes that was still clouding them at times? Yes so he was doing everything he could to chase it away.

The first time you and Crockett slept together he let you control the pace of everything. He wasn’t pushing you simply because he didn’t want to lose you. There was so much more important things than sex and he was man enough to use his damn hand if need be instead of losing a fucking amazing woman.

Having you trust him enough to take that step was everything. The way you responded to his touch, his kiss. The way you shook slightly under him

After, when he held you in his arms he kissed the side of your head and whispered “I love you” . He didn't want an answer, he just wanted you to know. You looked up at him and just the look in your eyes was enough for him. He smiled gently at you “You don’t have to say anything right now darlin. I know. Whenever you’re ready”  “Thank you Crockett” you spoke softly and he raised an eyebrow “For what?”  “Taking a broken heart and acting like it’s something still worth having” he shook his head “Oh sweetheart it is. You are so much more than the pain he caused you” 

“Don’t break my heart. It can’t take much more” you whispered and he kissed the side of your head again “I promise you darlin. Hell I would at least break things off before I cheated on you” you cut your eyes up at him and grinned “Good answer” and that made him laugh “Wasn’t it now?” before pulling you over into a kiss. You slid your leg over to be on top of him and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you” you whispered against his mouth and he froze, a smile spreading across his face.  

He wasn’t glad Jay had hurt you but damn was he glad Jay was dumb enough to let you slip through his fingers because Jay’s loss was now his to hold and he wasn’t ever letting you go.

@desimarie12

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

how was the relationship between brissort and desmoulins before they got bad blood？

TLDR: it can be summarized with: ”i hate him but i love him but i hate him…”

As far as the surviving evidence tells us, the first thing we have tying Brissot and Desmoulins together is the following letter, written by the former to the latter somewhere in January 1790, apropos of an arrest warrant having been issued against Marat:

I’m notifying you (vous), my dear colleague, about an odious persecution carried out against a journalist by the Bureau de Ville. Everyone must come to his help. I’m working on it, but the thing will go bad if you don’t give your conclusions. I also think that we must denounce this atrocity to the only district that I know has some vigour, the Cordelier district. The excellent friend of liberty that will give or send you this letter — M. De la Poype — will give you the details. All to you. Brissot de Warville. This Sunday.

A few months later, June 19 1790, Brissot wrote yet another letter to Desmoulins alerting him that the deputy Pierre-Victor Malouet has obtained a decree ordering the Paris Commune to prosecute him and telling him to take precautions. In his memoirs, Brissot also recalled how Robespierre the very same month brought him a reprimanding letter to Desmoulins to insert in his journal Le Patriote Français — ”Before inserting this complaint in my journal, I warned Camille whose susceptibility I knew. He wrote an answer and left it to me; but I thought I would be agreeable to him by publishing neither this response nor the complaint of which it was the subject. He seemed to me to be very angry with Robespierre.”

While Le Patriote Français has gotten digitalized, you can so far not search within it, meaning I can’t systematically check if/how many times Brissot mentioned something about Desmoulins that could tell us more regarding their relationship. In Desmoulins’ journal Révolutions de France et de Brabant we do however find many mentions of Brissot being made, for the first two years in mostly positive terms. In number 37 (August 9 1790), he does for exanple get listed as one of 28 ”journalists that are friends of truth” (among them Desmoulins himself). In number 38 (August 16 1790) Desmoulins writes Garran d'Agier and Brissot are two names ”so dear to patriots” and celebrates ”the wise reflexions of M. Brissot” regarding Bailly, and in number 39 (August 23 1790) he writes that Brissot ”has deserved his homeland so well both in his functions as a journalist and in those of a member of the research committee” and laments the fact that he, like other ”patriots”, didn’t win a seat at the commune.

In number 47 (October 18 1790) Camille regrets that the ”ungrateful parisians” so far have not nominated Danton, Fauchet, Brissot, Carra and Manuel in the elections for judges. ”I would above all designate MM. Manuel and J. P Brissot, if the in my opinion ridiculous decree in the new judicial order did not require six years of profession for eligibility.” Two weeks later, in number 49 (November 1 1790) he records and praises a popular speech held by Brissot at the section de la Bibliothèque on October 24 where he called for the dismissal of all ministers, a proposal that got sent to the National Assembly. Camille notes: ”The section applauded this speech, like my reader is doing at the moment.” And he ends with these words:

And you (vous), M. Brissot, receive the compliments of the patriots. When I reflect on the tireless activity, which was sufficient for your journal, on this multitude of different works for which your periodical work left you with wasted moments, on your assiduity on the research committee, of which you filled so worthily the functions, I cannot help but say: it is you who should be appointed minister, it is you who should be appointed ambassador.

On December 25 1790 Brissot signed Desmoulins’ wedding contract alongside thirteen others, and two days later he attended his wedding ceremony and the dinner succeeding it alongside nine others. In number 58 (January 3 1791) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant Camille jokingly comments that ”I did not go to the altar without antidote. Péthion [sic], Robespierre, Sillery, Mercier, Brissot (that’s all that needs to be said) honored me with their presence and were happy to serve as witnesses.”

In number 56 (December 20 1790), number 57 (December 1790) and number 62 (January 31 1791) Desmoulins openly adapts the stance of ”the republican Brissot” on the Nancy Mutiny, the pension the National Assembly is providing Louis XVI’s brothers, and ”that royalist, monarchist or tyranist are three synonyms” respectively. In number 62 he also brings up the best qualities of each of the members of the patriotic journalist squad — ”Carra is our toscin for the exterior and Marat the toscin for the interior. Gorsas keeps the correspondence of the 83 departments, Laclos that of the Jacobins. We have Brissot the diplomatic, Robert the democratic, Noël the academic, Cérutti the pedagogical and Prudhomme the encyclopedic” — a theme he continues with in number 63 (February 7 1791). He ends said number with regretting Manuel and Brissot were not elected members to the department of Paris.

Shortly thereafter, the first cracks in the relationship between the two journalist do however start to appear. In number 67 (March 7 1791), Desmoulins regrets an article in Le Patriote Français that he claims is exaggerating Charles Lameth’s slaveholding, and also that Brissot is so hard on Lameth and Barnave — ”these fathers of the homeland” — in general:

The next day, I was reading Le Patriote Français, so complacent about the attacks on La Fayette and Mirabeau, and so inexorable about the peccadilloes of Barnave and Lameth. Imagiene my indignation when I found there not the justice I would have believed would be returned this time to at least A. Lameth but instead the following anecdote: M. Ch. Lameth has just lost, in the crossing, 45 slaves, out of 52 that he had bought. And you claim you know this well, M. Brissot. Ah! That is too far. If we can reproach Ch. Lameth for not thinking like you on the slavery of blacks; at least he softens it so much in his dwellings, that births replace the deaths there, and that he has no need to buy negroes; he never bought a single one, and your calumny is abominable. For two months now, you haven’t let a day pass without firing a line against Barnave and Lameth. So much stubbornness against these fathers of the homeland betrays bad faith; and everything can be forgiven, except the bad faith that you would have liked better. 

Ten days later, in number 586 (March 17 1791) of Le Patriote Français, Brissot in his turn regrets that Desmoulins in number 68 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant had printed a by Barnave written address from the parisian jacobin club to its sister clubs. In it, Barnave states among other things that ”the National Assembly advances every day towards the moment which must put an end to all debates by invariably fixing the charter of our constitutional laws,” a statement which Brissot considers ”a double heresy” since 1, the laws of a free people are variable in essence, and 2, the National Assembly doesn’t have the power to invariably fix laws in the first place. Brissot writes that he’s therefore ”surprised to find [the address] in the journal of M. Desmoulins, who takes the sovereignty of the people even further, who wants it to ratify all the acts of the legislative power. This forgetting is probably the effect of these bacchanalian distractions that he talks about in this issue. Regarding these distractions, I do not forget that I owe M. Desmoulins an answer, he will have it.”

Four days later Desmoulins answers Brissot in number 69 (March 21 1791) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, using ten pages of the journal to do so. After having agreed with the stance on testamentary successions and paternal power put forward in number 583 (March 14 1791) of Le Patriote Français and foreseeing that the he and Brissot are going to agree with each other the day the subject is put on the agenda, Desmoulins regrets that they��re starting to drift apart — ”professing the same principles, how can it be so that we walk such different paths? Between him and me, I would gladly take his friend Péthion [sic] as judge.” He then answers Brissot’s reproach from a few days earlier — ”I publish a jacobin address and a jacobin denounces me for it!” He admits that the maxim contained in Barnave’s address does go against his principles, but that an even bigger part of said principles is ceding to the majority —  ”I profess the same principles as M. Brissot; but not only do I profess them, I want them, and whoever wants the end, wants the means.” Camille then contrasts Brissot’s reproach with his own treatment of the jacobins in general and Barnave and Lameth in particular:

Some faults which Brissot reproaches Barnave and the Lameths for; at the moment when the league of all the bad citizens united are unleashed against the Lameths and Barnave, is it generous for the patriot Brissot to join them in decrying them? Is it when so many venal pens write disgusting libels every day against the Jacobins, that it befits the Jacobin Brissot to quarrel with the Jacobins incessantly? […] What has M. Brissot been doing for a month, constantly declaiming against the Jacobins? Doesn’t it seem like he wants to sow discord among the workers? So does he want to bring confusion to the Tower of Babel?

Desmoulins notes these are the same tactics the enemies of the jacobins use. He does however underline that he’s far from identifying Brissot with said enemies, contenting himself with stating he either knows very little about politics or that his rage against Barnave is blinding him. Desmoulins also underlines that he still values Brissot very highly — ”Camille Desmoulins is, like J. P Brissot, like Péthion [sic], like Robespierre, of the extreme left of the jacobins. We are, if I may speak like that, the jacobins of jacobins” — and that the only reason he’s even answering Brissot’s criticism in the first place is because he thinks he deserves it: 

You, M. Brissot, who profess a sound doctrine, who combine with pressing logic, the science of public law and a great depth of knowledge in experimental politics, and whose journal is remarkable for its clarity, simplicity, purity equal in style and principles, you whom I prize even more by a title much more honorable than all that, that of being the friend of the irreproachable Péthion [sic], you deserve to get answered.

Nevertheless, in the next number, number 70 (March 28), Desmoulins reproaches Brissot for in number 591 (March 22) of Le Patriote Français having suggested that the municipality of Douai be sent to the prison of Orléans for on March 15 and 17 having failed to quell a grain dispute with fatal outcome in the department — ”And before what judges! Is there anything more anti-national than the method of formation of the court sitting in Orléans, under the name of the provisional high national court?” The next month, the two journalists get into another controversy due to the day of April 18 1791, when the royal family tried to travel to Saint-Claud but was kept from leaving first by an angry mob, and then by the National Guard who refused to obey Lafayette’s orders to disperse the crowd. In number 74 (April 25) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, Camille first inserts an extract from Brissot’s journal from four days earlier lamenting the fact that the National Assembly treated the king with too much indulgence when he presented himself before it the day after the failed journey — ”all of these reflexions are extremely fair,” Camille comments. A few pages later, he does however sigh over his colleague once again, this time regarding what he in number 622 (April 22) of Le Patriote Français has to say about the fact Lafayette resigned as commander-general of the National Guard following the events of April 18. Camille spends eight pages reprinting Brissot ’s article with his own comments on it in between. We see here that, unlike in the case with Barnave and the Lameths, where Brissot was hostile and Desmoulins more sympathetic, Brissot’s attitude towards Lafayette is instead far too indulgent for Camille’s liking: ”the inexorable Brissot, who yesterday displayed a stoic severity, speaks today for the first time of Lafayette, and shows an excessive indulgence, which confuses me, or rather explains to me the enigma of his numbers.” Brissot, while admitting he thought it right of the troops to  disobey their commander on the 18th, writes ”that in all respects the resignation of M. La Fayette is a real calamity.” To him, Lafayette is still someone ”intimately patriotic,” who in spite of ”some weaknesses” has managed to keep the esteem of both the people and the national guards for the past two years, and whose biggest qualities is his ”composure, moderation, patience with insults.” Desmoulins on the other hand asks why, if Lafayette indeed is so popular, citizens turned their weapons against him on the 18th rather than obeying his orders, and points out that ”all the aristocrats” too call Lafayette resigning ”a calamity.” He reacts most strongly over what Brissot chooses to call ”some weaknesses” from Lafayette’s part, spending almost two pages listing failings committed by the commander general over the past two years, starting with his motions for absolute royal veto, for martial law and for the right of peace and war. Desmoulins wraps up with daring Brissot to try to justify Lafayette’s actions on the 18th as well, that he himself considers enough for the former commander to deserve impeachment and even the death penalty, after Danton had told him how he on the day in question had managed to stop Bailly and Lafayette from proclaiming martial law and order the National Guards to fire on the crowd surrounding the royal family if necessary  — ”Here Lafayette wanted to cut the throat of not one man, but 10 000 men, and your Lafayette deserves death 10 000 over.”

The following number (May 2 1791), Desmoulins again regrets that Brissot and many other ”patriotic journalists” are rallying to maintain Lafayette’s reputation — ”Today we see how Brissot slips over the atrocious injustice of the arbitrary condemnation of the grenadiers of the Oratory. This dismissal, he said, was ordered by the municipal body, and M. La Fayette did nothing but carry it out.”

Shortly thereafter, Brissot makes good on his old promise to respond to his colleague. In number 656 (May 26 1791), number 657 (May 27 1791) and number 659 (May 29 1791) of Le Patriote Français, he inserts three letters to Desmoulins, answering all the reproaches he over the last two months has made against him. Brissot begins by acknowledging this response is long overdue, and attributing this to ”the reluctance I have to combat writers who have been useful to the cause of patriotism, the knowledge I have of the rectitude of your intentions in general, the hope that you will retract your unjust suspicions about a writer whose rectitude is also known to you personally, and finally the multitude of battles that, for some time, I have been obliged to fight and support, on the most important matters.” He then takes on Camille’s very first reproach from number 66 — that of writing Charles Lameth had bought 54 slaves when he hadn’t actually bought any at all. To this, Brissot replies that he obtained the information from a ”respectable person” that he however won’t name until the day Lameth himself directly or indirectly admits to having bought slaves in Camille’s journal.

As for Camille reproaching him of criticising the Jacobin club which he views ”as the strongest pillar upholding the constitution,” Brissot answers that Camille is very much exaggerating its importance — ”upholding the constitution on the Jacobins is like the Indians upholding the globe on an elephant.” He points out that the club with its 1200 members is actually far from representing all citizens, and that passive citizens — the ”true patriots” — to a large extent are shut out from it. On top of that, it’s hard to access the club and hard to get heard in it, and its members are often misled by passions, intrigues and secret views. Brissot concludes that Desmoulins playing around with exaggerations like ”the sovereignty of the Jacobins” is something that ”spoils the best causes,” and that the true ”tribune of the people” is in fact not the Jacobin club, but the press.

Brissot then takes up Camille’s claim that he’s ”constantly speaking badly about MM. Lameth and Barnavre.” This is not true, Brissot writes, there are several numbers of his journal where the two receive both blame and praise. Even so, he disagrees with Camille’s lenient attitude towards the two, and even more so with him having gone so far as to label them as ”the fathers of the constitution” once — ”It must be admitted at least that here the child preceded the fathers, and that, since then, they have cruelly disfigured and allowed this putative child to be disfigured.” Brissot brings up that Barnavre and Lameth have already ”scandalously deserted the popular cause” on a number of important causes — the question on the regency, on inviolability, on the complement of administrative bodies, on the organization of the ministry and the public treasury, on the right of petition, on the rights of men of colour and on re-eligibility of the current legislature. Charles Lameth uses the language of ”ministers of past times,” while his brother Théodore Lameth has been proven to be nothing but ”a slanderer […]who, publicly denied and challenged, refuses to fight and continues his dark maneuvers.” Brissot therefore finds Desmoulins objections to him censuring Lameth and Barnavre when they already have plenty of people against them to be rather silly — ”in your eyes, the attack on these ambitious people seemed a great crime…. They were Jacobins! Well, what does that matter? I attack, in all parties, what seem bad and false to me; I have censored several decrees.” According to Brissot, he was actually doing Lameth and Barnavre justice by censoring their ”carelessness or their desertion,” and he challanges Desmoulins to ”prove to me that I have a single time been wrong about them.”

Finally, Brissot arrives at Desmoulins’ charge that he would be ”devoted” to Lafayette. Brissot admits that he did know Lafayette before the revolution and still sees him sometimes, ”because I believe he is attached to patriotism.” It has however been 18 months since he last dined with him, although Lafayette has invited him, and he’s never spoken to Lafayette about anything but ”the public sake” (he adds that he during several of these meetings have justified Desmoulins’ actions to Lafayette). He also lists several numbers of his journal where Lafayette gets judged severely. With that, Brissot firmly dismisses the idea that he could be ”devoted” or ”sold” to Lafayette, finding it quite offensive that Camille, his friend, could even think the thought: ”We have seen each other, Camille Desmoulins, our souls have been poured out into each other; It is difficult to be false at these times, and you dare to slander me! I will not repay you with such a return; I believe you are easy to deceive, but not easy to corrupt.” Brissot claims the only reason Desmoulins could come to believe this is simply because he doesn’t ”slander” Lafayette as often as him and many other journalists — ”It is true that I don’t accuse him of having supper with Mirabeau at Velloni’s house, or of having Retondo assassinated, nor of trying to assassinate you etc. Give me proof first, fairy tales, of a delirious imagination, is that proof?” He also scoffs at Desmoulins early offer to use Pétion as judge between them: ”I want that, he knows my entire soul, my whole life, my current existence, my means, my views… interrogate him.”

Brissot ends his ”already too long letter” with giving his fellow journalist some advice ”that friendship as much as patriotism dictates to me; for I do not know how to hate, and I cannot see you with indifference in a bad party”:

You are young, Camille Desmoulins, candor is on your lips; you still intend to write under its dictation; but you are often fooled by this very candor. You lend it to others, to these men, who, astute, poison your mind, by filling it with terrors, with tales, with slander, by heating your imagination against chimeras which convert your patriotic talent into a dangerous stiletto, with which they pierce your friends and their enemies. You accuse with a lightness that has made more than one wise man doubt your integrity. How have you not seen that this ease in lavishing praise and awarding apotheosis to men whom you then dragged through the mud, that your ease of denouncing without proof those whom you had deified, that your secondity in sarcasm and in insults, would discredit, if not the principles, because they are now above attacks, like the inconsistencies of their defenders, at least the lessons that you give to the public. A journalist must respect it, must respect himself in the battles he wages against his adversaries. He must use reason more often than the weapon of sarcasm; and when he borrows the latter, it must be with sobriety; because these repetitions disgust, and especially when they degenerate into gross insults, worthy of the old halls. […] In a word, Camille Desmoulins, do you want to be useful with your talent? Study and meditate. Do you want to be independent? Dine at home, and never dine with party leaders or those in power. Do you still want to judge them sanely and surely? Judge them by their facts and their opinions, and never by stories and assumptions. Finally, never deify any man, never swear by any name.

Desmoulins would however not appear to have been so satisfied with Brissot’s explanation. In number 81 (June 18 1791) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, he describes how he a little while earlier had met Pétion at the jacobins and talked to him about Brissot’s response. ”How, I said to him, you who are Brissot's friend, did you not at least make him feel the ridicule with which he covered himself by playing Monsieur Lafayette's Don Quixote, and by writing me three letters friendly and paternal in appearance, where he ends a lot of praise with telling me that I slander, like Marat and Fréron, his dear Lafayette?” To his surprise, Pétion responded by asking him to ”cite a single fact” against Lafayette. Regardless, right after this Desmoulins declares he wants to bury the hatchet, firstly, because he has been told about a private letter Brissot has since adressed to one M. Pio admitting Desmoulins was right and he was wrong, secondly because the elections for the Legislative Assembly are coming up, and in spite of their later controversies, Brissot is still one of the men Camille wants to see on it:

…I had declared to my friends, that in consideration of the great services that his newspaper had rendered, and of the host of excellent principles that one has found there, despite its hostilities, [Brissot] is one of the candidates after Danton, Garran de Coulon and Manuel, whom I would most strongly recommend to the 83 departments, for the next legislature. His instruction, which I print in this number (an extract from Le Patriote Français with the title ”who should we elect?” that takes up 13 pages of Camille’s number), despite the fact that there is a remnant of virus in it, finally determines me, through the excellent things it contains, to break all the reproaches. However, I would have preferred if Brissot had made this confession that he thought like me, in his journal and in the face of the sun rather than in a letter and in the bosom of M. Pio.

In the next number, number 82 (June 27 1792), Desmoulins recalled that, just three hours before Paris got word that the royal family had been taken prisoner in Varennes after their attempted flight the night before, he and Brissot had both been at Pétion’s house. There, Brissot would have told him: ”Be sure that if Lafayette favored the King's escape, it was to give us the republic.” (this may very well be the same meeting Madame Roland is describing in her memoirs, where she remembers seeing Brissot, Pétion and Robespierre at Pétion’s house in the afternoon of June 21, the first two telling the latter that the flight meant it was time to start preparing the people for a republic). A week later, in number 83 (4 July 1791) he confronts ”Master Brissot the logician” over thinking a letter from the marquis de Bouillé — one of the leading figures involved in the flight — to the National Assembly where he speaks ill of Lafayette and calls him a republican, is ”the best justification for M. Lafayette.” Something which Desmoulins, who for his part believes it was in fact Lafayette who dictated Bouillé’s letter, hardly agrees with — ”My dear reader, you feel as well as I do that M. Brissot is not stupid enough to believe that Bouillé, Lafayette's accomplice, could write to the national assembly: “I denounce Lafayette to you, he was conspired like me. ” […] From which it follows that the lawyer Brissot, who calls this letter a justification of Lafayette, is obviously in bad faith.”

But if he disagrees with Brissot’s stance on Lafayette, he agrees with his ideas on what should be done to the king following the flight. In number 84 (11 July 1791) he inserts an extract from Brissot’s journal discussing the questions ”Will we abolish the monarchy? If we don’t abolish it, will we give the king an elective council?” where Brissot reaches the conclusion that the idea of declaring a republic certainly deserves to get openly discussed in clubs and newspapers, and that, if the king is returned to the throne, he for sure can’t be allowed the same power as intended before the flight. An article that goes down well with the republican Desmoulins — ”glory to Brissot!” Then in number 85 (18 July 1791) he inserts and praises Brissot’s Discours sur la question de savoir si le roi peut être jugé that he read to the jacobins on July 10, and has as its main argument that the king ”can and must be judged” following the flight. Desmoulins is close to over the moon about it:

Brissot's speech on this subject is so complete that we can say that he has exhausted the question. Robespierre, Péthion, Rœderer, Danton, Réal, Chepy, Ducancel etc, all said excellent things from the Jacobin tribune, but Brissot left nothing to say. We cannot give too much publicity to this peremptory speech; it would be conceited to pretend to say better. […] Reading this speech by Brissot one will recognize that it is not laziness, but my admiration and the salvation of the people who make me borrow here the pen of my honorable colleague.

In the evening of July 15 1791, Desmoulins was present when the jacobins entrusted Brissot with writing a petition asking Louis XVI to abdicate. In number 86 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant he describes said petition as ”constitutional, irreproachable, worthy of the majesty of the people.” Following the massacre on Champ de Mars two days later, Desmoulins, like several others journalists, came under suspicion and had to go incognito for a few months. He releases one final number 86 of his Révolutions de France et de Brabant, announcing his resignation from the journalist career and blaming this on Lafayette. Brissot on the other hand managed to stay in Paris and keep his journal running, something which Desmoulins would not miss to reproach him for a few months later.

By early September Desmoulins could resurface in Paris again, just in time for both him and Brissot to try to get elected members to the new Legislative Assembly. Brissot got in on September 14, while Desmoulins failed to even get into the candidacy. He instead went back to work as a lawyer while remaining politically active at the jacobin club. On November 16 both he and Brissot have put their signatures on a document as part of the club’s committee of correspondence. Exactly a month later, December 16, Brissot shows up at the club and delivers his first speech in favor of France going to war against German princes (Discours sur la nécessité de déclarer la guerre aux princes allemands qui protègent les émigrés). Desmoulins does however find the idea to be a poor one, less than ten days later, December 25, he officially joins the group around Robespierre cautioning against it, countering Brissot with a speech of his own. At one point in the speech, he once again reminds Brissot of his earlier support of Lafayette — ”these patriots […] who, a few days before the massacre on Champ de Mars, still published that the resignation of Lafayette would be a great calamity.”

At the start of 1792, the lawyer Desmoulins takes on the task of defending two persons, Martin Dithurbide and Marie Joseph Beffroy, who on January 18 had been sentenced to prison for hoasting a gambling house, despite the fact the punishment proscribed for such an offence was house arrest or getting released on bail. In the last days of the month, Desmoulins had written and plastered on the walls of Paris a defence of the defendants, alerting the public that the law has been violated, while also declaring Dithurbide and Beffroy are innocent and regretting that the law treats gambling with the same severity as stealing. This caused big reactions from the authors behind Le Patriote Français. In number 904 (January 31 1792) the journal declares that Camille’s defence contains ”gross injuries against the judges who have done their duty” and ”an abominable invective against morals and a scandalous apology for gambling.” The author himself gets denounced as ”a man who calls himself a patriot only to slander patriotism.” This was a label Desmoulins wouldn’t stand for, upon seeing it he wrote a letter to ”the editors of Patriote Français” daring them to publish the full defence. The letter was published already in number 905 (February 1) alongside a note explaining that the defence would not be published since 1, it was too long, and 2, ”because our paper must not serve as vehicle for poison.” In number 910 (February 6) and number 915 (11 February) Desmoulins was further attacked. The first of these four articles were however unsigned, while the latter three were all expressly written not by Brissot but rather his collaborator Jean-Marie Girey-Dupré. In fact, already in number 774 (September 23 1791), Brissot had underlined that he, following his election to the Legislative Assembly will have to occupy himself much less with the journal and leave most of the editing in other hands, but nevertheless continue to give it his ”full attention.” How much responsibility he actually is to take for this episode would in other words appear to be dubious.

Desmoulins did however see no reasons to spare him, choosing instead to the same February release the 60 page long pamphlet Jean Pierre Brissot Démasqué (the title can be used as evidence Brissot and Desmoulins had probably never been on a first name basis, considering that of the former was Jacques Pierre and not Jean Pierre). He begins by acknowledging the fact it’s Girey-Dupré who’s signed the articles to be of unimportance, because ”the master is guilty of the crimes of the domestic.” Desmoulins then explains his stance on the question yet again, declaring that while he himself detests gambling, it should still be allowed as it doesn’t hurt anyone but the gambler himself, and that the law doesn’t proscribe a worse punishment than house arrest — ”I am curious to see, Dom Brissot, your dissertation to prove that the gambler should be sent to Bicêtre.”

After explaining himself, Desmoulins turns to attacking Brissot in turn — ”I am very happy to show you that this man (me), who apparently only calls himself a patriot to slander patriotism, had ample reason to slander your patriotism, that you owed him some obligation for his silence.” He begins by bringing up some very serious charges he’s heard about — the Russian envoy M. Baron de Grimm has published a letter claiming Brissot before the revolution had been a police spy under Jean-Charles-Pierre Lenoir, only to later be corrupted and taken advantage of by Lafayette, while Marguerite-Louis-François Duport du Tertre has told Desmoulins in private that Brissot and Condorcet are two ”rascals” that he would reveal a thing or two about wasn’t it for the fact he’s the minister of justice. Desmoulins does however not want to make use of ”these witnesses that you can write off as aristocrats.” He even admits he himself doesn’t believe Brissot is really guilty of anything besides having a really bad head — ”I don’t think you’re a Sinon who mixes with the patriots only to push them to false measures, and comes to the Jacobins only to attack from behind the most formidable and far-sighted defenders. This character is too odious, and you are not capable of such an effort of crime.” Instead what he wants to do is look over Brissot’s conduct over the last few months, not using any witness but Brissot himself to do so.

He begins by tearing to shreds what Brissot has to say about Lafayette in his third big speech pushing for war, (he admits to having contented himself with quietly laughing at it alongside the people next to him when it was read at the jacobins on January 20 1792). In the speech, Brissot claims he’s only ever treated the latter ”with the justice due to any foreigner,” seeing him once a month only with the intention ”to prevent him from giving in to the seductions of men who had sworn our ruin,” up until ”the Saint-Barthelemy on July 17” when he broke entirely with him. Desmoulins counters this narrative by yet again reminding him of the fact he stated in his own journal that Lafayette’s resignation back in April 1791 was ”a calamity.” Desmoulins implies it’s partly thanks to Brissot’s attitude here that ”the dictator Lafayette” was able to come back to duty soon thereafter regardless, from which he draws the conclusion Brissot has the blood of the victims from Champ de Mars on his hands — ”It is you who we must blame, it is you who fathers must ask for their children, wives for their husbands.” Furthermore, Desmoulins argues it is not true Brissot has come to despise Lafayette after the massacre on Champ de Mars either  — ”see with what caution he always spoke of Lafayette. If he sometimes disagreed with it, we saw that it was lightly, in concert with him, to serve him better.”

After this Desmoulins also looks over Brissot’s principal political opinions, which are in his eyes ”against the purity of his intentions.” According to Desmoulins, Brissot has ”always lost us, by putting delicate questions on the agenda too early.” As examples of this, he lists Brissot’s fierce criticism of Barnavre and Lameth at a time when they were almost the only deputies supporting the jacobins and defending them from ”Lafayette’s satellites,” the fact that Brissot in the summer of 1791 went on and on about establishing a republic and pretended like the jacobins wanted one, even though it had been cemented France would be a monarchy, the word republic itself ”frightened 9 tenths of the nation,” and even ”the strongest democrats” wouldn’t even pronounce the word, and Brissot’s insistance on putting the topic of the status of men of color on the agenda which, even though he was undeniably in the right about the question itself, ought to have been saved for calmer times since it ”cooled the patriotism” in maritime cities. Desmoulins asks why Brissot extends so much energy to people hundreds of miles away, yet spares himself ”from moaning over the French guards, Château vieux and so many others.” He even distributes part of the blame for the current disorder on Saint-Domingue to Brissot:

I know what part the executive power and Spain, and the counter-revolution had in the fires, massacres and devastation of Saint-Domingue; but wasn’t it Brissot who was the first to set fire to these beautiful lands? We predicted these evils to you before they happened. If so many homes are reduced to ashes, if women have been disemboweled, if a child, carried on the end of a pike, has served as a banner for the blacks, if the blacks themselves have perished by the thousands, it is you, wretch, who has been the first cause of so much evil!

Finally, Desmoulins also brings up how Brissot, the man  who had edited ”this famous petition of Champ de Mars” (even though it wasn’t actually Brissot’s petition that was ultimately presented on July 17) was able to ”calmly walk in Paris” following the massacre while he and so many other journalists got prosecuted, and once again dismisses the idea of a war. Desmoulins concludes that, from the facts he’s gathered, ”it will be impossible for anyone to conclude that you are an honest man, that you, the official owner of the beautiful name of Le Patriote François, have alone done more harm to the cause of patriotism and the revolution, than all the aristocrats combined,” and that Brissot is ultimately a ”traitor” in the sense of ”someone who says what he doesn’t think.” Throughout the pamphlet he also calls Brissot both a ”Tartuffe,” ”hypocrite,” ”imposter,” ”charlatan,” ”wretch,” ”the most stupid of men” and ”the biggest killer of our political doctors.” He also picks up the term ”brissoter,” first used by the authors behind L’Argus patriote and Journal de la cour et de la ville — ”I warn you that you will not succeed in brissoter my reputation: it’s me who’s going to rip your mask off.”

In the journal La Tribune des Patriotes he starts two months later, Desmoulins gives his own review of Jean Pierre Brissot démasqué: ”After reading this pamphlet, one knows his Brissot by heart, and sees what deep wounds Le Patriote François, through its false policy, to use the mildest term, has caused to France and to patriotism.” Despite only running for four numbers, Brissot’s name still manages to get mentioned a total of 64 times in this journal, often while showing Desmoulins has not taken up the former friend’s advice to stop using sarcasm from a year ago:

I’ve said that Brissot was a mediocre orator. Honorary reparation. Justifying yesterday before the Jacobins the ministers, to whom this reproach has been made of using the jobs they had to distribute to make a party in society, […] I could not help admiring the orator, and leaning towards the ear of my neighbor Duhem I told him: ”I do not know in Cicero or Demosthenes, any piece more likely to excite interest! What art! The rascal!” Desmoulins in number 1 of La Tribune des Pattiotes

Already J. P. Brissot sees himself at least as the president of the Congress of Europe, and I have no doubt that in a short time he will have a globe painted in his hand like Charlemagne. Sire, since you need war to overthrow the constitution, and a Jacobin ministry to make it appear that you want to maintain it, choose ministers from among the Jacobins, the partisans of the system of war, appoint the friends of Brissot, and you will have war in fifteen days.  Desmoulins in number 4 of La Tribune des Patriotes

The day dawns, the charge rings, Brissot mounts the tribune; I take my head in both hands to support it while it inhales the opium of this long speech. I am silent until the end of the reading, and the contempt for this political Cotin and the hatred for the great harm that his sermons have done to patriotism and to France. What is my surprise? I finally arrive at the conclusions of this schoolboy's declamation, of this theologian's argument, and after this beautiful demonstration of the committee, I find myself half as educated as before, and everyone agrees to shout at the speaker. Desmoulins in number 3 of La Tribune des Patriotes

Desmoulins also starts using the term ”brissotins” to refer to the group surrounding Brissot, who have been ”insolent like upstarts, and ungrateful like intriguers towards us.” Although, according to Desmoulins, their true name should rather be ”Fayettiens,” because ”one sees that they whisper to each other: Lafayette, Lafayette.”

In the fourth and final number, Desmoulins does however talk about the session at the jacobins on June 28 1792, when Brissot came to take back everything good he had ever said about Lafayette following the latter’s suggestion the very same day to shut the club down, ending by taking Robespierre’s hand and declaring: I forget all the past. ”That is to say: I forget my faults,” Camille comments. Yet right after this he seems tempted to try to bury the hatchet once again and writes: ”But let us not bother the peace and the reunion of the jacobins, and forget also his faults.”

Needless to say, this reunion doesn’t last very long. In fact, the gap between ”girondins” and montagnards do nothing but grow up until May 17 1793, when Desmoulins could announce the release of a work with the title Les hommes d’État démasqués to the Jacobin club, which, after some debate, ordered commissioners to look over this work. At the next session, held May 19, the club ordered the work, now under the more famous name l’Histoire des Brissotins, to be printed, distributed and mailed to affiliated clubs. The pamphlet portrayed the girondins, of which Brissot got described as ”the soul,” as royalists, that were accomplices of Dumouriez and in the pay of foreigners. They had been leading an anglo-prussian committee working for the military failure of France, which they wanted to divide into 20-30 federalist republics, or to overturn the republican government altogether, and to set up the Duke of Orléans as monarch. As for Brissot himself, Desmoulins wrote that ”in [his] works a single page is scarcely to be found which does not tend to the advantage of England and their commerce, and to the utter ruin of France. He concluded that the establishment of a democratic republic won’t happen before ”the vomiting of the Brissotins from the bosom of the Convention.”

After Desmoulins had pressed the start button for the ousting of the girondins with his pamphlet, he appears to have taken a step back. He is recorded to have intervened in debates neither on May 31, when petitioners from the sections and the Commune appeared at the Convention and demanded the arrest of 22 Girondin deputies and members of the Commission of Twelve, nor on June 2, when the Convention voted for the arrest of 29 representatives and two ministers. But five days after that, June 7, he went to the jacobins to read (in spite of protests someone with better oratory skills should do it) Société des amis de la liberté et de l’égabilité aux citoyens des départemens, sur l’insurrection du 31 mai, an address to the departments regarding the insurrection that he had been tasked with writing. After some discussion, the address was adopted by the club.

Three days after this, Brissot, who had fled the capital following June 2, was arrested at Moulins. On June 22 he was back in Paris where he got locked up in the Abbaye prison. He there began working on his memoirs. Apropos of Camille, he wrote the following:

For these names (Danton, Robespierre, Desmoulins) which take me, in spite of myself, to the places where I see myself captive, to these words of aristocracy and royalism which I have just uttered, I feel neither hatred nor anger, but a sort of astonishment, before my destiny, which goes as far as amazement. Me, aristocrat! the author of Le Patriote Français of 89, royalist! and who accuses him? Camille, who thenceforth knew the depths of his heart so well, Robespierre who on this subject acquired so late the right to accuse someone!

Desmoulins also occupied himself with writing, among other things a letter to his father dated July 9 1793 where he expressed his pride over being, as he called it, the ”precursor” of the Insurrection of May 31:

You complain that I don’t write, it’s rather me who should reproach you of this, you who always have your pen in hand. As for me, I don’t pick it up until the last end as you can see through the latest writing which I’m sending you two copies of, and which here cost 4000, my Histoire des Brissotins. I’m surprised that you didn’t speak of it in the last letter I got from you. […] …my last work, precursor of the revolution of May 31, of which it was truly the manifesto, as well as the circular of the Jacobins on this revolution of which I was the editor, contributed not a little to fanning the great mine of Brissotins which was a masterpiece of underground work from Amiens to Marseille.

It is however possible Desmoulins hadn’t wished for the proscription to go so far as it did. On October 30 1793, the day Brissot and 21 other ”girondins” were sentenced to death by the Revolutionary Tribunal, he was there as spectator. In Les mysterès de la mère de Dieu dévoilès, released a few months after Camille’s death, Joachim Vilate described the following reaction from his part upon hearing the final verdict:

I observed that I was sitting, with Camille Desmoulins, on the bench placed in front of the jury table. When these returned from deliberation, Camille comes forward to speak to Antonelle, who was one of the last to return. Surprised by the change in his face, he said to him, quite loudly: ”ah my god, I pity you, these are very terrible functions.” Then, hearing the juror's declaration, he suddenly threw himself into my arms, agitated, tormenting himself: ”ah my god, my god, it's me who kills them: my Brissot dévoilé [sic], ah my god, it’s that which kills them.” As the accused returned to hear their judgment, eyes turned towards them. The deepest silence reigned throughout the room, the public prosecutor announced the death penalty, the unfortunate Camille, defeated, losing the use of his senses, let out these words: ”I'm leaving, I'm leaving, I want to leave.” He couldn't exit. […] The late hour of the night, the torches were lit, the judges and the public were tired from a long session, it was midnight, everything gave this scene a dark, imposing and terrible character, nature was suffering in all its ailments. Camille Desmoulins felt worse.

@theorahsart is this gonna be included in your comic? bc I can tots already picture it in my head. 😆

On December 14 1793, Lefort did in his turn accuse Desmoulins of having exclaimed ”they die as republicans, as Brutus!” on October 30. Desmoulins denied this to be true, but did admit to having said: ”They die as republicans, but as federalist republicans.”

His eventual guilty conscience did however not stop him from celebrating his victory over the girondins or bringing up their misdeeds in works released following their fall. The term ”brissotins” gets mentioned six times in Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, au général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes (July 1793), Desmoulins once again celebrating ”the blessed and so necessary insurrection of May 31st.” In his last journal, Le Vieux Cordelier (December 1793-January 1794), he writes that Brissot ”wanted to wage war on the human race and municipalize it” and warns Hébert that ”I’m going to unmask you like I unmasked Brissot!” Here he does however also do something as rare as indirectly praising Brissot, this for his stance on the colonies that he himself had earlier reproached him for in Jean Pierre Brissot démasqué: ”Cloots seems to feel less for the Negroes; because, at the time, he fought for Barnave and against Brissot, in the affair of the colonies.” Finally, in his defence worked out in the last days of his life, Desmoulins calls David and Amar ”enraged brissotins.”

As some final tiny trivia, it can be noted that the children of both Brissot and Desmoulins all at some point attended the college of Prytanée Français, Brissot’s Félix by 1800 (on October 15 of that year, his mother has written a letter asking that his scholarship be transferred to his youngest brother), Sylvain somewhere before 1803 (according to Études sur les girondins) and Anacharsis by 1802 (on 5 August of that year, Distribution des prix, faite aux élèves du prytanée, collège de Paris, lists him as one of the quatrieme students that have been rewarded prizes for their success), Desmoulins’ Horace from 1800 to 1803. So it is possible for the children to actually have run into each other and the situation to have gotten awkward…

[ehlnofay]

on the one hand I appear to be having an abrupt mental downswing for no apparent reason and I can expect the next [indeterminate length of time] to be significantly more difficult than it needs to be. on the other hand I'm in the middle of writing a fucked up little story and this will help me with Hopeless Miserable Atmosphere and scene referencing! glass half full kind of outlook

[august--and-everything-after]

I bought myself some CDs :3

[exopelagic]

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME BURROWS END WASNT FREE

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I made a meme do you leik it :)

[tardis--dreams]

Me panicking because i have 9 missed calls and 5 emails talking about my absence and how "a colleague could take over for me" vs. Me knowing it's really not that important no matter how pushy a client is and that on top of it I'm underpaid and have way to much overtime so i shouldn't even care

[livelaughlovekill]

panic

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[ace-up-your-sleeve]

father pretending to care abt me being successful againnnn brother stfuuuu im trying to drop you off at the airport 😭

[thebuttsmcgee]

so. um. 👉👈

hi guysies.

Ig I should just say like. Hi

I haven't been posting here as much cause. Idk. Might be depression? I keep thinking its cause I've been so busy, which also wouldn't be not untrue, but these past, like, 3 weeks I think so far? I've had some free time but I haven't cause. I dunno, then again, I haven't been doing too much in general? I gues, besides very mandatory things, hell I've even been lacking in my regular skyrim hours of playing.

That, and as said, I get super melancholic when I remember just how sad and bittersweet it is that t0h is. Actually legit over. The show and experience, that is.

Oh all that and also becuz my headphones broke! Fuck! That's like number 2 in my bare necessities for when I post, do almost anything really! It's seriously been painful this past month going without headphones holy shit. Dude I've been scratching at the bit for some relief for headphones, I NEED music legitimately. Even right now, as I'm typing this on my phone, my music is on low levels.

But yerp. Its been. Rough. Really rough. I really do appreciate yall, everyone of yall. Have a sweet week everyone, ✌️!

[luckyladylily]

You know, after a hundred days of strike, I have noticed absolutely no differences.

I mean, they say shows are canceled because of it, but they would cancel shows for any reason or no reason at all. They often wouldn't tell us one way or another for months or years. Functionally, the uncertainty is the same.

The same goes for delays. How the hell am I supposed to tell if some show or another was delayed? They were never released in any sort of timely fashion before. What does a delay even mean when there is nothing even resembling a schedule? I mean, there wasn't even something like "within the first two weeks of august we will put something up for you to watch."

Zero accountability means they got away with whatever bullshit practices they wanted to, but now its cutting both ways. Any claim that this strike is negatively impacting me is meaningless because Netflix and most the other entities like them have built a system where it is extremely difficult to hold anyone accountable for anything.

And now they seem to think they can just bring accountability back? If they had numbers they could point to maybe it would work, but that's half the battle here. They are desperate to avoid releasing anything that tells anyone outside the company what the hell is going on. So we are just supposed to take their word for it, no really bro, it's actually really bad for you and all the strikers fault if only you could see the numbers that we refuse to show you, you're just gonna have to trust us bro.

[rafey-baby]

clumsy!reader is still bad at yoga and yoga instructor!rafe wants to keep her all to himself...

c/w: rafe being touchy & blatantly flirting w her, him getting jealous, slightly suggestive, reader being oblivious, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.9k

idk if anyone missed him but he's back & better than ever !! (after a small vacation that ended up being almost 3 months :D)

some parts are more or less inspired by this, this, this & this ask

part 1

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rafe is in the midst of helping someone fix their posture when he hears the gates of heaven opening in the form of a melodious giggle chiming from the back of the room. He lifts his head in order to detect the source of such a vibrant sound; noticing that his favorite client is currently directing her attention towards some guy next to her.  

The joyful expression she’s sporting makes a scowl paint over his features. Why is this random man making her laugh like that?  

“Yeah, you got it. Just keep workin’ on it though,” he quickly dismisses the person he was helping before stomping over to find her practically lying on the floor with the guy’s hands on her calf, along with his mat pulled far too close to hers for Rafe’s liking.   

“I think you should bend it more here, right? I’m honestly not too sure,” the guy chuckles as he tries to figure out what she’s doing wrong.  

“No cause I have no idea how everyone else makes it seem so easy. It’s so hard to get it right, I feel so stupid half the time,” she complains with a huff, not even noticing Rafe looming within earshot.  

“Seriously, I thought this was a beginner’s class but it feels like some of these poses are meant for like literal pros,” he continues with a shake of his head. 

“I know, right?” another peal of laughter bubbles from her throat as she shifts into a seated position, giving up altogether.  

“Everything alright?” Rafe doesn’t mean for his tone to come out so clipped but there’s something in the way the guy’s touching her so freely that makes his hands curl into fists. 

He keeps reminding himself over and over again that this is a client, which means that he can’t just smash his face in— no matter how severely his fingers are itching for it right about now.  

“Oh, I was just trying to help her with this,” the guy explains in tandem with her head turning to look at Rafe. She seems startled.  

“Well, why don’t you focus on your own form for a change? I mean, s’kinda my job to help her, yeah?” he scoffs, making the guy halt his movements in a state of surprise before he's lifting his hands up in apology.  

“Damn, sorry dude,” he mutters out from under his breath while Rafe merely glares at him with the words stay professional bouncing around his skull.  

A tense silence follows, making her grow quiet while she takes slow sips from her water bottle as a distraction; wondering why he seems so bothered to see her talking to someone else.  

However, when he finally turns his attention towards her, she shrugs it off as him merely having a bad day because it seems like the only logical explanation to her. Because at the end of the day, him being jealous makes as much sense to her as her math homework in high school.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rafe is convinced that the universe is purposefully trying to poke and prod at his limits, giving his carefully curated facade opportunities to crack— allowing for the borderline psychotic aspects of his personality to breathe through the crevices. Because only a week later, Rafe sees her entering the gym with another guy she seems to be awfully friendly with. 

“That’s crazy, I don’t even wanna know what Kie said to that,” she rolls her eyes jokingly while he’s showing her something on his phone.  

”Yeeeah, guess you could say she wasn’t the biggest fan,” he laughs in a carefree manner, raking a hand through his disheveled, sand-colored hair.  

“For some reason I’m not surprised,” she mutters out before she notices Rafe standing in the hallway leading to the yoga class. “Oh, gotta go so I’m not late. See you after?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Think Pope said he’s gonna join me for leg day, so we’ll see if I’m still standing when you get back. But you have fun,” he offers her a wave before walking away towards the locker rooms. 

And at last, her warm eyes meet Rafe’s. “Hi,” her voice is soft, nearly shy; a stark contrast to her demeanor only a few seconds ago.  

“Hey,” he greets her in a casual manner, although his mind is somewhere else entirely. “So, that your boyfriend or?” he tries to approach the subject with nonchalance because it’s not necessarily any of his business.  

He’s not even sure why he’s asking— keeps telling himself that he’s just curious and tries to appear friendly by making small talk. After all, some clients have given him feedback on his apparently intimidating aura, claiming they don’t always have the courage to ask for his help because they get anxious he’ll judge them. Therefore, it's something he’s been trying to work on.  

“What? Oh, JJ? No, he’s just a friend. He goes to the gym here, so I usually just tag along with him. Free ride, right?” she answers with a lighthearted tone.  

“Right. Yeah,” he scratches at the back of his neck, contemplating whether or not to ask the next question since he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries. However, there’s something deep in his stomach that grumbles at the prospect of her being in a relationship, makes him feel nearly insane and ultimately, makes the decision for him. 

“You, uh, you got one?”  

“What?” she asks, features coated in confusion. 

“A boyfriend, I mean,” his gaze is unwavering, eager.  

“Oh, um— no, I don’t. Why?” her puzzled eyes flit over the lines of his countenance, seemingly trying to grasp onto his motives. 

“Just, uh…wondering. I mean, he’d be kind of a dick if he’s not drivin’ you here himself,” he shrugs, a strange sort of relief making his shoulders feather-light when she lets out an airy giggle in response.  

“Yeah, honestly sometimes wish I had one just so he could drive me around and stuff,” she jokes while they begin to pad over to the class. 

“You don’t have your license yet?” he raises his brows in surprise.  

“No, I do. I just don’t really like driving. I don’t know why but it’s so stressful to me. Usually try to avoid it as much as I can,” she elaborates while gathering her hair away from her face and securing the strands into a ponytail.   

“Oh yeah? Well, if you ever need a ride home just let me know, alright?” he says, fighting the urge to tuck a loose tendril that has managed to escape the restraints of her hair tie back behind her ear.  

“Really? That’s so sweet of you! But, um, wouldn’t wanna be a bother,” the hesitation is present in her voice.  

“Nah, couldn’t bother me if you tried,” he promises, wishing they could talk for longer. However, the ocean of people flooding inside the room behind them cuts their conversation short.  

“You’re just saying that,” she dismisses him with a playful scoff. 

“M’being for real. You’re my favorite face around here. Plus, makes my job more fun when you’re always stumblin' on your feet,” he can’t help his mouth from twisting upwards at the way her eyes round out in response to his words. 

“Shut up. I’m gonna go set down my mat now, before there’s only space right in front of you,” she offers him a giddy smile that makes him grin like an idiot. Then, she’s tiptoeing away from him in order to locate a vacant spot. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rafe has become awfully familiar with these newfound feelings of fondness for the girl who’s by far the most helpless little bambi he’s ever encountered. He thinks she should honestly pick another hobby at this point, because maybe yoga just isn’t meant for her. However, he’d never say any of that out loud because even the thought of not seeing her getting all flustered while she loses her balance whenever he’s near makes him feel physically unwell.  

He’s not entirely sure whether her apparently oblivious brain simply hasn’t caught onto the fact that he so clearly has a thing for her, or if she’s well aware and merely chooses to be a tease about it. Nonetheless, the moment she walked into the class today, he could feel his workout shorts tightening and all she’d offered him was a simple smile.  

And now she’s right in front of him, all tangled limbs and pretty eyes blinking up at him— practically begging for his guidance and for him to put his hands all over her (something she doesn’t seem to mind all that much).  

“You put this cute little set on just for me, huh?” he rasps out while his thumb smooths over the bubblegum pink fabric; feeling it out as he pinches the stretchy fabric between his fingertips, making her breath get caught in her throat in the process.  

“Oh, um— just wanted to…try out some new stuff I ordered. You think it’s cute?” she stares at him with something bashful glimmering in her eyes. 

“Mhm. Fits you nice,” he mumbles out as his gaze lingers on the way the tight material wraps around her figure, not leaving much to the (his) imagination. He bets it’d be so easy to just rip right through these cute yoga pants and pull her closer with a firm grip on her hips before burying his face between her plush thighs.

“Thanks,” she peeps out, flustered.  

He tries to shake off the improper, filthy thoughts with a clear of his throat when he gets caught staring at her for a little too long.  

“So, you actually wanna bend your leg on the other side of your body on the mat and support your foot with your left arm not the right one. Easy to get them confused,” he chuckles as she shifts her position according to his instructions as best as she can. 

“Like this?” she seeks reassurance with a soft tone.  

“Yeah, just like that, Bambi. Good job,” his mouth quirks up some while her mind begins to cloud over in response to his low cadence. She’s not entirely sure what exactly it is about him that makes her feel so fuzzy on the inside, but she thinks it’s nice, thinks she wants to always have him this close to her— wants him even closer.

She doesn’t remember the last time she’s had such an intense crush on someone— slowly turning into a crazy person by each second of not knowing whether he’s merely flirting with her for his own amusement or because he’s actually into her. However, she thinks she’s embarrassed herself in front of him far too many times for the latter to be true in any reality.  

“Then need you to move your right hand here,” he adjusts her form with a grip on her wrist while he maneuvers her to his liking; tingles erupting all over the skin he skims over with his fingertips.  

Her head is spinning.  

“See? Knew you could do it. Feels nice, hm?” he rumbles out, letting his hands rest on her shoulders for support, despite the position not really requiring it.  

She hums her response because she doesn’t trust for any coherent words to stumble out of her mouth at the moment, all the while Rafe is desperately trying to not pay attention to the nearly painful situation in his pants.

[simpforboys]

Surprise! (3)

Drew Starkey x fem!singer!reader

Summary: reader and Drew celebrate the release of the ‘Perfume’ music video!

Warnings: fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), praise, swearing, male masturbation, dirty talk, missionary position, sex on couch, daddy kink, protective piv sex, boob worship (?), drinking wine, fangirling

Part one, part two, part four

taglist is full :(

Two weeks had went by.

Two long, busy weeks of you not hearing much from Drew, other than the promotions and photo stills you would send him.

It was finally the release day, and within 18 hours, the video had already reached 200 million views.

You were currently sitting on your light grey couch, flicking through Netflix movies when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Drew Starkey: Hey, congrats on the success of the video. I’m still very honored you wanted me to he apart of it. You still down to celebrate?

Oh.

In all honesty you were expecting Drew to stop talking to you after the shoot.

But within those two weeks, you were both extremely busy, so reaching out was hard.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t text at all, it was just two or three messages a day.

Drew was notorious for being a bad texter, not to mention how filled up his schedule was.

So you never took it to heart. Or, at least tried.

But seeing the notification that he actually still wanted to hang out, wanted to celebrate with you…

Your User: hi, thank you so much! i’m still so happy and grateful you said yes <33

Your User: and yes i’m still down to celebrate!! when are you free?

Maybe the double texting was too much, but you were already a glass of wine in, and texting your celebrity crush.

To your surprise, he replied pretty quickly.

Drew Starkey: I’m actually free rn surprisingly, are you?

Oh.

You were in fact free, but ready was the better question.

No, you were not ready to see Drew fucking Starkey, especially looking like how you were currently dressed.

Only wearing sweatpants, a shirt that is three sizes too big, fuzzy socks, and no bra was not exactly presentable to meet the love of your life.

Your User: yes, but i look absolutely horrible rn

Again, another quick response.

Drew Starkey: I doubt that. Can I come see you?

You typed out a message.

Your User: CNEOSHWOSHEODNEOWHSOWBSIFBEOSBAJDBDKDHOSBSKSBDJSHS😜✊👍😜🤭🔥🫶😩

That was what you really wanted to reply with, but instead went for something more nonchalant.

Your User: yeah, you want my address?

It was never good to share your address to anyone online, especially after only meeting in person twice.

But it was Drew Starkey. You would send anything to that man, no questions asked.

Drew Starkey: Yes please

You had spent the last 30 minutes frantically cleaning your apartment. Not that it was a complete mess, but you did want it to be cleaner than what it was.

A soft knock on your door was heard, heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking with nervousness.

Peeking through the peephole, seeing his familiar face was enough to make you almost back out.

Why did you have to be so fucking nervous? He was just a man.

Your fingers unlocked the door, opening it gently.

“Hey, Y/n.” Drew smiled warmly at you, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi… come on in.” You grinned back, trying to hide the feeling in your chest.

Drew’s long legs guide him inside the apartment and he takes a second to look around.

It was cozy, and definitely you.

“I got these f’you.” He hums, holding out the flowers.

“Oh, these are my favorite flowers, Drew… you didn’t have to do that.” You awed, taking the bouquet as he practically handed it to you.

He knew they were your favorite flowers. He might have looked up y/n l/n’s favorite flower onto Google. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

“Really? Damn, lucky pick, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his neck a little sheepishly.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you realized that he was wearing sweats and a hoodie. It was 10:23pm on a Friday, and clearly you two were appreciating a night off.

It made you feel better about your outfit.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have white or red wine, beer, vodka, soda, water…” You trailed off your options.

“What’re you drinking?” He hummed.

You nodded over to the coffee table, an open bottle of wine with a half filled glass on it.

“Wine.”

“I’ll just have some of that, then.” Drew murmurs.

You grabbed another wine glass and walked over to the couch, hearing his feet behind you.

Sitting down on the couch, you got all comfortable underneath the blanket again, then reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“Cheers, to the success of ‘Perfume’, and to you.” Drew says softly, holding his glass out for you to clink.

Feeling your face grow a bit warm, you tapped your glass with his.

“Cheers to you being amazing.” You took a sip of the wine, your eyes locked onto his blue ones.

“You have a nice apartment, by the way. Forgot to say that.” He hums.

“Thank you, I wanted to make it as cozy as possible for those rare times I am at home.” You explain.

"Yeah, I get that. Life nowadays is just so hectic." He agrees, blue eyes trailing over your face, as if committing each feature to memory.

"Well, yeah. You're all big and famous now," you tease.

He chuckles sheepishly, his large hand running along the back of his head.

"You have any big plans coming up?" He asked you.

"Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to be preforming at the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball festival in a week," you nod.

"Really? Damn. That beats me, then." He joked.

"What do you have coming up?" You questioned.

"Variety is going to have Harris Dickinson and I do that Actors on Actors interview thing."

"Yeah? That sounds fun," you hummed.

The two of you spent an hour and a half talking about life, success, and just got to know each other.

You both finished the bottle of wine and were now onto your second bottle, the two of you tipsy as you giggled on the couch.

Your body felt warm and you weren't completely sure if it was from the alcohol or the fact that a beautiful man was sitting a foot away from you on your own couch.

Drew felt the same, and one specific joke you made had him laughing a little too hard. His eyes creased in the corner as he smiled, those pretty dimples on display.

But when his large hand went to rest on your knee, the wine in your system completely fought off your anxiety, making you more relaxed.

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your hand resting atop of his.

"Your laugh is so cute, Drew," you murmured.

"Yeah? You're cute," he responded.

You bit your lip, eyes locked onto his. "Is that the alcohol talking or you?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"That's me talking."

Oh.

"You're sweet..." you trailed off, trying to ignore how butterflies filled your belly.

He just hummed, a comfortable, tension-filled silence falling between you two.

"So, you really had a crush on me for four years?" He teased, squeezing your knee a little.

"Oh, god. We're back at this now, huh?" You grumbled in embarrassment, although there was no real malice behind your tone.

He smirked, licking his lips. "We never left it."

"I certainly did."

"Yeah? You don't have a crush on me anymore?" He murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your stomach turn more.

"I didn't say that...." you trailed off, picking at the extra skin near your nails.

His eyes trail over your form again, taking in every inch of you he can see that's not hidden by the blanket on your lap.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear you."

You rolled your eyes, face hot. "I'm sure you didn't."

He laughed, scooting a little closer to you so your legs were touching.

"'m just fucking with you," he said softly.

"I know..." you glanced over at him, eyes instinctively falling down to his pretty lips.

It had been too long since you felt them on you.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the boost of confidence Drew had gotten, but he slowly leaned in, his free hand going to run his index finger and thumb on your chin.

"Is this okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah... yes..." you breathed out shakily, heart racing.

He hummed, gently connecting your lips to his own.

Feeling that familiar, addictive spark when his skin touched yours. You immediately kissed back, your left hand going to cup his jaw.

Kissing. You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey. And it wasn't for work, wasn't for cameras. He kissed you first.

Within moments, he was laying you back on the light grey couch, the fluffy blanket being left abandoned on the floor.

His tongue was in your mouth, sculpted body hovering over yours. Your thighs were spread for him to nestle in between, left hand still cupping his strong jaw, right hand in that soft brown hair.

On instinct you pulled a little on the strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He disconnected your lips, trailing sloppy, needy kisses down your jaw and neck.

Chests pressed together, it was as if you two couldn't get any closer.

"Mhmm... Drew..." you whimpered softly when he nipped at the skin of your pulse point.

"Yeah? That feel nice, sweet girl?" He murmured, voice muffled from his attention on your neck.

You nodded, legs squeezing him in between your body.

"Can I take your shirt off, baby?" He asked, not wanting to do anything you weren't desiring.

"Please.." you breathed out, heart racing, stomach flipping.

His large hand slipped the oversized fabric off and over your head, a small whine leaving him when he saw your pretty tits.

"Fuck, Y/n... you been hiding these from me?" He mumbled teasingly, continuing his line of kisses and nibbles down your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts.

"All you needed to do was ask," you panted. Your back instinctively arched up, your chest needing some attention from his warm mouth.

He groaned at your answer, moving slightly down your body until he was eye level with your hard nipples. He swirled his tongue around the bud, blue eyes locked on your face when he sucked your nipple into his mouth.

Your body jolted a little, making him hold your side with his left hand, his right hand massaging the other stiffened bud.

He switched sides after a few moments, relishing in the sounds of your pretty moans and pants.

But something else was throbbing and aching, desperately needing his attention.

"Drew," you whined.

"Hmm?" He hummed, still worshipping your boobs.

"Need you."

"Yeah?" He cooed, reluctantly disconnecting his mouth from your right nipple as he continued to kiss down your stomach.

You nod, breathing short and needy. He got to the waistband of your sweatpants, looking back up at you.

"You can take those off too." You gave permission, already knowing what the man was going to ask.

He wasted no time in slipping the fabric down your legs, readjusting so his face was in between your spread thighs.

"Look how you ruined these panties, pretty girl... you're so needy f'me, huh?" He murmured softly.

All you could do was whine when he pressed a tender kiss to your clothed clit, the fabric absolutely soaked. It had been way too long since you'd had sex.

His large hand slid the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely bare for him.

"So beautiful, baby. So beautiful..." he muttered, talking more to himself than you.

Your legs twitched when he flicked his tongue against your clit, hands digging in his hair.

"Drew--"

"I know, baby. Let daddy eat this pretty pussy, yeah? Just sit back and relax."

A needy whimper left your mouth, but you didn't respond. Not that you could, as he licked a stripe from your pulsating hole to the top of your clit.

He hoisted your thighs over his broad shoulders, moaning a little at your taste. His movements became more eager, beginning to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Right hand in his hair, left hand gripping the couch. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up towards his face.

He made a grunt directly into your clit, another jolt of pleasure going into your body.

"Daddy... fuck..."

His piercing blue eyes were feeding off of your facial expressions, his cock throbbing in his own sweats.

He slipped two fingers into your cunt, focusing his mouth on your clit. His left hand slid down his own pants, beginning to palm his cock through his boxers.

"Yeah? Is daddy making you feel good, sweet girl?" He coos, whining a little as his own hips buck on the couch, desperate for more friction.

His noise and hips bucking made your cunt clench around his fingers, as if trying to pull him in deeper.

The knot in your stomach was already forming, almost embarrassing how quickly he turned you into a mess.

Legs trembling over his shoulders, hips rocking against his face and chin. You couldn't even announce you were coming, mind fuzzy from the pleasure.

He hummed when he noticed you releasing, continuing to lap up all your juices as he came in his pants.

When your body calmed down, he pulled away from your pussy and kneeled in between your legs.

He peeled his own hoodie off, revealing that perfect, toned body of his again. Your eyes drank in the sight, licking your lips.

“You’re so hot, Drew…” you murmured.

His ears were ringing, need coursing through his veins as he slipped off his sweats and boxers.

You had to physically hold back a gasp when you saw his cock for the first time.

People had always written it differently in all those guilty pleasure Rafe Cameron fanfics you would read when you couldn’t sleep.

But seeing it in person was just a whole new experience.

It was long and thick, which was to be expected. The man radiated big dick energy.

Pretty mushroom tip that was still leaking, his pubic hair slightly fuzzy as if he hadn’t shaved it in a week.

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm? Better than you imagined?” He asked teasingly, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a small snicker leaving you.

He rolled the condom onto his shaft, moving to hover over you again.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked softly, eyes gazing intently into yours.

“Yes… please fuck me, daddy.”

He let out a small groan, nestling himself in between your thighs. He used a long, strong arm to grab a couch pillow and tuck it under your hips.

You watched as he teasingly slid his head up and down your slit, tapping it against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg.

Your pretty begging weakened his resolve as he slowly slid into you.

Whimpers and noises of pleasure left the both of you at the feeling, a course of energy being shared within your two bodies.

He kept pushing until he was all the way inside, giving you a moment to adjust as he captured your lips in his.

Your hands roamed over his biceps and back, loving the way the muscles flex against your palms. His skin was burning, adding to the electric feel.

When he felt you stop tensing around him, he began to slowly pull back, before pushing in, creating a delicious rhythm.

“Fuck… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” He moaned.

Your legs tightened around his hips, a noise leaving you as he rubbed right against that spongy spot.

“So deep, Drew… can feel you so deep,” you whined in between breaths.

“Yeah? You take this dick so good, pretty girl.”

His movements were getting a little rougher with every minute passing, both of you needing this.

Your crush on him for four years, the sexual tension you shared in the music video, the chemistry when you first met him on The Tonight Show.

It was all so surreal and felt like you were living straight out of a fanfic or dream.

His head dropped down to your chest, clearly having a thing for your hardened nipples as he nibbled gently.

Maybe one day Drew would fuck you without the condom and be able to feel your warm, velvety walls squeezing him without the protection.

He could dream.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You swore, the pillow under your hips allowing for his tip to kiss your cervix with every thrust.

“Mhm, yeah. Good girl.” He praised breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded from everything.

The couch creaked a little beneath you two, your nails digging into his back.

He was already close, eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

His calloused thumb went to rub your clit, making your legs twitch around his sculpted hips.

Your cunt squeezed around his cock, your belly on fire with your building orgasm.

“You gonna cum f’me, sweet girl?” He choked out, hips snapping against yours.

“Y-yes!” You squeak, mind hazy, body trembling.

“Yeah… that’s it… let me feel you…”

His breathy words, deep penetration, and touch on your clit sent you over the edge again.

You moaned loudly, clinging onto his body as he talked you through your orgasm.

He was also talking himself through it, feeling his cock twitch as he spilled his seed into the condom.

His body was still against yours, both of you catching your breaths from the intensity.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead again, his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” He asked you softly.

“Mhm… ‘m good…”

You kissed his lips again, more gently this time. His nose brushed against yours when he pulled away, lips connecting to your cheek.

He reluctantly slid out of you, kneeling between your legs again as his blue eyes gazed down at your cunt.

“Did you bring any more condoms?” You ask after a few moments.

He looks at your face, then reaches over to grab his wallet. He pulls out two more condom wrappers.

You grinned, licking your lips.

“So are we going two more rounds or what?”

tags!!

@slut4you @sweetlike-sugarplum @snowtargaryen @fastlovela @christinechickiee @ahgrace6 @evermorx89 @loren8818181 @eddiemuns0nl0ver @sophiesmovingcastle5 @chimchimjiminie16 @amel1ee @reader1402 @tqd4455 @rxeae @caraxes-syrax @shrimpybbq @drewstarkeysbabe @rafeswhoooreee @meropeeonmee @rafeluvrr @marvelahsobx @raeven-marie43 @fallout-girl219 @brendazzlingg @10ava01 @secretsideofbree @drewstarrrkey @p0gue420 @gibson-g1rl @kiiyomei @spiderstyles04 @sexualparkour @vinaluvsu @domainexpandme @mariadu2 @toterry @taliawz @always-reading @angvl3tears @iloveoldermenn @aesthetic-lyss @lover-girl-estxx @cadhlabear @kaiparkerwifes @herbookgarden @luvleyshif4 @caraxes-syrax @mymultiveres @reader1402 @dinnodallas @darkreymbow @vinaluvsu @sarahskywalker-amidala @christinechickiee @hoelesslyt @tincanhat @scenesofobx @james-bucky-barnackle @angvl3tears @belledawnidk @millietozier @vrsluts @chimmysoftpaws @brathwaite444 @urmanicpixieangelgirl