#but then she also talks about having lived so sheltered she doesn’t know when in the year the harvest takes place…

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Frev friendships — the Robespierres and the Duplays

(Shout-out to @sieclesetcieux whose thesis on Élisabeth Duplay Lebas is the origin of the majority of the primary sources gathered here.)

People will be curious to know how my brother Maximilien met the Duplay family. The day when the red flag was deployed and martial law proclaimed on the Champ-de-Mars by Lafayette and Bailly, my brother, who had seen the fusillades ordered by the hero of two worlds, and who returned, heartbroken with all these scenes of horror, following the rue Saint-Honoré. A considerable crowd pressed about him; he had been recognized, and the people cried vive Robespierre! M. Duplay, cabinet-maker, left his house, came before my brother, and engaged him to come into his house to rest. Maximilien accepted his invitation. After an hour or two he wanted to return home, but he was kept for dinner, and not even that evening did they want to let him leave; he slept in M. Duplay’s house, and remained there for several days. Madame Duplay and her daughters showed him the liveliest interest, surrounded him with a thousand delicate cares. He was extremely sensitive to all those sorts of things. My aunts and I had spoiled him by a crowd of those little attentions of which women alone are capable. All at once transported from the bosom of his family, where he was the object of the sweetest solicitudes, into his household on the rue Saintonge, where he was alone, let the change he had had to submit to be judged! The Duplay family’s provenances in his regard recalled to him those that we had had for him, and made him feel still more vividly the emptiness and solitude of the apartment he occupied in the Marais. M. Duplay proposed to him that he should come live with him, and be his host’s lodger. Maximilien, to whom this proposition was quite agreeable, and who anyway had never known how to refuse in fear of disobliging, accepted and came to live among the Duplay family. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1835) page 84-85

On the day of the massacre on the Champ-de-Mars, [Robespierre] came to the session at the Jacobins. The friends of liberty gathered there in very small numbers. The courtyard was soon filled with gunners and hunters from the barriers, blind instruments of the furies of Lafayette and his supporters. Robespierre was trembling with fear as he crossed this courtyard to return home after the session, and hearing these soldiers vomit imprecations and threats against the Jacobins, he was obliged, in order to support himself, to take the arm of Lecoitre [sic] of Versailles, in uniform of commander of the national guard of Versailles, and of Lapoype, since division general, then member of the club. He did not dare go to sleep on rue Saintonge au Marais, where he lived with Humbert. He asked Lecointe [sic] if he did not know any patriot in the vicinity of the Tuileries who could give him shelter for the night. Lecointe [sic] suggested Duplay’s house to him, and took him there. From that day on, he never exited. It is perhaps to this change of domicile that we must attribute the development of his ambition. As long as he remained with Humbert, he was accessible to his friends and patriots. Once at Duplay, he gradually became invisible. They sequestered him from society, they adored him, they entranced him, they destroyed him by exalting his pride. It should be noted that from his arrival in Paris until the time of Champ-de-Mars, he had been housed, fed, maintained, heated, served at Humbert's house. He never spoke to the latter about compensating him; he thought he was too honored to have had such a great man as himself as a companion. He never did him the slightest service, and during the last six months of her life, he had his door barred from him: the presence of a benefactor bothered him. Stanislas Fréron’s ”Notes on Robespierre,” published for the first time within volume 1 of Papiers inédits trouvés chez Robespierre, Saint-Just, Payan, etc., supprimés ou omis par Courtois; précédés du rapport de ce député à la Convention nationale (1828) but most likely dating back to right after thermidor.

My grandfather (Maurice Duplay) was not Robespierre’s compatriot; he was from Forez. It was not in Artois, where he never set foot, that he met Maximilien. Their reports had an equally honorable origin for both: they date from the day when martial law was proclaimed on the Champ-de-Mars. That day, the rumor having spread that the most influential members of the democratic party, and in particular Robespierre, were going to be arrested, my grandfather offered the latter, whose character and talent he admired, asylum at his home. His proposal was accepted, and, from then until his last moment, Maximilien did not cease to be the companion of my family. Undated letter from Philippe Lebas Jr. to Alphonse Lamartine. On August 9 1791, around three weeks after the massacre on Champ-de-Mars, Robespierre still gave his adress as ”n. 8 rue de Saintonge” when appearing as witness before the court of the 6th arrondissement. A month later, September 14 1791, the journalist François Suleau, who had gotten arrested shortly after the massacre, was asked who he wanted to represent him in court and answered ”M. Robespierre, residing on rue Saintonge,” whereupon he got the answer that Robespierre no longer lived there. Formally, Robespierre must therefore have moved to rue Saint-Honoré 398 somewhere between these two dates.

One evening, the carpenter brought back a stranger from the Jacobin club, whom he led by the hand into his apartment. It was a person of about thirty years old, dressed, according to the fashion of the time, in a waistcoat with a large lapel, a brown coat and silk breeches. “You are at home here,” he said to him as he entered: ”you shall be my son, and I shall be your father.” Then, showing him a group of young girls who were discreetly standing aside in a corner of the living room, he added: “My friend, here are your sisters.” He called his children with a gesture of authority: “Come here, Éléonore, Sophie, Victoire, Élisabeth; come, my children, come my daughters. I have brought you a brave citizen whom the counter-revolutionaries want to have arrested. This house will serve as his asylum. You already know him by name: it’s Maximilien [Robespierre].” The young girls, who had read that name in the public papers and who had heard it often pronounced by their father with enthusiasm, surrounded the stranger. From that day on, the house had one more child. The carpenter, his wife, his daughters, everyone hurried to show a smiling face to him. He was asked to choose his own room: he designated one at the end of the courtyard under the roof, a simple and modest room which was lined, according to his tastes, with a hanging of blue damask with white flowers on it. [Maximilien's] habits were soon known; although not sumptuous in his attire, he was very clean: he liked white linen and put elegance into his clothes. Every morning, a hairdresser ran the detangler through her long, powdered hair. Having finished washing, he gathered with the carpenter's family for the morning meal. Maximilien had a sobriety worthy of the golden age: his breakfast consisted of bread and dairy products. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). At the end of this article, Esquiros claimed to have obtained the information contained in it from Élisabeth Duplay Lebas herself. Shortly thereafter, said Élisabeth did however write a letter to the paper in order to ”protest loudly against the use that, without consulting me, you have made of my name, and to declare that this article, on many points in contradiction with my recollections, also contains a large number of inaccuracies.” She does unfortunately not indicate exactly which parts of the article are inaccurate and which ones are not, and certain details contained in it match up too well with what Élisabeth writes in her memoirs for me not to believe Esquiros hadn’t actually interviewed her prior to writing the article. In spite of her complaint, all the information in article was republished, almost entirely word for word, in volume 2 of Ésquiros’ Histoire des Montagnards (1847).

My dear friend, I arrived safely in Bapaume this Friday. The national guards of Paris, earlier camped out at Verberies, those of the department of Oise who had just arrived in the city the same day, joined by the patriots of Bapaume, presented me with a civic crown together with the testimonies of the most fraternal affection. The district and municipal directories, although aristocrats, did not disdain to come and visit my body. I was delighted by the patriotism of the National Guards, who seemed very well composed. Those of Paris found no preparation to receive them in Bapaume; those of Oise were forced to leave without weapons, and still do not have any.  From Bapaume, several officers of the two corps, joined by a part of the national guard of Arras, who had come to meet me, took me back to Arras, where the people received me with demonstrations of an attachment that I cannot express, and which I cannot think of without emotion; a multitude of citizens came out of the city to meet me; to the civic crown that they offered me they added one for Petion; in their acclamations they often mingled with my name that of my comrade in arms and friend. I was surprised to see the houses of my enemies and of the aristocrats (who only appear here in ministerial or feuillantine form; the others have emigrated), illuminated as I passed, which I attributed only to their respect for the wish of the people. Eight days earlier one had made the same preparations because I was expected at that time.  On both occasions, the municipality, which is of the order of the Feuillants, had spared nothing to oppose these steps taken by the people and the patriots: “If it were the king, it said ingeniously, we would not do the same; when we were installed, were we given honors?  So no sooner had I entered my house when it sent out the alguazils of the police with the order to put out the lanterns, which was not always punctually carried out. The next day, another disorder broke out in the city: the national guards of Oise arrived in Arras through which they had to pass in order to get to their destination. They danced in the public square singing patriotic tunes and came to my house resounding with cheers that were extremely unpleasant for the ear of a feuillant. No other misfortune happened.  The national guards stationed in this country are viewed very negatively by the ministerial aristocracy, which is very numerous; they spread to the surrounding villages to protect the inhabitants of the countryside against the dangerous insinuations of refractory priests who do incalculable harm; they revive languishing patriotism everywhere. I have no doubt that we will continue to do everything we can to disgust them and get rid of them.  On our way we found inns full of emigrants. The innkeepers told us that they were astonished at the multitude of those they had been lodging for some time.

A miracle has just taken place here, which is not surprising, since it is due to the Gallvaire of Arras, who, as we know, has already done so many others: an unsworn priest said mass in the chapolle which contains the precious monument; truly devout people understood this. In the middle of the mass a man throws away two crutches that he had brought, stretches his legs, walks; shows the scar that remains on his leg, displays papers which prove that he had a serious injury; right after the miracle this man's wife arrives; she asks for her husband; is told that he walks without crutches; falls unconscious; regains her senses to thank heaven and cry out for a miracle.  However, it was resolved, in the devout sauhedrin, that it would not be in the city that much noise would be made about this adventure, but that it would instead be spread throughout the countryside: since this moment several peasants have, in fact, come to burn small candles in the Calvary chapel. I still intend to not stay long in this holy land; I am not worthy of it. I shall however not leave it without regrets; because my fellow citizens have so far only given me the sweetest of pleasures: I will console myself by embracing you (vous). Please present the testimonies of my tender friendship to Madame Duplay, to your young ladies, and to my little friend. Also, please do not forget to remind me of La Coste and Couthon. Robespierre to Maurice Duplay, October 16 1791

Brother and friend,  I received with gratitude the new mark of interest and friendship that you (vous) gave me in your last letter. I am seriously proposing, this time, to return to Paris in a few days. The pleasure of seeing you again will not be the least advantage I shall find there. I think with sweet satisfaction about the fact that my dear Pétion may have been appointed mayor of Paris as I write. I will feel more keenly than anyone the joy that this triumph of patriotism and frank probity over intrigue and tyranny must give to every citizen. Present the testimonies of my tender and unalterable attachment to your ladies, whom I very much desire to embrace, as well as our little patriot. Robespierre to Maurice Duplay, November 17 1791

My mother saw our attachment to Robespierre and his family with pleasure. For us, we loved him like a good brother! He was so good! He was our defender when my mother scolded us. That happened to me sometimes: I was quite young, a bit scatterbrained; he gave me such good advice that, as young as I was, I listened to it with pleasure. When I felt some unhappiness, I told him everything. He was not a severe judge: he was a friend, a good brother indeed; he was so virtuous! He venerated my father and mother. We all loved him tenderly. […] At that time (summer 1793) we often went walking as a family in the Champs-Élysées; ordinarily we chose the most retired paths. Robespierre often accompanied us in these walks. We passed happy moments together thus. We were always surrounded by poor little Savoyards, whose dancing it pleased Robespierre to watch; he gave them money: he was so good! For him it was a joy to do good: he was never happier than in those moments. He had a dog, named Brount, that he loved a lot; the poor animal was very attached to him. In the evening, after returning from the walk, Robespierre read us the works of Corneille, Voltaire, Rousseau; we listened to him as a family with great pleasure; he knew so well how to make what he was reading felt! After an hour or two of reading, he retired to his room, saying good evening to all. He had a profound respect for my father and mother; they too regarded him as a son, and we as a brother. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas Duplay, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 104 and 107-108

The days, the months, the years followed one another. Maximilien had become so well acquainted with this family that it had, in a way, become his own. He had another in Artois to whom he sent part of his salary as deputy, but he was nonetheless the adopted son of his hosts. The carpenter's four daughters loved him like a brother; they confided to him their sorrows, their feelings, their reveries. When one of those light clouds, which pass over the most united families, obscured the pure forehead of one of his young sisters, he gently drew her onto his knees and asked her in a low voice the secret of her sadness. If it was the trace of a discord or of some small domestic debates, he acted as conciliator between the offended parties. It was especially through him that Sophie, Élisabeth and Victoire had recourse after a falling out with their mother, to spare themselves the trouble of asking for pardon from their mother. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

[Maximilien] constantly went out in the middle of the day: where did he go? One didn't know. The carpenter told his daughters that Maximilien was going working for the public good; they had no idea in what way. […] Maximilien returned at six o'clock for supper. After leaving the table, he followed the carpenter and his daughters into the salon; these were charming family gatherings, full of grace and severity: the young girls, grouped in a circle around their mother, were working, with downcast eyes, on various needleworks. They separated at nine o'clock and said goodnight. On Thursdays only, these evenings took on a ceremonial character, a few guests, all friends of the house, gathered that day: it was David, the painter; Buonarotti, descendant of Michelangelo; Lebas, deputy; the brother of Maximilien, and some other close friends. Large mahogany armchairs covered in cherry velvet formed as they approached, a narrow but pleasant circle. They sometimes talked about literature: Maximilien read his favorite author, the tender Racine; as he said the verses well, he was asked to recite a few tirades from Bérénice or Audromanque; he carried it out with so much soul that he brought tears to all eyes. The carpenter's daughters, seated around their mother, listened to the reading while working; with modestly bowed eyelashes and feet on their stool, they contained their emotion within themselves. Then Buonarotti, who was a great musician, sat down at the piano: he was a dreamy and ardent soul, he played pathetic airs whose effect was inevitable: it seemed as if life was escaping beneath his fingers touching the quivering keys of the the instrument; they approached the windows to look at the sky, as this music lifted their hearts. However, the sky was full of stars, and hearts were full of love. One believed in family, in humanity, in the future. Seeing this interior so serious and so united, this sweet religion of the home, this cult of bare gray hair among old men and of modesty among young girls, one understood that the ancients had raised altars to the lare gods. These meetings did not last very far into the night: Maximilien retired at eleven o'clock to his room in order to work; often, until the whiteness of the morning, a little light could be seen shining in his window. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

Maximilien had brought back from a trip to Artois a large dog named Brount, whom he loved. This dog brought joy to the carpenter's daughters. He was another ally in the house. The animal, serious and thoughtful with its master, was playful with Victoire or Éléonore. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). 

Patriot Dupleix [sic], I learned indirectly that my brother is indisposed; I am worried; let me know about his situation as soon as possible. Send me also the cartridge that I asked my brother's friend to look for in his papers. Tell my brother that my sister is convalescing, and that I will send back Mme Witty's book in a few days. Don't waste a moment, send answers right away. My worry is at its peak. If neccesary I’ll come to Paris. Also send me some copies of the speech on the war that your friend gave and the observations of Pethion [sic] and Robespierre. I embrace you and your family. Augustin to Maurice Duplay, March 19 1792

In my second excursion to Paris, I experienced a surprise, which gave me anxiety for the future, and here you see the occasion. A rich carpenter by the name of Duplay, his wife, his three or four daughters and his son, a boy of fifteen or sixteen years old, all good people at heart, but very passionate and very narrow-minded, had become passionate about the Revolution. Towards the end of the Constituent Assembly, Duplay came in the name of patriotism to invite me to dinner and to spend the day in a house of his, on the Champ-Élysées, with my wife and children. I accepted, so as not to let them believe that I disdained their thoughtfulness, and also because our departure being very imminent, this connection could not last long. Among the guests were Pétion, Robespierre and Giraud de Pouzol, deputy of Puy-de-Dôme, a good and honest man, and a man of merit. The Duplay family was, moreover, all kinds of accommodating to our children. In this last trip of which I speak, I thought it necessary, therefore, to go and see them. I went there one morning. I was received very warmly, and ushered into the salon, to which was adjoined a small cabinet whose door remained open. What do I see when I enter? Robespierre, who had impatronized himself in the house, where he received homage such as those paid to a divinity. The small cabinet was particularly dedicated to him. His bust was enshrined there with various ornaments, verses, mottos, etc. The living room itself was furnished with small busts in red and gray terracotta, and lined with portraits of the great man, in pencil, blur, bistre, and watercolor. He himself, well combed and powdered, dressed in the cleanest dressing gown, was spread out in a large armchair, before a table laden with the finest fruits, fresh butter, pure milk and aromatic coffee. The whole family, father, mother and children, tried to guess in his eyes all his desires, in order to instantly please them. Mémoires de La Révellière-Lépeaux (1895), volume 1, page 114-115. The second meeting described took place somewhere in the summer of 1792, before the Insurrection of August 10.

The next day I (Barbaroux) was invited to another conference at Robespierre’s house. I was struck by the ornaments at his cabinet: it was a pretty boudoir where his image was repeated in all forms and by all the arts. His painted portrait was on the wall on the right, his engraved one on the left, his bust was at the back and his bas-relief opposite; there were also half a dozen small engravings of Robespierre on the tables.  Mémoires inédits de Pétion, et Mémoires de Buzot et de Barbaroux (1866) page 358-359. This meeting took place shortly after the Insurrection of August 10 1792. Given the fact Barbaroux was executed in 1794 and his memoirs published 1866, 42 years after Révellière-Lépeaux’ death (his memoirs were in their turn published 1895) their claims that the Duplays had several busts and portraits of Robespierre were most likely independent from one another.

I should tell the whole truth. I have nothing but praise for the demoiselles Duplay; but I would not say the same for their mother, who did me much wrong; she looked constantly to put me in bad standing with my older brother and to monopolize him. Maximilien’s character took very will to Madame Duplay’s views; he let himself be led as she wished, and this man so energetic at the head of the government had no other will in his interior than that which was suggested to him, as it were. When I arrived from Arras, in 1792, I came to live with the Duplay family, and I saw at once the ascendancy they exercised on him; an ascendancy which was founded neither on wit, since Maximilien certainly had more of it than Madame Duplay, nor on great services rendered, since the family among whom my brother lived had not for some time been in a position to render them. But, I repeat, this ascendancy took its source, on one side, from my brother’s debonair attitude, if I may express it thus, and on the other from Madame Duplay’s incessant and often importune caresses. I resolved to take my brother out of her hands, and, to succeed at this, I looked to make him understand that, in his position, and occupying such a high rank in politics, he should have a home of his own. Maximilien recognized the fairness of my reasons, but long fought my proposition that he should separate from the Duplay family, fearing to distress them. In the end, I succeeded, not without effort, to make him take an apartment in the rue Saint-Florentin. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre… (1835) page 85-87

Robespierre only moved away from my father’s house a single time, in order to go live with his sister, whose imperious character rendered him really unhappy… Note written by Élisabeth Lebas, cited in Histoire de Robespierre (1867) by Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 286.

Madame Duplay was very angry with me [for making Maximilien move away]; I believe she remained bitter towards me her entire life. We had lived thus alone for some time, my brother and I, when Maximilien fell ill. His indisposition was in no way dangerous. He needed much mare, and certainly, I did not let him lack for it; I did not quit him for an instant, I watched over him constantly. When he was better, Madame Duplay came to see him; she had not been informed of his indisposition, and made a great fuss because she had not been warned of it. She said some very disobliging things to me; she told me that my brother had not had all necessary care, that he would have been better cared for with her family, that he would lack for nothing; and that is what pressed Maximilien to return to her house; my brother at first refused weakly; she redoubled her insistences, I should say, her obsessions. Robespierre, despite my protests, decided finally to follow her. “They love me so,” he said to me, “they have such regard, such goodwill toward me, that it would be ingratitude on my part to repulse them.” This fact alone gives an idea of my brother Maximilien. He cedes to Madame Duplay, he resolves himself to leave his home, to become again a lodger in a foreign house, whale he has his house, his household, because he does not want to pain a person for whom he has friendship. I do not want to recriminate against him; far from me the thought of addressing reproaches to his memory; but in the end should he not have considered that his preference for Madame Duplay distressed me as much at least as his refusal could have afflicted this lady? Between Madame Duplay and me should he have hesitated? Should he have sacrificed me to her? After the disobliging words she had said, after having reproached me for having let my brother lack care, he who knew so well the contrary, should he not have reflected that leaving me to deliver himself to Madame Duplay’s care was to corroborate what she had said? And yet my brother loved me tenderly; his friendship for me was a thousand times stronger than that which he could have felt for a stranger; how then to explain the contradiction? Here it is: Maximilien was all devotion, he did not belong to himself, his life was a continual sacrifice, with great heart he hurt himself to please others; he did not hesitate thus, he who regarded me as a part of himself, to sacrifice me, as he sacrificed himself, so as not to affect a family who, by their caresses and kindnesses without number, had taken from him all methods of resistance. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre… (1835) page 87-89. We have no date for when Maximilien moved out, and then back in, with the Duplays. Hamel places it in September of 1793, when he claims Robespierre was ”slightly indisposed.” Mary Young, biographer of Augustin, places it in early 1793, in time for Rosalie Jullien to report about a dinner with the three siblings where Charlotte would have told her their domestic morals consisted of ”simplicity and candor.” In his memoirs (seen below), Maurice Gaillard claims Charlotte in May 1794 told him that ”when my younger brother passed through Melun (that is to say, December 1793) the three of us were living together.” Élisabeth’s memoirs imply Charlotte still lived with the family in April 1793.

I said before that I had much to complain about regarding Madame Duplay, and certainly, if I were to report everything she did to me I would fill a fat volume. When my brother, in fear of disobliging her, once again became once a lodger in her house, I went to see him quite assiduously. One cannot have any idea of the disgraceful manner in which she received me. I would have pardoned her dishonesties, her impertinences; but I what I will never pardon her is a word, a dreadful word, that she pronounced on my account. I often sent my brother jams or fruit comfits, which he liked a lot, or other sweets; Madame Duplay always let her bad humor show every time she saw my domestic arrive. One day when I had charged her with bringing a few jars of jam to my brother, Madame Duplay said angrily to her: “Bring that back, I don’t want her to poison Robespierre.” My domestic returned in tears to tell me of Madame Duplay’s dreadful blasphemy. I remained stupefied and could not speak. How to believe it? In place of going to ask an explanation, in place of going to complain to my brother of the horrible words she had said, the fear of causing him pain, and of provoking a scene which could only be very disagreeable restrained me, and I swallowed in sadness my grief and indignation. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre (1835) page 89-90

Robespierre the younger [was] nicknamed Bonbon, a repetition of his firstname Bon. Note written by the elderly Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901). An indicator Augustin was called by his nickname within the Duplay family.

[Robespierre’s] host's daughter passed for his wife and exercised a sort of empire over him.  Causes secrètes de la révolution du 9 au 10 thermidor (1794) by Joachim Vilate, page 16

It has been rumored that this daughter [Éléonore] had been Robespierre's mistress. I think I can affirm she was his wife; according to the testimony of one of my colleagues, Saint-Just had been informed of this secret marriage, which he had attended. Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337-338

Madame Lebreton, a sweet and sensitive young woman, said, blushing: “Everyone assures that Eugénie [sic] Duplay was Robespierre’s mistress.” “Ah! My God! Is it possible that that good and generous creature should have so degraded herself?” I was aghast. “Listen,” cried Henriette, “don’t judge on appearances. The unhappy Eugénie was not the mistress, but the wife of the monster, whom her pure soul decorated with every virtue; they were united by a secret marriage of which Saint-Just was the witness.”  Souvernirs de 1793 et 1794 par madame Clément, Née Hémery (1832) by Albertine Clément-Hémery

The eldest of the Duplay daughters, who Robespierre wanted to marry, was called Éléonore. Robespierre allowed himself to be cared for, but he was not in love. […] The Duplay family formed a kind of cult around Robespierre. It was claimed that this new Jupiter did not need to take the metamorphoses of the god of Olympus to become human with the eldest daughter of his host, called Éléonore. This is completely false. Like her entire family, this young girl was a fanatic of the god Robespierre, she was even more exalted because of her age. But Robespierre did not like women, he was absorbed in his political enlightenment; his abstract dreams, his metaphysical discourses, his guards, his personal security, all things incompatible with love, gave him no hold on this passion. He loved neither women nor money and cared no more about his private interests than if all the merchants had been free, obligatory suppliers to him, and the inn houses paid in advance for his use. And that’s what he acted like this with his hosts. Notes historiques sur la Convention nationale, le Directoire, l’Empire et l’exil des votants (1895) by Marc Antoine Baudot, page 41 and 242.

All the historians assert that [Robespierre] carried out an intrigue with the daughter of Duplay, but as the family physician and constant guest of that house I am in a position to deny this on oath. They were devoted to each other, and their marriage was arranged; but nothing of the kind alleged ever sullied their love.   Testimony from Robespierre’s doctor Joseph Souberbielle, cited in Recollections of a Parisian (docteur Poumiès de La Siboutie) under six sovereigns, two revolutions, and a republic (1789-1863) (1911) page 26.

Madame Duplay had three [sic] daughters: one married the conventionnel Le Bas; another married, I believe, an ex-constituent; the third, Éléonore, who preferred to be called Cornélie, and who was the eldest, was, according to what people pleased themselves to say, on the point of marrying my brother Maximilien when 9 Thermidor came. There are in regard to Éléonore Duplay two opinions: one, that that she was the mistress of Robespierre the elder; the other that she was his fiancée. I believe that these opinions are equally false; but what is certain is that Madame Duplay would have strongly desired to have my brother Maximilien for a son-in-law, and that she forget neither caresses nor seductions to make him marry her daughter. Éléonore too was very ambitious to call herself the Citoyenne Robespierre, and she put into effect all that could touch Maximilien’s heart. But, overwhelmed with work and affairs as he was, entirely absorbed by his functions as a member of the Committee of Public Safety, could my older brother occupy himself with love and marriage? Was there a place in his heart for such futilities, when his heart was entirely filled with love for the patrie, when all his sentiments, all his thoughts were concentrated in a sole sentiment, in a sole thought, the happiness of the people; when, without cease fighting against the revolution’s enemies, without cease assailed by his personal enemies, his life was a perpetual combat? No, my older brother should not have, could not have amused himself to be a Celadon with Éléonore Duplay, and, I should add, such a role would not enter into his character. Besides, I can attest it, he told me twenty times that he felt nothing for Éléonore; her family’s obsessions, their importunities were more suited to make feel disgust for her than to make him love her. The Duplays could say what they wanted, but there is the exact truth. One can judge if he was disposed to unite himself to Madame Duplay’s eldest daughter by something I heard him say to Augustin:  “You should marry Éléonore.”  “My faith, no,” replied my younger brother.   Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 90-91.

We were five children: four daughters, Éléonore, Sophie, Victoire, Élisabeth; one brother named Maurice: he was the youngest of the family. My eldest sister was promised to Robespierre; my sister Sophie married M. Auzat, lawyer in Issoire, in Auvergne, under the Constituent; my sister Victoire never married. I married Philippe Le Bas. Note written by Élisabeth Duplay, cited on page 150 of Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

Duplay's eldest daughter, Éléonore, shared her father's patriotic sentiments. She was one of those serious and just minds, one of those firm and upright characters, one of those generous and devoted hearts, the model of which must be sought in the good times of the ancient republics. Maximilien could not fail to pay homage to such virtues; a mutual esteem brought their two hearts together; they loved each other without ever having said so to each other, there is no doubt that if he had succeeded in bringing order and calm to the State, and if his existence had ceased to be so agitated, he would have become his friend's son-in-law. The slander, which spared none of those loved by the victim of the Thermidorians, did not fail to attack the woman he wanted to make his wife, and we were not afraid to write that a guilty bond united them. We, who knew Éléonore Duplay for nearly fifty years, we who know to what extent she carried the feeling of duty, to what extent she rose above the weaknesses and fragility of her sex, we strongly protest against such an odious imputation. Our testimony deserves all confidence. France: Dictionnaire Encyclopédique (1840-1845) by Philippe Lebas jr, volume 6, page 821.

A virile soul, said Robespierre of his friend [Éléonore], she would know how to die as she knows how to love... The destitution of her fortune and the uncertainty of the next day prevented him from uniting with her before the destiny of France was clarified; but he only aspired, he said, to the moment when, the Revolution finished and strengthened, he could withdraw from the fray, marry the one he loved and go live in Artois, on one of the farms that he kept from his family's property, to there confuse his obscure well-being in common happiness. (Extract from a part of l’Histoire des Girondins looked over by Philippe Le Bas). Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 78.

[Robespierre’s] relationship with Éléonore, the carpenter's eldest daughter, had a less protective and more tender character than with her other sisters. One day, Maximilien, in the presence of his hosts, took Éléonore's hand in his: it was, in accordance with the customs of his province, a sign of engagement. From that moment on he was seen more than ever as a member of the family. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

I have nothing but praise for Madame Duplay’s second [youngest] daughter, the one who married Lebas; she was not, like her mother and older sister, stirred up against me; many times she came to wipe away my tears, when Madame Duplay’s indignities made me cry. Her younger [sic, she means elder] sister was good like her. Both of them would have made me forget their mother and Éléonore’s lack of courtesy, if it had not been that these things once engraved in such an indelible manner in one’s heart, are not thereafter effaced. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre (1835), page 91-92

[Charlotte] occupied an apartment in the front, in my father’s house on the Rue Saint-Honoré. I was also good friends with her, and it was a pleasure to go see her often; sometimes I even pleased myself to help her with her hair and her toilette. She too seemed to have much affection for me.  Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 104. The friendship between Élisabeth and Charlotte is confirmed here.

Robespierre rarely dined outside of his house — six times at most during his stay on rue Saint-Honoré, said Buonarotti. Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 98. I was unable to discover the place where Buonarotti says this.

[Robespierre] rarely went out in the evening. Two or three times a year he took Madame Duplay and her daughters to the theater. It was always to the Théâtre-Français and to classical performances. He only liked tragic declamations which reminded him of the tribune, of tyranny, of the people, of great crimes, of great virtues; theatrical even in his dreams and in his relaxations. Histoire des Girondins (1847) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 4, page 132. Lamartine claimed to have interviewed Élisabeth Lebas Duplay (see below) and it therefore seems likely for this detail to come from her.

One day Camille familiarly enters the Duplay house; Robespierre was absent. He starts a conversation with the youngest of the carpenter's daughters; as he retires, Camille hands her a book he had under his arm. ”Elizabeth,” he said to her, ”do me the service of holding onto this work; I will come back for it.” No sooner had Desmoulins left than the young girl curiously half-opened the book entrusted to her custody: what was her confusion, seeing paintings of revolting obscenity pass under her fingers. She blushes: the book falls. All the rest of the day Elizabeth was silent and troubled; Maximilian noticed it; drawing her aside. "What's the matter with you," he asked her, "you look so worried to me?" The young girl lowered her head, and as an answer went to fetch the book with the odious engravings which had offended her sight. Maximilien opened the volume and turned pale. "Who gave you this?" he asked in a voice shaking with anger. The girl frankly told him what had happened. "It’s fine," Robespierre went on, "don't talk about what you've just told me to anyone: I'll make it my business. Don't be sad anymore. I'll let Camille know. It is not what enters involuntarily through the eyes that defiles chastity: it is the evil thoughts that one has in the heart.” He admonished his friend severely, and from that day on, visits from Camille Desmoulins became very rare.  Histoire des Montagnards (1847) by Alphonse Esquiros, volume 2, page 417-418. In his Histoire de la Révolution Française (1858) volume 10, page 345, Louis Blanc, who claimed to have had the story told to him by Esquiros, who in his turn had obtained it from Élisabeth, writes that the book Élisabeth was given was l’Arétin. Given the fact that Élisabeth in a list written in her old days still places Desmoulins among the revolutionaries who frequented the Duplay house ”often,” I imagiene this incident happened in 1793.

It was the day when Marat was borne in triumph to the Assembly (April 24 1793) that I saw my beloved Philippe Le Bas for the first time. I found myself, that day, at the National Convention with Charlotte Robespierre. Le Bas came to greet her; he stayed with us for a long time and asked who I was. Charlotte told him that I was one of her elder brother’s host’s daughters. He asked her a few questions about my family; he asked Charlotte if we came to the Assembly often, and said that on a particular day there would be a rather interesting session. He urged her to come to it. Charlotte asked my good mother for permission to take me there with her. At that time, my mother liked her a lot; she still had nothing to complain of. My mother was so good that she never refused her anything that could please her. She allowed me to accompany her many times. Therefore, I was with her at the Convention.  Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 102-104.

At last, Charlotte came to get me to be present at a [Convention] session which was to be quite noisy. Le Bas came up to me; for the first time, he addressed me to tell me quite good things. He told Charlotte that there would be a night session, that it should be quite interesting, that she should ask permission for me to come with her. Charlotte had no difficulty obtaining it. She was Robespierre’s sister, and my mother regarded her as her daughter. Poor mother! She believed Charlotte as pure and sincere as her brothers. Great God! This was not so!  We went therefore to that session. We had brought oranges and some sweets. Charlotte offered some to Le Bas and to her younger brother. These messieurs, after having stayed with us for some time, left us to go vote. I asked Charlotte if I could offer Le Bas an orange; she said yes. I was happy to be able to show him some attention. He accepted with pleasure. How good and respectful he seemed to me! As I said already, Mademoiselle Robespierre seemed pleased with me.  At another session of the Assembly, where we once again found ourselves together, she took a ring from me that I had on my finger. Le Bas saw and asked her to let him see it, which she did. He looked at the figure that was engraved on it, and he was obliged, at that moment, to go away to give his vote, without having the time to return the ring, which caused me great torment; for he could not return it to me, and I no longer had it on my finger. Our good mother was dear to all of us and we trembled to cause her pain. At that same session, Le Bas had lent us, Charlotte and I, a lorgnette. He returned, for a moment, to speak to Mlle Robespierre of what had just happened in the session; I wanted to return his lorgnette to him; he did not want to take it back and said that we were going to have need of it again. He begged me keep it. He went away again, and, at that moment I pleaded with Charlotte to ask him for my ring back; she promised me to do so, but we didn’t see Le Bas again. He had charged Robespierre the Younger with making his excuses and telling us that he had found himself indisposed and had been obliged to leave, quite to his regret. And myself too, I regretted no longer having my ring and not being able to return his lorgnette to him. I feared to displease my mother and be scolded; this was a great torment to me. My mother was good, but very severe. Charlotte said, to console me: “If your mother asks you for your ring, I will tell her how it happened.”��All this made me quite unhappy: it was the first time such a thing had happened to me. From that time, we did not have occasion to return to the Convention again. Charlotte told me to be calm about what tormented me so. She also told me that M. Le Bas was quite sick and could no longer return to the Assembly. I admit that this news made a great impression on me. I could not take account of it: I, so young and so gay, I became sad and pensive; everyone observed my sadness, even Robespierre, who asked me if I had some sorrow; I assured him that nothing was wrong, that my mother had not scolded me, that I could not take account of what I was feeling. He said kindly: “Little Élisabeth, think of me as your best friend, as a good brother; I’ll give you all the advice one needs at your age.” Later, he saw how much confidence I had in him. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas Duplay, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 102-207

For some time, my health had been less good; my parents observed this and resolved to send me to stay a month in the country, with Mme Panis (in Chaville). She had all a mother’s cares for me; she took me walking in very beautiful gardens. One day, among others, she took me to Sèvres, to a country house inhabited by Danton. I had never seen him; but great God! How ugly he was! We found him with a lot of people, walking in a very beautiful garden. He came to us and asked Mme Panis who I was; she replied that I was one of Robespierre’s host’s daughters. He told her I appeared to be suffering, that I needed a good [boy]friend, that this would return me to health. He had the sort of repulsive features that frighten one. He came up to me, wanted to take my waist and kiss me. I repulsed him forcefully, though I was still quite weak. I was very young; but his face scared me so much that I pleaded insistently with Mme Panis not to bring me back to that house; I told her that this man had said horrible things to me, such as I had never heard. He had no respect for women, and still less for young people. […] I did not even want to stay in the country anymore; but my brother came to see me, and we passed a few more days there; and we departed once more for Paris. God! How happy I was to see my parents again! I had such a need to recount everything to my mother! The horrid mien of that man followed me everywhere. My mother did not find my health much better; she asked me several questions, asked what I had done in Chaville and if I had had fun there, if I had gone on many walks and where we had been. Poor mother! I could hide nothing from her; she seemed very perturbed by what I told her and asked me if I would like to return to Sèvres again; but I said no with such emphasis that she no longer spoke to me on the subject. I was still quite sad; our good friend Robespierre tried every means of finding out what was wrong with me, told me that this sadness was not natural at my age, and so much the more since I had always been cheerful until then. What could I say to him? I could not resolve myself to explain the reasons for my sadness to him! Upon my return I went to see Charlotte; I feared to speak to her about Le Bas; I was afraid she would think it was only about the ring. She seemed happy to see me and also found me changed. I asked her then if it had been a long time since she had gone to the Convention; she said yes and I could learn no more from her. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas, cited in Ibid, page 108-110

It was after these two months of absence that I saw my beloved again (that would be July-August 1793). My mother, having gone one day to dine in the countryside with Robespierre, had left us, my sister Victoire and I, at the house, recommending that we should go reserve seats at the Jacobins for the evening session, at which it was thought that Robespierre would speak (the days when he was to be heard there was always so large a crowd that one was forced to reserve seats in advance). I went alone and arrived early so as not to miss out. What was my surprise and joy when I saw my beloved! […] ”Robespierre [said Lebas] came one day; he was the only man from whom I could have gotten news of you; but how unhappy I was! I did not know I how to ask him. Finally, it occurred to me to speak to him of his hosts; he praised the entire family most highly, spoke to me of the happiness he felt to be among people so pure, so devoted to liberty. I already knew this from several of my friends; but, my Élisabeth, he did not speak to me of you. My God! How I suffered for many days. This time was so long… Robespierre the younger came at last to see me. What joy for me! I was more familiar with him: we were of the same age. We spoke of his brother. Finally, I could no longer restrain myself; I spoke to him of your family, of your sisters; I spoke to him of you, my Élisabeth. He praised you, told me that he had the friendship of a brother for you, that you were cheerful and good and that it was you who he loved the most, that your good mother was excellent, that she had raised you well, as housewives, that your household was perfect and recalled the golden age, that everything there breathed virtue and a pure patriotism, that your good father was the most worthy and generous of men, that his whole life had passed in goodness. He told me that his brother was very happy to be among you, that you were a family to him, that he loved you like sisters and regarded your father and mother as his own parents. If you could have known, my Elisabeth, how happy I was to hear him speak thus of a family I already honored, and whose conduct toward Robespierre, toward the friend of liberty, had made me recognize and esteem! I wished for the return of my health in order to be able to meet you like in the past with Charlotte…” Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 110, 114-115.

[After Lebas had asked my mother for my hand] I passed a very agitated night; my mother, returning to the house, had spoken to my father of the conversation she had just had with M. Le Bas; I admit to my shame that, from a room next to theirs, I heard their conversation. My father seemed happy; but my mother still wanted to marry off my sisters before me. Finally, I heard my father call our good friend: he was so good that we loved him better than a brother. My father informed him of the subject of the conversation and told him: “My friend, it’s our Élisabeth, our scatterbrain, that M. Le Bas is asking us in marriage.”  “I congratulate you on it,” he replied, “so much the better. Élisabeth will be happy; my dear friend, don’t hesitate for a moment: Le Bas is the worthiest of men by all accounts; he is a good son, a good friend, a good citizen, a man of talent; he’s a distinguished lawyer.” That good Maximilien seemed happy to see me asked in marriage by his compatriot and pleaded in our favor with my parents; he added: “This union will, I believe, make for Élisabeth’s happiness; they are in love; they will be happy together.” He praised me and my good friend; my mother made a few more objections on my distractedness; but our friend assured her that I would be a good wife and a good housekeeper. It was almost one in the morning when he retired to his room, wishing my father and mother a good night. I then heard my father say: “There is no reason to hesitate after the way Robespierre has just praised his friend.” […] [The following day] the good Robespierre came to share our happiness [of Françoise and Maurice giving Lebas Élisabeth’s hand]; that good friend said to me: “Be happy, Babet, you deserve it; you are made for each other.” Then my father, Robespierre, Le Bas and my mother took chocolate together while I returned to my work; the conversation lasted until after eleven o’clock. I was still in the dining room when Le Bas crossed it to go out; he took my hand and said: “Goodbye, my beloved, I’m dining with you, your worthy family, and our friend Robespierre.” Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 117-118, 120.

M. Le Bas continued to come assiduously to my parents’ home. One evening, he appeared sad to me, he who, until then, had always showed himself to be so cheerful and so happy with me. He was worried and a bit cold. I wanted to know the cause of this change and asked him whether he was still ill; he replied that he was not but that something he had learned recently had much afflicted him; he hesitated to confide it to me; however I insisted and I then learned from him that a man of his acquaintance had abused me to him, and had strongly discouraged him from marrying me, seeking to make him believe that I had had lovers and that one of them ought to marry me, adding that my father had no fortune, that moreover I was uneducated, that finally, as a compatriot, he owed him the whole truth, and that, in his interest, he strongly advised him not to make a fool of himself by marrying me, and that if would be easy for him to do better than me, insisting that I had had affairs, and telling him that he would do well not to rely on me. I could see that these calumnies had made an impression on my friend’s thoughts. I was profoundly afflicted my this, and I told him: “As far as education goes, if mine has not been very broad, nature has gifted me with a pure heart, and good and tender parents, who have raised us wisely and given us an education capable of making us virtuous women.” As to the infamies that had been produced to him on my account, I told him that I was quite pained to see that my Philippe could have believed them, and I cried much in speaking to him. He then sought every means to console me, told me that he did not believe those calumnies, but that, despite himself, he had felt great sorrow in thinking that she whom he had chosen for a wife could be suspected of being capable of deceiving him. “You do me much wrong,” I told him; “I will tell everything to our good friend Robespierre. He will be very cross to learn that you could have believed the ill that had been said of me. He knows how good and yet how strict our parents are, and how they raised us.” He saw my distress and finally named Guffroy [as the calumniator]; he was a printer and bookseller. He left me that evening in assuring me that he wanted to believe only me, and promised me that he would come the next morning early, in order to pray my parents to marry as early as possible. […] My good mother, who was working with my sisters in a room next to the little chamber in which we had been talking, had heard a few words of our long conversation and seen that I had been crying. She had great confidence in Philippe after what Robespierre had said of him, and we were engaged. That good mother told me to go speak to her in her room before going to bed. I went therefore to find her and recounted everything Philippe had told me to her. She proposed that I should speak to our friend about it and told me: “You must hid nothing from him; he knows Philippe, and he will tell us if he knows the villain who spoke so odiously; we must get to the bottom of this; it is a question of your honor.” I could see that this afflicted my mother greatly and I feared too to cause Robespierre pain. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 121-123, 120. In his Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) page 116, Guffroy admitted that he had attempted to stop the marriage between Lebas and Élisabeth, writing: ”This young man (Lebas) for whom I had held esteem, and whom I had sometimes kept company during an illness, stopped seeing me when I saw him assiduously frequenting Hébert and David; and when I told him the truth about Duplay's daughter whom he married despite the truthful stories I told him.”

[The day after he had told me about the Guffroy incident], during dinner, Philippe spoke to Robespierre of everything that had happened. Our good brother scolded Philippe and told him that he was very wrong of him not to have spoken to him about it first, because it would have spared much chagrin to both us. “Poor little one,” he said to me, “be cheerful again, this is nothing. Philippe does indeed love you; he is happy to have his Élisabeth.” He took our hands and pressed them together; he seemed to give us his blessing. Poor friend! You had for our parents the tenderness of a good son and for us the tender friendship of a good brother; which we returned, for we loved you sincerely! After dinner, I heard my Philippe ask my parents to fix the date of our wedding, saying that he would be happiest with the earliest possible date. Robespierre supported his request and said: “He’s right; we must get this marriage over with.” My parents asked that it take place in two décades, in order to have time to prepare my trousseau and our lodging. My father, the owner at that time of several houses, had a vacant one at that moment in the Rue de l’Arcade; he gave us lodging there and everything was promptly settled for the agreed-upon date. But, great God! What chagrin came to strike us again! At the moment of being united, we were separated. My friend was obliged to go promptly to the army. The Committee of Public Safety had just named him [representative on mission] and enjoined him to depart the same day; he barely had time to pack his trunk and have something to eat; he came in haste to bid us adieu; the post-chaise was at our door. He departed with his cousin Duquesnoy, a pure man of integrity, a devoted patriot. Judge of the sorrow of my beloved and of mine! To see ourselves separated on the eve of being united! I could not prevent myself from saying to Robespierre that he was doing us much ill.  “My good Élisabeth,” he replied, “the homeland above all else when it is in danger; this departure is indispensable, my friend; you must have courage; he will return soon; his presence his necessary where he is being sent. You will be much happier, as patriotic as you are, to see him return after having rendered a great service to his country.” I was so distressed that I did not want to be a patriot any longer. I reproached him for having made my Philippe leave; he replied that having to fulfill such a mission spoke very highly of him, especially in a moment such as the one where we then found ourselves; that men like him were necessary in a moment like this. He sought, as well as my good parents, to console me, but it was useless; I was inconsolable. My health suffered greatly for it; this alarmed my family and our friend, who indeed promised me to seize upon a favorable moment to have him return. It would still be quite a long time, but we had to wait: I had confidence in our friend; I knew that he would do all in his power to have Le Bas return to Paris and have him replaced by one of his colleagues. Philippe wrote to me often and charged me to tell Robespierre that if he did not find a means of having him return, he would see himself as forced to absent himself for a few days to come to Paris, get married, and bring me back with him, for it was impossible for him to bear our separation any longer; that he could not live as he was and would fall ill. I insisted so energetically to Robespierre, I obsessed over it so often, that that good friend found a way to have my Philippe return; [this last] wrote me to pray our parents to have everything ready for the moment of his return. He arrived, and everything being ready, we were married at the [Hôtel de] Ville, by Lebert; it was 10 Fructidor (26 August 1793). What joy for us, and how happy I was! I believed that I would never again be separated from my husband; but alas! It had to be otherwise. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 126-128. 

The (Lebas) marriage certificate states that it was celebrated at the Commune on August 26 1793, in the presence of Jacques-Louis David, 43, deputy, residing at the Louvre; Jacques-René Hébert, Deputy Public Prosecutor of the Commune, rue Neuve de l'Égalité. Witnesses of the spouses: Maximilien Robespierre, deputy rue Saint-Honoré, section des Piques; J.-Pierre Vaugeois, 61 years old, carpenter, uncle of the wife. The document is signed: Le Bas, Élisabeth Duplay, Hébert, David, Vaugeois. Ibid (1901) page 164.

Duplay has rented to Robespierre the older and the younger for the term and from the first of October 1793, old style, the small apartment at the back where we are, fully furnished, as well as an unfurnished apartment in the main building on the Rüe, all for the sum of one thousand pounds per year and without a lease, all for the sum of thousand pounds per year and this without a lease. The lease decided between Augustin, Maximilien and Maurice, cited in Notes et Glanes (1908).

Robespierre was choked with bile. His yellow eyes and complexion announced it. So Duplay was careful to serve him for dessert (in all seasons of the year) a pyramid of oranges, which Robespierre ate with avidity. He was insatiable; no one dared touch this sacred fruit. No doubt its acidity divided Robespierre's bilious humor and facilitated circulation. It was easy to distinguish the place that Robespierre had occupied at the table, by the mounds of orange peels which covered his plate. One noticed that he became more relaxed as he ate it. Stanislas Fréron’s ”Notes on Robespierre,” published in Papiers inédits trouvés chez Robespierre, Saint-Just, Payan, etc., supprimés ou omis par Courtois; précédés du rapport de ce député à la Convention nationale (1828) volume 1, page 157. 

At that time, Daillet had acquired the trust of Robespierre the older, so much so that he was the only one who had the talent to tie his cravat the way he wished: because he was so difficult, that he had it untied and tied several times. In the absence of Daillet, the Duplay girls rendered him this service. It is a rather singular thing that Robespierre the elder was able to make people believe in his sobriety; he was not greedy, it is true, when it came to common dishes, such as boiled meat, of which he hardly ate: but he needed some refinement and delicacies. At Pétion’s house, the only time Robespierre took me there; I saw the latter eating a pot of fine jams, which were very expensive at the time. The Duplays went leagues away to get him the dishes he wanted; they stuffed him with fine oranges, and when he had to speak to the Jacobins, father Duplay knew to give him a few shots of old wine. So he hardly liked to dine in town, because he knew how people dined there. Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) by Armand-Joseph Guffroy, page 417. The claim in particular that the Duplays fed Robespierre oranges reappears here. It can be noted that Élisabeth too mentions she and Charlotte brought oranges to the Convention in her memoirs.

…This carpenter, a member of the Society of Jacobins, had met Robespierre at its meetings; with the whole of his household he had become an enthusiastic worshipper at the shrine of the popular orator, and had obtained for himself the honor of securing him both as boarder and lodger. In his leisure moments Robespierre was wont to comment on Emile of Jean Jacques Rousseau, and explain it to the children of the carpenter, just as a good village parish priest expounds the Gospel to his flock. Touched and grateful for this evangelistic solicitude, the children and apprentices of the worthy artisan would not suffer his guest, the object of their hero-worship, to go into the street without escorting him to the door of the National Convention, for the purpose of watching over his precious life, which his innate cowardice and the flattery of his courtiers were beginning to make him believe threatened in every possible way by the aristocracy, who were seeking to destroy the incorruptible tribune of the people. It was necessary, in order to reach the eminent guest deigning to inhabit this humble little hole of a place, to pass through a long alley flanked with planks stacked there, the owner's stock-in-trade. This alley led to a little yard from seven to eight feet square, likewise full of planks. A little wooden staircase led to a room on the first floor. Prior to ascending it we perceived in the yard the daughter of the carpenter Duplay, the owner of the house. This girl allowed no one to take her place in ministering to Robespierre's needs. As women of this class in those days freely espoused the political ideas then prevalent, and as in her case they were of a most pronounced nature, Danton had surnamed Cornelie Copeau "the Cornelia who is not the mother of the Gracchi." Cornelie seemed to be finishing spreading linen to dry in the yard; in her hand were a pair of striped cotton stockings, in fashion at the time, and which were certainly similar to those we daily saw encasing the legs of Robespierre on his visits to the Convention. Opposite her sat Mother Duplay between a pail and a saladbasket, busily engaged in picking salad herbs. Two men in military garb, standing close to her in a respectful attitude, seemed to be taking part in the duties of the household, obligingly picking herbs, in order to be free to chat more unrestrainedly under the shelter of this familiar occupation. These two men, since famous in their respective positions, were, the one General Danican, who since then, on the 13th Vendemiaire, became impressed with the idea that he was a Royalist, and who perhaps still retains the belief because he is one of England's pensioners; the other was General, later on Marshal, Brune. Freron and I told Cornelie Copeau that we had called to see Robespierre. She began by informing us that he was not in the house, then asked whether he was expecting our visit. Freron, who was familiar with the premises, advanced towards the staircase, while Mother Duplay shook her head in a negative fashion at her daughter. Both generals, smilingly enjoying what was passing through the two women's minds, told us plainly by their looks that he was at home, and to the women that he was not. Cornelie Copeau, on seeing that Freron, persisting in his purpose, had his foot on the third step, placed herself in front of him, exclaiming: ”Well, then, I will apprise him of your presence," and, tripping upstairs, she again called out, "It’s Fréron and his friend, whose name I do not know." Fréron thereupon said, "It’s Barras and Freron," as if announcing himself, entering the while Robespierre's room, the door of which had been opened by Cornelie Copeau, we following her closely. Memoirs of Barras: member of the Directorate (1899) page 167-169, regarding a meeting he and Fréron tried to have with Robespierre following their return from Marseilles in March 1794.

Those whom fate did not lead to the Duplay family presume that it was enough to be introduced to them to see Robespierre: they are wrong; I appeal to the testimony of all his former friends; not one could reach him: the entrance to his residence, similar to Tartarus, was constantly guarded by Cerberians who overshadowed everything... You, whom terror has compressed for so long, have you understood it well? No: to feel its full weight, compelling circumstances would often have had to drag you into its temple, where the sinister look of a Chalabre was sometimes equivalent to a death sentence; where once suspected your loss was sworn, which you accelerated even by no longer going there. À Maximilien Robespierre aux Enfers (1794) by Paul-Auguste Taschereau-Fargues, page 11.

Duplay was a poor carpenter, who had little idea that he was destined to play a sort of role in the revolution, and that his name would become almost historic. When the constituent assembly was transferred to Paris after the October days, Robespierre came to stay in the house of Duplay, located on rue Saint-Honoré, opposite the convent of Assomption, and wasted no time in becoming a zealous devotee. The father, the mother, the sons, the daughters, the cousins, etc, swore only by Robespierre, who deigned to raise the eldest of the two [sic] daughters to the honors of his bed, without however marrying her other than with the left hand. At the time of the organization of the revolutionary tribunal, Robespierre had father Duplay appointed as juror; the two sons had a distinguished rank among Maximilien I’s bodyguards, whose leader was Brigadier General Boulanger. Mother Duplay became superior of the devotees of Robespierre; and her daughters, as well as her nieces and several of her neighbors, obtained high ranks in this respectable body. Souvenirs thermidoriens (1844) by Georges Duval, volume 1, page 247.

I must not, moreover, pass over in silence the picture that you (Lamartine) give us of the private space where Robespierre lived with admirable simplicity of morals. Never has your imagination shown itself more poetic or more creative than in this painting of an interior life where all the virtues of the golden age reigned. The chaste loves of Robespierre for the eldest daughter of this house, the patriarchal habits of this family, the innocent pleasure she took in hearing Maximilien read to her the verses of the tender Racine, inspire the sweetest interest. But monsieur, is this really how one is allowed to write history, and contemporary history? The excellent father of the family of whom you speak in such touching terms, this brave craftsman, who should have remained a carpenter, was nothing less than a member of this revolutionary tribunal whose servile barbarity you yourself have so eloquently condemned. His wife, fanaticized by Robespierre, appeared every day in the stands of the Convention or the Jacobins, which were certainly not a school of gentle philosophy. Finally, no one is unaware that this unfortunate woman hanged herself in the prison where the revolution of 9 Thermidor had brought her. Would she have met such a cruel end had she had the housekeeping virtues, the pure and modest qualities that your gallant imagination likes to attribute to her? You say, I do not know thanks to what information, that she was put to death by furious women; but you provide no proof to support this assertion, contrary to all the reports published in 1794. It is fair, moreover, to say that the young family of the carpenter was in good faith in their enthusiasm for Robespierre; and that once it had recovered from its illusions, it did not take long for it to be esteemed by good people through the gentleness of its morals and character. I like to recognize this truth! Le Robespierre de M. de Lamartine : lettre d’un septuagénaire à l’auteur de l’Histoire des Girondins, (1848) by Fabien Pillet, page 7-8.

A young and pretty person aged 17 to 18, accompanied by her aunt, arrives one morning, by carriage, at Robespierre's door, to ask for her father's liberation. These two women speak to Mother Duplay, who they ask if Robespierre is avaliable. “No,” this she-cat replies abruptly. This initial reception intimidated the young person so much that, without daring to open her mouth, she sadly returned to her carriage. As she was about to climb into it, she said to herself that the way in which she had been received was perhaps the result of a lack of formality towards this woman whom, due to her dirty and disgusting attire, she took for the servant of the house. She therefore returns, the 25 livres assignat in hand, to try to make the female dragon yield. Femme Duplay eagerly runs to meet her, and, grabbing her by the arm, says to her: “Now that you are alone, you can go up. Citizen Robespierre really likes young people your age.” This innocent girl got so disturbed that she immediately went back to her aunt, whom she told, completely frightened, about her adventure. I have from the mouths of irrefutable witnesses the following anecdote: One of the pleasures of this tyrant was to provoke with harsh words the sensitivity of young people who came to ask for some grace, and at the moment when they shed tears in abundance, he would take out his handkerchief and hasten, with a sort of interest, to wipe away the tears of his victims. Racine put this verse into Nero's mouth, about Junie: I loved even the tears which I made her flow. Notes et souvenirs de Courtois de l’Aube, député à la Convention nationale, cited in La Révolution française: revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine (1887), volume 12, page 929-930.

Simon Duplay, nephew of Duplay the carpenter, with whom Robespierre lived, served as Robespierre's secretary. He had collected many facts about this famous character and he was the only one capable of giving true memoirs on Robespierre. He died two or three years ago without having published anything. Moreover, Simon Duplay could only have done it from memory, because all his papers were seized as well as those of his patron. He was thrown into prison with the entire Duplay family. It is remarkable in the imprisonment of this family that one of the young ladies Duplay (Sophie), married to a husband strongly opposed to the Revolution, was found after much research and imprisoned for having borne the name Duplay. Simon Duplay was an ardent young man, full of spirit, who had enlisted voluntarily at the start of the Revolution, and he had been wounded and amputated: at the time of 9 Thermidor he was using a wooden leg. He wrote under Robespierre's dictation, and if necessary served as his secretary. There is no need to say that he was poorly paid. In those days, zeal did everything. Notes historiques sur la Convention nationale, le Directoire, l’Empire et l’exil des votants, (1893) by Marc-Antoine Baudot, page 40. Note written 12 July 1829.

One evening, at table, Robespierre vaguely inquired about what [Maurice] had done at the revolutionary tribunal, where he had sat during the day: “Maximilien,” Duplay replied, “I never ask you (vous) what you do at the Committee of Public Safety.” Robespierre understood the discretion of his old friend, and, without saying a word, he shook his hand affectionately. Histoire de Robespierre (1867) by Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 289. In a footnote, Hamel claims to have had this anecdote told to him by Philippe Lebas jr.

Did your uncle lodge the Robespierre brothers? Yes, but Robespierre the younger left it after his return from the army of Italy, to instead go and live on rue Florentin. Interrogation of Simon Duplay, held January 1 1795, cited in Les divisions dans les comités de gouvernement à la veille du 9 thermidor d’après quelques documents inédits (1915) by Albert Mathiez. It is unknown if Simon is referring to Augustin’s first return from the army of Italy (December 1793) or his second one (June 1794) here. In her memoirs, Charlotte writes Augustin went to live with a colleague by the name of Record during the first leave in Paris, while a letterfrom her to him dated July 6 1794 indicates he planned to settle in the apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin the three siblings briefly moved into after his second return.

”When my younger brother passed through Melun,” said Mlle Robespierre, ”all three of us were living together; I still hoped to be able to bring back the older, to snatch him from the wretches who obsess over him and lead him to the scaffold. They felt that my brother would eventually escape them if I regained his confidence, they destroyed me entirely in his mind; today he hates the sister who served as his mother… For several months he has been living alone, and although lodged in the same house, I no longer have the power to approach him… I loved him tenderly, I still do… His excesses are the consequence of the domination under which he groans, I am sure of it, but knowing no way to break the yoke he has allowed himself to be placed under, and no longer able to bear the pain and the shame of to see my brother devote his name to general execration, I ardently desire his death as well as mine. Judge of my unhappiness!… But let’s return to what interests you. The addresses to the king on the events of 1792 are already far from us; it seems to me that the signatures of these addresses are persecuted less than those who protested against the day of May 31. Try to see Maximilien, you will be content; he was very glad that our younger brother saw you at Melun. On this occasion he spoke with interest of the exercises of your pupils and of the attention you had in entrusting him with presiding over them. I won’t introduce you to him, I would not succeed; I even advise you not to speak to him about me. You will be told he is out, don't believe it, insist on your visit.”

The Robespierre family was housed on rue Saint-Honoré, near the Assomption chapel, the sister and younger brother at the front, the older brother at the back of the courtyard. Gaillard went to Maximilien’s apartment; a young man, looking at him with the most insolent air, said to him, barely having opened the door: “The representative isn’t home…”

“He may not be there for those who come to talk to him about business, but that is not my doing; I will talk to him about his family that I know a lot, you have seen me come out of his sister's apartment who is involved in state affairs no more than I am... Bring my name to the representative, he will receive me, I’m sure of it.”

The fellow did not dare refuse to carry a paper on which Gaillard had taken care to indicate himself in such a way as to be recognized, he immediately came back and gave the visitor his paper saying: “The representative does not know you,” and the door was violently slammed shut!…

The insolence of this brazen man whom Gaillard knew to be the secretary of Robespierre, son of Duplay, to whom the sister attributed the excesses of his brother, the sorrow he felt at losing the hope of saving the judges of Melun and to ensure his personal rest, all these thoughts made him very angry; he calls the young man a liar, insolent, he accuses him of deceiving Robespierre and of increasing the number of his enemies every day, all this in the loudest voice with the intention of being heard by Maximilien and lure him to one of the windows where, surely, he would have recognized him. New disappointment, no one appears and Gaillard goes back to tell Mlle Robespierre about his misadventure.

“I prepared you for it, she told him. ”No one can approach my brother unless he is a friend of those Duplays, with whom we are lodging; these wretches have neither intelligence nor education, explain to me their ascendancy over Maximilien. However, I do not despair of breaking the spell that holds him under their yoke; for that I am awaiting the return of my other brother, who has the right to see Maximilien. If the discovery I just made doesn't rid us of this race of vipers forever, my family is forever lost. You know what a miserable state we found ourselves in, reduced to alms, my brothers and I, if the sister of our father hadn’t taken us in. It’s strange that you didn’t often notice how much her husband’s brusqueness and formality made us pay dearly for the bread he gave us; but you must also have noticed that if indigence saddened us, it never degraded us and you always judged us incapable of containing money through a dubious action. Maximilien, who makes me so unhappy, has never given a hold, as you know, in terms of delicacy. Imagiene his fury when he learns that these miserable Duplays are using his name and his credit to get themselves the rarest goods at a low price from the merchants. So while all of Paris is forced to line up at the baker's shop every morning to get a few ounces of black, disgusting bread, the Duplays eat very good bread because the Incorruptible sits at their table: the same pretext provides them with sugar, oil, soap of the best quality, which the inhabitant of Paris would seek in vain in the best shops... How my brother's pride would be humiliated if he knew the abuse that these wretches make of his name! What would become of his popularity, even among his most ardent supporters? Certainly my brother is very proud, it is in him a capital fault; you must remember, you and I have often lamented the ridicule he made for himself by his vanity, the great number of enemies he made for himself by his disdainful and contemptuous tone, but he is not bloodthirsty. Certainly he believes he can overthrow his adversaries and his enemies by the superiority of his talent.” La Révolution, la Terreur, le Directoire 1791-1799: d’après les mémoires de Gaillard (1908) page 263-266. This anecdote implies Charlotte had moved back in with the Duplays somewhere before May 1794, when it is described as taking place.

On Floréal 18 (May 7 1794), I wrote to Robespierre, having been unable to meet him both at the Committee of Public Safety and at his house. This man, to whom many people ran, was never able to get hold of me, nor lure me into his home. The Duplays, his hosts, had extended invitations to me; but my wife told them: Robespierre is younger than my husband; let him come to us if he wants to see him. To be useful, at that time, I wanted to see him; but I could not obtain it. I only met him once, on my way from the Convention to the Committee of Public Safety: it was then that he told me that Sains-Just [sic] and Lebas were going to leave. Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) by Armand-Joseph Guffroy, page 72-73. Does this imply the Duplays were willing to invite Guffroy to their place even after he had slandered Élisabeth?

Robespierre believed in the Supreme Being and in the immortality of the soul. How many times he scolded me when I did not seem to believe with the same fervor as he! He said to me: “You are greatly mistaken! You will be unhappy not to believe; you are still quite young, Élisabeth! Consider that it is the only consolation on earth!” Note written by Élisabeth Duplay, cited on page 150 of Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

In the morning, the daughters of the carpenter with whom Robespierre lived dressed in white and gathered flowers in their hands to attend the feast [of the Supreme Being]. Éléonore herself composed the bouquet for the president of the Convention. The sun had risen without a cloud, everything in nature was laughing, and the four young sisters were touched in advance by the solemn character of the ceremony which was being prepared: the spring of the year was getting married for them in the spring of the age and innocence. They had heard Maximilien speak more than once about the existence of God. He had read to them, in the winter evenings, beautiful pages from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, his master, on the Author of nature and on the immortality of the soul. The time having come to go to the Tuileries garden, the head of the house, Duplay, delighted to see his daughters so pious and so charming, placed a kiss on the forehead of each of them to bring them good luck. They left with joy in their souls. The craftsman's family only returned to their father's house at nightfall. How the faces had changed! It was no longer this joy of the morning, this enthusiasm of young girls who, fresh and naive, advanced, like the virgins of Judea, to meet the Lord; Murmurs and sinister warnings had been heard in the crowd. A cloud was on all fronts. Robespierre seemed sad and resigned: “I know well,” he said, looking at his hosts, “the fate reserved for me; you won't see me for much longer; I will not have the consolation of witnessing the reign of my ideas; I leave you my memory to defend; the death that I will soon suffer is not an evil: death is the beginning of immortality.” He was silent. A gloomy presentiment froze hearts. They separated for the night. Histoire des Montagnards (1847) by Alphonse Esquiros, volume 2, page 447-449. In a footnote inserted on page 28 of Thermidor, d’après les sources originalets er les documents authentiques (1891), Ernest Hamel writes that Esquiros obtained this description from Élisabeth herself.

This letter will be delivered to you under the address of my wife, because I do not have the greatest confidence in your secretary and in many other people that surround you. It is still friendship that makes me speak like this. Letter from Antoine Buissart to Maximilien, June 28 1794. Could it be Charlotte, who reached Arras on May 17 and left it around the time this letter was written, who inspired this mistrust of the Duplays in Buissart?

…Éléonore, Victoire, Sophie, Élisabeth, raised in the peaceful interior of the home, in the oasis of the family, sincerely imagined that the same happiness extended to the whole city; they blessed in their hearts the God of the revolution who had given such rest to the French nation. Only one circumstance worried them, it was that for some time the porte-cochère of the house had been strictly closed night and day on orders from the carpenter. Éléonore timidly asked Maximilien the reason for it in front of her other sisters. He blushed “Your father is right,” he said; ”Everyday right now something passes along this street that you must not see.” In fact, around two o'clock in the afternoon, a tumbril was rolling heavily on the pavement of Rue Saint-Honoré; the sound of horses and the cries of people could be heard even in the courtyard. It was the thing that passed by. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). The incident is portayed as happening during the time of the ”great terror” of June-July 1794. When republishing the anecdote in his Histoire des Montagnards (1847), Esquiros instead has Robespierre say this on January 21 1793, the day of the king’s execution.

The day before he had planned to deliver [the speech of 8 thermidor] before the National Convention, [Robespierre] went out with his secretary, Simon Duplay, the soldier from Valmy, the one they called Duplay with the wooden leg, and took him to the Chaillot promenade at the top of the Champ-Elysées. He appeared cheerful and playful, even going after the very abundant cockchafers this year. Nevertheless, at times, a cloud seemed to veil his countenance, and he felt himself gripped by some sort of wave. Thermidor: d'après les sources originales et les documents authentiques avec un portrait de Robespierre gravé sur acier (1897) by Ernest Hamel, page 241-242. In a footnote, Hamel claims this information was provided to him by ”Doctor Duplay, son of Duplay.”

It was the first days of Thermidor: Maximilien continued his evening walks at the Champ-Élysées with his adoptive family. The sun, at the end of the sky, buried its globe behind the clumps of trees, or swam softly here and there in a dark gold fluid. The sounds of the city died away in the agitated branches; everything was rest, silence and meditation: no more tribunes, no more people; nothing but the peaceful and solemn teaching of nature. Maximilien walked with the carpenter's eldest daughter at his arm: Brount followed them. What were they saying to each other? Only the breeze heard and forgot everything. Éléonore had a melancholy brow and downcast eyes: her hand carelessly stroked the head of Brount who seemed very proud of such beautiful caresses; Maximilien showed his fiancée how red the sunset was. Here ends the story of intimate life; here Mme L(ebas) movedly wiped her eyes. This walk was the last. The next day, Maximilien disappeared in a storm. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). When republishing the anecdote in Histoire des Montagnards (1847), volume 2, page 460, Esquiros adds the following part right after reprinting the anecdote word by word: “It will be good weather tomorrow,” said [Éléonore]. Maximilien lowered his head as if struck by an image and a terrible presentiment.

Toulognon, volume 11. p. 502—, writes that Robespierre upon returning to the house where he lodged spoke quietly about the morning debates (8 Thermidor); and said: “I no longer expect anything from the Mountain; they want to get rid of me like a tyrant; but the mass of the assembly will hear me.”These expressions, which Toulongeon clearly indicates to have been repeated by some member of the Duplay family, are in conformity with what Robespierre declared on the morning of the 9th before going to the Convention. As Duplay spoke to him with great concern about the dangers that awaited him, as he insisted on the need to take precautions, Robespierre replied: “The mass of the Convention is pure; do not worry; I have nothing to fear.” We obtained details from Buonarotti, who collected them while in prison, from the mouth of Duplay. Histoire parlementaire de la Révolution française: ou Journal des Assemblées Nationales…(1837) by Philippe-Joseph-Benjamin Buchez, Roux-Lavergne, volume 34, page 3-4.

Legendre: At the time of 9 Thermidor, I was secretary as well as Dumont: I said to him: “There’s going to be some noise. Do you see in this rostrum the whole Duplay family? Do you see Gerard? Do you see Dechamps?” At the same moment Saint-Just began his speech; Tallien interrupted him and tore the veil. Louis Legendre at the Convention March 26 1795

One of those who had witnessed the outcome of this catastrophe (the execution on 10 thermidor) told me that he recognized in the crowd Duplay's eldest daughter, who had wanted to see for one last time the man whom her whole family had looked upon as a god. Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337.

…A moment later the whole Duplay family was brought in[to prison]. One of the prisoners cried out: ”I announce to you the ganimede of Robespierre, and his prime minister.” It was then learned, from several questions asked to them, all the circumstances surrounding the fall of the tyrant. The next morning, as soon as the women saw these two individuals [Maurice and Jacques-Maurice] among the prisoners; they cried out: ”You are with your slaughtermen, you should knock these beggars out!” One contented oneself with molesting them a little, because one needed them to learn all the details of the insurrection. On 11 Thermidor, around nine o'clock, the rumor spread that femme Duplay had hanged herself in the night; a citizen announced this news by saying: ”Citizens, I announce to you that the dowager queen has just fared a somewhat unfortunate excess.” ”What? What happened? cried the two Duplays, who did not understand what it was he meant.  ”Citizens, he added, it is a great day of mourning for France; we no longer have a princess.” What amused us the most in all of this was that the same evening, Duplay’s son gave ten francs to a jailer to go and gather information about his mother’s situation, whom he believed to be free; and that the same man came to tell her that she enjoyed perfect health! He remained in this belief for a very long time; which earned the unscrupulous teller at least fifty ecus for supposed commissions. Almanach des prisons, ou Anecdotes sur le régime intérieur de la Conciergerie, du Luxembourg, ect., et sur différens prisonniers qui ont habité ces maisons, sous la tyrannie de Robespierre, avec les chansons, lettres et couplets qui y ont été faits (1794) by Philippe-Edme Coittant, page 165-167. Maurice, Françoise and Jacques-Maurice were all ordered arrested on 10 thermidor. Françoise death could be both a murder and a suicide, though the fact that the arrest orderstates all three were to be kept isolated, while the report made after her death underlines that there’s no sign of any fight, would point towards the latter.

13 thermidor, year two of the Republic, one and indivisible

There was brought before us citoyenne Carraut, found on rue du Four, section du Contrat Social n. 482, at the house of citoyenne Béguin.

She was asked her name, age and residence.

Marie-Marguerite-Charlotte Robespierre, 28 years old, living on her income, residing with citoyenne Laporte, rue de la Réunion n. 200, and this since about a month back.

She was invited to tell us why she didn’t live with the Duplays on rue Honoré where the conspirator Robespierre lived and what motivated her to leave this residence.

To which she answered that she used to live there, but that her brothers and femme Duplay had told her to leave her apartment, and that femme Duplay reproached her for seeing counter-revolutionaries, among which was Guffroy, representative of the people; that her older brother resented her because she had the courage of letting him know the danger he ran by being sourrunded so badly, and that the Duplays had taken up the case to lose him, and that this was what motivated her to go live with citoyenne Laporte.

[…]

She was invited to declare if she had been aware of the infamous conspiracy that her older brother had been hatching and if she knew which were the men who frequently visited him.

She responded that she loved her country so much that she had the courage to lament this diabolical conspiracy, that every time she had met him she had found the occasion to tell him that the men around him were trying to deceive him, that if she had suspected the infamous plot that was being hatched, she would have denounced it rather than seeing her country lost.

She read her interrogation and said it contained the truth and signed while observing that she sometimes saw at the Duplays a man named Didier, who for a period of time served as secretary to her older brother, that through that position, he had been appointed juror to the Revolutionary Tribunal. 

Robespierre.  Interrogation of Charlotte Robespierre, held on July 31 1794. Can Charlotte’s denounciation of the Duplays here have played a role in the decision to arrest Élisabeth, Simon (order given July 31) Victoire, Sophie (order given August 1) and Éléonore (order given August 4)? The Guffroy Charlotte namedrops is the same man who tried to stop the marriage between Élisabeth and Lebas. Charlotte’s connections to him are furthered comfirmed by the work Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices (1794) and an undated decree, both in Guffroy’s hand, as well as a letter to him from Antoine Buissart, dated May 7 1794. Charlotte’s claim here to have been forced to move out from the Duplay house line up rather well with Gaillard’s story, where’s she’s portrayed to have moved back in by May 1794.

The same 13 thermidor there then appeared before us citoyenne Béguin, wife of citizen Béguin, employed as secretary at the Commission of Representatives of the People at the Army of Italy, rue du Four-Honoré, n. 482.

[…]

She was asked if she had visited the infamous Robespierre the older, which were the people who frequented him and if she had known about his infamous conspiracy.

To which she answered that she had never visited Robespierre the older, that the infamous Duplays didn’t leave his side… Interrogation of citoyenne Béguin, at whose house Charlotte was arrested, held July 31 1794

Citizens, When giving orders for the arrest of the Duplays, where Robespierre was lodging, you forgot their nephew, the wooden leg, who, after their arrest, went to the Jacobins, where he denounced the commissioner of the Revolutionary Committee charged by your Committee to carry out said arrest. This individual took the liberty of saying that he should not recognize orders given against patriots so well known and worthy of Robespierre. Commissioner Labarre was consequently kept in custody in the hall of the Jacobins and a motion was made to send him to the Commune. His Jacobin card was taken away from him and he was searched, at the request of said nephew Duplay, to see if he was carrying orders to arrest the mentioned patriots. Not having seen nephew Duplay yesterday, and having heard that he was outlawed, I thought myself excused from making this denunciation, but I learned that he was seen this morning entering the house of Duplay. I think I have to denounce him. We can question Citizen Labarre about these facts. Letter from an anonymous police agent to the Committee of Public Safety, July 29 1794, cited in the article L'arrestation de Simon Duplay (1919) by Albert Mathiez.

Citizen representatives, I was arrested on 12 Thermidor by order of the Committee of General Security and the order read: Robespierre’s secretary. I don't know who could have given me a title that I never had, and you yourselves are aware, representative citizens, that Robespierre did not have a secretary, that he did not even give away his speeches to copy. I lost a thigh in the service of the homeland. The pain caused by this injury is too serious for me to remain in this state for a long time, and unfortunately at this moment, for lack of air, I am attacked by a very considerable fever, which, combined with my injury, puts me in a very sad state. If this reason can speed up the examination of my case, I ask you, representative citizens, to take it into consideration. I had the misfortune to be taken in, on my return from the army, by my uncle with whom Robespierre was staying. He deceived me like so many others, those are all my crimes. I beg you, representative citizens, to have regard for my unfortunate position, to give me the justice I deserve and the freedom for which I lost a limb.  Salut and fraternity, Simon Duplay, disabled soldier, detained at Magdelonnettes. Letter from Simon Duplay to the Committee of Public Safety, August 19 1794. Cited in Ibid.

To citizens representatives members of the Committee of General Security, We have been arrested for a year, because our father lodged Robespierre, we have not exercised any public function, no denunciation has been raised against us. Prevention alone was therefore able to prolong our detention. We hope that the solemn judgment which returned our father to society will have dissipated him, and we expect from the justice of the Committee the end of our misfortunes and our long detention. We observe that we cannot produce exculpatory documents, since no accusation weighs against us and we cannot destroy what does not exist. As for proof of good citizenship, one of us [Simon] gave unequivocal proof in the plains of Champagne. The pension certificate that the Republic granted him to compensate him for the loss of a leg is proof of this. The other two could only make wishes for public liberty, since one had barely reached his sixteenth year and the other is a woman. Salut et fraternité. Undated petition from the imprisoned Simon, Jacques Maurice and Éléonore Duplay. Cited in Ibid.

…I managed to get introduced to Madame Lebas, this naive and passionate witness of the intimate life of Robespierre, this living and ardent protest against the slander (because even the crime gets slandered) of the historians of the Revolution. I found in Madame Lebas a woman from the Bible after the dispersion of the tribes in Babylon, withdrawn from the commerce of the living in the upper floor of a modest apartment, conversing about her memories, surrounded by portraits of her family decimated on the 18th Fructidor [sic], of her sisters, of whom Robespierre had wanted to marry the most beautiful, of Robespierre himself in all these elegant costumes in which he took pride in presenting the contrast on his person with the vest, the red cap, the clogs, sordid signs, ignoble flatteries of the Jacobins to the equality and misery of the populace. Histoire de Robespierre : d’après des papiers de famille, les sources originales et des documents entièrement inédits, (1865) by Ernest Hamel, volume 1, page 365.

…It was through an academic that I was truly introduced to the republican world. M. Philippe Le Bas, my history teacher at the École Normale, welcomed me into his home, brought me into a few families who remained faithful to the memories of 1793. 

He was the son of the deputy Le Bas, friend and disciple of Robespierre. He was proud of his father's fame. It is even said that before becoming a member of the Institute, he presented himself in salons under this title: “M. Philippe Le Bas, son of the deputy”. I had wanted to see survivors of the Revolution up close: my success exceeded my expectations, since I immediately found myself in the world of Robespierre. I was like a young beginner who wanted to taste a generous wine, and who had been poured abundantly with alcohol. I had had enough firmness to more or less put up with the Girondins, but I was on the verge of losing my mind when I found myself among Robespierre's friends. 

The widow of the deputy Le Bas, who gave birth to the man who was to be my teacher, was one of the daughters of the carpenter Duplay. This Duplay family had become Robespierre’s family. He lived with them, and when he died, he was engaged to Mademoiselle Éléonore, the sister of Madame Le Bas. The fiancée mourned Robespierre up until her death. This whole family was closely united, and the memory of the deceased contributed not a little to this union. The Committee of Public Safety, universally condemned and cursed, still had a few friends in this corner of the world; and for these survivors, for these persisters, the Le Bas family was the object of particular respect.

Moreover, the carpenter Duplay had given his daughters an excellent education. This carpenter was a carpentry contractor; for some time he had served as judge at the Revolutionary Tribunal. His grandson, the one who was my teacher at l’École normale, was the gentlest and most benevolent man in the world. When he no longer had to explain himself about his father and his father's terrible friends, he spoke and acted like a cultured man, a friend of peace, and preoccupied, above all, with his scholarly research. He had been tutor to a prince. It is true that this prince was Prince Louis-Napoleon, the same one who, against all expectations, became Emperor of the French. The advent of his student to the supreme rank changed nothing either in the ideas, conduct, language or life of Philippe Le Bas. He remained until the end as I had known him in 1834, M. Philippe Le Bas, son of the deputy. 

It was known among those familiar with M. Le Bas that I knew no one in Paris; and that was a reason for them to invite me to dinner or super on Sunday. I was invited once with solemn and mysterious forms which gave me reason to think that I was going to attend some important event. I arrived at the appointed time. There were a few guests, all avowed republicans and editors of party newspapers. Nearly an hour passed; the person who had initiated the meeting was kept waiting. I think everyone except me was in on the secret; but I was too shy to ask a question. Finally a great movement occurred, the whole family went into the antechamber to make the reception more solemn, and we lined up around the door. 

There was no advertising in this modest house. I saw an elderly woman enter, walking with difficulty and giving her arm to the lady of the house. She had come alone. They saluted her very profoundly; she responded to this greeting like a queen who wants to be amiable to her subjects. She was a very thin woman, very upright in her small frame, dressed in the antique style with very puritanical cleanliness. She wore the costume of the Directory, but without lace or ornaments. I immediately had, as it were, an intuition that I was seeing Robespierre’s sister. She sat down at the table, where she naturally took the place of honor. I kept looking at her throughout the meal. She seemed serious, sad to me, without austerity however, a little haughty although polite, particularly kind to M. Le Bas, who showered her with consideration or, to put it better, with respect. When the conversation started revolving around general things, she took little part in it; but listened to everything with politeness and attention. If she happened to say a word, everyone would immediately shut up. I thought to myself that one couldn’t have treated a sovereign better. 

Robespierre's name was not even mentioned. Essentially, it was him that everyone thought of, and it was him that they talked about without naming him. That was the habit in these devoted families. I wasn’t planning on compromising myself by pronouncing this name which was revered there, and execrated everywhere else. It was not pronounced, because it was implied in every word spoken. 

There are two Robespierres: the fierce Robespierre and the reasoning and sentimental Robespierre. The cult of his fanatics was equally aimed at the dictator and the humanitarian orator. The ghosts with which I was seated did not belong to 1834. They were from, and wanted to be from, 1793. The great killings were for them only necessary acts of government. The Thermidorians had barely overthrown the Committee of Public Safety when they began copying it. On 18 Fructidor, La Réveillère-Lépeaux, the toughest of men, deported Directors, representatives and journalists to Sinnamari. For a quarter of a century, proscription was the custom. I believe that the killings of 1793 were excused by those around me, that perhaps they were even glorified. But one thought above all about the disciple of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, of the speeches against the death penalty and on the Supreme Being, of the author of so many touching homilies on fraternity and virtue. I am sure that Charlotte saw him again in her dreams, preceding the Convention at the altar, on the day of the religious festival, in a light blue habit and white tie, carrying a wreath of flowers in his hand. 

Mlle Robespierre was seventy-four years old when I saw her. I knew that she had passionately loved her two brothers and that, when Maximilien had moved in with the Duplays, she had been irritated and jealous. She made a crime out of the friendship these new friends had for him. She went so far as to claim that Éléonore had used cunning to get herself married. She lived far from them after the catastrophe. The First Consul gave her a pension of 3,600 livres, which was later reduced by more than half, but which she received almost without interruption until her death. She lived on this meager resource in absolute isolation. She published Memoirs which focused on known events, and did not pique curiosity. I suppose she agreed to allow this publication in a moment of distress. No doubt, as death approached, she had wanted to forget her old grudge. She had remembered with tenderness a venerable woman who had almost been her brother's sister. She had wanted to get closer for a moment to this already famous man, whose father had been Maximilien's most faithful friend. She finally felt that those who had met in those dismal days should be reunited in memory as they had been in life.

I thought I was dreaming and that was in fact the case. The two women who were there, whatever their name, had lived in the intimacy of Robespierre, listened to his words as if they were those of a pontiff, admired his life like that of a hero and a sage. Questions crowded in the tumult in my mind, and I wondered with terror if I would dare to question my master or if I would allow myself to be oppressed once again by my accursed timidity. He led me to the door and said triumphantly, “What did you think of her?” I fled and as I ran through the streets of Paris I told myself that I was out of place in that world. Everything in this temple was respectable, except the God.  Premières années, (1901) by Jules Simon, p. 181-187.

Madame Lebas must have been pretty in her youth. She had dark eyes, distinguished manners and a very reliable memory. It is from her that two or three historians of the French Revolution learned interesting details about the Duplay family and the private life of Robespierre. Her memories hardly went beyond the circle of intimate relationships; but as from 93 the house of Duplay became the center towards which all political life around Robespierre converged, she had spent her youth at the very heart of the Revolution. She had loved her husband, as she herself said, with a patriotic love; but through a reserve and a delicacy of heart that women will understand, it was the one she talked about the least. From Saint-Just, from Couthon, from Robespierre the younger, she cited beautiful and good deeds that had touched her. Her great admiration was for Maximilien. The interior of the Duplay family was a Jean-Jacques Rousseau-style house, an ark of domestic virtues risked on a flood of blood. When she spoke of the 9th of Thermidor, her brow darkened, her eyes filled with tears. Unfortunately her son was present for all our conversations and watched closely, doubtless fearing indiscretions which could hurt his self-esteem as the son of a member of the Convention and as a member of the Institute. I will never forget the dismayed expression on his face one day when this respectable widow confided to me the state of distress and misery to which she had been reduced after the death of her husband. She became a laundress and went to wash on the boats of the Seine. This time it was too strong, and the academician turned pale. Telling such things is permitted, but to write them down (and he knew well that I would do so later), according to him, was to deviate from the classical dignity of history. Histoire des Montagnards (1875) by Alphonse Esquiros, page 2-3. Section titled ”my witnesses.”

…Naturally, Madame Le Bas talks to me about Thiers, the Revolution, Robespierre; and, as she sees me as a little lukewarm towards her hero, she does not miss this opportunity to say that he was “well slandered by his enemies!” I quote word for word…I still hear her: ”And I certainly would have loved him!… He was so good and affectionate towards young people!” Victorien Sardou recounts a meeting he had with the elderly Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in the preface of Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve(1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

[Edgar Degas] told me that, when he was a child, his mother one day took him to rue de Tournon to visit Madame Lebas, widow of the famous Convention deputy who, on 9 thermidor, killed himself with a pistol. When the visit was over, they withdrew with small steps, accompanied to the door by the old lady, when Madame Degas suddenly stopped, deeply overwhelmed. Letting go of her son's hand, she pointed at the portraits of Robespierre, of Couthon, of Saint-Just, that she had just noticed were hanging on the walls of the antechambre, and she couldn’t keep herself from crying out with horror: ”What! You still keep the faces of these monsters here!”  ”Be quiet, Célestine!” Madame Lebas cried out ardently, ”be quiet… They were saints!”  Discours de l’Histoire prononcé à la distribution solennelle des prix du Lycée Jeanson-de-Sailly held by Paul Valéry on July 13 1932, cited in Robespierre ou les contradictions du jacobinisme (1978) by Albert Soboul.

I was able to converse, between 1838 and 1839, with a famous parrot who had been the friend of Robespierre. He belonged to Mme the widow Lebas, the wife of the famous Convention deputy who chose to die with Robespierre, and the mother of M. Lebas, Hellenist scholar, who died a few years ago. Mme widow Lebas, a very respectable woman, whom I had the honour of seeing often in her little house in Fontenay-aux-Roses, where she would make the sign of the cross when she pronounced the name Robespierre, adding these words: Saint Maximilien. As for her parrot, when one said "Robespierre", it replied Hats off! Hats off! It sang the Marseillaise with perfect diction and Ça ira like a Jacobin. It was — and perhaps, thanks to its diet of grain, still is — a sans-culotte parrot, the like of which can no longer be found. Mme Lebas recounted with great emotion how she had managed to save this precious psittacus  after Thermidor.  It had been seriously compromised.  After the arrest of Robespierre and Lebas, in the course of a long domiciliary inspection,  every time the name of Robespierre was pronouned the parrot would repeat its refrain, Hats off! Hats off! The government agents had grown impatient and were about to wring its neck, when Mme Lebas, as quick as lightning,  grabbed the bird, opened the window and set it free. The poor parrot flew from window to window, until it found a charitable person to open up for it; a few days later Madame Lebas was able to regain possession of this last friend left to her by Robespierre, the only one perhaps, besides his elderly mistress, who has remained faithful to his memory.   L’Union médicale: journal des intérêts scientifiques et pratiques, moraux et professionnels du corps médical (1861) volume 12, page 258-259. A somewhat dubious anecdote given the fact Élisabeth hardly would have been able to go and fetch the parrot ”a few days” after the arrest of Robespierre, having already been arrested herself.

[My husband] knew how to die for the patrie; he could only have died with the martyrs of liberty! He left me a mother and a widow at twenty-one and a half years. I bless heaven for having taken him from me that day; he is the dearer to me for it. […] Yes, I preferred to go take in wash on a boat rather than ask assistance of our poor friends’ assassins. I feared neither death nor persecution. I was not the one who repudiated my name; it pains me to say it, but Mlle Robespierre was the one who took her mother’s name, Charlotte Carreau [sic]. If you had been informed of my residence, I would have been eager to tell you the truth. The good that you say of our martyrs is not too charged: they were the true friends of liberty; they lived only for the people, for their fatherland; but some monsters, in one day, destroyed everything; in one day they assassinated liberty. Yes, monsieur, a republican like you would have been happy to know those men, so virtuous on all accounts; they all died poor.  Note written by Élisabeth a few years before her death in 1859, regarding ”a work treating the revolution” (l’Histoire des Girondins?). Cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve, page 145-147.

[tiredsadpeach]

May not feel great rn but tomorrow I get to see my best friend and we’re exchanging gifts and then afterward I’m going with my sister to pick up a cat

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[xoxoavenger]

Can I request wolverine x reader where both of them were madly in love with each other, but reader was unfortunately by one of the sentanails (mutant killing robots), absolutely wreaking him. Then, he went back in time and when he gets to the mansion, and meets past reader (let’s say she also have longevity like Logan) who doesn’t know him at this point and taken of guard. When he’s trying to convince Charles that he’s from the future and needs his help and Charles is being stubborn and gets a little heated, reader is trying to calm things down and try to get everyone on the same page

so sorry this took literally forever. it was partly bc of how busy I was and partly bc I was afraid to write it, having such a popular dofp fic already (literally my fic with the most notes 😅)

Missing

pairing: Logan x Fem!Reader

word count: 2719

warnings: major character death (in the request but just in case), cannon typical violence and talk of violence

masterlist

Logan should have known this was coming.

His luck is shit. It always has been. For a hundred years now, he's felt like everything he touches goes to shit.

And then met Y/N.

She she wasn't shit. She was kind, smooth where he was rough, fitting him in all the right places. He was scared for awhile, afraid that it was too good to be true - her mutant ability being the projection of light. This power, the power of light, caused her to age slower. Charles had tried to explain it, multiple times in fact, but Logan was so lost every time that he just gave up eventually on trying to understand. All he knew was she aged slowly, just like he did, which means they could be together without him having the ever-present fear of watching her grow old.

He just never expected her to die.

He had known this was always a risk. She knew it too. And he also knew that they could have lived together, pretending like they weren't mutants, hoping from town to town, but she would never allow that. Him? He would have ran to that in a heartbeat, because he was selfish enough to want her to himself. To want to live, for the first time in two hundred years. He tried to fool himself, but how could he ever forget that he would always survive, while she simply didn't age as fast.

And that's how he should have known that everything was about to go downhill.

It happened in slow motion. But even then, it was 'unpreventable', as Charles would say. Logan knew the truth, though. It should have been him. He should have been the one to be hit with the laser. He should have been the one to have the hole inside him.

"No!" He screamed, running to her and sheathing his claws. He slides to catch her before she falls, but she's already dead in his arms. Her eyes are wide open, mouth paused in shock. Her body is limp, neck snapped back. And there's the four inch hole in her stomach, which he can see right through.

But he can't help but scream for her, calling her name. He shakes her, as if she's just asleep. As if he can fix this.

"Y/N," He cries softly, not moving as he's being pulled back. Suddenly he realizes his whole team is around him, trying to move him away from of his love. From his dead love. They're all screaming at him, and he knows that he's putting everyone in danger. But he can't let go of her. He can't bring himself to move. He closes his eyes, and then he lets out a guttural scream.

The next thing he remembers is being in a shelter, back against a wall and knees pulled against his chest. He blinks, realizing that he has no idea what happened after Y/N -

He doesn't want to think about that.

Everyone is under the shelter, talking and bandaging each other up. Logan wishes he couldn't heal, wishes he still had the marks on his body. But instead, he's left with just blood and and an empty chest.

"I can't send someone back that far. It would kill them." Kitty says, and hey, dying sounds exactly like what Logan wants right now.

"Send me." He speaks up, causing everyone to stop talking and turn to him.

"Your healing factor would help. As long as Kitty can keep you in the past that long." Charles says, and Logan remembers that his healing factor will keep him from dying. He thinks maybe he just hasn't tried hard enough to die. He's never wanted to more than he does right now.

"I can try." Kitty says with a nod. They all seem to know that if they don't do this, there is no future. They do this, or the Sentinels kill them all. They're at the end of the line. So they explain the plan, how Logan needs to get Charles and Erik on speaking terms again and stop the government from getting Mystic's blood. They think this will do the trick, that they may not be able to stop the downfall but they can stop the Sentinels. Logan realizes, then, that if he does this and it actually works, Y/N doesn't die. It reinvigorates him, starting his heart again.

They get into position, Logan laying on the makeshift table with conflicting emotions. He's mourning his lover, but he has some hope at least. He feels Kitty's hands by his head and before he knows it he's screaming, but it's not too long before he's in a bed, the bright sun beating down on him. He's with a girl - not Y/N, he didn't meet her until he met Charles, unfortunately - and he feels a little gross for it.

He gets into a fight immediately, and when his claws come out he realizes he doesn't have the metal that usually protects him. Shit. This stupid mission just keeps getting better and better. He gets shot, always a fun time, then starts the fight, just wanting to get it over with. He forgot how sensitive his stupid regular claws are, and he's tired of it by the time he makes it through the three guys. Now he needs to go to the mansion, which he has no idea what to find there.

~

He knocks on the door, sunglasses still on. It looks different, and not just because of the time, so he waits outside for a couple seconds for someone to answer the door. He can't even hear any kids running around, which is weird. He's so focused on this, he barely realizes someone answering the door.

"Hello, sir. We're closed, unfortunately, but I can give you directions to the nearest gas pump." She says with a smile. She's got a yellow shirt and jeans on, and Logan is pretty sure he doesn't know how to speak.

"Y/N?" He gets out, eyes clouding with tears. She looks taken aback, which shakes him up a little. He forgot that she wouldn't know who he was, of course.

"How do you know my name?" She asks, trying not to sound too skeptical. Her skin is glowing slightly, and Logan pulls his sunglasses off. It's all he can do not to cry,

"You're not gonna believe me." He chuckles, instantly feeling more at ease. How could he have forgotten that she would be here? He's never been more grateful for anything ever.

"Try me." She says, crossing her arms. He smirks and makes his way past her and into the mansion. "Hey! I didn't say you could come in!" She yells, and he looks around and his home, glad to see it standing.

"Where's the professor?" He asks, knowing it'd be easier to speak to Charles, who could read his mind.

"There is no professor. You must have the wrong place." Hank says as he walks down the stairs. Y/N turns and has a panicked look on her face, and Logan knows he needs to smooth this over.

"Listen, if you just let me talk to him, he'll know who I am. You won't believe me if I just tell you." He repeats, and Hank looks at Y/N before looking back at Logan, his face set.

"Like I said, there is no professor here. I think you should leave." Hank walks to be in front of Y/N, who looks conflicted.

"Who are you?" She asks, and Logan's heart skips a beat as he realizes that she's sticking up for him. She always said it was love at first sight, and maybe this is proof.

"I'm Logan." He says, and then he thinks about if he's actually going to tell them the next part. "And I'm from the future."

"Are you, now?" Charles is at the top of the stairs, and Logan startles when he sees that his friend doesn't have a wheelchair.

"Your legs," Logan starts, not sure what to say. He's caught off guard by a lot right now.

"Perceptive." Charlies says with a smirk as he walks down the stairs. Logan turns to Y/N, whose brows are furrowed.

"How did you know my name?" Y/N is still stuck on it, but it's almost like she's looking through him. She knows something is up.

"I'm from the future." He says, and the rest of the mutants in the room just stare at him. He looks at Charles, who is smirking. "You can read my mind. You know I'm telling the truth." At this, Charles' smile drops and his eyes squint.

"You have the wrong guy." His voice is low, and Logan shakes his head.

"No," Logan says, and Y/N tilts her head. It sounds crazy, someone from the future, but why would he lie? "I know who you are, Charles Xavier. So, read my mind, tell everyone I'm telling the truth, and can get on with what I came here to do." The room is silent as Logan and Charles stare at each other.

"I'm not that man anymore." Charles insists. Y/N knows he's not going to help, but she needs to know what this guy's deal is.

"What exactly is it you came here to do?" She asks, drawing his attention. He stares at her for a moment, making her a little concerned, but he looks lost and hurt, so she feels bad for him.

"In the future," Logan starts to get choked up, not able to look at any of them. He clears his throat, then continues. "The government was able to get Raven's blood. Because of you and Erik's feud. And they make these killers, called Sententials. Mutant killers." He can't look at them. Something happened, something bad. Clearly, if they're mutant killers, but this seems to be cutting Logan deep.

"How far in the future?" She asks, and it unsettles Logan. It's almost as if she knows, as if she's asking how long she has. He tries to remind himself that if he succeeds, she'll be okay. But will they still bet together if he changes the future? He has to hope. It's better for her to be alive, even if they aren't together. Everyone will be saved.

"Far." He answers, because he doesn't know how to tell her it's 50 years, doesn't want them to worry if they can't figure this out.

"How is this Erik and I's fault?" Charles asks, starting to get worked up. "If anything, it's solely his. I had nothing to do with this." He starts to leave, and Logan doesn't know what to do.

"You and Erik sent me from the future." Logan answers, causing everyone to pause. "You sent me because you need to work together."

"You're lying." Charles accuses.

"Well if you had your powers, you would know I'm not." Logan is starting to get worked up. This is harder than he thought it would be.

"I think you need to leave." Hank says, stepping forward. Y/N surprises them all by stepping forward as well.

"I think he's telling the truth." Y/N says, her gaze finally moving from Logan to Hank. "I think we should listen to him."

"Raven will die." Logan says, looking at Charles. "She's going to be experimented on and die. You can prevent this." Logan tries, hoping this will work. Charles glares at him, clearly not convinced.

"What about you?" Charles asks, lifting his chin. "What do you lose?"

"Did you miss the whole part about the mutant-killing machines?" Logan scoffs. Unbelievable, this young version of Charles. He'll take the old guy any day.

"No, no, no." Charles walks toward him, vacant look in his eyes somewhat clearing. "I may not be able to read minds anymore, but I know that you're in it for more than that."

"That's my business." Logan resists looking at Y/N, instead staring Charles down.

"And this is mine." Charles huffs. "I asked for your help years ago, and you told me to fuck off. I don't know what happens in the future, if you're telling the truth or not, but I do know that Erik will not be the one to stop it." He turns, and Logan knows he's losing him. He sighs, looking away from the small group.

"I lost Y/N." He says quietly. Somehow, the room goes even more silent as everyone stares at him.

"What?" She asks, barely able to breathe. He looks at her, face full of emotions she doesn't know how to decipher. She just met this man, but clearly he has known her for years.

"I found the school in 2000. You and Charles ran it, and I only stayed because of you. In my timeline, in 2023," He chokes up as the images of her flash through his mind. He wants to erase it, but it's there every time he closes his eyes. "The Sententials kill you. And they're going to kill all of us in the future, if you don't get your head out of your ass and make up with your boyfriend." Logan snaps the last part at Charles, who starts to get angry.

"Listen here-"

"Charles," Y/N starts, hand on his arm to stop him from walking even closer to Logan. She's glowing softly, emitting a calm, soothing light that even Logan can't help but admit makes his pulse slow. "Logan is giving us a chance to change the future. To save Raven."

"You're just saying that because you die." Charles lashes out, and that's how Logan knows he's not okay. He would never do that to her.

"We're all going to die!" Y/N yells. "Are you listening to him? You're probably dying in his timeline as we speak." She looks over to Logan, who is staring like she is the only person in the room.

"This is Erik's fault." Charles says, as if that made a difference.

"And it's going to be your fault if you don't listen to him." She softly speaks, and finally Charles sighs. Logan is grateful for Y/N; who knows how he would have convinced Charles without her.

"What do we have to do?"

~ When Logan wakes up, he's disoriented. The last thing he remembers he was being in the river, a rebar stuck through him and his brain shutting down from lack of oxygen. He can hear people outside his room, but what gets him to actually leave is the laugh that rings out through the hallway.

He sees her as soon as he opens his door, her smiling brighter than the sun. His heart pounds as he wonders if they're together - they didn't exactly get together in 1973, but she had helped him and believed in him when literally no one else had.

"Hey, baby," Y/N says when she catches his eyes, and he can't help the sound that escapes him. Her eyebrows raise as she realizes something is different. "What's going on?" She asks, leaving the group of people - mutants, kids, that had died, but are now here.

"Am I dead?" He asks, head reeling. She tilted her head with a small smile.

"What?" She asks, grabbing onto his arms gently. He doesn't have the same self control, however, and pulls her in. She sighs, and seems to understand. "You just got back."

"I thought I lost you." He admits, pulling back. "I at least thought we weren't going to be together." It's a hard thing for him to say out loud, but she just pulls him in for a kiss.

"James," She whispers as they pull apart, and he feels like no one has called him that in so long. She is the only one who is allowed to, the only one who won't get their throat ripped out for even thinking of uttering his real name. "There is nothing you could do to keep me away." She kisses him softly again, and he tries not to let the tears fall.

"I love you." He tells her, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you too." She responds, giving one last peck before pulling back. "Now, I'm sure a lot has changed, so how about I catch you up on the last fifty years as we take a walk." She grabs his hand, and Logan swears he's never been happier.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[verstappen-cult]

ouuu, imagine getting a new pet with the f1 grid! like, whether it be just recently moving in together and wanting a new addition or whether it be just a small present, your choice ofc! 💖

GETTING A NEW PET WITH THE BOYS | F1 GRID

★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)

one day you came home only to find lando laying on the floor with a tiny cat sitting on his chest, talking so soft as if he was speaking to a child, hands caressing behind his little ears. “hey, i got you a present!” he was lot more excited than you, and you were the one that actually wanted to adopt a cat. you named her with a little bit of help from lando, and soon became a crucial part in both your lives. every time lando is away, which is most of the time, he’s always asking for pics of his two girls. you’re pretty sure he loves the cat more than he loves you. and vice–versa.

★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)

it was always a plan. even when you had been dating for just a couple of weeks, you two always wanted to have a dog together. and that’s why the moment you move in together, you go to one of the shelters in the city to adopt one. it’s hard. there are so many dogs waiting for someone to take them home that it is impossible for you to not cry. eventually you take home a little one that kept following charles everywhere he went, and the moment the dog starts running and sniffing everything, making you both laugh, you know he’s the perfect addition to your life.

★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)

oscar knows you grew up with a lot of dogs and cats, and that you miss them every day. he also knows you are pretty happy living with him and traveling when you can, but living away from family is hard. it’s no secret that you are the most important person in his life and he will always want you to be happy; that is why one day you wake up with a slight pressure on your chest and two big brown eyes looking at you. you’re very sure everyone in the building heard your scream when you realized it was a rabbit. oscar had the biggest smile on his face, and felt like a very proud boyfriend, as he saw you play with him.

★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)

you and max weren’t looking to adopt a new cat, you really were more than happy and done with jimmy and sassy. but then one day you’re walking back to your hotel after lunch and next thing you know, you are inside a pet shop. you were just thinking about getting the cats new toys and maybe a cat tree when you saw her sitting at the counter, looking so soft and tiny. when max went to pay, the owner told you she was a stray cat and the rest was history. there was a lot of paperwork to be able to get her out of the city and back to your home, but it was all worth it.

★ — ALEX ALBON (23)

you’re always looking to adopt new pets. or members of the family as alex likes to call them. you know who you’re dating, so it’s all part of the relationship. not that it bothers you; you’re really happy with the zoo you have at home. the newest addition is a little more big than the rest of the pets, and it doesn’t surprise you, nothing does with alex anymore. and you always wanted a horse growing up, it’s a win for everyone. every time alex has free time you’re traveling to visit alex’s parents where the horse lives and it’s hard when you have to say goodbye but you know alex is already looking to adopt a new cat, or a dog, or another horse, and that makes it a little easier.

★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)

daniel just comes home holding a guinea pig one day and you don’t even question him. he said he found it near the park where he went to run and couldn’t leave it there. just like that you got a new pet. neither of you had a guinea pig before so you don’t really know how to take care of him. or her? so the next morning you take the little one to the vet and then to a pet shop where you buy everything you’re going to need. and some other things that aren’t necessary but daniel saw and fell in love. if you had to drag him out of there before he brought a fish, well, that’s no one’s business.

★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)

you were cuddling on the couch, mick with the most awful cold ever known to men when you got a call from her mom, and before she even got to say hi your boyfriend was already asking for the family dog. it was so cute seeing him say how much he missed him and how he wished he could be there to cuddle and feel better (rude!); that was the exact moment you knew what to do. it was a little hard trying to find a shelter, and then complete the form and interview they asked for, but in just a couple of days you were standing in front of a blanket-covered and almost crying mick cuddling with his new dog.

© VERSTAPPEN-CULT ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[hugsandchaos]

Danny in an Encanto crossover gives the impression of someone trying to befriend a stray feral cat and bring them inside to give the love and shelter, but the stray feral cat doesn’t trust them and keeps hissing every time they get too close.

Although, I’d love to see everyone being completely accepting of Danny. They don’t look at him with suspicion or hatred when they see him slip up, they’re amazed! He has powers just like the Madrigals? That’s super cool! And he has more than one? Not just phasing through solid objects, but also invisibility and sensing ghosts nearby? Even better!

I bet that Bruno would relate to him in a way. They were both looked down on for their powers, but in different ways. Bruno because he mostly predicted bad things with no control over it, and Danny because a lot of people, including his parents, really didn’t like “Phantom” because the sole reason that he was a ghost. Alma knew that it was Bruno who had the powers, Danny’s parents didn’t know he was the ghost they keep shooting at.

Also, Danny 100% defends Bruno from any villagers who blame him for having bad visions. Bruno’s lacked social interaction with other humans for ten whole years, but Danny’s up for fighting for him. His favorite line to use was “If I’m a child and I have to explain this to you, what does that say about you as an adult?”. He didn’t get in trouble for it.

Danny talks about space and teaches them about it! He’s more than happy to explain it all and answer their questions the best he can!

Danny eats Julieta’s food and is honestly freaked out because his ribs are suddenly not broken anymore. Take it a step further and say that he’s sleep deprived, and one of the side effects of having food that heals you is that it can make you really tired if you haven’t slept well for a while, so you can’t help but take a quick nap. So he just falls unconscious after a few bites and wakes up in the early morning not knowing what year it is.

It doesn’t get rid of his death mark, though, which confuses everyone. Speaking of his death mark, Danny doesn’t like to talk about it, but eventually explains that it’s a scar from being zapped. He doesn’t go into detail or talk about what exactly the incident did to him, though. He just mentions that he got zapped and has a scar from it.

Eventually, the Madrigals will come to the realization that he doesn’t just have ghost-like powers. He’s actually a ghost. Half ghost, at least.

Also, Danny swears he sees Pedro around the house, not just in the paintings, and the most often place is by Alma’s side. He’s even had conversations with him. To everyone else, it looks like he’s talking to thin air, but he seems so fixated on something that’s actually there and listens to nothing so much that they think he’s actually being serious. Once, during a conversation with Alma and she was telling him about Pedro, he looked at her very confused and said “What are you talking about? He’s standing right next to you”.

At first, she was upset, but he said it with way too much confusion and conviction that she starts to realize he’s serious. Every time someone says that he isn’t, Danny gestures to nothing and goes “Are you blind?! He’s right there!”. In his eyes, Pedro really is there, looking awkward because this kid sees him and is arguing with his family about it.

Honestly, Danny doing something by himself and then suddenly turning around and making immediate direct eye contact with Pedro would be really funny. Pedro is honestly freaked out because something seemed off with the kid from the beginning, and he just made eye contact with a ghost?

Oh, and you best believe that after being treated so nicely by everyone, Danny will start throwing hands the second another ghost tries to cause them trouble.

Make it even better by combining it with Good Vlad. The two just show up one day trying to find a place to live. Their dynamic confuses more than a few people because people usually treat their god father or technical uncle with love and respect. Danny’s constantly getting on his nerves for the fun of it, doing things including but not limited to taking his coffee. He also calls him a “fruit loop”, which apparently means someone insane. Vlad calls him “Little Badger”, and yes, he’s actually been bitten by Danny once because Vlad startled him when he grabbed him to pull him out of danger and Danny’s first instinct was to bite him.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for tricking my grandma into misgendering her cat?

Background: my (19F) grandma (67F) is a southern baptist and pretty conservative. My cousin (Matt, 24M) is trans, he came out to his parents and mine about two years ago because he knew we would be supportive, but he waited until he was on T a couple months and was mostly transitioned socially before he officially came out to our less supportive relatives, like my grandma.

Since Matt came out to everyone else (which he did by showing up at family Christmas with a “hello my name is” sticker on, which I thought was hilarious) my grandma has refused to use his correct pronouns, name, or anything, saying “it’s hard to switch” as an excuse. Matt has cut off contact and everyone else in the family just kind of avoids talking about him around her.

I am in a weird situation because my family lives the next street over from where she does, and we have always been pretty close. Since she started being so shitty about Matt, though, I’ve put more distance and just stay polite when she’s over.

Okay so now to the AITA part. About two months ago my grandma wanted to adopt a cat, and my best friend volunteers at an animal shelter so we were helping her. We showed her pictures of some of the cats and she saw an older male who was all black with longer fur and said she wanted to adopt “her.” I started to correct her saying it was a male cat, and then realized the opportunity I had so I kept my mouth shut. I made a point to handle all the adoption stuff for my grandma so she never saw anything indicating the cat’s male-ness, and then brought home her new “female” cat, pink collar and all.

Last week “Miss Kitty” (such a creative name) got a paw injury and at the vet they told my grandma the cat was male. My grandma told me and my parents about it when she was over for the Fourth of July (we had family and friends over for barbecue, including Matt’s parents). I made a point from there on to continue using “she” for the cat and still calling “Miss Kitty” instead of “Mister Kitty.” It took her a minute to notice but finally she called me out and said “he’s a boy, stop saying she.”

I immediately snapped back with “oh so it’s easy for you to switch the name and pronouns of your cat but not your own grandson?” Everyone got quiet and she got all flustered, trying to say it’s different, but I just said “oh okay, so you put more effort into using the right words for a cat who doesn’t even know English, got it.”

My mom told me to stop and leave it alone. I said “I’m just saying, it’s pretty clear who she cares about more.” And then my mom told me to leave the table if I was going to act like that. I just got up and took my plate in the kitchen and finished eating.

After everyone left my mom lit into me and told me that what I said was cruel. I said I was just teaching her a lesson and that maybe now she would think about it different. My mom said that I just made things worse and humiliated her on purpose in front of everyone. My dad had been quiet but then just started laughing. He realized that I had been playing the long game, and it wasn’t a mix up at the shelter- I led my grandma to believe the cat was female. He basically said “that was wrong but also hilarious” and now my mom is mad at both me and my dad. When Matt’s parents told him he thought it was super funny and said he isn’t mad at all.

My mom wants me to apologize, but I am not sorry about what I said. I don’t know if I should feel bad about tricking my grandma, because I didn’t technically outright lie, I just didn’t correct her when she assumed the cat was female. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 6

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia (sometimes internalized and sometimes not), canon typical violence* Fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues. Flirting and talk of sex. We are starting to pine! Summary: Spending more time around Javi is as awkward as it is anything else, but spending some time with the girls has you approaching the situation a little differently after weeks of uncertainty. Notes: Introducing Elisa! Inner conflict, forced proximity, and a little soul searching are the name of the game.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

Days tick by until it becomes weeks, and every apartment you look at is deemed either unsafe or unfit or otherwise unacceptable. The rent is too high or it doesn’t come furnished, or they don’t allow dogs. Señora Perrín had told you Chi-Chi couldn’t come to her son’s house because she generally hated men, and had said you should either keep her or bring her to a shelter.

It broke your heart that she could just give the precious guard dog up so easily and you’d been next to tears cuddling Chi-Chi on the living room floor when Javier came home from a stakeout. There was no discussion about it. Javier had just given the dog a half smile and said it was a damn good thing she liked him, because she was already settled.

On this particular morning you’re up before Javier which is incredible in and of itself. Sitting at the table with the local paper circling newspaper ads for apartments you haven’t already seen feels futile, but you have to keep trying.

Javi rolls his shoulders as he shuffles into the kitchen. He had been needing to start the coffee pot, but you’re already there, the pot full except for the cup at your elbow. “Morning.” He grunts, walking by the table and snatching up your already lit cigarette for a quick drag. You smoke the same ones he does and he’s never been shy about sharing a cigarette. “Fuck.” He groans, feeling the nicotine flooding his system. “Ran out last night.” He explains. You’re looking in the paper again and he almost asks why when it’s obvious you are settled here, but he doesn’t. You might want your own space and he doesn’t feel like it’s his place to press. You might share marks and have managed to be somewhat friendly to each other, but it hasn’t gone beyond that.

“Morning.” The ritual is usually the opposite, but he seems to adjust alright today. And today, like every other, you drag your eyes away from the sliver of tanned skin that shows at his waistline when he reaches up for a mug or to scratch the back of his neck like he does when he’s tired. “You wanna take the rest of my pack to work? I can pick more up from that corner store that stocks American while I’m apartment hunting.”

“I’ll stop on the way.” He shakes his head, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking that first blessed sip, “Fuuuuuuuck.” He groans again in appreciation. “I don’t know how, but your coffee is always so good.”

“I refuse to give up my secret.” The pinch of cinnamon you add to the coffee grounds whenever you make a pot has turned out to be his unexpected favorite. It warms you deep in your chest with something you can’t name, but you always smile at the compliment. “There’s leftovers in the fridge if you want breakfast.” He rarely sticks around long enough in the mornings to eat anything freshly cooked, but at least he’s eating something.

“I don’t have time.” He admits. “Fucking overslept as it is.” He’s been pulling a lot of late nights, but he’s still been insisting on going in on time. Pablo getting fucking elected to office has lit a fire under his ass to prove the bastard is dirty.

It would be domestic — mothering, even — to suggest he take something with him so you swallow it off of the tip of your tongue. “Take my cigarettes, then,” you insist, putting the pack in his hand. Instead you offer something far less invasive. “Don’t waste the time stopping. I got my column in yesterday so I’m free as a bird to get more today.”

“Thanks.” He shoots you a grateful smile and nods as he takes another sip of the coffee before he checks his watch. “Shit.” He gulps down another mouthful and dumps the cup in the sink. “I’ll take care of that when I get home.” He’s noticed you’ve cleaned up when he’s too busy and he doesn’t want you to think you need to do that. “I’ve gotta go.”

“See you later.” Maybe tonight. Maybe not. Sometimes he runs into the apartment for something and then goes out again and you don’t see him until the next day. He doesn’t ever stop working, night and day.

He grabs his keys. “See you.” He manages before the phone in his pocket starts ringing. “Shit. Peña. Yeah, yeah I’m on my way.” He grunts as he closes the door and jogs down the hall towards the front of the building.

"Well girl..." Your eyes slide to the dog as she watches Javier leave, whining mournfully in her well-claimed spot on the living room rug. "Looks like it's just you and me again today. You wanna stretch out on my lap while I call landlords?"

******

The morning goes surprisingly well and there’s even time to meet Connie and one of her work friends for lunch at Steve’s insistence. “We could be working.” Javi grumbles as he lights up the last cigarette from the pack you had given him.

“It wouldn’t kill you to socialize once in a while,” Steve reminds him, nudging him toward whatever little place Connie and her friend had deemed appropriate for lunch.

“I socialize.” Javi snorts, even though he’s not once been to see the girls since you’ve unexpectedly moved in. It’s been limited to his hand in the shower every fucking night.

“When?” Steve grins, infinitely amused. “When you’re grumbling at paperwork in the office? When you’re sleeping? Are you even going to that brothel anymore? You don’t even leave the office at lunch like you used to.” He used to go to see the working girls on lunch break or after work. He knows it — they pretty much all unofficially know it. But not lately. He just doesn’t know what’s changed.

“Why are you so goddamn interested in where I stick my dick?” Javi cuts his eyes over at his partner before he yanks the door open and walks into the little restaurant. It’s annoying that Steve has clocked his habits and even more annoying that he’s noticed the change. He hasn’t told Steve about you. Neither you being his soulmate or living with him temporarily.

“Because you’re fuckin cranky when you don’t get any,” Steve mutters at his back, letting Peña bust past him into the place while he trails behind and snickers.

He rolls his eyes and pulls a chair out at a table. “You’re entirely too fucking cheerful.” He grumbles, wishing he had just told Steve he was working through lunch. He’s exhausted and honestly needs a day off.

“Just needed a little sunshine in my day,” the other man announces, beaming when he sees his own soulmate and wife walk through the door.

“Sunshine.” He huffs, crushing out a cigarette but immediately perking up when a very attractive brunette comes in behind Connie. Obviously an extra and Javi decides that a little flirting is exactly what he needs.

"Hey!" Connie Murphy comes breezing in with a smile on her face and a kiss for her husband. "Sorry I'm late, honey."

"Hey." Steve accepts the gesture of affection readily, taking both of her cheeks in his hands and pressing his lips to hers with a happy hum.

"Javier." When Connie stands up again at the table, she gestures to the brunette who came in in back of her. "This is my friend Elisa." To her friend, she explains: "Javier works with Steve."

Javi gets out of his chair and shakes her hand, enjoying how soft and warm it is. She's got a nice set of tits, and he's not feeling guilty about looking after he had that conversation with you. "Nice to meet you." He greets her and pulls out her chair for her as they both sit down.

"Are you another...janitor at the embassy? Like Steve?" Elisa asks, smirking slightly because that seems to be such a lame excuse.

"No, actually I'm CIA." Javi lies with a straight face. He glances at Steve. "But that's classified, so don't tell anybody."

The Murphys exchange expressions of raised eyebrows with each other and then with Javi, as if to tell him to cool it with the sarcasm. Somebody can and will overhear him and take him seriously.

Javi continues on. “I’m here to hunt communists and prevent the Marxist invasion from Cuba.” He’s lit another cigarette and holds it in his hand. “The janitor thing, that was you?” He asks Steve, who hums unhappily as Javi continues to talk. “No, that’s just a cover.” He tells her, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Elisa laughs, slightly unsure but willing to bet he's nearly telling the truth and that he's doing it in spite of the Murphys. She likes Connie, but the American woman is a little too earnest for her own good. "Thank you for being so honest," she says to Javier instead, and picks up on the overt honesty played like a lie tempo at the table. "Just so you know," she adds playfully. "I'm a communist guerrilla."

Javi laughs, along with Connie, and Steve gives a halfhearted smile. “Perfect.” Javi tells her with a wink.

"Yeah," Steve huffs, looking between the other two at the table before bringing his eyes back to his wife and nearly shrugging. It's obvious Elisa and Javi are on some kind of wavelength that he and Connie are not. "Perfect." He says the word but huffs it doubtfully.

Javi smirks at his partner, picking up on his mood but he doesn’t pay it any attention. “Tell me, how did you just start working at the clinic?” Javier asks Elise, as he looks over the menu. Catching sight of a meal that he thinks you would like since you like those falafel things and hating that he’s thinking about you right now.

"Everyone needs a job, don't they?" Elisa poses, acting like the answer doesn't quite matter when it truly doesn't. Not really anyway. Her work as a nurse is not the work she will be known for.

“That’s right.” Javi blows a ring of smoke up into the air and grins a Connie. He likes Murphy’s wife and it’s obvious that she’s the one that is the more outgoing of the two of them.

“So,” Connie poses, trying to brighten the mood at the table. “Lunch?”

“That sounds good.” Javi glances at the menu again and smirks at his partner. “Need some help?” He asks, knowing Steve’s reading comprehension of Spanish is worse than his speaking abilities.

“Shut up, Peña.” Steve mutters, grateful when Connie leans in to help him instead. His grasp of Spanish is growing, but at a snail’s pace.

Javi snickers quietly, feeling a little better after giving him some shit back after having to listen to Steve bring up soulmates every chance he gets. Thank god he hadn’t told him who his soulmate is, or that you are staying with him right now.

Connie ends up ordering for Steve despite his semi-valiant attempts at pronouncing the menu items, and the amusement at the table lifts the mood considerably. It’s not often any of them get to laugh anymore, and even a moment of it seems to relax everyone considerably.

“It’s good that you can meet us for lunch.” Javi tells them as they finish their sodas and wait for refills.

"I've got to see my soulmate sometimes," Connie teases lightly, leaning into Steve's side. "Dinners aren't a sure thing, so lunch seemed like the best time."

“And that means I get to eat.” Steve huffs, cutting his eyes back at Javi. His partner has a habit of living off coffee and cigarettes.

"Do you not eat?" Elisa asks Javier, curious that he seems to be getting the ire of his friends.

“Too busy working.” Javi shrugs one shoulder. “We grab something if there’s time.”

"Food is one of life's few pleasures." she returns, although she can think of quite a few other pleasures this man might be fun to indulge in with. "Pleasures are few and far between."

Javi takes another drag off his cigarette and grins at Elisa. “You’re right.” He admits.

"So why deny yourself?" She asks, nodding toward the direction their server is approaching from.

“Why indeed?” Javi thinks about you for a moment, before he pushes that out of his mind. You don’t want to do anything about your status so he shouldn’t worry about it.

"Yeah." Steve looks between the two of them with absolute incredulousness. "Why?" He really feels like he should be a reason but Javi won't say a goddamn word about his soulmate so he can't say too much.

Javi rolls his eyes and leans back as the server sets the meal down in front of you. “Hurry up.” He tells his partner. “We have to go meet Carillo after this.”

"Right." Steve snorts, ready to dig into his lunch right away. "No rest for the wicked."

“Never is.” Javi snorts and wishes he had a beer, or a glass of whiskey. When he left the apartment, you had still been asleep. He wonders what you are up to.

"Are you particularly wicked?" Elisa asks, partially for herself and partially because it amuses her to scandalize Connie with that type of question.

“Some might think so.” He admits, thinking about the question from an outsider’s point of view. “I’m flawed, but at the base of my life, I want to do good.”

That seems to surprise the other Americans at the table, but the Murphys choose not to tease – instead settling into their meal and deciding that a small amount of talk amongst themselves is more polite. Javier and Elisa seem to have slipped into a private conversation at the drop of a hat.

"Is that what you're doing?" She asks, picking up her fork and tilting her head toward the man beside her. Elisa didn't come here to flirt, but the man she has been introduced to is interesting and it won't be the worst thing in the world to chat him up for a half hour or more. "Doing good?"

“Some days it doesn’t seem that way.” Javi admits, eating his own food without really paying attention to it. “Not like health care.” More of what he does is unhealth care.

"Health care is...different than people expect it to be." Elisa tells him honestly. Not to mention that that is not the focus of her life. It was once, but not now. "Sometimes you wonder if you have done any good at all."

“I feel the same way.” He agrees, wondering if it’s that way everywhere, with any job. Maybe his pop was right and growing things was the answer all along.

"Maybe that's part of being human?" She wonders aloud, unconsciously echoing his thoughts.

“Who knew you could get philosophical over lunch?” Javi snorts, although he had actually excelled in philosophy in college.

She smiles, admittedly charmed, and she will have to confess later that Connie was right to warn her about her husband's partner. "I would have looked forward to this lunch even more if I had known."

He smirks slightly and glances over at the server as they refill his drink. Nodding his thanks before he looks back at her. “Well, now you can look forward to the next one.”

“I definitely will.” Elisa agrees, and the smile on her lips promises that she hopes to be looking forward to much more than that.

******

When a familiar car pulls up down the block, Freckles is the one that recognizes it. “Holy shit.” She huffs, turning towards the room where Helena and Vanessa are lounging. Helena hasn’t been taking clients, but she had been here to pack. Gathering all the things that she wanted and giving away the things she didn’t. “She’s here.”

“Who?” Helena asks, her attention to focused on carefully braiding Vanessa’s wet hair to achieve some natural waves after it dries. A new style she wanted to try.

She says your name, lifting a brow as she looks at the other two women. “I wonder if she’s just here for a follow up interview for an article.”

“Can’t be for us…” Helena’s head pops up immediately. She knows that you are their friend, but it would be a simple enough thing to see them outside of a professional setting if you just wanted to spend time with friends. “Can it?”

“I don’t know.” Vanessa frowns slightly. “She wasn’t happy with us knowing about her and Javier. She didn’t say it, but she wasn’t.”

“You think she came because she’s mad at us?” Freckles asks, frowning at the thought.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think she will yell at us, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The other woman shrugs. “Maybe she’s tired of Javi.” She snorts. “She does like eating pussy.”

“You think they’re fucking already?” Helena asks, frowning doubtfully. “They seemed…at odds with each other.”

“I didn’t mean they were fucking.” She corrects. “Just tired of him. Isn’t she staying with him since her apartment was raided?”

“Yeah.” Helena nods, shifting up from the couch to peak through the window. You’re just out of sight so you must be on your way in. “With the sweetest dog.”

“Javier has a dog in his apartment?” Freckles finds that hilarious and throws her head back laughing. “How domestic.”

“You know the guard dog?” Helena and Vanessa laugh along with her. They have, at various points now, all been to your apartment. “The sweet girl who sits at the top of the stairs? She is with them now.”

“But doesn’t she hate men?” Her eyes widen for a moment before she giggles again. “I can’t see Javi sneaking around his own apartment.”

“I can’t imagine he’s hiding from both of them.” Freckles shrugs. “Maybe that’s why she’s here. Like you said.”

"We will see." Helena knows that even if you are upset, you wouldn't take it out on them. You weren't that way, more of a defender than an abuser.

The knock on the door comes a moment later, but the door doesn’t open immediately. Unlike other clients, you have always been respectful of their privacy.

Freckles wanders over to the door and opens it, smiling brightly when she sees you and pulls you in for a hug. "It is good to see you!"

You came here with a purpose. You did. But seeing the three of them together — stunning women who know you far too well — seems to spook you out of your resolve. “H—hi,” you murmur instead, kissing her cheek and giving her a gentle squeeze back. Not too tight. Not too close.

"Come in." She offers immediately, stepping back and opening the door wider. "Unless you are here to just see one of us?" She asks curiously, wondering if it is simply the business of pleasure that brings you here.

“I wasn't sure who would be here.” It feels like more of a confession than you meant it to, but there’s nothing you can do about that now.

“Okay.” Freckles glances over at the other two. “We can leave if you want to talk to Helena?” She offers.

"No–no, I..." You deflate a little, realizing that you're far less sure of this plan than you thought you were while driving here. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have come."

Vanessa frowns and shakes her head even though Helena is still working on it. “Don’t be silly.” She chides. “You are always welcomed here.”

"I don't want to intrude." Also, you somehow forgot about the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, which has your own reflection staring back at you in ways you would rather avoid.

“Why would you be intruding?” For a moment, Freckles wants to ask if you were checking to see if Javier is here, or has been here, but she doesn’t. You do seem upset, but not at them.

"I don't know." And that is all the more confusing, which brings you from flustered and embarrassed to emotional all at once. A single chin wobble feels like six with the hyperaware state you're in right now and you look around at three pairs of beautiful eyes that only make you feel all the more ridiculous. "I'm sorry, I...I'm not feeling well, I guess." You turn to go, ready to haul ass and hide yourself in Chi-Chi's fur and try to blot out the world, but Helena has gotten up to block the way in a flash.

“Stay.” She urges you, reaching out and taking your shoulders in her hands to physically turn you back towards the room. “Please.”

"I haven't...been myself lately," you admit, looking around at the three of them again.

“Because of what we told you?” Helena frowns, feeling guilty as she guides you over to the bed.

"Not...directly?" She has you sit down, and the other two girls come to sit on the bed with you, gathered around you as if you were all simply here to gossip instead of you having found yourself in the middle of an existential crisis. "It's a long story."

“If you don’t want to talk…” Vanessa senses that you are pent up and she puts her hand on your thigh. “We can always find other ways to entertain ourselves until you do want to talk.”

“I’m not going to make you do that anymore.” The realization, swift and certain, makes you swallow the lump you hadn’t sensed forming in your throat. Coming here may have been a very bad idea, actually… “I—I mean…I thought that’s what I wanted. And why I came. But I don’t think so anymore.”

Helena reaches out and touches your cheek gently. “Javier?” She asks softly, aware that you might be feeling guilty. “He hasn’t come to see us either. If that’s what you want to know.”

"It doesn't have anything to do with Javier." As soon as it's out of your mouth – defensive and swift – you flinch and shake your head. "It doesn't have to do with him being...what he is to me, I mean."

“Oh.” The girls exchange looks but don’t say anything. There’s obviously something wrong, but they won’t push you if you don’t want to talk. They just wait.

It all comes pouring out in the face of their solid sympathy. The fights you and Javier had in the beginning, everything Alex said. The way every passing week that you live with Javier has you convinced that the universe must have been wrong. That you have stopped being able to even glance past a mirror on any sort of daily basis for fear of what you will find staring back at you. "I thought I was just lonely," you admit, under the gaze of three sets of worried eyes. "I thought I just needed to find some company to feel better again. But I walked through your door and just felt like I would be demeaning any of you by asking you to take me to bed."

Helena frowns and Vanessa and Freckles shake their heads in disagreement. “Do you think that we just fuck you because you pay us?” Freckles asks, folding her arms over her chest. “Because we don’t. We enjoy our time with you. In and out of bed.”

"I'm not thinking straight right now." The wording is unfortunate, but at least it's honest. "I don't really trust my own perspective. So while I know, deeply, because you're my friends, that you've never lied to me about enjoying yourself. I just can't..." Searching for the words has you huffing and shaking your head all over again. "I can't believe it or understand it."

“Because of what that bitch said about you?” Vanessa looks mad enough to spit nails. The fight that had been instigated to defend your honor hadn’t made you feel better and the words that you had learned were said about you had cut deep.

"This is...let's call it a lifelong problem." Sitting back against the pillows on the bed, you just drop your face into your hands and sigh. "I'm sorry to have dumped all of this on the three of you. Really."

“After what you have done for us?” Helena rolls her eyes and grabs a pack of cigarettes to offer you one. “You’re crazy.”

"Probably." You admit, letting out a half-laugh and accepting a cigarette.

“He was wrong.” Freckles tells you. “There is nothing wrong with you.” She promises. “You are soft and gorgeous. Warm and sensuous.”

"It's hard to see any kind of truth through my own doubt." Inhaling fire and exhaling smoke is such a seemingly small ritual, but it centers you in a way that you need right now. Like maybe if you had had just sat down and had a cigarette or two or three, you might not have had to bare your soul to these three kind women. To your friends – you have to remember that point. These are your friends. "I don't know if there is any truth. Looks and attraction and all of that...it's all subjective anyway."

“It is subjective.” That all the women can agree on. “My first love, he was ugly by any standards.” Freckles snorts. “But I fucked his brains out every chance I got.”

“You loved him,” you point out, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “That makes all the difference.”

“And you don’t love Javier.” She murmurs, bewildered by the idea that you might not even be attracted to your soulmate. She reaches over and takes your hand. “Not all soulmates are sexual.” She reminds you. “Javi would never force you.”

“I barely know Javier.” It feels like an entirely lame defense, but it’s true. And besides which you’re not even sure why you feel the need to defend yourself at all. But you do.

“I thought you were staying at his apartment?” Vanessa looks surprised by the fact you haven’t gotten close to him.

“I am.” It’s been nearly impossible to find a place that will let you keep Chi-Chi that you can afford and is reasonably safe, and you have just ended up there indefinitely. “But it isn’t as though we sit around the kitchen cooking meals together and having some sort of domestic fantasy.”

“So you avoid each other?” Helena frowns, not liking that at all. Javier needs a connection with someone, he is dangerously close to burnout and making mistakes and the physicality has been removed, so the emotional was definitely needed. Unless he had found comfort somewhere else.

“Not actively. I mean I sit in the living room reading at night and sometimes he’s home. We both just work constantly.” Shrugging just feels even more pathetic now but you’re not sure what else to do. “We just…don’t talk a lot when the two of us are there.”

"You are both so alike it's almost scary." Vanessa sighs softly and shakes her head.

“Stubborn and frustrating?” You guess, huffing out a half-laugh.

"YES!" All three women laugh when they answer at the same time.

The suddenness of it startles a chuckle out of you, until all four of you are laughing in a heap on the bed together. “This is what I needed,” you sigh, breathing through another laugh as Freckles hugs you to her side. “To see my friends.”

“Why don’t you fuck Javi?” She suggests playfully. “He will have you feeling good.”

“I walked in here so insecure I couldn’t even kiss any of you.” You remind them gently. “I don’t know that I’m in a place to be fucking anyone.”

"What has made you so insecure?" Helena demands, hating that you would feel that way. "Explain it to me."

You all but huff at her, feeling your shoulders round all over again. “Is being called a whale not enough?”

She frowns, reaching out and lifting your chin. "You – the woman who fought to come to Colombia, who was angry that your bosses would not let you go undercover in a brothel – let a tiny dicked man who never made you cum think badly about yourself?" She asks furiously, although her tone is softly censuring. "When your soulmate was so enraged on your behalf that he started a fight for your honor?"

The other girls murmur their agreement, but you feel all the more sheepish at having it put like that. “You make it sound very romantic.”

“It kind of is romantic.” She grins. “Especially knowing that Javier looks very sexy when he’s angry.”

"If you like him when he's angry, you'd probably be amused as hell at how we fight." It's been a week or so since the last time you argued, but the fights are fewer and farther between now, as well as shorter. Last time it had been as stupid and domestic as you getting annoyed about the schedule you worked out for feeding the dog.

“What could you possibly fight about when you barely talk?” Vanessa asks.

"Stupid things."

"You fight because you don't talk." Helena points out. And knowing you both as well as she does, she has it right on the money.

“Why don’t you do something together?” Freckles suggests. “Watch a movie?”

It's such a small, simple thing. A movie. Not a date, not a spectacle. Just a stupid, normal little movie on tv while you sit on the couch. It's...oddly appealing, actually. But you're still unsure. "Does he ever sit still long enough for something like that?"

“I’m sure you could convince him to.” Helena smirks, although she’s convinced Javier is only still when he’s asleep, or on a stakeout.

"You're all so very certain that I could get him to do anything I wanted." It's frustrating in a completely different way. Because you simply can't see how or why they believe it.

“Javi wants a connection with someone.” Vanessa hums. “Even if he won’t admit it. Even if he fights it.”

"Something else I guess we have in common, then." They know you too well for you to pretend otherwise. They know your tendency to run. To hide. To push away emotional connections. Even Alex had been kept at arm's length, but had managed to crack away at that deep desire for affection enough to hurt you with it. The bastard.

“We told you that you are the exact same.” Freckles rolls her eyes and leans in to press her lips to yours playfully with a smack.

"Apparently so." The gesture is received with gratitude, even if your heart feels a little heavier as you start to really believe what your friends have been telling you. "I'm not sure there is anything to do about it, though."

“Why?” Helena asks, wondering what could be so monumental to keep soulmates from being together.

"We sort of talked about it. The first night I stayed with him. When my building was raided." And the number of times you have gone back over it in your head since then is positively shameful. "He pretty much said he's not interested in being together. So it's all...moot. I guess."

“This was after your argument over me?” Helena asks, tsking when you nod. “The first strike.” She whispers to the other girls and they groan and nod in agreement.

"What do you mean 'strike'?" You ask, frowning.

“He rejected you before you could reject him.” She sighs. “Stupid bastard.”

"Alright, well..." Somehow that hurts far worse than you could have predicted, and you lean back in the pillows with a frown, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's still a rejection."

Vanessa huffs and throws up her hands. “Both of you, stubborn!” She hisses. “You would have done the same and you know it. You are two sides to the same mirror.”

"So what am I supposed to do about it, then?" You hiss back, feeling stung and stuck and just a tad insulted to boot. "Beg him to reconsider? Seduce him? Plead with my soulmate to give me another chance? Fuck that."

“One of you will have to bend.” Helena sighs. “It will just be a matter of who.”

"Now you see why I'm so frustrated." So frustrated that you could not see the light for all the dark around you. But your friends have helped that more than you expected.

“I am surprised Javi let you live with him.” Freckles admits. “He has never lived with anyone.”

"He feels guilty." At least that's what you assumed. It probably doesn't do any good to assume, but that is what you've done. "Because it was his team that raided my building."

“And he could have found you a place to live inside of an hour.” Vanessa snorts.

"I've been looking for weeks," you remind her, sheepish and embarrassed that it has taken you so long.

“Javier has been here for years.” She reminds you. “How do you think he got such an amazing apartment?”

"I can't figure out if you're implying that he's letting me look fruitlessly or that he's actively sabotaging my attempts to find somewhere else to live." Either one is deeply confusing and has complicated connotations, and you're not entirely sure what to do about it.

“That’s something you will have to ask him about.” All three women shrug and give you unsure looks.

“Full, meaningful conversation, huh?” You sigh, knowing they’re right. “That’s probably the respectful thing to do.”

“You do what you need to do.” Freckles tells you. “Only you and Javier can determine what happens. Not anyone else.”

“I’d much rather have it just all work itself out for us,” you admit, though the complaint is half-hearted. Having something handed to you means it’s never quite as satisfactory or as lasting.

Helena snorts and leans against you playfully. “You can do that.” She admits. “It will be an interesting journey.”

******

You’re still trying to figure out what the hell kind of journey could possibly be ahead of you when Javier comes home that night. It’s earlier than usual but still not what any normal person would call early. Thankfully you’re both night owls, so you’re in the process of making some dinner when the door opens. Having managed to track down an Italian market in an immigrant community in Bogotá during your first weeks there, you continue to make the pilgrimage whenever you need to stock up on ingredients.

Tonight you wanted comfort food — chunks of beef slowly stewed with onions, garlic, mushrooms, and carrots in tomatoes and red wine. The whole thing will be ladled over creamy, cheesy polenta and you can’t wait. These recipes your father taught you still mean everything to you as a grown woman.

He smells the food from the hallway. Different than the normal scents of cooking from other apartments and yet it is just as mouthwatering. He comes into the door and groans quietly. “I’m back.” He calls out politely.

“You’re home early.” It’s just an observation, but it feels so incredibly domestic in your current setting. “I got a little nostalgic and made a ton of food. Do you like Italian?”

“Love it.” Javi admits. “We had this little place in Laredo that did the little tea candles on the table. Best damn lasagna I’ve ever had.”

“Lasagna is one of my ultimate comfort meals.” And it sticks somewhere in your head that you’ll have to make it for him sometime. Cooking is soothing for you, after all. And an excellent way to say thank you for letting me live in your apartment and refusing to take my rent money every time I offer. “This is my dad’s version of Italian beef stew with polenta.”

He makes an impressed face and nods. “Sounds good. Do I have time for a shower?” He asks, feeling sticky and wanting to wash away the filth of the day.

"Yeah, absolutely." It's suddenly become a whole to-do, this comfort dinner of yours, but you nod. Somehow it's so much easier to see how handsome he is tonight. Like talking with the girls today had softened some of the sharp edges you had imagined before. "We could...turn on a movie while we eat? If you want to?"

He looks over at you in surprise, but your back is to him, stirring the pot at the stove furiously. Either the stew is temperamental or you are avoiding looking at him. “That sounds good.” He admits. “Cabinet under the tv has some tapes.” He tells you. “A few movies my pop sent me.”

"Okay." Stirring the polenta is just a way to distract yourself so he doesn't catch you staring at him, but that's alright. It needs to be stirred anyway. "I'll pick something out and set it up."

“Okay, uh, I’ll just jump in the shower then.” He mumbles, feeling slightly out of sorts now that you’ve agreed to this. It feels intimate, domestic, like an evening at home between soulmates would be.

"Okay." Repeating the word feels awkward, but you try to dismiss the feeling as nerves or tension. Everything is totally fine. It's just a meal. You've eaten together plenty of times before.

Heading back to his room, his movements are completely in autopilot. Unclipping his badge and gun from his hip, setting them down in his dresser and emptying his pockets. Memories of his parents sitting on the old flowered sofa in their living room watching a movie or tv show when he was younger springs to mind. Peeking around the corner from the kitchen and listening to his mother giggle quietly and seeing them kiss before he scurried back to his room.

By the time he comes back out again, you have dinner set up in bowls, two glasses of wine poured from what was left in the bottle, and his well-loved copy of Raiders of the Lost Ark in the VCR. "Bad day?" You ask, trying to be as casual and normal as possible when you catch the moody expression on his face. You probably haven't hit it at all, but you're trying.

“Every day I don’t catch that bastard is a bad day.” Javi snorts and shakes his head. “It’s frustrating. Feeling like we are just spinning our wheels again.”

"I refuse to believe you got nothing done today." He's too clever and too dedicated for that, but you won't belabor the point. "Anyway, it's late and there's not much you can do for the rest of tonight. But dinner is hot and there's booze."

That sounds fucking amazing and Javi groans in appreciation. “You didn’t have to do all this.” He reminds you, gesturing to the meal set out on the coffee table.

"I thought it would be nice." Technically speaking, you didn't make this meal for him. It is a comfort for you with the added side benefit of there being plenty to share with him. But there is something in his voice that stops you from saying so.

Javi sits down and then second guesses himself. “Do you want to sit here?” He asks, getting back up.

"Sit wherever you want." He's nervous and you're trying not to let it put you on edge too. This was just a spur of the moment idea that seemed like a nice way to spend the night. "It is your couch."

He snorts and shrugs. “I don’t care where I sit, but you might have claimed a certain corner as your own.” He jokes.

"Normally that's just whatever corner Chi-Chi has left for me when she sprawls out over the entire couch." You joke. He had let her up on his furniture on day two of having the two of you in his place and she never looked back.

“I feel like she would take up all the space if you gave her half a chance. Even a king-sized bed.” He rolls his eyes and looks over at the dog that is currently sprawled over the floor.

"Oh, believe me." With your bowls and wine sitting on the coffee table, you come closer and sit down in the corner of the couch that he isn't occupying. "Half the time when I crawl into bed at night, she's sprawled out over the entire mattress. So I have no trouble imagining she would take up a king if she can dominate my full size."

Javi frowns. “Then we should get you a bigger bed.” He hadn’t really thought much about the size of the bed in the guest room. It was just there for someone to sleep if needed and until Helena and you, it had never been used.

"You don't..." You had been reaching for your wine glass when he said it and you almost knock it over by accident. "You don't have to do that. I mean...it's your apartment. I'm just staying here through the seemingly interminable search for an apartment. I really can't figure out why it's so damn hard to find a place this time around."

Javi hums and doesn’t comment on that. Instead, he reaches for his own wine glass. “You’ll find one eventually.” He finally says.

"Eventually." The girls' words float through your mind again, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye as you pick up your glass more securely. "You know...you've been here longer than me. I'm surprised you don't know anyone looking for a tenant."

His eyes slide he to you and then back to the tv where the beginning of the movie is finally starting after the commercials. “I’ve been keeping an ear out for something that would be good for you.” He tells you vaguely.

"Yeah?" Deciding to play the cards you have, you take a sip of your wine and then set the glass down to pick up your bowl. Dinner smells amazing and it's finally going to be cool enough to eat without burning yourself. "The girls seem to think you wouldn't have had any trouble. And that you might not mind having me around."

Javi nearly drops his spoon, hissing a curse and bobbles it for a second before catching it. “Yeah?” He turns to purse his lips at you grumpily. “The girls don’t know everything, do they?”

"Hey," you shrug, playing it off like you aren't fishing for information but giving something up instead. "I thought it was kind of nice that they thought that. Like we might actually be getting used to each other."

He relaxed slightly and turns back to towards the tv and his stew. “You don’t annoy me as much as you first did.” He snorts. “And you cook.”

"So it's purely functional." It's just light teasing, because you're not really questioning him or calling him out. It's just...nice to hear the good humor in his voice. "Maybe...you would let me pay rent in groceries and cooking? Instead of cash?"

“You don’t have to pay rent.” He huffs out, rolling his eyes as you bring up the idea yet again. “I would have to rent this place even if you didn’t sleep in that room.” He points out again. “And the electricity and water are included. It costs me nothing.”

Your hand, spoon and all, stop halfway to your mouth. "You...don't pay rent? Like at all?"

That wasn’t what he said, but he shrugs. “Technically? No.” He admits. “DEA pays for it. And it’s under the set amount they give us. So I make money every month.”

"Well shit..." The fact that you misunderstood him at first doesn't change the meaning of the thing. His housing stipend more than covers the cost of the space you have both been living in. You almost sputter around the fact, but end up biting your lip and shrugging exaggeratedly. "Fine. I'll just cook because I like to and because we both need to eat." Looking over at him though, your head tilts unconsciously. "But...maybe it would be okay if I stop looking for a different place?"

Even though he’s honestly relieved that you are voicing that, Javi jolts one shoulder up in the air casually, as if it doesn’t matter to him. “Up to you.” He grunts as he spoons up a first bite of the stew and polenta. “If you’re comfortable here.”

“Chi-Chi is.” You nod toward the enormous sprawl of an animal nearby. She’s found a corner of rug and isn’t giving it up for anything. “I guess that settles it.” As if the dog’s comfort and happiness were the only factor, you simply start eating, turning your attention to the screen with a smile curling your lips.

It’s probably the first thing that you’ve not argued with him about and he grunts, wondering if it’s because you feel safer here, or if the fact that he had spread word that the American woman looking for an apartment was important to the DEA had scared people off. He doesn’t regret it at all. Eventually someone would know about your connection to him, and he didn’t want that used and you to be harmed.

It’s several minutes later when you laugh to yourself during the movie that you realize how simultaneously comfortable and tense you are here these days. And that the tension isn’t the walking on eggshells kind of tension you’ve had with other people in the past. But something almost eager. Like it’s on the verge of actually being pleasurable. But that might just be the soulmate bond talking. Either way, you go on eating and smiling to yourself, wondering if he feels it too or if you’re just too convinced by what the girls had to say today.

Hearing you snort in amusement; Javi looks over at you to find you grinning. “Have a think for this guy?” He asks with a smirk, nodding towards the tv. Most of the office girls in the typing pool swoon over Harrison Ford.

“Who doesn’t?” You counter, unashamed to admit to it. “Just like every other woman my age, right? Every guy I know is in love with Michelle Pfeiffer. It’s the same deal.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “She’s alright.” He answers. “I don’t really fantasize about women who wouldn’t even know my name.” He admits. “I like the ones I’ve got a chance with.”

“Fantasizing is an integral part of my day to day,” you tell him, glancing away from the screen to see if he’s looking at you. You can’t tell if you’re hoping for it or not, but you’re curious.

He watches you turn your head and look into his eyes. His curiosity getting the best of him. “And what do you fantasize about?” His voice is suddenly raspier, dropping into a lower, more intimate pitch.

“I—” You hadn’t meant it like that. In fact you’d barely thought about what you were saying when you said it. But now that he’s asked? The coil in your guts tightens and you swallow thickly. “Lots of things.” The truth sparks from you like wildfire. “W—waking up wrapped in someone…those little touches that are electric with someone new…the whole, uh…the whole…work surprise thing…”

“Work surprise?” He frowns slightly. “Like fucking in the broom closet?” He asks, trying to understand you a bit better even if this is more than he ever thought he would know. You aren’t interested in him, but he’s curious.

“Not what I was thinking.” You laugh, though, trying not to pay attention to the way your skin tingles in response to the idea of him dragging you into a closet for anything remotely sexual. “I was thinking more like…the romance of a surprise. My mom used to make excuses to go surprise my dad at work every single week. Just because she knew how hard he worked, and she wanted there to always be something to look forward to on the hardest days.”

“Your mom would go to your dad’s work to fuck him?” He remembers that your dad was a chef and he chuckles. “I heard some kinky shit happens in a kitchen.”

“I mean…” The realization is striking, that that probably is exactly what was happening, and you sputter for a few seconds out of sheer surprise. “She always told us she was just going to spend his breaks with him, but…probably.”

He laughs quietly, watching the realization rush over your face. “It’s always weird to think about your parents fucking.” He reaches over and pats your thigh. “It’s okay.”

“She just always made it sound very romantic,” you admit, dissolving into laughter.

“Fucking can be romantic.” He chuckles. “And romance can be a passionate quickie.” He snorts, “My parents probably used the hay loft more than I did.”

“See, stripping down in a hayloft to roll around on a blanket does sound romantic.” Or maybe you just have a little bit of a cowboy kink. Who knows? “A restaurant stock room? Not so much.”

He smirks as he shrugs. “Depends on what gets you going.” He argues playfully. “Maybe mayonnaise did it for them.”

“Gross.” But you’re still laughing, the movie forgotten in the background and your dinner sitting in your lap. “I can readily say mayonnaise does not get me going.”

He chuckles as he spoons up another bite of the meal. He almost tells you that he will note that, but you might not want him to do that. “Oh I love this part.” He snorts as he catches sight of the movie again.

Indy’s exploits suddenly seem less interesting to you, but you watch the movie and continue to eat with an undeniable warmth building in your chest.

The problem is that Javi wants to keep talking to you, but he also doesn’t want you to think that all he wants to talk to you about is sex. It’s frankly surprising to a man who enjoys sex and women as much as he does, but sex with you seems to be about as obtainable as climbing Mt. Everest.

“I always wanted to be Marion Ravenwood when I was a teenager…” It comes out as just a little murmur, but it’s true. Marion had been one of your favorite role models. “Her or Lois Lane.”

“She was always way too good for Indy.” Javi points at the screen with his spoon as he reaches for his wine with the other hand. “But I’m sure Lois speaks to you more because of that journalism connection.”

“She’s the one I went with in the end, I guess.” The comment that Marion is too good for Indy makes you glance over at him again and consider. He has that whole dashing-and-daring thing that Indy does —would he think a Marion was too good for him too?

“You’ve got a little bit of Marion in there too.” Javi tells you as he sits back with his wine and takes another sip. It’s pretty damn good with the meal. “Digging for a story down here is kind of like digging for the fucking Arc.” He huffs, halfway grinning.

“I’ve got Marion from plenty of things.” You shrug your shoulders. “Stubborn, persistent, cocky at the wrong times and wildly insecure at others. Plus the drinking.”

“Insecure?” He frowns. “Why? You’re a ball buster. You shouldn’t have an insecure bone in your body.”

“Seriously?” You almost slip and call him Javi, even though you’ve never called him anything but Javier in the whole time you’ve known him. The girls all call him Javi and it feels so intimate. “It’s a total front.”

"It's a good one." He admits. "When you want to exude confidence, you do." He hums to himself as he picks up his bowl again. "You'd make a hell of an actress if it's a front."

“I grew up with older brothers,” you remind him. “You learn to at least pretend to have a spine, or you end up trampled. In my case, I was then stupid enough to go into journalism. So it’s just more men everywhere, and these ones all want me to fail miserably.” Shrugging again, you put down your empty bowl and reach for your wine glass. “Maybe some of it stuck, I don’t know.”

"I don't fucking understand that." Javi shakes his head. "Yeah, there are certain jobs I don't like seeing a woman in. Ones where they are in danger, but that's my own bullshit and I would never want someone to fail."

“Then you were raised with a hell of a lot more respect than any of my colleagues.” There’s nothing really to do about it but keep your head down and keep fighting, so you just wave one hand as if it doesn’t matter. “Which is a comfort, by the way.”

"You don't watch a woman run a ranch, which is fucking hard work, while her husband is in the hospital and not realize that there isn't a whole hell of a lot women can't do." Javi might be old fashioned in some sense, but he had also been raised by a tough woman.

“Cheers to your mother, then.” You raise your glass to that without hesitation. “She sounds like she was a bad ass.”

"She was." He chuckles and lifts his drink in a toast to her. "Just like I'm sure your father was a hell of a man."

“Wherever they are, I’m sure they’re watching us and laughing together.” Tapping your glass against his, the clink rings out, and you share that drink to your parents with pride.

He shakes his head, knowing that his mama is laughing for certain. “She always warned me I would find someone who wouldn’t put up with me just because I was charming.”

“She wanted somebody who saw you for you.” That’s an admirable thing for a parent. For anyone to want for their loved one. “My Dad always said I’d find someone who wouldn’t put up with me talking shit about myself.” He actually said that your soulmate would be that person, but you won’t put that on Javier.

“You shouldn’t talk shit about yourself.” Javi agrees with that. “You have the power in any situation romantically.”

"Absolutely not." The very idea of it earns him a snort from you, and you practically drain your glass to keep from laughing out loud. "That is so far from the truth."

“Why do you think that’s not true?” He asks, curious to hear this answer.

"Because," you reason, finding that last sip of wine and putting your glass back down on the coffee table. "If I had any kind of upper hand, I wouldn't have spent most of my romantic life, I wouldn't have had to settle for weasels that I basically had to beg for attention."

“You have a pussy.” Javi reminds you. “And a nice set of tits and ass.” He rolls his eyes. “If you put your mind to it, you could have all those weasels begging you for attention.”

"That's...not really how it works for girls like me." At least, not in your experience. Or the experience of most other women your size that you've known throughout your life. It makes you lips turn down in a frown and you shift slightly in your place on the couch.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Javi frowns when he sees you pull in on yourself and turns back to his bowl. “I’m sorry.”

"No." Breathing out, you shake your head again and wipe your hands on your jeans. "No, my shitty self-esteem is not your responsibility. Sorry. Please don't let it ruin tonight."

“It’s not ruining the night.” Javi promises you. “I just didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

"You aren't." You assure him quickly. "I just...I guess I wish it was true. That it was just that easy."

“Just don’t let anyone give you shit.” He tells you. “You are a good girl.”

"Careful." Before you can stop yourself, the joking ball buster comes out of you all over again. "I might like being praised a little more than other girls."

He stares at you a moment before he snorts and shakes his head. “That’s the kind of attitude you should have.”

"Shameless vampy flirt?" You ask, with one eyebrow raised.

“Vampy?” He lifts a brow of his own in challenge.

Competitive. Your teachers and your brothers and your parents and everyone else in your childhood had always called you competitive. Not in the athletic sort of way. But in the way where you could never back down from a challenge. Almost instantly you're tossing the collar of your sweatshirt off your shoulder and batting your eyelashes, shaping your lips into a pout. "Is that what does it for you? Vampy?"

His cock twitches violently and if you weren’t who you are, he would be on you in a second. Taking you up on the invitation in that look. But you aren’t looking for him to jump you. “Maybe.” He manages, trying to not let it seem like it’s taking everything he had in him to act normal.

Something changes. Something in his eyes flashes. He tenses. Something in the moment reacts so assuredly that your heart speeds up and you unconsciously lick your lips, tongue darting out to wet them like some sort of silent and unintentional test to see if he's watching you as carefully and with as devoted focus as you're watching him. If you – when did you get to this place and why didn't you notice before? – actually want to kiss him as badly as you think you do in this moment.

Javi practically dumps the bowl onto the coffee table as he stands up. You licking your lips bothering him so much he has to move. “Gotta pee.” He explains. “Keep watching the movie.”

"I—uh—" He seems to panic and it deflates you instantly, to the point where all you can do is sputter and shrink back in your seat, shoving your stupid sweater back up on your stupid shoulder. "Right. Okay."

Javi does have to pee, but it takes a moment to get the half chub he has going on to go down. “She’s fucking teasing you.” He reminds himself. “Don’t fucking touch her. Just don’t.”

He was just fucking tease you. You reprimand yourself over and over, trying to get yourself under control before he comes back. Before you give yourself away. Before you have to admit to anyone but yourself that you actually had been hoping that he would take you up on the offer. Calm the fuck down!

After a few minutes, Javi slowly walks back down the hall. “Want a beer?” He asks, hovering between the kitchen and the living room. “Water?”

"Water is fine." More alcohol is probably a bad idea. You don't want to get tipsy and do something that will make things awkward again. "Thank you."

“Welcome.” He gets two glasses of water, figuring he better lay off the booze himself. He’s changed the mood and he doesn’t know how to go back to that somewhat easy vibe but he knows more alcohol won’t help.

With a little less than half the movie left, he brings back two glasses of water and you thank him for your again as he settles back down on the couch. Chi-Chi had barely stirred while he was gone but now she shifts, getting up from her corner of rug to move over four feet and flop down in front of the sofa as if she means to tell you that neither of you is allowed to get up again.

Javi snorts to himself and tries to watch the movie again, spreading his arm across the back of the couch towards you. Legs splayed a little to be comfortable and he takes a sip of his water, “Want a cigarette?”

"Sure. Thanks." You've gotten into the habit of sharing packs while you're in the apartment together so this, at least, is relatively normal. Or at least as normal as the two of you are bound to get.

Sharing a cigarette is normal. He reaches for the pack and puts one in his mouth and flicks the lighter. Taking a drag off the smoke before handing it to you.

It's such a little motion, and so practical, but after that moment of flirtation where you could have sworn you saw attraction in his eyes, it feels so intimate to smoke from a cigarette that was just held by his lips. Like if you try hard enough you could taste him instead.

Shit. You really have to stop thinking like this...

Javi leans back and sighs softly. “Needed that.” He admits. “Need to fucking quit, but I’m already cutting back on other things.”

“I keep thinking I should quit,” you admit, but take another drag when he passes it back to you. “But I never do.”

“Stress.” Javi snorts. “Addiction. Habit. Who knows?” He looks at it seriously and then takes another drag. “Smoking a cigarette is more satisfying than chewing some fucking gum.”

“I honestly don’t even like gum that much.” It’s stupid, that little insignificant piece of trivia about yourself, but you feel like you’ve made some tiny bit of headway tonight. At the very least, if you’re going to be roommates for a while, sharing things seems easier than expecting him to read your mind.

“It’s okay.” He doesn’t mind it, but the burn of the nicotine in his chest is what he really wants. “But it doesn’t beat this.” He hands the cigarette back to you, noticing the filter is stained with the last bits of wine from one of your lips, resembling lipstick.

You both silently realize it about the same time, and the smile tugging at your lips grows ever so slightly in silent response. Acts of connection, no matter how small, are making you happy tonight.

“Got another carton in the car.” Javi tells you. “I’ll bring them in before I leave in the morning.”

“Thank you. It’s so much easier than high-tailing it across the city to that American market near my old place.” You’re learning his neighborhood— your neighborhood— little by little. It will be good to put it more of an effort now. Since you’re officially staying put.

“Yeah.” Javi frowns slightly. “Be careful if you go back over on that side of town.” He tells you. “Escobar wasn’t happy about his sicarios.”

“Shit…” You wipe one hand down your face and sigh. “Inez found a new place in that same neighborhood. I’ll have to tell her to watch out.”

“Yeah.” He knows you still talk to the bartender from the club you lived under. She was also your neighbor. “Let her know.”

“Thanks, Javi.” It slips this time, just a nickname. Just a small act of intimacy. But it slips without you even realizing it.

He hears the softness of his nickname on your tongue. Making him want to reach out. To pull you closer to him, but he doesn’t. You two are in this awkward, yet comforting place and he doesn’t want to rock the boat. “You’re welcome.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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[annoyinglandmagazine]

You know that whole scene with Klaus reuniting with Punch and Judy/ Adam and Lilith? That already gives me so many emotions but I ended up accidentally making it worse with headcanons about their previous relationship that I hope at some point will make it into a fic:

Bill and Barry never really grasped the way constructs were treated outside of Mechanicsburg. They don’t really get the concept that something like that could matter so much to people, that they would actively view people as less than human for a few stitches or an extra limb. That the insanity of Mechanicsburg could actually be an improvement on the rest of the world that supposedly cared about morals in this one thing that they’d never even questioned before.

They try, they really do, they get righteously furious about it every other week, but they never really get it. They’re more confused than anything when Klaus and Judy tell them they should be the ones to ask for boarding while travelling anonymously because they’re less likely to be turned away.

They don’t notice that Punch and Judy take certain adventures more personally than the rest of them do, the way they went all still when hearing a monologue about constructs taken as ‘spare parts’ by Sparks that insist it doesn’t count because they’re not people anyway. Even worse the supposed ‘heroes’ they work with to take down rogue Sparks and then turn around and insist that the job isn’t finished until they purge the area of the Spark’s creations as well.

They’re complaining about their professors and Klaus explains why he dislikes one of them by casually bringing up that he had a pet theory of a ‘sliding scale of humanity’ and he once derailed a lecture by trying to place Klaus on it. They are horrified and murderous and Klaus becomes the first person to marvel at how sheltered someone was growing up in Mechanicsburg.

So there is always a certain connection between Punch, Judy and Klaus over this in particular because they know that Bill and Barry can’t possibly understand. Not like they do. And it’s important, to Punch and Judy entering an outside world for the first time and having it reject them even as it grows used to and even welcomes the Heterodynes but not them, never fully. Heterodynes can redeem themselves with enough determination but how can you redeem yourself when your only crime to begin with was existing?

It’s important to Klaus who knew relatives and friends who looked like they had to force themselves to say his name without flinching because they didn’t really believe it was him they were talking to. University was a fresh start but it took years for him to break the nervous habit of adjusting his cuffs and collar to cover his skin because it was just exhausting to watch the way people changed once they noticed.

Sometimes they talked about it but most of the time they’re just there for each other and that’s enough. Also they’re all way more willing to get into a fight on someone else’s behalf than their own so it gives them a nice opening to beat the shit out of bigots.

On an unrelated and slightly less angsty note I also think that Punch and Judy were sort of the mom friends of the Heterodyne adventures. They got into the habit of spending a considerable amount of their lives trying to make these insane twenty somethings get some rest every now again and the rest of it complaining (Punch naturally had a sign language that the Boys may have invented specifically for him but communicated perfectly adequately through Looks as well) the constant, stupid risks they took to their own lives.

When it became clear that they couldn’t have children Bill and Barry couldn’t feel more terrible about it, they spent ages trying to come up with a solution but couldn’t imagine one where there was an ironclad guarantee of no amnesia. Klaus suggested adoption since they were so good with the orphans they came across but, though it wasn’t ruled out, Judy half jokingly made comments about how she was busy enough with ‘her boys’ anyway so she didn’t need children for now.

Klaus finds it easiest to talk to Punch sometimes because he really listens and waits until he’s finished speaking to offer input when it’s wanted (it usually isn’t). He’s also exceptionally good at reading non verbal cues which is helpful because Klaus always had some kind of allergy to talking about anything personal.

Judy knows about Lucrezia and Klaus. She’s fairly certain Bill is the only one of them who doesn’t. She personally thinks both of them would be a lot better off with someone else, anyone else really. She distrusts something in Lucrezia’s eyes when she’s around them, calculating and almost predatory, but then both of them had unusual ideas of what constituted romance. She doesn’t like it but she doesn’t say anything. Years later she’ll wish she had.

When Punch and Judy hear that Klaus is back from the dead and annihilating all the warring nobility’s armies that cross his path they think ‘Well something else is clearly going on there but that does sound a little like what Klaus would do if he went off the deep end to be perfectly honest.’

They find out he’s conquering an empire and that sounds a lot less like Klaus. Then Barry returns in a complete panic, holding his niece like a lifeline and talking about how Klaus is working for the Other.

It’s a struggle to even contemplate it, the same Other that killed Bill’s infant son and most likely Bill as well, the Other that destroyed the Wulfenbach barony and massacred its people, including Klaus’ own parents, the Other that ravaged Europa sending it into a state of utter chaos. They know Klaus. They’ve known him since he was reckless eighteen year old who just wanted to make the world a better place. They know him.

But…… A few months ago they would have said the thought of subjugating the continent would never cross Klaus’ mind, that he’d never do something like that. He wasn’t that kind of Spark. On their bad days the boys used to talk about what would happen if either of them ever crossed ‘the line’ and though they’d all reassured them that they never would Klaus had promised in complete sincerity that he wouldn’t let them.

No one had ever thought that Klaus might need to have a line. He never even properly lost control of a fugue, he didn’t forget morals in the heat of the moment, every decision he made he’d stand by years later as the right one. He took things further than the boys sometimes but that was because he’d concluded it was for the best and he didn’t need a strict code the way they, still wrestling and redirecting those Heterodyne urges inside them, did.

They also knew Barry and he wouldn’t ever be able to believe something like that if there’d been any other explanation. Barry had known Klaus too.

Basically I’m never going to get over the tragedy that is this group of people because they were friends! They were probably the first real friends any of them had had! They were so young and optimistic and they decided they were going to start fixing things because no one else would. They thought the world could get better and people deserved second chances and for a while it actually worked and it meant something and then it blew up in their faces.

Everything falls apart worse than it was when they started, they lose everyone close to them and they wonder if the world was ever really going to change at all. When the era of the Heterodyne Boys comes to an end they don’t face it together the way they always thought they would if they failed. It ends with all of them are separated and so disillusioned that they’ll believe that even their closest friends would betray them and humanity in the worst way possible.

[aceyanaheim]

So I've been trying really hard not to make this post but I've found myself in a really bad situation.

As you all know I recently moved out of my mom's for what I'm hoping is permanent. The original plan was to move to MIami with my qpp and platonic polycule and use the time I had with them to find a job in my field in Miami or at least one that would make living here sustainably. 

This ended up not working out. I’m not gonna go into details but the bare bones of it is this: I had to safety plan my way around my ( now ex) qpp’s fiancee and at one point got on an uber and left the apartment because things escalated to a point where I no longer felt emotionally safe around her. She then talked to the leasing office and I was moved without any warning and against my will. 

I’m now in a new apartment with a new roommate who doesn’t drive me to tears for forgetting things but needless to say my relationships and plans for the future are more or less in free fall right now. 

Moving with my mom or dad’s isn’t an option as the last time I stayed at my mom’s I was constantly on a hotline so I’m trying to crowdfund for a car. Miami is incredibly high in rent and it’s taken two jobs to barely make ends meet. It’s come to the point where a car isn’t just for transportation but for survival. 

If I manage to stay here, which is unlikely, a car will mean more job opportunities as I’m really limited in finding jobs right now. It’ll help me not sink too much money on Ubers which will make it easier to pay rent and also doctors appointment ( as I'm epileptic)

If the worst happens and I have nowhere to go a car will mean shelter for me and Indi ( she has to come with me wherever I go and a lot of places I could bunk at might not be dog friendly) even if I find somewhere to go if I can’t renew my lease a car would be the only way to get me and Indi there since she isn't allowed on public transit and Ubers Have turned me away because of her.

Even if I end up bunking at my mom’s ( tho I refuse to go there for longer than a week) having a car would greatly reduce me relapsing into unhealthy coping since I’ll have a way to leave the house when my brain gets bad. 

All options lead to the fact that I need a car for survival. I talked to some friends and we figured out for a used car that I would at least want to have 10 thousand. There’s also driving lessons which at the cheapest will still run me over 200 and the license will be 50 but I could swing that. The car is the main thing I need help with.

My parents are both…only sometimes supportive ( the last time I talked to my dad about living with him he said “We’d both hate each other and it’d be your fault” not only that but they’re both disabled and in their 60s so they aren’t an option even when they want to be. My siblings are also striking out on their own and don’t have anything to spare and that’s all the family I have in the states so it’s gotten to the point where I’ve had to make this post even tho I’ve really tried not to.  

If you’re in strife yourself please don’t donate but reblogs help. 

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-a-trans-person-in-miami-secure-a-car-for-safety/cl/s?utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_content=amp8_t1&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link&attribution_id=sl%3A2d64a1db-d26d-4d9c-a305-44f9042d5945

[newtthetranswriter]

Okay, so of course this is a giulio gandini request because no one has been writing about him yet, but I NEED him now, so.. 👀

(Sry if these are a bit corny, I'm a sucker for tooth rotting fluff!!)

‼️*SMALL MHA YOUR NEXT SPOILERS*‼️

So maybe a gaming one where the reader kinda teaches him how, baking with him, or you know how thought the movie he is basically telling us that he is alone and Anna saved him?? Well, they save Anna, so they don't talk as much as they used to. Then, one day, he runs into reader and it's like the "I'd thought I'd never love again, until I found her" yk??

(Sry, Ik this is long, i just love him, sm!!😫🥹)

Word Count: 2370

Paring: Giulio Gandini x gn!reader

Warnings: Angst to fluff, Spoilers for My Hero Academia: You’re Next, Slight Spoilers for the My Hero Manga (nothing huge just talk about the clean up efforts), Ooc Giulio (As far as I know this is the first Giulio fic so I don;t know how others write for him and it might be a little off nothing to bad though)

A/n: Hello anon. Thank you so much for the Request. I hope this meets your expectations, as Giulio might be a little ooc, but I am happy with how this turned out. Also I went with gender neutral pronouns, i hope that's okay, it only mentioned like once though. Anyways enjoy, remember requests are open, and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate.

   Living in the U.A. shelter was not how I expected my spring to go, but alas with the war between Villains and Heroes reaching its turning point there wasn’t any other option. Though unlike most of the refugees staying in U.A., I was brought here after I helped take down Dark Might. I was working alongside my close friend Giulio to locate and kill his boss Miss Anna, who had been kidnapped by the Gullini family, when we ran into the students of Class A. After the battle to take out the crime family, the three of us were offered shelter within U.A. in case friends of the Gullinis tried to come after us. 

   We were each given rooms within the many U.A Dormitories where the students normally stayed. Luckily we had ended up in the same building and we’re able to spend our time together. Even though the state of the world isn’t great, we have been settling nicely into our temporary life. Most days are spent talking and trying to ignore the growing threat of villains, or walking around the shelter and learning about the campus we currently call home.

   It’s usually all of us who go on these walks but every now and then Anna doesn’t join, leaving me and Giulio to explore on our own. At first the days where it was just the two of us reminded me of the time we spent tracking down Anna, but slowly things started to feel different. 

   Slowly our walks went from having long discussions about what we wanted to do once we were able to leave U.A. to Giulio just walking along with me in silence as I rambled on about whatever thought came to mind. At first I thought he might have just been tired and didn’t have much thought to add that day, but slowly he started acting like I was speaking to him even when we were back in the dormitories. Again I wrote it off as him being tired and tried to act like it wasn’t affecting me.

   After a few days of him acting like I wasn’t there, I began to worry that I might have done something to upset him. The fear of having upset him was only cemented when I asked if want to join me for a walk and he just walked away like I hadn’t said anything. I stood frozen, searching through recent memory of anything that I may have done that could possibly have upset Giulio, but nothing seemed to stand out.

   My train of thought was interrupted by Anna waving a hand in front of my face. I blinked quickly before nodding at her to acknowledge that I was paying attention. “What was that about? I’ve never seen Giulio act like that, especially when it comes to you.” She asked, having also noticed our friend’s weird behavior. 

   I shrugged at the blonde before responding. “I have no clue. He’s been acting weird the past few days and I can’t figure out why.” I explained. 

   Anna turned to watch as the red head began making himself some tea, before speaking again. “Maybe he’s just tired? We have been through a lot these past couple weeks and he got his replacement leg the other day so he probably just wants to relax a bit. You know how Giulio can be, since everything happened he has been one for big crowds and stuff like that.” She suggested.

    Her reasoning made sense but I couldn’t stop thinking that it had something to do with me. “You’re probably right, I can’t imagine it’s easy to adjust to a new limb.” I told her, not voicing my internal worries. “I’m just going to head back to my room, now that I think about it. I borrowed some books from the school, so I’ll just read for the day.” I explained moving to head to the elevator.

    “Well, okay, enjoy your books. I’m sure Giulio will be easier to talk to tomorrow.” Anna said waving goodbye as the elevator closed behind me.

Time Skip

    That was over a week ago. Not once has Giulio spoken to me in that time. I had tried multiple times to get him to talk to me, but every time I tried he either walked away or just acted like I hadn’t even spoken. Every time he ignored me, I brushed it off telling myself that he was just tired or he hadn’t heard me. 

    Unfortunately, I was forced to face the truth in the worst way. I had just entered the common room of the dorm building, when I heard hushed voices coming from the kitchen area.

    “I already told you, it’s easier this way.” The first voice was clearly Giulio, and he sounded irritated.

    I silently moved to be standing closer to the kitchen but still out of sight and waited to hear what else was being said. “You can’t just stop talking to them, Giulio. You need to explain yourself at least.” That was Anna, and from how exasperated she sounded, I could tell this wasn’t the first time they have had this conversation.

    The responding sigh was a tell tale sign that Giulio was tired of the conversation. “And tell me Anna how exactly am I supposed to Y/n that I don’t want to be friends anymore?” After hearing that one question I knew it was over, I had lost one of my long time friends and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t wait to hear the blonde's response before running out of the dorm building.

    Knowing now that Giulio was ignoring me because he was done with our friendship hurt worse than any injury I could receive from a villain. I had been the one to save him from the burning rubble of the Scervino house after the Gullinis attacked and I helped him recover quickly so he could find Anna. We had been through so much together, but I guess all good things come to an end. I just wish he could have told me before he stole my heart.

   After leaving the dorms I made my way to the staff offices within the U.A. school building. Once I was there I requested to be moved to a different refugee shelter as soon as possible. If Giulio didn’t want to be around me anymore, then he wouldn’t have to. It didn’t take long to get approval and shortly after I returned to the dorm to pack what little belongings I had, a couple Proheroes arrived to help me get to the new shelter safely. When the gates of U.A. closed behind me, I sighed knowing that even if this hurt me it would remove stress from the two people who meant everything to me.

Time Skip to after the Final war arc

    It’s been a few months since I last saw Giulio or Anna. The war with the villains had ended and many parts of Japan were quickly being rebuilt with the help of the Proheroes. While many of the refugees from the various shelters returned to what was left of their old lives and began rebuilding, I decided to start over. I had left my old life the day I left Giulio and Anna at U.A. so I saw no point in leaving Japan. 

   It was difficult to find work but I eventually found a job at a small convenience store that had narrowly survived the country wide battle. It wasn’t much but the owner also allowed me to rent out the small apartment that was over the shop for a discounted rate. Slowly but surely I was making a place for myself. Eventually I even stopped wondering what Giulio and Anna were up to, I started truly accepting that the part of my life was in the past.

  At least it was in the past. It was brought back to front of my mind when a familiar head of red hair walked into the store. At first I thought I was imagining things, that maybe I hadn’t really gotten over it all like I thought. But as soon as I saw his metal hand, I knew I wasn’t just seeing things. Before I could duck behind the counter and act like I wasn’t there, he turned his head in my direction and I watched as what I could only describe as joy washed over his face.

  Sure I had seen Giulio smile before but it was never directed at me. Plus with the way he treated me last time I saw him, why on earth would he be happy to see me of all people. Thinking quickly I decided to act like I hadn’t recognized him. “Welcome in, is there anything I can help you find?” I asked plastering on my fakest smile, trying to hide the conflicted thoughts rushing through my head.

  I then watched as Giulio took a moment to process what I said, confusion replacing the smile that was there a second ago. “Don’t play stupid with me Y/n. We’ve been looking for you for months.” He said approaching the counter. “I also saw the way you looked at me when I walked in so don’t even bother trying to act like you don’t know me or what I’m talking about. Now mind telling me why you ran off and where you’ve been these past couple months.” It wasn’t a question, Giulio wanted answers and he was determined to get them.

   Rolling my eyes I leaned against the wall behind the counter. “Why do you care? Last time I checked you weren’t talking to me.” I responded, the hurt from before turned to anger now that he was actually willing to have a conversation with me. “What was it you said to Anna that day? Oh yeah it was ‘how exactly am I supposed to Y/n that I don’t want to be friends anymore?’. Don’t come in here acting like you care when you were the one who wanted to end our friendship.” I answered, revealing that I had heard their ‘secret’ conversation.

  Giulio stood in shock at my response. He wasn’t expecting such a harsh reply to his simple question. “Wait, you heard that?” He asked, sounding slightly panicked. I only nodded in response. “Did you hear the rest of that conversation?” He continued.

   “No Giulio, I didn’t. Why would I stay and listen to the guy I thought was my best friend tell our friend that he was done with me? Honestly, had you told me you didn’t want to be friends anymore instead of ignoring me, I might not be upset right now.” I said not understanding why he thinks anyone would want to hear their friend talk bad about them.

   Giulio sighed, he glanced around the room as if searching for the right words to say. I just watched him confused, it was not like it was a secret anymore he could just tell me the truth and be done. “I think you should have stayed and listened to the rest of that conversation.” He finally started. I was about to respond but he beat me to it. “It wasn’t that I wanted our friendship to end. It’s more the opposite actually.” He said looking down at the floor, his bangs falling to block his face from view. “I was confused about my feelings. For so long I thought I had feelings for Anna, that once she was safe from the toll her quirk put on her we would be together. But then you saved after the Gullinis took Anna, and you stuck with me the entire time after. Even when I tried to push you away, you stuck by my side promising to help me complete my mission.” I stood silent as began to explain himself. “Then even after Anna was saved and we were allowed to stay at U.A. I thought things would go the way I originally thought. But the more time I spent with just you in nonlife threatening situations, the more I realized what I really wanted.” 

   He paused for another moment, rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath like he was preparing for something big. “ I thought for the longest time I wouldn’t fall in love, and then I met you and you didn’t judge me for my goal or turn your back on me when I was difficult. Y/n, I know I was childish and hurt you but if you’ll allow, I’d be honored to spend forever making it up to you.” Giulio finished as he finally looked me in the eye. It was my turn to freeze again. Of all the things I expected for him to say to me, that was not it.

    I blinked a couple of times trying to fully grasp what he meant. After what felt like hours of silence I finally responded. “You’re right, you were childish and you did hurt me. But I was also childish by running away before talking things out. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions and left without saying anything to you or Anna.” I paused to breathe for a second before truly smiling at him. “And Giulio, you can start making it up to me by taking me to dinner tomorrow.” I finished.

   Giulio returned the smile, nodding in confirmation. “As you wish.” He said with a slight bow, earning a chuckle from me.

    “Good, now I have to get back to work. You can pick me up here at 8.” I said while grabbing a pen and piece of paper. Quickly scribbling my new phone number down. “And here’s my new number since you’ve probably already guessed I changed phones after I left.” I finished handing him the paper. 

     He quickly accepted it, nodding one last time. “Of course I will see you tomorrow Y/n.” With that he turned and left the store. 

    As I watched him walk away I couldn’t help but wonder what would have been different if I had stayed and listened to the end of that conversation all those months ago.

(dividers by @/cafekitsune)

[yoon-kooks]

paw prints & presents | jjk

⛓️pairing: hotnerd!jungkook x popular!reader

⛓️genre: smut, fluff, college!au

⛓️summary: You and Jungkook never discussed Valentine’s Day plans, but that doesn’t mean the night won’t include corny Valentine’s cards and you getting down on your hands and knees in pretty pink lingerie for him.

⛓️word count: 2.1k

⛓️warnings: catdilf!jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, daddy/kitten undertones, praise kink, dirty talk, oc is a horny lil brat, dry humping, sex on the couch, handjob, blowjob, face fucking, cumshot, she swallows, oc makes another ignorant comment about earl grey tea lol

⛓️p&p masterlist⛓️

a/n: here's a lil smutty drabble i wrote up for valentine's day! (you don't have to read the other p&p fics before reading this one)💖

You’ve been acting a little weird lately. Ever since February came around, you’ve been asking Jungkook about random shit like his favorite flower (lavender), his favorite romcom (none), his favorite day of the year (nonexistent), and his go-to boba order (you called him grandaddy for saying earl grey again). The most recent question was about his taste in lingerie (doesn’t matter because you’re hot regardless). 

But whenever he asks why you need to know these things, you just shrug your shoulders and pretend like you’re too busy playing with the cat to answer him. The way you always shush the kitten as soon as he enters the room leads him to believe the two of you are up to no good. 

It’s driving him mad.

At one point, he thought you might be sweetening him up for when you go behind his back and adopt another cat because “Lucy needs a friend” and “there’s a cute cow cat at the local shelter.” But something tells him you’ll save the cow cat shenanigans for another time. 

The thing is, he’s not completely clueless here. As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, he’s well aware that Valentine’s Day is around the corner. It’s not a day he typically celebrates, but he also doesn’t know how you feel about it yet. If it’s a big deal to you, he’d want to do something thoughtful to live up to whatever the fuck you’re secretly plotting. At the same time, the two of you still haven’t made it official, so perhaps you aren’t scheming anything related to the most romantic day of the year. Perhaps he’s just overthinking it…

…Or not.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, Jungkook comes home from class early and sees something he shouldn’t have seen. Your laptop is out in the open on his bed, but you’re nowhere to be seen—probably in the bathroom or something. He’s always been the kind of guy to respectfully look away from what’s on other people’s computers or phone screens. But it’s kind of hard to ignore the pink lingerie set you apparently just ordered. The lingerie you normally wear is a sexy black or a sophisticated neutral. But this baby pink one, with the tiny red hearts and bows, is way cuter than what he’s used to seeing you in. It’s giving submissive vibes, for sure.

The thought of you wearing that tiny thing on Valentine’s Day would automatically make February 14th Jeon Jungkook’s new favorite day of the year. And that alone is something to celebrate.

But how exactly is he supposed to celebrate? It seems you have your mind made up on surprising him with pretty pink lingerie, but what can he provide in return without being too cheesy? He’s terrible at shit like this. In fact, one of his exes broke up with him specifically because he wasn’t romantic enough. She wasn’t wrong, but it’s not like he’s going to rewire his entire brain to be romantic enough for someone else’s liking. Maybe that’s fucked up of him. Maybe a good partner would make sacrifices and force themself to change for the sake of the relationship if they truly cared. 

You’re different, though. With you, nothing feels forced. Rather, he gets an urge to do something nice for you, even if it goes against his natural tendencies. And right now, he wants to also surprise you with a little something on Valentine’s Day.

On the big day, he waits for you to leave for your afternoon class. That’ll give him plenty of time to put together the surprise. All he needs is some pink cardstock, markers, paint, ribbon, and a kitten.

As much as he hates cheesy Valentine’s cards, Jungkook finds himself pondering over what to write on the cardstock. Knowing you, it’s safe to go with something silly and funny. Thankfully, you’re an easy one when it comes to humor.

“Have a paw-esome Valentine’s Day, Mommy,” he writes in bold marker. You’ve been hesitant to call yourself the kitten’s mother despite raising her right alongside Jungkook. But it’s clear that you’re doing a good job. “Love, Lucy.”

He picks up the sleepy kitten, dips her paw pads into safe non-toxic paint, and adds her paw print to the bottom of the card like a signature. As the paint dries, he gives the kitty her first bath, blowdries her fur, and ties a pink little ribbon to her collar.

When the sun goes down, Jungkook rolls up the note and attaches it to the kitty’s ribbon like she’s some messenger pigeon. And then the two of them wait on the couch together, kitten loafing in the boy’s lap, for the door to open.

Five long minutes later, your keys jingle around as you unlock the front door.

“Go hide,” he whispers to the kitten who runs off into his room with a frisky tail in the air. She probably thinks he’s playing hide and seek with her like they normally do. Poor thing.

Jungkook makes himself comfortable on the couch again and pulls out his phone to look natural. Totally normal.

“Hi?” you say as soon as you open the door and see him sitting in the dark living room, his floating face illuminated by his phone screen. You hit the light switch as you kick your shoes off and look around for possible booby traps or jumpscares. It seems you’re very aware that the potential for a surprise is at an all-time high today. Then your eyes fall back on him. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” He scratches the back of his head.

“Like this.” You do the awkward pose thing people do when they’re very clearly failing to act natural. How do you manage to make even the most awkward poses look cute? Maybe your little black dress has something to do with it. You weren’t wearing that earlier when you left for class.

“What do you mean? I’m just here, sitting on the couch with my phone.” Damn, is it really that obvious?

“Ah, so you were here waiting for me to get back from class like a dog?” you tease as you climb into his lap and set his phone aside. Your new perfume is a sensual lavender (no wonder you asked him about his favorite flower). And your dress is so short all he can feel is skin when he grabs hold of your ass. “Don’t worry, I missed you too.”

You snake your hands around the back of his neck and devour his lips, his tongue, his taste. He’ll never get over the moans you make just from kissing him like he’s the finest dessert you’ve ever tasted. Or the way your tongue just laps him up like a kitten—

“Wait,” he says after forcing himself to pull back from your lips. The urge to put his lips right back where they belong is incredible.

“No, Jungkook, I don’t have any homework that needs to get done before we…” Your words trail off as you kiss him some more and roll your hips against his crotch. You’ll never let it go that he’s “the biggest nerd in the world” for always making you finish your homework before sex. Thank god you don’t have any tonight. Because his hard cock is already past the point of no return.

The secret Valentine’s card still needs to be delivered, though. And the poor kitten is still waiting for her daddy to come find her.

“No seriously, wait a sec,” he chuckles, lifting you off of him before walking into his room to scoop up the kitten hiding behind the clothes hanging in his closet. When he rejoins you on the couch, he passes the fluffball to you.

“Ooh, did daddy give you a bath? You look so cute,” You sniff her orange fur and find the rolled-up note tied to her pink ribbon.

Your face quickly goes from curious to smiley as you unroll the note and read the silly message. Jungkook reads it right alongside you as if he wasn’t the one who wrote it.

“Congratulations, it seems Lucy has accepted you as her mother figure,” he says in the straightest face ever.

“Paw-esome?? Mommy??” you giggle, turning to the boy whilst cupping his chin. “Is that what you think of me?”

“It wasn’t me, it was Lucy,” he shrugs. “Right, Lucy?” She meows in agreement.

Then he pins you down against the couch cushions and leans in to whisper, “You’re my baby girl, remember?”

Your face is flushed with color as you nod up at him. You grab a handful of his t-shirt and pull him in. He finds your neck and leaves a trail of little marks as your body heats up beneath him.

“I love the card, by the way,” you manage to get out between breaths. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t from me.” His gives you a few more kisses while running his hands along your dress. As hot as you are in that dress, he’d love to get his hands on everything hiding beneath it. “I didn’t even know today was Valentine’s Day.”

“Liar. You suck, you know that.” You pout for half a second before your horny eyes are showing again. “Guess you don’t want to see the surprise I have for you.”

“What is it?” he asks a little too quickly. He must sound like such a simp.

You sit up, leaning your tits against his chest, and say, “Undress me.”

Jungkook lifts the dress up and over your head to reveal the same lingerie set he saw on your computer screen the other day. Except now it’s on your body. And boy does it look good on you. It doesn’t matter that he already had a sneak peek at it and plenty of time to mentally prepare himself for this. He still can’t take his eyes off of his baby girl looking all pretty in pink. And he forgets to speak.

“What do you think?” You drop to your knees on the carpet and situate yourself between his legs.

“Hot,” is all he can say before you unzip him and get your hands on his hard cock.

“Good.” You wet your lips with a sly tongue. Your hands start stroking his length up and down as you eye his tip. “It was an impulse buy the other day when I was feeling so horny for your cock.”

“Do you need my cock that badly?” he asks, his breath getting rougher. 

You nod, licking your lips again. He’d normally make you wait a little longer before letting you give head, but fuck it. It’s Valentine’s Day, and his cock is his gift to you. You’re always begging to suck it anyway.

With a firm hand, he angles your chin up until his erection is staring you in the face. You wrap your lips around him and take him in until he hits the back of your throat. Your cute little gag doesn’t stop you from going right back in, bobbing your head back and forth, up and down his length. He decides to help by thrusting in and out of your throat.

When you stop to catch your breath, his glaze runs down your mouth. You make sure he’s watching when you lick it up and swallow before sucking him more. One of your hands grips his cock while the other travels down into your thong. He watches the way you rub between your legs and rock your body back and forth to pleasure yourself and him at the same time. 

You savor each and every drop of him as if it’s the last. Your lips glisten and swell with pleasure as you’re hard at work with his cock. There’s no way anyone else can look this good while doing what you do to him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, fucking your face faster. You moan something that sounds like his name, although it’s kind of hard to understand with a fat cock in your mouth.

At his breaking point, he pulls out and strokes his length until (most of) his cum sprays right into your mouth. You swallow it up while shooting him an awfully innocent smile. After catching his breath, he wipes up the bit of lust on your cheek and lets you suck it off his fingers. You’re such a good girl for him.

“You were so good, baby,” he praises you. You definitely need to be rewarded. “Should we watch one of those romcoms?”

“I thought you said you didn’t like romcoms.” You tilt your head. “We can find something else that we can watch togeth—”

“Pick your favorite romcom.” He shakes your suggestion off and lays you down on the couch so that you’re facing the TV. He hooks a finger on the strap of your thong and tears it off. With his lips just a kiss away from your wet pussy, he says, “I won’t be watching anyway.”

[lucysarah-c]

Hi! Happy new years eve ✨🥂 hope you had an awesome 2023 and all my best wishes and blessings for 2024 🫶🏼

Now, I can’t get this idea out of my head. Levi adopting a kitten with his girl. I always thought of Levi like a cat person, idk he just seem to fit on it. And as a cat person myself I would love to read something about it.

I can imagine him thinking is a bad idea but then he cant go anywhere in the house without the kitty 🫶🏼 so adorable I guess

Ahhh happy new year!! Thank you for all your well wishes and sending them back to you! I'm sorry it took me this long to write this for you sweetie! T-T so sorry

It started in the least expected way. Levi and his group of friends had been trying to find new ways to spend time together in their difficult adult lives. They wanted to revisit certain activities they used to enjoy in their glory college days and bond a little. You, of course, didn’t complain. If Levi decided to go camping with his friends or hiking on any weekend, it was also a chance for you to hang out with your friends at home, maybe watch a movie he doesn’t like, and have a “me” afternoon. It was all positive until Levi began to notice something during their hangouts.

Dogs.

All of them, particularly Mike and Erwin, had their own respective big, fluffy, loyal-to-death dogs that they would take with them on hikes, jogs, or even camping trips. You could see from the look in your boyfriend's eyes that he was envious. The only reason you and Levi hadn’t adopted any pets before wasn’t because of you in particular. You grew up with pets, loved them, and felt that the house was missing something without a fluffy companion. And don’t get me wrong, Levi had always had a soft spot for animals. But, in his own words, “As a kid, my family could never afford one… and Kenny hated them so.”

When you two moved in together, he didn’t want any pets due to "too much hair, too much mess, and too much money spent on the vet." But now, you could see in his eyes that he desired one, especially when they took pictures with his friends' dogs, and Levi hardly ever took pictures himself. Sooner or later, you brought up the idea, and he seemed excited. You quickly guessed that he wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it since perhaps his pride stopped him from admitting that now all the previous reasons he had given you to say no weren’t that important.

One lazy Saturday, you were walking past the doors of a shelter. Both of you admitted that if you were going to get a pet, it would be a rescue, giving the chance for an animal to live the American dream (two adults with good salaries, a pretty house, and no kids) after someone had made them believe they were trash. Both of you talked to the receptionist, who said that soon she would walk both of you to the dog’s department to choose. But when the guide came back and you were ready to go in and check out the puppies with your boyfriend, he was nowhere to be found.

Quickly, you followed the sound of people talking, and there he was, talking to a vet at the cat’s side of the shelter. The vet seemed to be deeply engrossed in conversation with him as you reached his side.

“Lev? Love, they are waiting to show us the dogs,” you called to him before smiling softly at the vet, acknowledging their presence.

“Oh, I was just telling him that she never gets close to anyone, not even to us. It was almost magical seeing her trying to reach out to him,” the vet said, and you quickly concluded it was the cat that was rubbing the top of her head against the front of her cage, trying to reach Levi.

“Aww, poor thing,” you said as you bent down slightly to have a better look at her face and perhaps give the cat some love through the small space of the bars. But the cat quickly moved away from your touch and softly hissed.

It hurt you, despite knowing that all cats have their temperament, until the vet spoke again, “Oh, she has always been a little grumpy; she’s not a fan of people.”

Levi also bent down to the cat's level, and he seemed to be the chosen one because the cat was continuously bumping her head against the cage, seeking more love from him. “Well, that makes two of us,” he commented, admitting his antisocial tendencies.

“When we found her, we thought she was feral because of the damage from living on the streets and her attitude, but we found she was chipped. We contacted the owner, but he said that since she couldn’t have more kittens, they left her in the streets,” both of you slightly raised to look at the shelter’s owner with heartbroken faces. “She’s been here for a while, but nobody wants her because she’s old, grumpy, and because of all the pregnancies she had, she has FIV, which is an expensive treatment an-”

“I’m taking her,” Levi interrupted the vet without a second thought, and you were about to comment that the plan was to get a dog, nothing against taking the little cat.

“Are you sure? It’s a lot of responsibility, and she’s rather old,” the vet warned.

“I’m sure. What do I have to do to take her home?” Levi replied with confidence.

That’s how Chai Tea, or just Chai, came into your life. She was a grumpy old lady, but you two loved her to death, especially Levi. She seemed to be a golden brownish Persian, which made sense given her breeding history, but one of her ears was damaged from living on the streets, giving her a permanently angry face. The first sign of her enjoying being a spoiled princess was during her first visit to the vet after her adoption, when the instructions were to reduce her food rations because she was already a bit too chubby.

“Shhh, don’t listen to the vet. You’re perfect,” you heard Levi whispering as he rocked her in his arms in the kitchen. “Here, have some ham.”

She was obsessed with him, and he was obsessed with her. Did Levi complain about the hair? A lot, but at least he took the effort to vacuum and brush her himself. In his own words, “If I can make her life worth it for even a little bit at the end of it, then I’ll do it.”

It was endearing to receive a text message from Levi saying "On my way home," and then witness the little fluffy ball rushing down the hallway with her short legs once you tell her "Chai! Daddy is coming home!"

It was incredibly cute how she would meow all the way to the front door, occasionally looking back at you to make sure both of you were going to greet him.

It’s rather funny how he went to a shelter to get a big dog for his "bro's" adventures and came back with a cat that demanded to be picked up and rocked in his arms while he prepared dinner. Even funnier is how he accepted it. Now your camera phone is full of pictures and videos of Levi humming lullabies, sleeping with a cat on top of him, or holding her up in the air so she can hunt a moth.

A little bit jealous? Perhaps. Sometimes, Levi seems more eager to greet the fluffy cat when he gets home than he is to greet you. But being able to give an elderly cat a second chance was a better experience than anything else.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @s0meb0dy-0nce-t0ld-me @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[kai-ninjago]

Tornado Wranglers headcanons!

Every member of the Tornado Wranglers has gotten a tattoo done by Lily before, most of them drunkenly

Tyler and Boone have known each other since they were in highschool :) they weren’t extremely close until a few years later, but they would sit together at lunch

Boone has a pet snake! Its name is Jaeger

Dexter doesn’t go chasing quite as often as the rest of them because of his age— he has a bad back, and also likes to spend time at home with his wife

Dexter has four children, all of which are grown up and live out of state. They’ve all met the rest of the Wranglers at least once, though

Lily and Dani are dating and live together

Boone dropped out of highschool his senior year, but he doesn’t like to talk about it so no one (except Tyler) really knows why

Dexter used to do work as a volunteer firefighter when he was younger. His longtime career ended up being as a university professor later on

Dexter’s wife loves to cook for the Wranglers and have them over at their house— they’re around the same age as her and Dexter’s children, so it’s nice to have them around now that the kids are all moved out

Dani loves animals! When they’re not on a chase, she likes to volunteer at the local shelter, or foster cats and dogs

Lily and Dani share clothes a lot, especially when they’re on the road

I’ve seen this mentioned in plenty of fics, so it’s hardly my idea— but I wholeheartedly agree that Tyler’s accent comes out more when he’s drunk

Boone is the type to keep clothes until they’re literally falling apart— the majority of his wardrobe is 10+ years old, and very well worn

The group drinks together a lot, but Dexter rarely joins in— he likes to keep a clear head in case something bad happens, so he can take care of everyone

Coming back to Boone’s snake, Dexter absolutely refuses to go to Boone’s house because he’s terrified of snakes

Lily loves to draw! She’s the one who designed the “not my first tornadeo” shirts— it was meant as a joke, but Tyler loved them

Boone sleeps very little, and even less when they’re on the road. He gets nightmares often, so he likes to stay up as late as possible, only going to sleep when absolutely necessary.

The others are aware of this, and do their best to help him out wherever necessary

Tyler loves his truck so much, as soon as it gets damaged he finds a way to repair it

(Canon) Boone loves sweet things, especially chocolate! Tyler doesn’t like him eating in the truck though, because he’s messy

Lily often forgets to eat and drink when they’re traveling, leading to her getting exhausted and dehydrated. To combat this, Tyler makes a point of stopping and sitting down as a group to have three solid meals a day, even if they’re picnicking in the middle of nowhere

Boone likes to give everyone nicknames— T, Dex, Dans, and Lee

Tyler and Ben keep in contact after Ben goes home! They become close online friends, with Ben frequently tuning in to the streams. Later on, he makes a habit of visiting Arkansas to see the Wranglers at least once a year!

Boone is very affectionate with all of the wranglers, giving them hugs and even kisses all the time

Dani plays the guitar really well. She doesn’t bring one with her when they travel, but if she can get her hands on one, she likes to play and sing for her friends around the fire

Lily and Dani are short for Lillian and Daniela ^_^

If they’re ever traveling for a long time, like over a month, Tyler will have Dani cut his hair for him

Lily has a big family, and keeps in touch with all of her siblings. She calls them often to make sure they’re alright during storms, and most of the Wranglers know them well by now

Boone has a hard time reading, but he loves to listen to audiobooks while they’re on long drives! His favorite are sci-fi stories books like The Martian and Dune

Tyler loves to dance. He can sometimes convince the crew to go out line dancing with him, but most of them usually have to be at least a little bit tipsy to even consider it

Lily and Boone are best friends; they have very similar personalities and can easily match each others energy

The tattoo that Boone was referring to in that deleted scene where he’s talking to Ben is a tramp stamp that says “giddy-up cowboy”

Tyler loves to cook! At home he has a grill where he makes brisket and ribs to share with everyone ^_^

That’s all :P

[jimothy-hopkins]

This is another one of my many precious Bully ocs, Alice. She’s the sweetest fr. (Also easiest to draw)

Info about Alice!

General Description:

Alice is average height with an athletic, but delicate build. She has short, bleached blonde hair and greens eyes. She is in the paler side, and tends to get burned when she makes any attempt to tan. Alice walks with a straight posture, but tends to be fidgety when still.

Unlike many of her fellow preps, Alice is incredibly kind. She is known to be generous, and gives to those in need whenever she can. She is aware of her privilege and tries to use it to improve the lives of others rather than just take it for herself. As nice as Alice is, she is naive and often gets taken advantage of. She tends to struggle with anxiety as a result from the pressure of those around her.

Interests and whatnot:

Alice is very interested in charity and philanthropy, much like her parents. She attends various events and even starts her own fundraisers for certain causes. Wether that be school bake sales to help the art and theatre department, or going to large charity events to put money towards hospitals and whatnot.

Aside from charity, Alice is also an environmentalist and an animal rights activist. She does her best to improve natural habitats of animals and donates to rescues and shelters so that they have more capacity and care for animals.

One of Alice’s biggest interests is figure skating. Alice started skating at a young age, and has developed a natural talent for it. Skating brings her into a relaxed, but determined state of mind. It is her passion. It is what she is best at. She is deemed a prodigy.

Reputation:

Due to her interest in figure skating and regular fitness routine, Alice is admired by the jocks. She doesn’t cause issues for them, since she is usually very kind.

The greasers hate Alice by association. Alice doesn’t blame them at all- if the shoe was on the other foot she would hate the preps as well. She understands their point of view and does her best to avoid them.

The preps don’t respect her as much as she would like. She really only hangs around the clique because that was where she was initially accepted. They often think she’s childish and silly for starting charities and donating money. She is also in competition with her fellow preps across academics and sports. Their expectations weigh heavy on Alice.

Alice is in very good standing with the bullies. She is dating one of their clique members. (This member is a separate oc of mine, her name is Angelina. I’ll make her ref soon I promise guys.) The pair are quite open about their relationship. Alice and Angelina spend a lot of time with one another.

Alice is straight up afraid of the nerds. She’s heard all about Earnest and wants NOTHING to do with that crowd. If she absolutely had to be by their hangout spots, Alice brings her girlfriend with her to make sure they won’t bother her.

Quotes:

“If money is the root of all evil, I want to try and use mine for good things.”

“Sorry, I have a date with Angelina, cya later!”

“I can’t stand the way they talk about poor people! Just because they don’t have a trust fund doesn’t mean they should be treated that way.”

“One day I’ll skate at the Olympics.”

“Do you need anything? I’m happy to help!”

“Oh, I don’t have a five. Is a hundred okay for you? Here, take it.”

“Derby PAID someone for that ACT score. He’s not that smart.”

“I just feel like I’m a complete failure! They all hate me I don’t know what to do!”

“Snowball fight!”

“Promise you’ll be a real friend, please?”

“I can’t tell if Derby is just born that way or if he’s had plastic surgery. He doesn’t even look real.”

[elendsessor]

i like how aogami slowly but surely picks up on human stuff but still has no idea just how much applies to him

especially this little line

and the ensuing bench convo

i think that’s one reason why i love aogami so much as a character. he’s programmed to protect people, but being with vkun actually makes him realize certain aspects about humans. he doesn’t know he shares them, but at least starts to comprehend them.

i mean think about the first pic here. he talks in relation to yuzuru and miyazu, recognizes their unconditional (familial) love, but think it’s exclusive to them due to his lack of understanding. meanwhile, he’s also unconditionally loving and caring for the protag, going along with whatever he does and making a point to always be there with him, even just to talk.

the fact that he also starts second guessing himself too is really sad. he does think he’s a burden based on what he says in a few of the bench convos, and that makes his brief death all the more depressing. he doesn’t understand that he doesn’t have to be a human to be human, if that makes sense. he doesn’t know how much he matters to vkun, either. despite not wanting to place that kind of emotional burden on him, his sacrifice straight up breaks vkun. the fear of failing to protect them is fucking gut wrenching, so during that “death” scene, him believing the only way to make things right is giving himself up for vkun to live adds that exact same pain.

we know for a fact that them both making it is entirely possible due to canon of creation. lahmu “kills” the both of them, but tao still revived them. given how canon of vengeance has a lot more sacrifices, from tao putting herself in harm’s way when she doesn’t need to all to help others, sahori sacrificing any power lahmu gives her to beat her bullies to death via allowing the gang to beat him to death, yuzuru giving up himself to help miyazu only to have to hand over custody to khonsu which also means giving her up as well, nuwa willing to give up her existence to assist yakumo in wiping out both humans and demons, the fairies deciding to shelter the humans despite that potentially costing whatever peaceful living they had, etc., aogami is willing to do the exact same thing, not knowing just how big an impact that not only has, but that not every sacrifice involves the life of somebody because all the sacrifices he does see are direct ones involving loss of life, both in a figurative and physical sense. doesn’t exactly help that he was designed to be a tool, demons are used as tools, and a majority of characters shit talk demons no matter which ones end up being kind.

these added bits further elevate that and dammit i’m grateful to atlus for the bench and all the extra aogami moments.