#citizens: I’ve connected them

[is-this-even-relatable]

DC PROMPT #1:

So you know how Billy’s last name is Batson? Well think in terms of Norse naming schemes and it’s Bat son.

I want a fic where people think Billy is Batman’s son.

Batman knows who Captain Marvel is, and sometimes Billy has a tough day. Sometimes Batman comes to help out in Fawcett City and happens to run into scrawny kid Billy. So he helps/offers emotional or physical support.

And Billy is a little shit, and also magical as fuck so he’s got Weird-Vibes (TM)

People see this strange, obviously not normal child. People see Batman, the cryptid, whom shadows cling to and is quieter than the night he dwells in.

Yeah that black haired kid is obviously some magical spawn of batman.

And then they learn his name is Billy Batson? Yeah, that’s definitely Batman’s son, didn’t know Batman was norse though?

[yyuangss]

TU TODAVIA ME AMAS ! ( JING YUAN )

SUMMARY ! you may not be together anymore, and you can deny it all you want, but jing yuan knows you’re still in love with him.

NOTES ! yes, this is highly based off aventura’s todavia me amas 🏃‍♂️ it was supposed to be the hsr men but i have been wanting to write something longer and i wanted to write for my number one again 🤞 jing yuan, i have not forgotten you. reader is not the trailblazer. word count: 2.3k

A heavy sigh escaped from your lips. Your palm was pressed against your forehead and the other held a few sheets of paper. As you paced around in the Seat of Divine Foresight, the heels of your boots clicked with each movement. This situation is stressing you out more than usual.

So much that you aren’t even sure where to start. Jing Yuan sits quietly behind the large desk, watching your every movement. You are supposed to be discussing the matter with the General. Except you’ve been panicking in silence and left him counting how many sighs you’ve let out.

He watched you stop in front of the desk, gnawing on your bottom lip before setting the papers down on the desk.

“The number of monsters continues to rise.” You muttered, walking around the desk and sat next to Jing Yuan with space in between you. The same silence from earlier filled the room. It’s only the two of you and a warm teapot on the center of the desk alongside two teacups. “At this rate, we would lose more soldiers and it could even be risky for you to fight them alone.”

“Are you saying I’ve gotten weak?” The General finally spoke up after being quiet for the last hour. You tore your gaze away from the documents and looked over at him. His eyes held some drowsiness in them. You’re surprised he didn’t fall asleep where he was sitting earlier when you were pacing. A faint smile is present on his lips.

“I didn’t say that, General.” Your head turned back to the documents and your eyebrows furrowed again. “I’m simply saying that with all these appearances in the Luofu, they’re bound to give you trouble. Doesn’t matter if you’re our strongest soldier.”

“Please. I defeated Phantylia.” He gave his hand a quick wave, dismissing your words. You raised an eyebrow at his boastful comment. It was rare the time he said one of those. “Do you really think I wouldn’t win against a bunch of lowly monsters?”

“Don’t forget that you had the help of Imbibitor Lunae.” You said, resting your arm on the desk. Jing Yuan shrugged in response since he believed he had a valid point. Phantylia was one of his toughest enemies and he still managed to come out victorious with the Nameless, despite her being a Lord Ravager of Nanook.

“I did most of the work.” He said which made a frown appear on your face. His smile became more prominent at your reaction. You weren’t in the mood for his jokes. You didn’t have high hopes since his antics haven’t changed. Jing Yuan tilted his head down slightly. The stare he’s giving you means he’s about to say something else to irk your nerves on purpose. “I must say, it’s nice to know you still care about me after all these years.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. You grabbed the stack of papers again, flipping to the second page.

“It’s common sense to care about your comrades, General.” You said, furrowing your eyebrows as you read the encounters a few citizens of the Luofu had with monsters.

Your ability to make up excuses on the spot was impressive to him. He knew you well enough to see right through them.

“Right…” Jing Yuan crossed his arms over his chest. He took in a deep breath and exhaled shortly afterwards. He glanced up towards the ceiling. “Comrades…”

He’s gotten used to the way you act towards him now. He blames that on himself. Having time to reflect on your past relationship makes him realize how wrong his actions were.

To be exact, being in a relationship with Jing Yuan wasn’t easy. Everyone saw the chemistry and connection you two had. His playful remarks that made your face flush. The way you’d manage to get him speechless with your own comments. Once you two confirmed to finally be together, people assumed that you already were in a relationship. And at first, things were perfect.

Jing Yuan had become the man of your dreams. He wanted nothing more than to be yours for the remainder of his life. But once it became more serious and steady, moving out of that honeymoon phase, the problems started to develop.

You’re a high ranking official in the army. Strategic planning, training new recruits, creating teams, making sure the monsters are kept out of safe zones. It might not seem like it, but your position could become risky. The General knows you’re strong. Otherwise, this rank wouldn’t have been given to you.

Though knowing the woman he loves is constantly put in harm's way, he tends to worry. There were times Jing Yuan deliberately refused to send you to the front lines. Even if you argued saying it was your job, he sometimes went as far as changing plans. This was his way of keeping you safe. You couldn’t blame him. He’d lost a lot of friends and comrades. And he’d be damned if he lost you too.

Unfortunately, his overprotectiveness caused him to lose you in a different manner.

It’s not to say that you didn’t care about him. Jing Yuan could act reckless if he wanted to. Those rare moments when he did were the times you acted the same way. But never to an extent where you wouldn’t let him do his job.

The screen from your phone lit up. A notification which caught Jing Yuan’s attention and his curiosity got the best of him. His eyes flicked over and caught a glimpse of what it was. A message. He didn’t bother to read what was sent, he was more interested in the name of the sender. The General easily recognized it because Yanqing was the one to find out about it.

On a busy day, his young student said he ran into you when searching for a criminal in Aurum Alley. You were talking to some man before he decided to ask for your help. Then the lieutenant started to see you several times with the same man. Each time he went and told his mentor about it. As far as Jing Yuan is aware, you’re getting to know this new man.

He had yet to personally speak with his replacement.

“Hmph,” The noise came out extremely low and Jing Yuan looked away, pretending as if his focus wasn’t on your phone for a split second. He wasn’t as quiet as he thought. You looked from the documents to the General. At that same moment, you saw the bright screen light up again. You moved the papers out of your line sight and grabbed your phone.

Ah. Now you see why he’s looking away.

“So…” He cleared his throat. He’s still staring off at the wall as if he were a sulking child scolded by their parents. “This… Man. I presume you and him are together?” What a way to make things awkward.

“No.” You said. Jing Yuan only made his intentions more obvious by facing you again. He’s met with you sending a reply before putting your phone on the desk again. “We’re getting to know each other, is all. Enjoying someone else’s company outside of work and keeping things casual between us.”

“I see…” He mumbled under his breath. The General stares off at the entrance.

Now that the topic is still fresh, you might as well ask.

“And you?” You cautiously looked over at him. “Are you seeing anyone?”

You haven’t heard any rumors or speculation that he had a new lover. It’s been eating away at you ever since your relationship ended. Perhaps this could be your chance to encourage him if he already wasn’t in one. He was the General of the Luofu and had many options. Tons of women fawned over him. And you couldn’t lie, due to their dynamics, even Fu Xuan would be a great pair.

You had to remind yourself you weren’t in a relationship with him anymore and he was free to be with whoever he wanted.

“Me?” He wanted to laugh at the idea of meeting another woman. A sly smile slowly formed on his face and he chuckled lowly. He gave a quick head shake, expressing his opinion on how ridiculous your question was. His fingers tapped on his biceps and leaned back slightly. You pressed your lips into a thin line. He’s dodging questions, as per usual.

“Are you seeing someone or not?” You said, completely forgetting your promise to keep things professional. You were going to get an answer out of him one way or another.

“Would you like me to be sincere?” Jing Yuan’s eyebrow raised. All of a sudden you’re more interested in his love life over the task at hand. He’s holding back his urge to tease you about being jealous. He made a mental note to do that later on.

“Yes.” You huffed out.

“Alright.” He sat up straight. His smile hadn’t wavered in the slightest. You swear this conversation is only making it get wider. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting?” You asked, squinting your eyes. That was the most believable answer he managed to come up with? “Waiting for what?” Clearly he wasn’t giving any context because he wanted you to pry. Was he waiting for the right woman?

He chuckled again. His arms dropped and he reached over for the teapot. He carefully began to pour tea into the second empty cup to his desired amount. The General set the teapot back down. He grabbed his cup and brought it up to his mouth, staring into it.

“For you to realize that you’re still in love with me.” Jing Yuan said, taking a brief pause between his sentences. He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, “And then you’ll make me yours again.”

That… wasn’t what you were expecting. He can tell he caught you off guard. What do you respond to that?

“It’s been three years, Jing Yuan.” Your mood suddenly shifted as you glance away. He can’t pinpoint what you’re feeling. Did you realize you’re still in love with him? Are you saddened at the fact he’s doing this to himself? He knew when to be stubborn and staying out of relationships because he wanted no one but you was definitely one of them. “And it’s all in the past. There’s no use in dwelling on it.”

“You can say our love is in the past all you want,” You hear a creak from the wooden bench. Out of your peripheral vision, you caught Jing Yuan inching closer to you and not trying to be sneaky about it at all. Once again, his actions make you send a glare his way. “But you can never get rid of it.”

His smile tells you everything you need to know. He’s serious.

Serious and delusional, you thought to yourself. Jing Yuan truly believes your heart is still his. And if you weren’t already aware, his heart never stopped being yours. A groan came from your end and you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I’m not dealing with this.” You clicked your tongue, standing up from your spot. You dropped the documents on the table, snatching your phone off it and walking around. Jing Yuan struck a nerve. That’s why you hate that his antics haven’t changed.

You were making your way to the first set of stairs when his voice called out after you.

“I know you better than you think. You’re still in love with me.” His statement made you come to an abrupt stop. Your head whipped around, glaring at him and his stupid accusations. His eyes met yours again and he took a sip from his tea. Your annoyed face brought him some amusement. It reminded him of your early stages of attraction and as if you were starting anew. “Deny it, if you wish. But once you come to terms with the truth, I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You’re more arrogant than I thought.” You said, turning your body around to face him.

“And you’re still in love with me.” Jing Yuan repeated. His tone is flowing with confidence. He placed the teacup down on the table, making sure it wasn’t near any important documents. The last thing he needed was to ruin them because he wanted to flirt with his ex again.

“No, I am not.” Your eyes narrowed at him. It’s pointless to argue with him. He’s getting the reaction that he wanted from the very beginning. His smile morphed into his signature smirk.

“Yes, you are.” He said.

“No, I am not.” You put more emphasis on the sentence this time. He chuckled. He’s tempted to say it again but the argument wasn’t going anywhere.

“Don’t you think this back and forth is a bit childish, my dear?” Jing Yuan tilted his head to the side. His long white hair fell over his shoulders. He shows no signs of stopping any time soon. If you stay longer, his comments were going to revert back to the early days of your relationship. “I say we’ve already made it to the point where we kiss and make up.”

Forget that, he’s already saying them.

“The only thing you’ll be making up is a plan on how to deal with all those mara—struck!” You spun on your heel again. Jing Yuan’s laughter is heard after holding it in. You walk down the first set of stairs, raising your arm in the air and holding up your pointer finger. “I’ll be back soon and I want that plan, Jing Yuan!”

The General is left satisfied. He’s watching you leave the Seat of Divine Foresight, leaving him alone in his office he rarely spends his time at.

You could say that Jing Yuan is a one of a kind man. But he knows that he can be replaced by a man stronger than him, more attractive than him, and kinder than him. As the Nameless from the Express once said, the galaxy is vast beyond compare. There were many places and people you’d never meet in your lifetime. So if you did go looking for this pretend man who was better than Jing Yuan, you’d find him.

But from Jing Yuan’s point of view when it came to you? No woman could ever dream about replacing you.

[forcemeanakin]

Hot with brains

•WARNINGS: SMUT.  Fingering (f receiving), oral fixation, dirty talk, praise kink and also degrading kink, corruption kink kinda??? Edging. Public space. The OC has a kink that attracts her to smart guys.

Pairing: ROTS!Anakin Skywalker x Female!reader.

Summary: Anakin falls for the librarian at the Jedi Temple, however, he soon realizes his adorable smile and golden curls won’t cut it with this one. No, she likes something different: brains. 

Word count: 4.7K. 

A/N: Pretty self-indulgent piece. I've been obsessed with Anakin's engineering brain ever since I got into Star Wars and this idea had be floating around for a whileeeee. Hope you all enjoy reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

————————————————————————

You liked smart guys. 

It wasn’t a kink per sé. You just couldn’t see yourself hooking up with someone with no brains, let alone establishing a committed relationship with them. You were swoon by guys with deep thoughts and admirable speech skills. The type of man that would go for a whisky instead of a beer, or use real shoes instead of plain sneakers.

You being a snob might have to do with your upbringing, after all you were the daughter of two scholars and professors of one of the most prestigious universities of Coruscant. You were raised to be logical and love intellectual conversations. You wouldn’t- No. You couldn’t see yourself enjoying a space with someone with a low IQ.

That was the reasoning behind taking the internship in the Jedi Temple’s library as part of your college voluntary program. You had to volunteer a certain amount of hours in order to graduate from your Journalism degree with honors. 

You thought that even though this wasn’t exactly the area in which you were specializing, you would soak up some of the ancient knowledge of the Order, even make some great connections for the future. And so far it has been just that: A great experience. You got to read some really cool books and in the hours where no one would come, you got to finish some school work. The Jedi who would visit the library were nice and kind, always polite with a big smile. You even grew really fond of a young Togruta padawan that would spend her breaks in between training devouring books. 

It was calm and quiet. 

Until the storm broke through the door.

“Is this the one you’re looking for?” You yelled to Ahsoka as you climbed down the stairs with the title she asked for.

“Yes! Thank you, y/n!” She gave you a hug and ran to her table to start reading about the swamps in Dagobah.

You returned to your desk and kept registering the book’s codes into the control sheet when a loud sound made you look to the door, the one that was violently being thrown to open room for a tall, curly-haired man with dark robes.

You would recognize those robes anywhere. In reality, anyone from any point of the galaxy would recognize them.

Anakin Skywalker. 

One of the few exceptions of Jedi men who didn’t live up to the sophisticated standard of the Order’s image. And definitely someone you would prefer to stay away from. For some reason he was the favorite warrior of the people; the citizens would line up in front of the Temple to scream “Hero with no fear” to that pretentious douchebag.

He was fine. 

As what most people would call courageous, you would say careless. To others he was passionate, to you he was irrational. Not to mention how idiotic and unsubordinated he was; always talking back and doing things his way, ignoring what the guidelines said.

You didn’t like him. You didn’t like him at all. For that you were thankful that he never set foot into your sacred place. Until that doomed day.

“C’mon, Snips.” He shouted, approaching the desk where she sat. “We need to go. Council just called.”

“Can I have five more minutes? I’ve barely read anything about where we are going!” Ahsoka whined.

“You don’t need to read anything, we will find out anything that’s necessary there.” He huffed, finding his apprentice’s actions ridiculous. 

You quietly sighed and rolled my eyes. Of course.

“Fine… but y/n really took her time fetching it for me.” She exhaled annoyed and closed the book. 

Your eyes remained glued to your task at hand, not willing to look up and be involved in some type of pending argument.

“Who’s y/n?” Anakin scoffed rather loudly.

“Y/n! The volunteer?” Anakin frowned at the short explanation and shook his head in a negative motion. “You know, y/n! C’mon Skyguy, follow me.”

No, please no, you whispered to your insides.

“Hey, y/n!” You heard Ahsoka’s little footsteps running to where you were. 

“What can I do for you, Soka?” You answered, still pretending that you were too busy to move your head from its position.

“Skyguy hasn’t met you. Here, Anakin, y/n. She helps us out here in the library.”

“Ahsoka, we’re not supposed to be having social meetings, we need to go-” You finally gazed up and in that moment, Anakin and you made eye contact for the first time; it was intense. It felt like something clicked for him. “You must be Y/n.” Anakin shook his head lightly, hinting a little smirk as leaned over your table with fixed eyes. 

Hell, no.

“Yes, I am. How may I help you?” You were bitter, totally unbothered by his chiseled cheekbones, or his gorgeous hair, or his plumped lips. Not even the scar had any effect whatsoever. He was an ass and that was automatically a turn off for you. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t met you. You must be new.” He explained with dreamy eyes, subtly checking you out. You cursed the moment you decided to come in today with a blouse who had a bit of a cleavage. “I’m Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”

“Actually, I’ve been here for almost two months now.” You suppressed the soul-eating need to roll your eyes.

“Oh, really? Sorry, I don’t come here much.” He leaned over even more, trying to keep eye contact even when you sat down. 

“Obviously.” You whispered on the low.

“Excuse me?” Anakin frowned, interrupting his beam to pout with confusion.

“Nothing.” You smiled widely with a fake grin. 

“Okay…” His frown deepened before a smirk broke out his lips. “Maybe I will make it a habit and visit more often.” He shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side, deciphering the effects of his statement on you. 

“You should.” You looked at him and gave him a side-smile, making his eyes sparkle. “Books are good for you.” You returned to check the order of nabooian books on your computer. 

“Yeah, books are cool but there are other things I would much rather check out.” He smirked shamelessly at you, the back-handed comment flying way over his head.

You felt like gagging. Not the good kind.

Before you could come up with a clever response and shut him down for good, Ahsoka spoke from behind him.

“Ugh, gross! Let’s go!” The kid dragged him out by his clothes and before he disappeared through the glass door, he winked at you.

That was the first time you have seen him. First of many, many more. 

Since the day your paths crossed, he took every fleeting moment to come and “read”, when in reality it was just him eating, or drawing or doing anything but opening a book. Taking advantage of your breaks, or whenever you returned to your seat after doing rounds, he would come over and make conversation. About his battles, his accomplishments, his close-calls to death… or about random facts he collected from his missions and travels; Anything that would maybe impress you.

And when he wasn’t doing that? He would drown you in compliments, to see if in fact, you soften up to him. Anakin was already aware of your no-so-secret disgust towards him the day he caught one of your eye rolls.

Did he care? No. 

He was persistent: admiring your hair, loving the way you had styled it in a little bun (even though it was because the heat was eating you alive). He would ask about the tasks you were performing, sucking at pretending to be interested in hearing about organizing books in alphabetical order. 

And it would have maybe worked; his good looks combined to his natural charisma were enough to make any mortal melt at his sight. You almost combust when you saw him carrying some wood boards into the library, the primal part of you rejoicing at the sight of his strong muscles stretching. The man was eye candy, whether you like it or not.

But, boy, were you tough.

Anakin Skywalker was not your cup of tea to say the least. You wouldn’t collaborate in his attempts to get to know you. You were so uninterested in finding out more about him when you had already scanned him. Just a way-too-handsome-for-his-own-good guy who was lucky enough to be born as the Chosen One, because otherwise, he would have never made it in the Order. He was determined, you would give him that. 

His approaches were never creepy or invasive enough to make you uncomfortable, only to drive you wild. Even when he was the worst part of your day, you had to keep the polite but distant charade going on, in order to protect your job. Your disgust towards him, instead of hurting him, amused him. He liked challenges and you were freaking Mission Impossible. Although he also saw the flaws in you: a pretentious prick girl who had probably achieved everything in her life thanks to nepotism. But he could see past that.

Because, boy, were you hot. 

And he was sure you liked it nasty. 

Underneath your goodie-two-shoes clothes hid the true you: he knew you loved being treated like a filthy slut.

“Hello, y/n!” Ahsoka squealed in an excited voice. You two have grown to adore each other. 

“Hey, Soka!” You responded happily, finishing to put some encyclopedias on a shelf. When you turned around, you saw she wasn’t alone. “Oh… good afternoon, Anakin.”

“Nice to see you too, y/n.” Anakin huffed in a sarcastic voice before strolling to where you were, Ahsoka following close behind. “Is that a new shirt? It suits you.”

“No, it’s the same white button up shirt that I’ve always used.” You smiled and turned around to roll your eyes in peace. He was too busy devouring your bosom behind the fabric to ever notice the barrier between his eyes and your skin.

“Y/n, do you think you could grab me a book about loreeks? I’m doing a little presentation about them for my science class.” Ahsoka asked you with a sweet voice.

“Oh sure… just let me look oveeeer…” You walked, stretching the words as you searched in the countless sections. “...here. It must be on one of these shelves.” You announced when you entered the exotic animals aisle. 

Digitating the code on your scanner you found out it was in one of the tallest shelves, only reachable with a ladder. Right when you were about to move it, Anakin came in.

“Don’t worry, Y/n. I’ll get it.” And he used the Force to bring the book down. “Here you go Snips, study hard.” He nudged her head, annoying her.

“Yeah, I guess… but it’s Friday. Can I read after I hang out with the other padawans? Barris and Meelo are going skating!” She gave her best puppy eyes, to which Anakin agreed, after giving it little to no thought.

“You didn’t have to give her the book, I could have done it.” You waited for Ahsoka to leave before dropping the bomb. 

“Easy there, kitten. I was just helping out.” He furrowed his eyebrows. As if the unnecessary nickname wasn’t enough to drive you mad. Looking down, he saw the rest of your outfit and lingered his eyes more than necessary in your short, black skirt. “On second thought, I might have let you do it.” He smirked confidently.

“Just stay out of my way, okay?” You growled, walking away from him to your desk, not without bumping your shoulder with his on your way out.

“What the hell is your problem?” He asked with an incredulous face.

You were done. The build-up from the past month was beginning to choke down your sense of decency. Not to mention that your day was already going terrible before he appeared: the droid that would always help you out was broken, significantly delaying your work day. Also, it was laundry day and you had to use your uncomfortable lingerie.

“You know what, Skywalker?” You turned around with raised eyebrows. “You’re my problem.” He opened his eyes in bewilderment. “I don’t like you. I don’t appreciate you coming in, all macho-” You made a mocking manner. “-acting like a goddamn superhero, only after cleaning up the mess you created in the first place.” You crossed your arms in your chest. 

“I’m a general, kitten, and I can assure you the war it’s not my fault.” He scoffed, he used the nickname again, knowing it would press your buttons. 

“And how many times have you messed it up bigger than it was?” You squinted your eyes, only to see him run out of words. “That’s what I thought.” You came back to digitating codes. “It’s like you don’t think. You are just a machine run by adrenaline and praise.” You finally rolled your eyes in front of him without shame. You tried to run down the reports that C7, your assistant droid would do, only to fail and almost delete everything in your computer. “And I can assure you I have bigger problems than dealing with you!”

“Okay, back down-”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You yelled, getting desperate and throwing a tantrum at the device. You had enough for the day. You could leave, given that no one would come over this late, but your sense of responsibility prevented you from going home before finishing your work load. “I fucking hate this system!”

“Let me see-”

“Don’t! Just don’t, okay?” You swatted his hand away. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Could you stop being so stuck-up and let me help you?” He raised his voice, stepping up close to tower you. His eyes were on fire and you could sense that your previous comments did get to him, but for some reason outside of your understanding, he was still willing to help.

“Fine.” You chewed the words in your mouth, stepping down as you glared at him, giving him space to analyze the situation.

Instead of leaning down the computer, he went directly to C7, who lingered weakly on the side of your desk. He picked him up and put it on the table, moving him around his hands to examine the droid. He hummed after a couple of minutes, putting the mechanical body at eye level. “I see.”

“See what? What is it?” You pressed, trying to pick a glance from over his shoulder.

“I’m going to need my tools.” He murmured, dropping the droid back again.

“Wh-”

“I’ll be right back.” He exclaimed, before heading to the door in a rush.

“Wait! What?” You shouted, the shadow of his body the only thing visible.

You stayed alone for about fifteen minutes. You even got to thinking that he was pulling a prank on you, after yelling at him. But you stayed there, because well… what else would you do? You were beginning to fall asleep as you played with paper clips, when you heard the door being opened again.

“Finally! I thought you had left!” You sighed in relief, pushing your body off your desk. 

“I was getting my tools, I told you.” He frowned, lifting the heavy, dark red box to the white marble. “Now let’s bring this one back to life.” He smiled, before busting the carcass open. 

It took Anakin less than what you waited for him to get C7 up and running again. He flipped panels, snapped cables and pressed buttons, at an order that seemed random to you, until C7’s mechanical eyes opened again.

“Oh my God!” You laughed in disbelief. “He’s functioning again!”

Anakin smiled down at the table, as he finished up adjusting some screws. C7 sat up, analyzing his surroundings before getting up and going straight back to work. 

“I-I-” You were speechless. How did he do that? So fast? “I can’t believe you just did that.” You mumbled, still looking at C7 like it was a ghost. “Thank you, Anakin.” You turned around with apologizing eyes, twitching an embarrassed smile. 

“No problem. His transmitter was disconnected from the main system. I had to fix his-” The next couple of things that he mentioned sounded like pure gibberish to you, but he was very firm, so it must be true. Right? Sensing your bafflement, he spilled facts slower and quieter until he stopped talking, finalizing with a dry smile. “Yeah, it was nothing.”

He was starting to pack everything in his toolbox again and you had a pending need to say something. However, you didn’t know if you should kick off with a real apology or-

“How did you know all that?” So a pop quiz it was. In your defense, you were genuinely curious about the abilities he had just demonstrated. Mindblown, to be more specific. 

“About what?” He furrowed his brows, closing the box but leaving on the table. 

“About the transmitter, and the restraining bolt, and- and-” You were running out of technical terms. 

“Mechanics are second nature to me at this point.” He shrugged his shoulders, picking up the box. “I know everything about the topic, so, it was an easy fix. I’d have rearranged his central system if I had the missing part, but it’s very specific. What I did will do for now, though.” 

He was about to leave when he noticed the way you were leaning on the table, head on top of your fist to pay close attention to him. You were murmuring almost unhearable “uh-huh”s, totally lost in his words. 

“Sooo, you know mechanics.” You were such a hypocrite, you couldn’t stand the man fifteen minutes ago and now you were drooling over the sight of him explaining complicated shit to you. Snob. “You often fix things?” You tried to investigate, see if the throbbing happening between your legs was worth pursuing. 

“Sometimes… I often go to the hangar and repair the damaged ships or flip them.” He grinned without teeth. “The techs often ask for me. They say I have an eye for these things. Been working on droids since I was a kid, so.” Anakin wasn’t trying to brag, but his ample knowledge in mechanics was something that he prided himself on. 

“That seems like a lot of work.” You continued the small talk, slowly losing yourself over this spontaneous crush. 

“It can get tricky.” He dismissed, beginning to notice the glint on your eyes. He recognized the way your irises had darkened: He got those fuck-me eyes wherever he went. “Still haven’t found something I can’t fix.”

But it was involuntary. The fact that he was an expert on a matter as hard as mechanics scratched a part of your brain; It flipped a switch inside of you. Anakin was a different man under your eyes now. He was smart, hella smart. 

“Gosh, that’s so impressive.” You giggled like the girls that would flirt at him. Pathetic. But you quickly regained control, not before sucking up some courage and getting closer to him, posing more seductively this time. “That brain of yours sure hides lots of secrets.”

He hadn’t quite figured out why the change of heart, so it took him a moment to replay your evening together. It lasted a bit more than he liked to admit, but it hit him. Of course. An arrogant smile cracked his face. Of course you would be attracted to someone who was a master of something you consider relevant. After all, you liked to consider yourself an “intellectual”. Just to test his theory, he consciously started to brag about something else… something that would have your panties in a bunch if his hypothesis was correct.

“Wanna know another one?” He cocked an eyebrow, resting his elbow on the table to stand inches away from your face.

Your face shined with a slight pink blush, but it was the way you bit your lip that drove him crazy. That and your enthusiastic nod. “Yeah.”

“There’s a reason behind why I’m the best pilot of the fleet. And it’s not just because of my background as a pod racer or the Force.” He whispered, snickering at how soft your eyes had grown. “It’s actually because… I use physics.”

“Physics?” You almost moaned. 

“Yeah, physics.” He repeated, moistening his lips, a thing your eyes followed. “Self-taught, just like with mechanics.”

That ripped a subtle whimper out of you. Well, not subtle to him. 

“You-you understand math?” If it wasn’t because you were visibly squeezing your thighs at the newly acquired information, he would be completely offended that you thought he was dumb as fuck. 

“Love em.” He muttered, his intense stare glued to you, as his fingers put a string of hair behind your ear.

Like thunder, you were rushing to capture his lips and show him just how hot you thought he was now. Anakin freezed at first, taking aback by your sudden demonstration of affection, but when he understood that you were willingly -and enthusiastically- giving yourself to him, he wasted no time to embrace you back. 

Wet kisses splashed everywhere; it was fucking mess. You hung onto his shoulders while he groped all of your body, starting with your sweet hips, fondling your ass like it was his personal stress ball and finally landing on your waist. You pressed against him shamelessly, but in reality, how much shame could you still have when the man’s tongue was down your throat? The only thing you knew with certainty was that the sucking sounds and moans you both dropped were intensifying the already sex-filled atmosphere.

“Anakin.” You tried to sound normal, but your voice was failing just like your knees were. “W-why haven’t you gone to a proper school? Maybe get a degree?”

Was that seriously so important to you? The opinion of others? Anakin questioned in his own head.

Anakin was the kind of person that wasn’t susceptible to the opinion of others, especially regarding his own image. He was sure of the shit he knew and didn’t need anyone validating that for him. No expensive universities, no uptight professors; Obi-Wan was more than enough. Nonetheless, he had found a shortcut to get inside your pants and God as his witness, he was gonna use it. 

“Y/n.” He snickered right in your face, drinking in the power. “I don’t care about any of that. I'm a certified engineer, that’s how I got to build this myself.” Removing the leather, he revealed his mechanical limb to you, wiggling his fingers.

It was fancier than you ever thought a mechanical hand could be. Black with touches of gold; it was elegant and sophisticated, way more advanced than any technology you had ever seen in the orthopedics research field. And you knew it well, your mom was an orthopedic surgeon. 

It was no surprise to him that after spilling that last fact you were now shamelessly grinding on his half-hard. The fact that he was an engineering mastermind was such an aphrodisiac. And as much as he wanted to have another taste of your full, pink lips, the ones he often imagined enveloped around his dick while you scolded him, Anakin wasn’t willing to make the first move.

You were going to have to beg for it. 

“Anakin?” Your hands flattened on his pecs, back arching when he cupped your cheek with the cool durasteel prosthetic, kneading against it with soft eyes. He must have noticed how captivated you were by his invention. 

“Yeah, baby?” He continued the soft ministrations up and down your cheek, redirecting your gaze to his face whenever your eyes would deviate to his artificial limb. 

“You- Uhm, you built it from scratch?” You gulped when his thumb inched closer to your mouth, rubbing your bottom lip and pulling it open. 

Little obedient you put no resistance, and instead, stuck out your wet tongue to happily receive his digit into your warmness. But this time it was his index, the one you were bobbing your head into, eye contact not faltering even when you were practically giving oral to his hand. Anakin smiled pleased at your enthusiasm for pleasuring him and added another finger for you to lubricate. 

“From scratch.” He nodded, lustful irises boring into you. “Designed it too.”

You moaned around him, feeling content with being sandwiched between his firm torso and your desk, and with your mouth being fucked by his fingers. Saliva smeared all over your chin, you whined pitifully when your lips were no longer stuffed. On the contrary of leaving you all hot and bothered, Anakin lowered those same fingers to your leaky cunt, pushing your underwear aside for easy access. 

He groaned when he first inserted a finger, your gasping a sign for him to slow down. “Baby, you’re tight.” He seemed to love that about you. 

After adjusting to the size of his strong index finger, Anakin breached in with his middle one, repeating the process of you getting used to the coldness and girth all over. 

“A-Anakin.” You closed your eyes, involuntarily standing on your tippy toes. 

“That’s right, you’re doing so well. Taking my fingers like a true champ.” He bit down a condescending smile. “Atta girl.”

The initial discomfort was just a milestone you had to overcome to succumb to the pleasure that it was being fucked by Anakin Skywalker’s metal hand. His frigid thumb came to roll over your bundle of nerves, helping you relax into him and enjoy the sensation of fully riding his hand. 

“That’s it. Fuck my hand just like that, kitten.” He chuckled, finding a spot on your neck to latch on, leave a little souvenir of your encounter, and hide his pitiful laugh. 

Kisses were peppered along your exposed throat, your clavicle and jaw, his long eyelashes tickling you and making you clench around his metal hand tighter. Whilst you worried about not whining too loud for anyone to enter the library, Anakin was pumping his fingers at such an unholy pace to complicate your task.

“Shhh, baby. You need to be quiet. Wouldn’t like for anyone to come in. You could lose your job.” He mocked with a side smile and you had to gripped his bicep to keep your balance. “Could you imagine? Getting caught having sex at work? With a Jedi?”

You could perceive that the trespassing of the pseudo-celibacy Jedi code was turning him to no end, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes getting stronger when he said the last sentence. 

“W-We’re not having sex.” You corrected him, like it mattered. Like having him knuckles deep into you was somehow less frowned-upon than to have actual coitus.

That made him laugh and you wiggled underneath him, fighting to not let your tears fall. 

“You just wait.” His lips ghosted over yours, his breath fanning over your heated face. The increase of the movements of his hand was a sign that he had noticed the contractions around his digits, fully aware that you were close. “Ready to come, baby? Gonna gush all over me?”

You nodded, biting your swollen lip, losing the battle against your tear duct. Anakin used his other thumb, the one that was not torturing your clit, to liberate your abused lip. His mouth lowered to capture yours in a hot kiss, this tongue sliding on your inside until it hit your throat. So deep into you that you would never forget his taste; so deep you will never be able to deny him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You whimpered against his smile when you reached your peak, dissolving into this meaningless mass between his arms. “Anakin…” You rode out your climax, still rocking your hips to prolong the pleasure.

Anakin waited until you regained some composure to help you fix your clothes, putting back your underwear as he found it and lowering your skirt. His actions had you frowning: Weren’t you two gonna fuck? You were already mentally prepared to welcome his enormous cock in your tiny canal. 

He grinned at your puppy eyes and adorable pout, your flustered state funnier than it should be. It was almost enough to break him. But someone had to give you a lesson. 

 “At the end of the day, I’m just a soldier, Y/n. An incompetent one, according to you.” 

Before you could protest that, he was tilting his head in an accusatory manner. Like saying: Don’t even try it. And before leaving with his head high, he spat: 

“My apologies if that’s not fancy enough for you, ma’am.”

[brainddeadd]

The Proposal

When a sudden immigration issue threatens to deport you back to Canada, you devise a plan: convince your charming but infuriating neighbor, Quinn Hughes, to marry you. What starts as a wild scheme leads to unexpected feelings, hilarious misadventures, and a deeper connection.

this was originally going to be a series but my brain went pooft

Your life is officially a disaster. All it took was a single letter from immigration. Due to some bureaucratic nightmare, your visa is expiring, and you’re suddenly at risk of being deported back to Canada—a place you haven’t lived in years. Your job, your friends, your entire life is here now. You pace your apartment, chewing on your lip, heart racing with panic. There has to be a solution, some way to stay.

That’s when the idea hits you—crazy, reckless, and entirely illegal.

You need someone to marry you.

But not just anyone. It has to be someone local, single, and trustworthy enough to go along with this scheme. Unfortunately, your options are limited. And then you think of your neighbor: Quinn Hughes.

The thought makes you groan aloud. Sure, he’s gorgeous—with his sharp jawline, quiet charm, and infuriating smirk—but the two of you are more like frenemies than anything else. Your relationship consists mostly of snarky comments in passing and the occasional argument over his terrible parking. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And besides, if anyone can convincingly pretend to hate you while still marrying you, it’s Quinn.

The Proposal:

Later that evening, you find yourself standing outside Quinn’s door, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek. The moment he opens it, dressed in a hoodie and gym shorts, you blurt out, “I need you to marry me.”

Quinn blinks, stunned. “What?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s not what it sounds like. It’s just… immigration messed up my visa, and if I don’t fix this soon, I’m going to be deported. The fastest way to stay is if I marry a U.S. citizen.”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. “And you thought I was the best option?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to sound confident. “I mean, you’re already in my life. Sort of. And it’s not like you have a girlfriend or anything, so…”

Quinn’s lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. “You do realize this is illegal, right?”

“Only if we get caught,” you say quickly. “Look, it’s just a piece of paper. We don’t have to actually act married. We just have to fool immigration long enough for me to get my green card, and then we can… annul it or whatever.”

He studies you for a moment, as if weighing the insanity of your request. “What’s in it for me?”

You rack your brain for something to offer. “I’ll stop giving you shit about your parking.”

Quinn chuckles softly. “That’s it?”

“And… I’ll buy you coffee every morning,” you add, desperate.

He lets out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You owe me. Big time.”

Your heart leaps. “So that’s a yes?”

Quinn shrugs, looking both amused and resigned. “Guess I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Hilarious Misadventures Ensue:

From the moment Quinn agrees, things spiral into a series of chaotic events. You and Quinn suddenly have to act like the perfect couple, and it’s harder than you anticipated—mainly because the two of you are polar opposites.

1. The Wedding: You decide on a quick courthouse wedding to make it official. There’s no fanfare—just you in a white sundress and Quinn looking mildly annoyed in a button-down shirt.

“I feel like we should say something meaningful,” you whisper as the judge prepares to officiate.

Quinn smirks. “Like what? ‘Til deportation do us part’?”

Despite yourself, you snort, and the judge gives you both a strange look. You manage to keep a straight face just long enough to exchange vows—if you can even call them that—and sign the marriage license.

“Well, Mrs. Hughes,” Quinn teases after, flashing a grin. “How does it feel to be married?”

“Like I made a huge mistake,” you reply with a playful glare.

2. The Fake Instagram Life: To sell the story, you both agree to post a few couple-y photos on social media. The problem? Neither of you are exactly Instagram-savvy.

Quinn’s first attempt is a blurry photo of the two of you holding coffee cups. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, frowning as you groan.

“It looks like a hostage situation, Quinn.”

After several failed attempts, you finally manage a decent photo: you sitting on his lap, laughing as he pretends to kiss your cheek. It’s fake, of course. Completely fake. But the way his hand rests on your waist feels a little too real.

3. Immigration Interview Disaster: The immigration interview is the real test, and it’s an absolute disaster.

The officer asks simple questions: “How did you two meet?” “What’s Quinn’s favorite food?”

You both answer at the same time, giving completely different answers.

“Spaghetti,” you say.

“Chicken tenders,” Quinn mutters.

You shoot him a look. “Since when?”

“I told you that last week,” he whispers back, exasperated.

The officer narrows her eyes, and you and Quinn exchange panicked glances. Somehow, you scrape through the interview, but not without promising each other to actually learn more about each other next time.

Feelings Get Complicated:

What started as a transactional arrangement begins to shift. The longer you spend time together—watching TV on his couch, cooking dinner side by side, sharing space in ways that feel dangerously domestic—the more the lines blur between what’s fake and what isn’t.

One rainy night, you find yourself curled up against Quinn on the couch, his arm casually draped around your shoulders. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you wonder if he feels it too.

“This was supposed to be fake,” you whisper, almost afraid to say it aloud.

Quinn’s hand brushes your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But it doesn’t feel fake anymore.”

You look up at him, your breath hitching as his gaze drops to your lips. Before you can overthink it, he leans in, capturing your mouth in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s not rushed or rehearsed—it’s real. And it’s everything you didn’t know you wanted.

The Inevitable Realization:

Over the next few weeks, everything changes. The fake touches—his hand on your back, your fingers laced through his—become second nature. Quinn starts leaving his toothbrush next to yours. You start falling asleep in his bed more often than not.

And then, one morning, it hits you. You’re not faking anymore.

You sit across from him at breakfast, watching as he scrolls through his phone, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. It’s terrifying, how easy this has become.

“What are you thinking?” Quinn asks, glancing up from his phone.

You smile softly. “That maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.”

Quinn’s eyes crinkle with amusement, but there’s warmth there too—something deeper, more genuine. “Guess we’ll have to stay married, then.”

You laugh, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Hughes.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

[four-loose-screws]

Hi! I’ve seen people people say that Dimitri speaks in an informal rude manner in Japanese so him being super polite in English is weird changes his character a lot, but I’ve also seen people say the localization is just fine. Could you clear up please? Thank you!

This ask has been in my inbox forever, and I know other ENG/JP bilingual FE fans have weighed in on this topic before. But exploring the nuances of Japanese formal vs. casual speech is always super fun, so I want to share my own thoughts too. There's always a chance there will be more to learn with each new person's input on the same topic. Plus, I discovered some things even I didn't expect! So, I'll still offer everything I have to say!

First, I'll explain the full background this ask is referring to. Japanese has 2 major distinct speaking styles - casual and formal. I was taught to call the formal style "distal" - because it is more about respecting distance in social standing than being formal specifically. But formal is the more common term, so I tend to stick with saying formal most of the time.

The distinction between casual and formal is made with pronoun choice, word choice, and other factors as well, but the fastest way to differentiate the two is to look/ listen for the use of desu and masu at the end of someone's sentences. Formal uses them. Casual drops them. This concept is entirely foreign to English speakers!

Dimitri drops desu and masu most of the time. His "I pronoun" is also ore, and his "you pronoun" is omae - both casual, blunt, and masculine choices. But does speaking casually to most of the cast make him rude?

Short answer is... no, not at all! There's 2 major reasons for this.

Reason #1 - the rules for casual vs. formal speech are a bit different in reality vs. fiction:

Partially, Dimitri speaks casually because he is showing his personality. He's got all those traits most standard FE protagonists share - he's strong, straightforward, and wants to connect directly on a personal level with everyone he meets. He tries to convince several characters that they can speak casually with him, because he sees people as people, and doesn't want social status putting distance between them.

Fictional characters generally speak more in-line with their personality more often, rather than following the socially acceptable speaking rules of the real world. (Though don't get me wrong - casual real Japanese people will speak casually in more circumstances than the average Japanese person.) This is simply the style that Japanese writers largely choose. And I think it is one of the great benefits of Japanese - anyone can start to pick up on a character's personality archetype almost instantly, thanks to their speaking style!

Reason #2 - Dimitri is a prince, making him of high social rank:

Here's the second nuance to this - it is absolutely standard for a superior to talk to their subordinates in casual style.

In modern times, this is shown in the workplace. Bosses and those in other leadership positions will frequently speak casually with the staff in a lower-ranking position than them. The president of the office I now work at is Japanese, and he speaks very casually with me - I have to be formal in response though, because he's at the top!!

But in the past, this would have been a distinction made between lord/ royalty, and those beneath them. Which is the case that is relevant in Fire Emblem's setting.

Dimitri can also speak casually without coming off as rude, because he is one of the highest ranking people across all of Fodlan.

-

Okay, so that's the answer in broad strokes - but let's get a bit more nuanced, go down Dimitri's support partner list, and confirm whether or not he always speaks casually!

Group #1 - Dimitri and the other citizens of Faerghus (8 other Blue Lions + Gilbert)

Dimitri has a multi-layered relationship with all of the other 8 Blue Lions. They are citizens of the country he is a prince of, therefore he is ranked very highly in social standing above them. But they are also his friends, classmates, and later, war allies; placing them on the same social level in that regard. So the way they speak to him comes down to a little bit of column A - personality, and a little bit of column B - which aspect of their relationship with Dimitri they feel is the "main" one.

Gilbert is also here in this category, as another person from Faerghus.

Dedue: Dimitri speaks casually, Dedue speaks formally, as they have a lord/ servant relationship. Dimitri wants Dedue to be a very close friend to him though, and wants Dedue to speak casually with him - this is a major source of tension in their supports. In the end, being able to mutually speak casually with each other and be friends, is a place they may reach one day. With other characters, Dedue speaks casually.

Felix: As royalty above Felix's noble house, Dimitri speaks casually. Felix is Felix, so he speaks casually too. I imagine he sees Dimitri quite literally as more of a wild boar than a human being, much less royalty.

Ashe: Dimitri speaks casually, Ashe speaks formally. However, pretty much the whole point of their supports is Dimitri attempting to get Ashe to speak casually with him.. Ashe tries in earnest to switch, but in the end sticks with speaking formally, otherwise he feels too uncomfortable. His view of Dimitri as his prince is too strong for him to let go and speak casually.

Sylvain: Dimitri speaks casually, and Sylvain speaks casually more often, but actually switches to desu and masu more than once. When a relationship is "in-between" higher/lower social standing and friendship, it's not uncommon for at least one person to switch back and forth between casual and polite speech, depending on which side of the relationship they are appealing to more at the moment. This happens in real life too as people shift from strangers, coworkers, etc. to friends.

Mercedes: They both speak casually. In Mercedes' case, I think she's speaks more in-line with her personality rather than paying attention to social status.

Annette: Both speak casually, but Annette is well aware that there's something a little wrong with that - her father would never let her get away with it if he knew!

Ingrid: Dimitri speaks casually, Ingrid speaks formally. But I think Ingrid speaks formally with everyone.

Gilbert: As you can probably guess based on my comments in Dimitri and Annette's analysis, her father most certainly speaks formally with Dimitri! He is very formal and takes social heirarchy very seriously. Dimitri, as the prince above him in social status, speaks casually.

Group #2 - The other characters at the monastary:

Since the remaining characters are not from Faerghus, Dimitri is not their prince. They'll be more likely to view him through the lens of a different relationship than royalty/ subject.

Catherine is originally from Faerghus yes, but she has cut her ties from her homeland completely to serve Rhea, so she fits into this group now.

Raphael: Both speak casually. I think Raphael treats everyone like a life-long friend!! He at least attaches san or sensei (teacher) to the names of his instructors, but that's about it for formal language for him.

Marianne: Dimitri speaks casually. Marianne speaks formally, as she does with everyone. I think she even attaches san to everyone's name, conveying how much she keeps her distance from people, trying not to form close relationships.

Flayn: Dimitri speaks casually. Flayn speaks formally, as I think she does with everyone.

Hapi: Both speak casually. I think Hapi speaks casually with everyone.

Alois: Now *here's* where things get interesting! At this point, I really thought I would discover that Dimitri speaks casually with everyone. But alas, he does NOT! Dimitri speaks formally with Alois, while Alois speaks casually to him. Why? Well, while Dimitri is a prince, he's also a student at Garreg Mach (in Part 1 of course). In this way, he is below all Garreg Mach staff and professors in social standing. So it makes perfect sense that he'd speak formally and Alois would be casual in this case.

Catherine: Same situation as Dimitri and Alois - as someone who serves as an instructor at Garreg Mach, all students like Dimitri are below her in status at the monastary. So Dimitri speaks formally, and she speaks casually.

Byleth: I left Byleth for last, because while Byleth is a professor at the monastary... Dimitri speaks casually with them. I imagine this has more to do with Byleth being the self insert than anything. Everyone bonds to Byleth on a deep level faster than magnets stick together.

And that's all I can think of to say for now! This is a super fun example of how nuanced Japanese's casual vs. formal language can get, and showcases one of the many reasons why Japanese has such a high barrier of entry for anyone learning it - including young native speakers! You don't get all this desu and masu stuff, until finally you just do.

Let me know if I missed anything, or if anyone has any follow up comments to make!

I apologize it took me so long to respond to this one! Thank you anon, and all readers, for waiting! I hope it helped explain even more of the trickier nuances of Japanese.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 12)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie📍 Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 12 Eddie

Brady tried to cut some corners to bring you and Alastor down but ends up just hurting himself.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, po-po, 5-0, down at the gun club, not an accurate portrayal of 1930s New Orleans Leadership, mystery kisses, brief thoughts of violence, illiteracy, @minkdelovely」

MDNI 👮 🚓

Edward Freeman met Kenneth Brady when the younger man was partnered with him. He was bright eyed, and had a sense of justice Freeman appreciated. He was already tired of the rigamarole of police work, so the fresh energy reinvigorated his early days and long nights. It was rather pointless though, police work, given the people in charge weren’t fans of cracking down on the illegal booze business. It was making too much money under the tables and in handshakes.

The nation was still reeling from the crash of the market nearly two years prior. Any way to get ahead, to stay with your chin above the rising waters, well… what harm is there really in feeding your family? The end justifies the means, right? And Brady didn’t seem to disagree too much with that sentiment. 

So when the typically stringent, but otherwise soft spoken and relaxed, Brady began to…devolve into someone a little too myopic, Freeman wasn’t quite sure how to handle him. They’d been rather laissez-faire about the morality of things for so long. They tried to keep violence at a minimum so their fellow citizens could enjoy their city. That was the extent of it. But, Brady was becoming obsessed. 

It started normally enough. Brady bringing up a missing husband. Later on, a missing bartender. Soon he was snooping on to other’s cases, convinced something was connecting them. 

But, given the times and the character of such people, well, Freeman couldn’t quite understand Brady’s fervor. Sure. Some of them probably ended up under backyards and in the water. Hell, quite a few of them he’d have helped do away once he got the real dirt on them. A conspiracy? Or a mass killer? That seemed implausible at best. There was simply no indication of a grande scheme. 

Brady kept pushing. Walking the streets at night with ears open and eyes peeled, for any inkling of what was going on. 

He just couldn’t accept that sometimes people leave town or jobs. Very few of them were actually reported by loved ones, even the ones that had them.

Then came along the widow Dupre, watery eyed and shaking about her missing adult son. Who, from what they’d uncovered, was a real piece of work.

Freeman let Brady start his investigation, but as it became clear he was adding it to his pile of random disappearances, Freeman had to step away. He could see the obsession ruining his friend. 

At a rare dinner with the families, the stress on Brady’s wife’s face was visible for all to see. She cornered Freeman in the kitchen when he went for more coffee, asking if Brady was stepping out on her or if he truly had been working so hard on something big. 

He hardly knew what to say. Neither were true. He’d been working late, but on a wild goose chase. 

When he dragged a clean cut and confused woman into the station, Freeman knew he’d really lost the fucking plot. 

“She’s his accomplice. I know it. Her fella is the man. I’ve got him fingered.” Brady pointed at you through the closed door. You weren’t listening to their voices in the hall, the name still ringing in your head. The name you'd both sacrificed to keep secret. 

Alastor.

Freeman hissed, “You can’t arrest people for knowing a guy! A boogie man at that, Kenny. Come on.” 

“I have her confession for prostitution. It’s all clean and by the book. And, I have a witness.” Brady tapped Freeman’s arm with the back of his hand and led him down the hall to another room, “He saw her and her guy throw a body in the river.”

Well, shit.

“You found a body? The Dupre son?” Freeman considered what he’d said. The river? Why the river? Bodies didn’t always make it to the sea. It’d be a sloppy misstep for this supposed murderous mastermind.

Brady sighed, his parade a little rained on. “...No, but I have a witness right there. And, I got the name of her fella. I just need to find which station he’s at and I’m off to the races. I bet you my house this guy’s good for it.”

Ah, so. He had next to nothing. Freeman just nodded and took a calming breath. “Alright, are we starting with the woman or this guy?”

“Oh, for sure her.” Bready turned to open the door, but Freeman shot his hand out to stop him. 

“And this is the one who gave you the runaround?” Freeman had heard so much about you already, he wanted to prepare himself for whatever tricky shrew was waiting for him. He followed his partner through the door and took you in fully. Your stare was distant and glassy. You’d been crying and you seemed to be shaking slightly from the cold of the room as fall’s night air slipped in through the window. 

You could, reasonably, be his daughter. A similar age for sure, similar build, same hair color. Same penchant for the wrong kinda guy, apparently.

He recalled all of the ways Brady had spoken about you. The image in his head was a bird faced woman with sharp eagle eyes and tight lips. Someone decidedly ugly with a permanent scowl and mischief behind quick glances.

And here was a woman, vulnerable and quite nice to look at it. Hair obviously groomed well when not manhandled by cops, and a rather handsome dress which indicated a good personality by the current standards. The shoulders had flat bows that let their ribbons fall onto your bare shoulders. Feminine. Suitable. Not much skin showing. otherwise. A burlesquer seemed to the kind who didn’t wear clothes often, but he supposed everyone has a work uniform after all. Even the nude dancers. Who was he to judge you for your professional clothing requirements? You were here and modest and that’s what mattered.

He took a seat, sliding the folder Brady had set down into the space in front of him. “I hear you’re not too fond of disclosing your personal information.”

It had been several hours since you’d arrived, and now they chose to grace you with their presence? You’d been tossed into a room and left alone for so long, it seemed more like punishment than bureaucracy.

Brady’s bright blue eyes only get clearer and darker with every ounce of anger you inspired in him. An angry sea churning up violently behind his mean mug. He was practically sneering at you. 

“Can you blame me? The men in this city are certifiable. Case in point, this hound you call a cop.” You had the forethought to keep your shoulders pulled inward, gesturing with your chin.

“Detective.” Brady corrected. 

“Same thing, jackass.” Eyes rolling, you pushed back against the chair causing the front legs to lift for a second. Returning your glare to him, you honed in on the messy details. You remembered his hair well from that first meeting in front of the cafe. It clearly had become oily and weighed down from less frequent washing. The skin under his eyes was looking dark and thin. “You look like shit, by the way. Should sleep instead of bothering honest performers.”

“Ha, there you are. True colors shining through finally.”

“How was my mom? Not much of a talker.”

“Fu-,” Brady flinched forward, chair squeaking against the linoleum floor. It took a tensing of your arms to keep from openly reacting.

“Ya’ll, enough. Now, don’t be too sour with us. We’re just working off your own words,” Freeman opened the folder to find your confession. It had been typed nice and neat and labeled DOE, JANE. He turned it to you briefly, eyebrows hitching as if to ask if you remembered it. You glanced at it long enough to see the conversation and names and nodded. Yes, you’d had that conversation. Brady must have typed it mostly from memory, you thought, or he had some quick shorthand. He brought it back to face him and as his eyes roamed the sheet, his shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t seeing what he was expecting. “Could you-?,” he motioned for Brady to point out the part of your last conversation that constituted a confession. Brady tapped a line of text. 

BRADY - Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged. DOE, JANE - Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently. BRADY - And who was that? DOE, JANE - S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening. BRADY - And then he knocked you around? DOE, JANE - Yeah. Got me good. BRADY - And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that. DOE, JANE - Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection. But as soon as he got his money he left.

Freeman’s head lifted slowly from the paper to look at you over the folder, across the table. Your arms were crossed, makeup smeared and running with long dried tears. Your hair mussed. His head turned with a crawl, weighted down with a steel ball of apprehensive horror, to look at Brady. He was leaning on the table with both elbows, staring at you like you’d busted out his car window and shot his dog. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He pushed back, resting his hand on Brady’s shoulder and walking out. In the small room that looked into the interrogation room where the male witness fidgeted, he set the folder and your words down. 

He motioned for Brady to close the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked into place, he smacked the table. 

“That isn’t a confession! It’s a fucking victim statement, Kenny.” He looked through the one way glass at the man seated, “And he wrote a witness report?” He gestured with his head, the man Brady called Joseph sat quietly waiting for their return. His clothes were pulling at the seams, his fingernails crusted with dirt. 

Brady nodded, “Yeah. He came in yesterday and after he told me what he saw he wrote it down there and signed.” He was pointing to a piece of paper he’d left on the same table Kenny was now trying to use for stability. Trying was the keyword. His disbelief was dizzying. 

A small laugh, petulant and bordering annoyed, left his lips. He grabbed a pen, wrote something down, and brushed past him. Freeman marched into the witness room, Brady closely following behind.

“Sir, do me a favor and check I’ve spelt your name properly on this paperwork please.” He held it up. The man looked, found where Freeman's finger was pointing, and nodded.

Freeman looked at Brady with dead eyes, the shutdown of his feelings was an automatic attempt by his body to try and keep from grabbing Brady by the shirt in a fit rage, and turned the paper to reveal the name written to Brady. 

Josanna. Written neatly in block letters. 

Without breaking eye contact with Brady, “And just refresh my memory, sir, what was your statement in regards to again?”

Joseph cleared his throat, “I saw it happen. Down by the river.”

“Saw what happen?”

“The crime.”

“What crime?”

“The one with the guy and the girl. It’s all in there.”

Freeman shoved the written statement into Brady’s chest, “You have half a second to get to the captain’s office before I do.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“That man can’t even read his own name let alone write. From what I can tell he’s a random homeless you plied with confiscated booze. What is going on with you?” The gray haired man bellowed from his chair, hands resting on a large pot belly. 

“What does that matter! It’s an illegal hooch den! Naked dancers! Race mixing! She admitted she-,” Brady was pacing a small three foot by three foot square in front of the desk. Freeman had his arms crossed while seated.

“A victim told you she was assaulted. And I-,” the captain leaned back in his chair, “You know exactly how we feel about the wet spots in this city. The, uh, race thing is another issue but— Kenny, you’re one more rogue act from losing your beat. Do you not get that?”

“Rogue? I’m doing legitimate police work. I’m investigating crime! What the fuck is happening here?!” He stopped pacing long enough wave an apology to his boss for the language. 

Freeman sighed, long and heavy. A huff of breath that somehow conveyed his disappointment better than words.

“I decide what constitutes police work and this is not that.” His boss shook his chair side to side, thinking about how to get Brady in line. “It comes straight from the commissioner and the mayor above him. We aren’t to hound the bars under our purview.”

‘I’m not!” He started up pacing again, hands up and open in genuine confused frustration. 

“You’re harassing their dancers! Stalking around their establishments at night freaking people out!” He laughed in disbelief, “Her manager is outside now. Had to shut down for the night because of your little show.”

Brady put his hands on his hips and faced away from the captain. His face enough alone to have him dismissed. 

“I know she’s involved. I know her guy did it. And I know someone’s killing people. Lots of people.” He said it confidently into the corner of the office.

“Kenny. Enough.” Freeman shook his head and stood to leave. 

“One complaint about you and you’re being chained to a desk. Cut her loose, apologize, and go home. I don’t wanna see you anymore tonight. Your freaky little eyes are getting under my skin.” His captain removed his small rounded glasses and rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated his life had come to telling men to stop doing their jobs.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

While you were here anyway, and Brady shooed off Joseph, Freeman decided to speak with you again. He offered you a nod and took Brady’s seat.

It was hard to be friendly, you found. Every minute or so you had to sniffle, nose running long after the tears dried up. Your eyelashes stuck together when you blinked.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, sir.” You sniffled again, hands warming your arms.

Freeman leaned over and offered you his hand, “Detective Eddie Freeman.” You shook it, keeping your hand rather limp to give the appearance of weakness.

“I just-,” he laughed as he set his hand on the table, clicking his ring twice out of habit, “I gotta ask. Did your fella kill Tommy? Are you in some kinda trouble?”

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you found yourself, “No,  but I wish he had. What’s the point of being good if people assume the worst of you anyway?” Reaching out for his hand again, you held his large one in both of your smaller ones, “At least if he’d killed him I’d be sure Tommy’s never coming back to keep his promise.”

Your mother always taught you to make yourself small. Remind the people you needed to believe you that you were not a threat. Play the part they always pigeon holed you into. It was easier than fighting the assumptions. There was power in deception. 

“Your pal is really ruining my life. Even more than Tommy.” You squeezed, 30% strength.  

When you looked up at him, he could only find you to be the image of pitiful girl, “Let me check some things and I’ll have Kenny sending you on your way, miss-?”

“Doe.”

“Right.” His ring rapped against the bright wooden door frame, two times, and your brief time knowing Freeman ended. 

The paralysis set in as soon as the door was shut. You could hear Alastor’s name echoing around in your head, the sound so sharp it made fresh tears well. Brady had heard it, of course. It was for nothing. You worked so hard, kept his name off of your tongue despite the way it always felt so good there. 

Conjured images of Alastor barging into the police station haunted you. What would he say in anger? Brady wasn’t crazy, he was smart and lucky. Nothing could be worse. Alastor could say anything while mad, and Brady could make conclusions he had no business jumping to.

And then he was there in the room with you, and you had to return to the moment and try to calibrate yourself. Who were you now? He already knew you weren’t the damsel in distress, he knew you weren’t weak and frail. Right?

Maybe you’d just be yourself, like you’d let slipped earlier. Your mouth opened and his hand flew up, “Don’t. Shut it.”

“Excu-”

“I’ve been told to apologize and send you home.”

“Oh? And are you?”

Brady smiled, and for a moment you forgot how scary that should be. “No. You’re a liar and you’re aiding a criminal. But you work in a place I’m not supposed to bother. Luckily for me, Alastor’s work surely isn’t one.” Your eyes rolled. Hearing him say the name was like hearing a dog sing opera. Unsettling and unnatural. Perhaps a little impressive from a distance. Unfortunately you were front row and center.

Time with you felt so rare, he wanted to keep you a little longer but couldn’t think of what to say or do. Briefly he entertained grabbing you and violently shaking you until you confessed. He managed to find the strength to bury that down, mouth opening instead in preparation for words he didn’t have yet. 

“Can I go home now?” Rubbing your arms to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, you cut him off like he had you. Not that he had anything to say. 

Brady motioned with his thumb down the hall and said, “Your guy isn’t here to pick you up. Funny name by the way. I got a complaint for an Alastor last week. Socked some man for no good reason. Sounds like a violent fella, kinda guy with a temper when someone speaks I’ll of his lady, or fiancée, I’m told…Anyway, dropped the case since the guy wouldn’t give any more information but maybe I should follow up.”

“Are you so sure I have one, a guy that is?” You simply couldn’t admit Alastor was yours. Never. Not for Brady. “No one’s coming for me. No one’s punched anyone for me either. Though, I’m flattered you think I’m worth the charge. Am I free to leave?” The little tug of your lips into a halfhearted grin warmed you. It was thrilling, lying to his face when you both knew the truth.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t let you take this moment from him. He’d made a massive victory in this personal war and your nonchalant attitude was making something in the back of his skull itch. Somewhere beneath his bone. A new sensation.

A brief and violent flash of knocking the smirk off your tear stained face startled him. You noticed him swallow hard, expression shifting from amused to bewildered. From the outside, all you could read was a frightened widening of his eyes.

“Brady…? If you’re waiting for some man to collect me, I’ll be here all night.” Your voice was softer now, while you couldn’t uncover what was happening in his head, you could tell he was in some kind of turmoil.

A man unable to control his face was often a man unable to control his hands.

His legs lifted his body up and dragged him over to the door.  He opened it, slowly, before leaning against the wall beside it to ensure you passed him in close quarters. He knew he couldn’t keep you there forever.

Maybe this Alastor was a real rough fellow. So cruel he wouldn’t even care if his dame was in a bind. The kind of man to abandon his closest allies when cornered. Maybe he really wasn’t coming for you. Which was fine, he told himself. He’d be seeing him soon.

Following you out, he took the walk as an opportunity to warn you again.

“This won’t end like you think it will.” He said it too loudly for how close he was to you, “It never does for the women.” He stopped at the station’s front desk and leaned into the glossy wooden counter, “Oh! I almost forgot! Congrats on the engagement.”

Turning to say a harsh good night, you caught yourself and turned back, exiting through the station doors without another word to him. No need for polite pleasantries anymore. The game was well and truly over for you. 

“Oh thank god,” Johnny was sitting on the steps of the station and jumped to his feet when you came out, a sight you weren’t expecting. You stopped, confused. He smiled seeing your brows knit and eyes wander past him in search of someone else, “I was going to bail you out but they said there wasn’t any need. Alastor is waiting for you.” 

Like a leak in the hull of your iron-sided ship, it seemed the second Ruth so sweetly dripped that name into Brady’s waiting maw the ocean was spilling in. Every time you heard it fall from another person’s mouth the breach in your metal barriers tore wider. If the Titanic could sink in calm weather what luck did Alastor and you have in the tempest of Brady’s fervor?

“Oh…,” you tried to hide the dejection. He sent Johnny? That was smart, but, why did it sting?

Perhaps it was his six sisters, or maybe he was genuinely a good man, but Johnny’s heart ached at the pitiful tone. He leapt up two steps, “He wanted to come! But I told him it was a bad idea. Tempers and all that. Don’t need any more issues for you tonight. Though admittedly he didn’t seem mad, necessarily.”

A slow nod. Johnny told Alastor what to do? Your eyes looked to the left, that was an odd mental image.

“Thanks, Johnny. I need to return to the theater first.” Your hand reached out for his arm and gave it a squeeze, “I appreciate you.”

“Dont mention it. And your bag is with Alastor.” He let his hand come to yours, “He’s kind of a mess, that one.”

You tensed, accidentally pinching his arm in a flit of panic before drawing it back, “Did he drive home like that?”

He shook his head and handed you the card, “He said,” a pause as his eyes rolled up to search for the exact words, “to tell the host you’re there for him. Called it the Golden Dish, but the card doesn’t mention anything like that…. Sorry, I didn’t think to ask more questions. Like I said, he seemed out of sorts.”

You looked down to inspect it, nervous at the sudden introduction of a paper trail. Nodding, you finally took it with both hands. The face was rather plain: an address in the corner with just the number and street, and an interlocked G and D in the center. Turning it over, you found a pink lipstick kiss stained haphazardly across the back and a small squiggle. Your thumb ran over the clipped right bottom corner. 

What was the Golden Dish? And who was kissing Alastor’s business cards?

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[diannaphantomfiction]

Citizens of the Infinite Realms:

Continuation of this post (LINK)

So another favorite troupe of mine in DC/DP crossovers is the idea that certain heroes who've returned from the dead are considered King Phantom’s citizens. Commonly, John Constantine and Jason Todd are the ones mentioned. BUT!!! I think we could take it further and include MORE DC characters!!! SO, I’ve made a list of characters from “Easy to Explain” to “Hear Me Out” for who I think we should also include as Citizens of the Infinite Realms.

Easy Mode:

- Deadman: Literally a Ghost

- Secret: Literally a Ghost

- Spectre (General): Spirit of Vengeance. Basically an Ancient.

- Xanthe Zhou (they/them): Literally a bridge between the living and the dead. Could they maybe be considered a halfa???

2. Bit of a Stretch

-Raven: Half-Demon, I think she fits.

- Swamp Thing: Connected to the Green. Could be considered an Ancient? Or right below an Ancient???

- Etrigan: Again, Demon.

- Klarion the Witch Boy: Look. I don’t know what’s going on with this kid, but I think we can definitely call it ghostly.

3. Hear Me Out

- City Boy: This guy’s power is LITERALLY to talk to the spirits of Cities. Come on guys. If Lady Gotham is a Ghost, than City Boy is Ghost Adjacent.

- The Flash Family: The Speed Force is DEFINITELY an Ancient.

- Hal Jordan: Look, between his time as Parallax and his time as the Spectre, Hal probably falls into roughly the same space as Constantine.

- Jericho (Joseph “Joey” Wilson): Look…this kid’s been possessed, dead, brought back to life, and has the literal ability to overshadow people. I’ve decided he DEFINITELY counts.

[caeslxys]

Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.

Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.

Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.

So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.

I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.

I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.

Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?

I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?

I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄

summary: /ˈɔːrɪeɪt,ˈɔːrɪət/  “of a golden colour or brilliance”

pairing: xiao x gn! reader

warnings: just fluff in the form of my belated new years drabble

genshin impact masterlist

prosperous year of the dragon!! ♡

The sky over Liyue was clear once again, the last lanterns’ glow already a distant memory as the twinkling of stars filled the remnants of the night once more. On the horizon the first sunlight of the new year coloured the wisps of clouds golden and amber, reminiscent of a shooting star’s tail or elegant dragons winding in the dawn of a new day.

For Xiao, it was the cue he could finally rest after defending the nation and its citizens from those that seek to harm them, clinging to the shadows of the night to crawl into the coming year unnoticed. There were no exceptions to his god-given duty, not even as the festive sounds of the harbour drifted up into the mountains and colourful explosives decorated the night. 

No, it was especially because of this that the ghosts of days past could not be allowed to get ahold of the mortal realm.

Green fog parted along the wooden panels of the room he occupied at Wangshu Inn before the soles of his shoes quietly made contact with the solid ground; first his toes before rolling down to his heel, one foot after the other, with a grace befitting that of a dancer, rather than that of a warrior.

What he did not anticipate as he set down his spear, however, was the soft call of his name before a familiar weight flung itself into his arms. Like a warm breeze, your arms wrapped around his neck in a gentle embrace and when he buried his head in the crook of yours, he deeply inhaled the scent of home.

“Happy New Year, Xiao,” you whispered against his skin, your voice melting the tension of his shoulders as it enveloped him, looping around your connected figures like butterflies circling a flower.

“A prosperous new year to you too,” he replied tentatively. As an adeptus, both the concept of time and the importance of this tradition was different to him and he’d never had much reason to celebrate the passing of time in such short intervals. But since he’d met you, you’d not only intertwined both your hands and fates to show him more of your world, Xiao also learnt to cherish what time he could spend with you, no matter how short it may be.

Pulling back just a little, your hands came to frame his beautiful face with delicate care, as if he was not someone to be feared but someone to be loved. You’d watched all night as lanterns had risen into the sky, carrying the wishes and hopes of the people towards the heavens. Yet none of them compared to the amber glow of Xiao’s eyes as they sparkled at you with such fondness it should weigh you down; instead, you felt like you and your heart were light enough to soar high on golden wings, no fear of falling chaining you down if you were with him.

As the sun continued further on its eternal round, aureate rays framed his head in a radiant halo and you didn’t question for even a second that the man before you could be an angel. Risking the accusation of defiling something sacred, you pressed your lips against his plush ones and tasted a piece of heaven for yourself.

When your eyes fluttered open again, Xiao looked as dazed as you felt, fingers brushing over his lips. Then, equally as reverent, his knuckles grazed your bottom lip and you took ahold of his wrist to keep him steady as you pressed a languid kiss to the back of his hand, dusting his cheeks with a light flush, like a painter perfecting their magnum opus.

“I’ve waited quite a while for my new year’s kiss, you know,” you hummed, so entranced by the adeptus in front of you, it was as if time and space around you stood still enough to count the dust particles in the sunlight. “It was worth it though.”

“I see, you are still set in your ways of dragging me into your mortal traditions,” Xiao scoffed, though there was not a single tint of malice in his voice, only teasing affection. If you couldn’t tell by his amorous cadence alone, his actions spoke even louder of his devotion. “Not that I mind in the slightest.”

With practised precision, his lips found yours again as one hand cradled the side of your face and the other pulled you in closer by the waist, as if there was a way to become physically one the same way your hearts had already done. With your attention bound by the flutter of your own heart, you didn’t notice how dexterous fingers discreetly tied a protective charm to your clothes for you to find at a later point in time. 

“What was that for?” You smiled, the distance between the two of you nearly insignificant yet too far all the same.

“I had to get my own new year’s kiss too, didn’t I?” A hint of a smugness tugged the corner of his lips upwards as the corners of his eyes softened downwards while tracing the movement of his thumb against your cheekbone. “Traditions should be honoured after all.”

Your laughter invoked the iridescence of a pearl to brighten his view as you led him over to the balcony railing so you could welcome the dawning year with all its pink and orange hues, arm in arm as the waking birds filled the morning hours with their chirping.

“Speaking of traditions,” you started, transfixed by the sight of the sun rising over the mountains in a vibrant crimson, “there is the belief that the first song you hear in the new year will predict how yours is going to go.”

“Is that so?” Xiao inquired, watching as a small bird hopped onto the wooden railing, careful but curious as it inched closer to the two of you. “It appears nature blesses us with hope and freedom this year.”

“How beautiful,” you mused, as you leaned further into him. 

Turning his head, Xiao studied the way you shone in the morning light before placing a gentle kiss against your temple, light enough you could believe it was the wing of a crystalfly brushing your skin. “Beautiful, indeed.”

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[hayatheauthor]

How To Write And Create A Subplot

A subplot is an essential aspect of any book. It helps drive your story forward and hook your readers in with a compelling narrative. A good subplot raises the stakes for the main character by introducing side characters, creating plot twists, adding another dimension to the story or revealing information from the past or future. 

However, if executed incorrectly subplots can overshadow your main plot and deviate from the heart of your story. Unsure how to create and execute a subplot? Here are some helpful tips to get you started! 

Why Are Subplots Important? 

A subplot is a narrative thread that supports the elements of your main plot. They often build conflict or shed light on a secondary character’s story. Subplots help you create multilevel narrative arcs and build complexity and depth. 

Your readers certainly don’t need to know what your antagonists were doing while the protagonist underwent secluded training, but adding this subplot builds tension, heightens the stakes and easily portrays personality traits and character flaws. This is especially true for genres such as SFF or horror where your characters often don’t know their enemy’s plan until the last moment. 

Subplots are often what make your readers connect with your characters and world-building. To put it simply, if Harry Potter was written without any subplots Rowling could have wrapped up the entire series in one book. 

Types Of Subplots 

It’s important for authors to branch out and implement more than one subplot in their manuscript. Sticking to one subplot can often result in a poor portrayal of an important moment or make an interesting arc fall flat. A simple way to avoid this is by combining different subplots when working on your manuscript. 

Mirror Subplots

Mirror subplots are essentially a subplot that mirrors what your protagonist or antagonist is going through in order to illuminate their personality traits and how they dealt with said situation. A great example of a mirror subplot would be Sophie and Agatha’s dynamics during the first book of A School For Good and Evil. 

Sophie and Agatha both start off with essentially the same introduction to characters like Tedros, the faculty, their roommates, etc. but while Sophie uses a negative outlook to harm those around her Agatha focuses more on a problem-solving approach. 

Contrasting Subplot 

A contrasting subplot is when a smaller character faces the same situation as your protagonist/antagonist but handles the situation differently. For example, a protagonist allowed themselves to be injured in order to safely evacuate a nearby citizen but an antagonist in a similar position used the civilian to shield themselves from the attack. 

Contrasting subplots cannot exist unless both characters undergo the same situation, which is why it is important to plan this subplot out before executing it. 

Complicating Subplot 

Complicating subplots are the most common subplot used in literature. They’re pretty self-explanatory and involve a secondary character creating complications for the protagonist. This can be as simple as your love interest’s sister spreading gossip about the protagonist, or as complicated as a grand political scheme created to turn the protagonist’s allies against them. 

Romantic Subplot 

Romantic subplots are often confused with romance written as a subgenre. The difference between the two is simple—a book with romance as a subgenre simply includes romantic themes, however, a romantic subplot uses romance to deviate from the main plot. 

For example, if your protagonist left their usual environment to attend an event with your love interest for a couple of chapters, that counts as a romantic subplot. However, a character simply having a romantic moment does not constitute as a subplot. 

Things To Keep In Mind When Creating A Subplot 

Now that I’ve divulged all of the facts associated with writing a subplot, here are some personal tips writers should take into consideration when creating a subplot. 

A Subplot Is NOT Its Own Story 

This is an important factor many writers often forget when creating a subplot. Subplots are meant to tie into the main plot and move the story forward. They are supposed to be an arc in your story, not a story of their own. 

Subplots are a great way to foreshadow events, drop hints, reveal character traits, etc. however, you need to consider whether or not your manuscript needs to have these characters. Your deuteragonist’s tragic past with the antagonist might make for a good story, but you could probably summarise those events within one chapter. 

The same can be said for past love interests, ex-friends, training arcs and backstory arcs for minor characters. These factors would all propel your plot forward, however, incorrectly implementing them can ruin your reader’s immersion and deviate from the actual plot. 

If you’re unsure whether or not your subplot should be included in your novel, take the time to consider these few questions: 

Does your subplot help your protagonist accomplish their main goal? Or does it drastically deviate them from their initial purpose? 

Does this subplot introduce a new character, a new side to an old character, or the ‘true’ version of a seemingly good/bad character? 

Would your character be unable to attain their long-term goal without this subplot? 

Would your world-building, character development, or a certain aspect of the main plot feel confusing if not for this subplot? 

If your answer to these was yes, then you probably have a valid subplot on your hands. If not, then you should genuinely consider questions and take into account why you want to include this subplot, to begin with. If your answer is something along the lines of ‘it has so and so scene/dynamic which I really enjoyed or think the readers will like’ then your manuscript would probably do better without that subplot. 

Create Conclusive Arcs 

Unlike your main plot, subplots are supposed to have a start and finish. They need to have a complete arc and some semblance of a conclusion. 

For example, if you were writing a contrasting subplot where the side character decided to abandon another character in order to save themselves, you need to consider what happens once you write out this scene. How do the other characters react to it? Does this impact your side character’s position in the story? And most importantly, how does this impact the rest of your plot? 

You need to know where you’re going to go with your story once you have concluded your subplot, and figure out a way to tie your subplot into your main plot. 

I hope this blog on how to create and execute a sub plot will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and marketing tools for authors every Monday and Thursday. 

[kaylatoonz]

Amy meets everyone but Sonic

I think it would be funny/interesting if Amy doesn’t meet Sonic until the end or near climax of the movie.

From what I can remember from the games, Amy would almost always do something small within the sideline of the story that becomes impactful in the main story. Best example of this is how her interaction between Silver and Shadow both play a part in them switching from antagonist to friends/allies to Sonic and his friends.

If the SCU introduces Amy in the third film I think this would be the best way to go about it if she doesn’t get as much screen time. There could be a side plot where Amy is trying to find Sonic but she meets everyone that has some connection to him instead. Each person she meets she helps/supports them in a small but impactful way that helps Sonic and friends in a big way by the climax or end of the film.

They could give us a taste of Amy’s strengths and feisty nature by showing her teaming up with knuckles (maybe give them a dynamic similar to Sonic X or IDW). Then they can establish her kindness and determination to help those who have been wronged, by showing her helping tails at his lowest point (maybe Amy helps tails in his SA2 arc or help him break sonic out of prison island). Finally, by the climax of the film Amy indirectly helps Sonic in the biggest way possible by reminding Shadow of his promise to Maria which encourages him to aid Sonic in saving the world.

Bonus points if throughout the film there this running gag of Sonic and Amy keep just missing each other.

Amy just left after helping knuckles and wade defend citizens from strange creatures (black arms?)

Sonic: sorry I’m late to the party, I heard from tails that you guys might need some back up

Knuckles: no need little brother we have defeated our new foe with the help of a valiant new ally.

Sonic:?

Wade: yeah your pink girlfriend was a lot of help 😄

Knuckles:*look confuse then thoughtful*

Sonic:… Wade i don’t have a girlfriend why would you assume

Wade: oh she is a pink hedgehog like you and she got really excited when she found out that we know you so sh..

Sonic: Wade you can’t just assume we’re together just because we’re both hedgehogs I don’t even kno… wait! She's a hedgehog too?! And she’s on our side!

Where is she? I gotta meet her! * starts dashing round the battle field*

Wade: as I was just saying you just missed her and she was actually looking for yo..

Sonic: dang it! Maybe I can catch up to her, we could use all the help we can get if we’re fighting that faker. Contact tails for the deets gotta go! * runs off*

Wade: wait sonic she was look for.. and he’s gone

Knuckles: she could be a good partner, they’re both strong and reckless 🤔

Wade: I know right 😄

Amy get held up fighting off /distracting the guards while helping tails break sonic out of prison island

Sonic: thanks little bro I didn’t think I could broke out here on my own.

Tails: your welcome but I can’t take all the credit I had some outside help

Sonic: let me guess pink hedgehog

Tails: yeah you’ve met

Sonic: nope but I’ve heard great things. I seem to just miss her everywhere I go

Tails: *smirks* so the fastest thing alive can’t caught the girl

Sonic:*roll eyes* hardy har har, very funny… is she still around? I really like to meet this new heroine, maybe team up.

Tails: yeah she holding back the guards I can put her on speak if you insist 😏

Sonic: tails😑

Tails: ok ok Hey Amy do you copy?

Amy: yep still here though my hands are a bit full at the moment. How are things on your end? Did you find him? Do you need help?

Tails: yeah everything great I found him , we’re safe and he really interested in meeting you😏 (sonic: tails it’s not like that😠) so we were hoping we can make our escape and meet back at..

Amy: *wham!* That sounds great I.. *fzzzz* I can meet you guy at *fzzz* HEY! You better stay down or I’ll get my hammer and! *fzzz *wham!*

Tails and Sonic: hammer?

Amy: *fzzz* oops…

Tails: what do you mean oops…

* An explosion can be heard from the other end and the build shakes*

Tails: AMY! ARE YOU STILL THERE! ARE YOU OK?!?! AMY PLEASE RESPON-

Amy: I’m ok! I’m ok there’s just a lot more exits then we originally planned so I’m just gonna take one of those * awkward giggles* I’ll meet you guys at *fzzz* *line cuts*

Tails: * sighs in relief* well better luck next time Sonic I don’t think you’ll be catching miss rose any time soon.

Sonic: dang I was really hoping to catch her this time she sounds like a fun gal.

Tails:😏

Sonic: *lightly punches tails shoulder* welp we better make use of Amy’s specially made exits and get out of here.

After Amy reminds Shadow of his promise to Maria and so Shadow joins Sonic in facing the final threat of the film (black arm, bio lizard, metal sonic?).

Sonic: hey shads come to join the party? What changed your mind?

Shadow: your pink friend reminded me of something important…

Sonic: *looks confused for a second before realizing who he’s talking about*

Sonic: no way… she really is something special…😊

Shadow: she is…😌 now let get this over with this only one time thing got that faker😈

Sonic: whatever you say faker😈 now let’s kick some butts.

[tfyoulookingatgiuxs]

Hello! I’ve read a bit of your stuff and really like it. Could you do a cute secret relationship story with Billy Hargrove x fem reader pls.

Thank you!

• Hmm...why not? It would be interesting. Worth a try! (I'm not a big fan of Billy but I'm happy to be able to satisfy your requests).

Together Forever

Billy Hargrove x Female!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Billy have been engaged for more than two years in secret, without the knowledge of the citizens of Hawkins but also without the knowledge of the boy's father. You both want only one thing, to live together. And staying in Hawkins is not part of your plans.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Fluff, fem!reader, bad language, use of Y/N, you're surname is Williams, daddy issues, abuse, sigarettes, secret relationship.

𝐀/𝐍: Here it is! This is the first request, I really hope I exceeded @unamused-boss expectations Sorry for my English, this is not my native language. Please support new writers and reblog. Hope you enjoy! (DIVIDER NOT MINE)

In Hawkins the air was cold and this week the forecast said it would bring down the flood. You savored the air which made you smile. You never hated rain or gloomy weather, in fact you found them relaxing and perfect for drinking a nice cup of milk or hot chocolate, as if you were back in winter close to the Christmas period.

You moved some leaves as you crept further towards the house, a classic house and welcoming and tidy on the outside. You were in the garden, but hey, let's calm down, you're not going to rob! But you are looking for the window to the room of Billy Hargrove, your boyfriend. Yes exactly. You Y/N Williams, an ordinary student at Hawkins High, engaged to the big and strong Billy Hargrove! You didn't believe it either, to tell the truth. You were not popular, much less well-regarded by most of your classmates, you were silent and perhaps even mysterious, you were good at school, sure, but you had a temper that perhaps half the students at school envied, and that is precisely what triggered a connection in you and Billy the day you met.

In his eyes you were normal, nothing that Billy cared about, you were just like all the other girls, but he changed his mind as soon as you won a verbal battle with him, leaving him breathless. No one dared to challenge him and especially with such confidence, but you, you were the first girl to do so, and it left the students shocked for at least two weeks. You seemed like sworn enemies, after that spat neither of you tried to annoy the other so as not to start a war, but in reality you realized that in the end you weren't that far apart, in fact you could even say they were quite similar.

You remembered when you and Billy attended Mrs. Davis's classes, which were really boring. The boy wouldn't stop giving you glances and giggling every now and then, only to both get scolded and sent to the principal. The students were tired of this, you were seriously cat and dog! Unbearable! But what people didn't know was that both of you weren't teasing each other to cause anger or annoyance to the other, but it was totally the opposite, they were pure and true digs. At first you didn't notice, you thought it was normal, something for friends. But apparently this was not the case. From secret friends you have become secret lovers.

Wow...

You seriously didn't expect this...you had to be honest about this. After you both got together you saw a side of Billy you never thought you'd seen. From the obnoxious, arrogant, vulgar and popular boy he was, he had finally revealed himself: kind, loving, difficult and sweet.

In short, never judge a book by its cover, right? The same thing apparently goes for people.

But now you're wondering... why in secret? Why were you two secret friends and now secretly engaged?

This was because Billy had a great reputation at school and was afraid of being criticized by others. You felt very sorry for him and you understood it. In Hawkins High, gossip is the fruit of its existence and if there wasn't anyone to criticize or make fun of, what would the students of this fucking school do? Exact. Just nothing. This is why you understood that your school was perhaps the shittiest of all. They would torment not only Billy but you too. You showed such confidence and superiority towards Billy that day and now you are friends? In short, something that cannot be heard!

You have therefore decided to keep the matter in secret so as to be left alone.

As for the relationship, well, both of you were actually ready to no longer hide and face those dick faces, but you immediately backed out when you found out that Billy's father strictly forbade going out with you and doing anything. something more productive in his life. The boy had never told you about his family until that point and when he told you about his father you were horrified by it. His father was a violent and aggressive man, he hurt him while demanding respect from his son who he threatened or even beat if he disobeyed, a father that no one would like to have...

The night you and Billy got ready to go out on a date, he called you and canceled without telling you why. Then when you met and talked about it you became calm again and consoled him. Billy vented and it hurt, you couldn't know what it meant to live in that hell. For your boyfriend, however, it was fine, especially when he met you, for him you were an angel, one of the most beautiful and sweetest girls he had ever seen, for him, you were a divine salvation from his torment, and if he had to suffer all this to stay with you then he would have tolerated it.

Seriously, this guy turned out to be more amazing than you thought.

For his father you were just an adventure, a simple whore with whom Billy would be satisfied and therefore he ordered him to leave you alone and look for something to earn, since Billy recently left school.

In short...a beautiful but complicated relationship.

You arrived in front of his closed window and as soon as you saw his figure from behind while he was lifting some weights through the glass, you knocked and he turned around. He smiled at you showing his docile face and opened the door for you. Most of the time it was you who barged into his room to visit him, unlike him, other than part-time work, you had nothing to do.

“My bad girl barges into my room again, I should start worrying” He said teasingly as he helped you up. You smiled "Nah, you don't need it, I'm used to it by now" you both gave each other a kiss on the lips as a greeting. That afternoon, all members of Billy's family were out: Max was with his friends, Susan was shopping and his father was at work.

"How are you?" You asked as you eyed his weights. It was now a legitimate question to ask every time you saw him training. An outside observer might think he did it to maintain his beautiful physique, true. But he also does it to let off steam...Billy does nothing but lift weights to vent an enormous anger that he is holding back. He smiled sweetly at you "Good darling, don't worry. Training doesn't hurt me" with this the boy winked at you and moved a lock of hair from his face and then placed his palm on your cheek "And what about you? How is my girl?" He smiled one of his own and you couldn't help but giggle, he loved teasing you with these silly nicknames and you couldn't help but blush and flatter yourself.

"Very good, today I received my pay at work and I got an excellent grade in biology!" You said as you ran a hand down his chest. "But didn't you hate biology?" He said as he invited you to sit on his bed. His room was tidier than you remembered it from two years ago. Billy was messy, and let's say he put his things in plain sight, thank goodness that since he got engaged to you he started hiding inappropriate things to make you feel at ease.

You sat on his bed with your back against the beige wall of his room, he stood next to you.

"Yes, it's true, but I wanted to improve myself, I have to be good in all subjects to improve my future" You said taking his hand "Aren't you tired of all that studying?" Billy said taking a cigarette and placing it between his thin lips "To be honest yes, I really fucking can't stand the thought of opening another literature book or something" You laughed at the idea. Despite being a studious girl, you have never loved studying. So many things, so many poems, so many equations and bullshit like that, in short, enough! Too much! "But, you know, I'm doing it to do better in the future, so I'll have more job opportunities" Billy let out smoke from his mouth and you smelled the smell of tobacco in your nostrils "What would you like to do in the future? In short, it seems that you already know what you want to do with your life, sweet girl" he said looking at a fixed point "Actually, no, I don't know, there are many things and I couldn't decide" He seemed surprised by your answer but then it took him a while to answer you.

"Well there aren't many things you can find here in this shitty town, God, I wish I could get out of here" He finally said almost whispering as more smoke spread into the room. This statement of his made you think...

You never really thought about staying in Hawkins, the city, as welcoming as it was, was also a bad place that you really wanted to escape from, you don't like the people, much less the mayor who runs it. Thinking of wanting to move to have other opportunities and change your life seemed like an impossible dream. You looked at Billy and you looked at him "I share your thoughts, if it were up to me I would leave here too, maybe to New York, or I don't know, to Boston, there are many places outside of here where I would like to spend my life. Instead you Billy, where would you go?" He looked back at his fixed point in front of him. He remained silent for a while and then answered you with a smile "California...I would like to go back there" he said it with a note of sadness and your heart melted. You knew how much he wanted to return to California, after all it was one of the most beautiful places for him, because of his precious memories with his mother.

“Maybe then we would go together…” You said resting your head on his shoulder feeling his sweaty skin “Together?” He seemed paralyzed by your proposal and you nodded “That's impossible darling…” he gave a light chuckle but his tone didn't seem joking, it was as if he wished that proposal had come true. "Why do you think it's impossible?" He shook your hand as he placed his cigarette in the nearby ashtray "Because that's how it is. Look at us, I work as a lifeguard and earn little anyway, you on the other hand are still studying, moreover my father wouldn't allow me to go back to California, he says that he hates it and that neither Max nor I should go back, and also because he wouldn't approve of me going with you" True. He wasn't wrong and this made you stay silent for several minutes thinking about how to find a solution.

You knew it was absurd, in short, Billy was now an adult, if he wanted to leave and move somewhere else it wasn't his father's business, but by now the man seemed to have taken control of his life too and this had taken you by surprise. . The father wanted Billy, like Max, to stay close to them so as not to worry Susan, who unlike the man was worried about the two and certainly knowing that one of the two was too far away worried her, so much so that she asked her husband to order both him and Max to stay in Hawkins in the future. But that didn't mean you would have given up.

"You know, in California there are many chances of finding a job and someone like yours earns well there. Then if I managed to graduate here I could very well walk away with the money I earn from part-time work" He smiled "You planned the your life plan?" You looked at him with a grin "our life plan, you are part of my life, Billy" she immediately smiled so much that he blushed but shook his head "No. With me your future will only be turbulent and then as I said before, it's impossible"

"Nothing is impossible Billy. Together if we want we can do it, obviously if you want to do it" you raised your head and he took a deep breath and kissed you. You laughed in the sweet kiss "Of course I want" You smiled again "Only, my father worries me"

“Don't worry about him, I actually already have an idea for this” you smirked evilly as you stroked his golden locks. Billy looked at you for a while to then understand what was going on in your little head "My smart girl" He said as he approached hungry for another kiss, you laughed "Have I always been or am I wrong?" You both gave each other more kisses.

Exactly two more years passed. It was a rainy night. Midnight. The streets of Hawkins were deserted as the rain got heavier and heavier. A wonderful night, especially for the two of you. You had recently graduated and had saved money, and Billy had done the same thing with the little he earned.

You headed towards the boy's window only to see him land on the ground and take out his bags trying to make as little noise as possible. You on the other hand, had brought yours too and helped Billy by trying not to get him and his bags wet thanks to your umbrella. You gave each other a kiss while the adrenaline was rising. It was the big day and you were as anxious as you were excited. You both headed to the boy's car putting down your bags and stuff and got into the car.

“Are you sure Y/N?” He said holding the steering wheel tightly, you nodded "Yes, remember that together we can do it" you reassured him and he nodded happily. He seemed reborn, new and fresh, a different person. He was about to leave that old life full of suffering to start a new one with the love of his life, you and for you he would also trigger his father's wrath. In the meantime you took a cigarette and started lighting it with the lighter "Ok, together forever, darling" he told you and then put on his sunglasses, you laughed since the sun wasn't out, but he was ready to leave and to adjust to the place “California, we are coming” You said in a confident tone as smoke spread through the car.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Were Danton and Camille really as close as almost every biography/novel/movie, etc. makes them out to be? For a long time I believed they were best friends, but I realize that I don't know much about what really happened (only that Camille mentioned him as a friend several times in his letters).

Sorry if a similar question has already been asked, and thank you for all your wonderful posts. I read each one with great interest.

Thank you! I’m throwing in their wives too for good measure.

As popular as the idea of Danton and Desmoulins being friends already before the revolution is among novelists (A Place of Greater Safety (1992) by Hilary Mantel, The Gods Are Thirsty (1996) by Tanith Lee) and even biographers (Danton (2012) by David Lawday, Georges-Jacques Danton (1987) by Frank Dwyer) I have not been able to discover any evidence indicating this to actually have been the case. The very first connection I’ve found between the two dates to December 12 1789, when Desmoulins for the very first time mentions Danton’s name in his recently founded journal Révolutions de France et de Brabant:

As I do not have the advantage of being from the illustrious Cordeliers District, I am addressing this motion [to make it forbidden to use the term Queen of the French in public acts] to it through this journal. I beg its worthy President M. d'Anton to propose it to the honorable members, to discuss it in their wisdom and address it to the fifty-nine others; I leave my motion on their desks, and I sign it... A Frenchman.

The second time Camille mentions Danton’s name in Révolutions de France et de Brabant is eleven numbers later (March 1 1790). In the number, Camille describes how he on February 24 for the very first time enters the Cordeliers district and enrolls himself as a member. The very same session, he, alongside Danton, Fabre d’Eglantine, Paré and Dufourny de Villiers are named commissioners for the editing of a report by the club requesting the construction of a building ”worthy the National Assembly” on the place of the destroyed Bastille. This is the earliest confirmed meeting between Danton and Desmoulins that I’ve been able to find.

By the end of the same month, in number 17 (March 20) and number 18 (March 29) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, Camille loudly protests against the fact Danton (”this lustrous president of the Cordeliers district”) has been decreed under arrest by le Châtelet de Paris, accused of having threatened to ring the tocsin in order to mobilize the Faubourg Saint−Antoine for the defense of his district when the National Guard came by:

If you put on trial a citizen who has put forward an extravagant opinion in his district, you will therefore also have to put on trial, with much more reason, the judge who, in his company, has opined in an extravagant manner; it will therefore be necessary to hang the judge who will have sentenced to death an accused whom the majority will have absolved, since this judge will have approved the death of an innocent person, which is much worse than making an extravagant motion in a district.

Desmoulins brings up Danton in Révolutions de France et de Brabant a few more times throughout the rest of 1790, calling him both ”the lustrous Danton” (number 31, June 28, number 35, July 26) as well as the more bombastic ”the most robust athlete of the patriots, the only tribune of the people who could have been heard in the Champ-de-Mars, and with his voice rally the patriots around the tribune, the only man whose veto the aristocracy had to fear, and in whom it could have found both the Gracchi brothers and a Marius.” (number 44, September 27). When Danton in the fall is appointed judge at Saint-Germain, Camille celebrates (number 47, October 18):

The Philoctetes of Hercules, d’Anton, is also appointed judge at Saint-Germain. He is well worthy of sitting next to M. Le Grand de Laleu. Honor to the city of Saint-Germain! Based on these two choices we can only augur well for the others. I would be tempted to believe that our patriarch Robe did so many readings of his poem on the revolution there, that he inflamed all the voters with a patriotism which dictated to them these excellent choices. The Parisians, ungrateful, forgot in the elections Danton, and Abbé Fauchet, and Brissot, and Carra, and Manuel; but it seems that the surrounding districts were responsible for the recognition.

On December 27 1790 Danton, alongside twelve other well known ”patriots,” signed the Desmoulins couple’s wedding contract. He was however not present for the actual wedding ceremony two days later, something which I suppose could be read as implying he and Desmoulins were not that close yet. On the other hand, the way Desmoulins does describe his wedding witnesses in a letter to his father written five days later (”Péthion [sic] and Robespierre, the elite of the National Assembly, M. de Sillery who wanted to be there, and my two colleagues Brissot de Warville and Mercier, the elite among the journalists”), it almost sounds like he’s chosen them less out of friendship and more out of prestige, so maybe this doesn’t have to mean that much either… After the wedding, Camille and Lucile moved to Rue du Théâtre 1 (today Rue de l’Odeon 28) roughly a ten minute walk from the Dantons’ apartment on 20 cour du Commerce-Saint-André (today destroyed). The ease with which they would come and go between these two apartments will be seen through Lucile’s diary 1792-1793.

In number 63 (February 7 1791) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, Camille celebrates the fact that ”the excellent patriot Danton” has become a member of the department of Paris — ”If there is only one patriot of this caliber in the 83 departments, all the projects of our enemies from within and without will fail against his firmness, his ascendancy, his vigilance and his incorruptibility.” In a letter to La Marck dated March 10 1791, Mirabeau claimed to ”have evidence Danton was behind (a fait faire) the latest number of Camille-Desmoulins,” which, regardless of whether the charge was true, suggests a certain closeness between the two at this point. In number 72 (April 11) Camille exclaims: ”how the true jacobin Danton made blush the adulators that his excellency had already found.” Two numbers after that (April 25), he celebrates Danton’s actions the 18th the same month, the day the royal family tried to leave for Saint-Cloud but was stopped by a mob. In the number, Camille writes that Danton told him how he on the day in question had found himself at the Department when Bailly and La Fayette came there to demand permission to proclaim martial law and order the National Guards to fire on the crowd surrounding the royal family if necessary. Danton had successfully intervened and reduced them to silence. Camille praises this move in the number:

Courage, dear Danton! how much the patriotic writers must congratulate themselves today, who fought with obstinacy to praise you, and constantly nominated you for the votes of the people. By the parallel of your tribunitian eloquence, of your incorruptibility, of your masculine courage, with the academic and lachrymatory sentences of the courtier Bailly and his telescope which would have made us fall into the well with the astronomer in a scarf, continue to cover with shame all the citizens who gave him votes due to your patriotism.

In the same number, Camille also attributed to Danton and Kersaint an address placing the blame on what had happened on the 18th not on the people, but on the king: ”The same day the department of Paris presented the king with an address, the first, perhaps, which was written in the style of a free people. Also, it had been written by Danton and Kersaint: [transcription of the address].” According to Danton (1978) by Normann Hampson, Camille is however mistaken here, as the address had actually been written by Talleyrand and Pastoret…

In the next number (May 2 1791) Camille writes the following, which I’m not sure how to interpret, but which Hervé Leuwers reads as assassins having been after both Camille, Danton and Fréron when the three were walking home a week earlier: ”I have learned that four assassins waited for me Tuesday evening (April 26), until midnight. Me, D’anton [sic] and the Orator of the People (Fréron).” In number 81 (June 18 1791) he lifts Danton, Garran de Coulon and Manuel as ”the candidates whom I would most strongly recommend to the 83 departments, for the next legislature.”

In number 82 (June 27 1791), Camille writes that, eleven o’clock in the evening of June 20, ”I was walking home from the Jacobins together with Danton and other patriots. We only saw but one patrol the whole way. Paris seemed so abandoned to me that night that I could not help but remark on it. One of us (Fréron according to Leuwers) who had in his pocket a letter which I will speak about, which warned him that the King had to leave that night, wanted to observe the castle, he saw M. Lafayette enter it at 11 o'clock.” The next morning, Paris woke up to the discovery that the royal family had indeed left the capital during the night. The very same day, Camille goes to the Jacobin club and arrives in the middle of Robespierre holding a speech about the current situation which moves him deeply. After him, Danton mounts the rostrum, and about the same time Lafayette enters the club. Danton delivers a speech blaming him for the king’s flight and asking he explains himself that Camille records in the journal. At the end of the speech, Alexandre Lameth rises to support Lafayette, recalling that he has always thought Lafayette would fall at the head of the patriots in case of a counter-revolution.

Danton came back to sit down next to me. Is it possible? I said to him. Yes, [he answered], and rising up, he confirmed that M. Alexandre Lameth had always said this to him about M. La Fayette. My blood boiled. I was tempted to cry out to Alexandre Lameth: you used very different language with me; and I declare that almost everything I wrote at La Fayette, I wrote, if not under your dictation, at least under your guarantee. But Danton held me back.

While all of this was going down, Lucile Desmoulins and Gabrielle Danton was staying at the apartment of the latter, something which we know through a letter Lucile wrote her mother on either June 24 or June 25, when the royal family had been captured and was on their way back to Paris. Unfortunately I have not been able to transcribe it in its entirety, but these are all the places mentioning Gabrielle that I could find:

…Ever since papa came with [warnings?] to us madame Danton and I have not left each other. I would have [gone crazy?] had I remained alone. These three days we have left [her place?] only at 9 o’clock [in the evening?] Sometimes people came to tell us that we were lost, and when we were told good news, madame Danton, her eyes filled with tears, threw herself around my neck. I’ve supped at her place during this time and [with?] all the patriots. […] Oh God o God, I’m going to send your beautiful  [p..?] to madame Danton.

On July 15 the Jacobins entrusted Brissot with writing a petition asking for the abdication of Louis XVI. The session was closed at midnight. Afterwards, Camille, Danton, Brune and La Poype all went over to Danton’s house to further discuss the petition (this was revealed by Brune in an interrogation held August 12 1791, published in number 34 (August 26) of the journal Gazette des nouveaux tribunaux). Two days later, the two were there once again, this time together with Fréron, Fabre, Santerre, Brune, Duplain, Momoro and Sergent-Marceau, and discussing the lynching of two men at the Champ-de-Mars the same morning, when, at nine o’clock, Legendre arrived and told the group that two men had come home to him and said: We are charged with warning you to get out of Paris, bring Danton, Camille and Fréron, let them not be seen in the city all day, it is Alexandre Lameth who engages this. Camille, Danton and Fréron follow this advice and leave, and were therefore most likely not present for the demonstration and shootings on Champ-de-Mars the very same day (this information was given more than forty years after the fact by Sergent-Marceau in volume 5 of the journal Revue rétrospective, ou Bibliothèque historique : contenant des mémoires et documens authentiques, inédits et originaux, pour servir à l'histoire proprement dite, à la biographie, à l'histoire de la littérature et des arts (1834)).

In the aftermath of the massacre on Champ de Mars, arrest warrants were issued against people deemed guilty for them. On July 22, the Moniteur reports that the journalists Suleau and Verrières have been arrested, and that the authorities have also fruitlessly gone looking for Fréron, Legendre, Desmoulins and Danton, the latter three, the journal assures, having already left Paris. Camille hid out at Lucile’s parents’ country house in Bourg-la-Reine together with Fréron, while Danton went to Arcis-sur-Aube, where he was sheltered by his friend Courtois, and then to Troyes (it’s also commonly stated he went to England during this period, but Hampson expresses some doubt over it). If Camille’s fellow journalist Louis Marie Prudhomme’s Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs, des fautes et des crimes commis pendant la Révolution (1797) is to be believed, on August 14, Danton told Camille and Fabre d’Églantine: the ”b.... won't have me; rather they will all be exterminated first.”

The rather flimsy charges against Danton and Camille — Danton was accused of having cheered on a crowd demanding Lafayette’s head on June 21, Camille of having made incendiary remarks at Café Procope café, saying that it was necessary to shoot the national guards — were however dropped after about six weeks, and in September 1791 they were both back in Paris to stand for election to the Legislative Assembly. Neither did however get in. Camille had also had to resign as journalist in the aftermath of the massacre on Champ-de-Mars.

In Histoire des Montagnards (1847) Alphonse Esquiros writes that Albertine Marat had told him that her brother, Danton and Desmoulins ”liked to come together, from time to time, to rest their souls in the sweet serenity of nature”:

In this contrast of the noise of revolutions with the silence, with the serious serenity of a sunset, under the trees, at the water's edge, a league from Paris, the three friends then had before their eyes the two faces eternal aspects of the world, history and nature, God in movement and God at rest. Danton, this eloquent thunderbolt, this large head of a genius on which smallpox had left big marks, Danton ordered dinner. Whatever efforts one agreed to make during the frugal meal, to keep irritating subjects out of the conversation, one was obliged to go there at dessert; because the company was too preoccupied with the dangers of the State not to mix public affairs with their most personal conversations.

When the question of war in December 1791 became the main topic of discussion, both Danton and Desmoulins joined the minority that cautioned against it. Already on December 16, right after Brissot had held his very first speech in favour of the idea, Danton, while praising the speaker as an excellent patriot, objected to the thought of a war right at the moment — ”I want us to have war; it is essential. We must have war. But above all, we have to exhaust the means that could save us from it.” Ten days later, December 26, Desmoulins did him too deliver a speech against war. Four days after that, after Brissot had just finished his second speech on the subject, Danton and Robespierre both demanded a change be made to a passage when it got printed. Following this moment, it would however appear Danton abandons the question. Camille on the other hand released the pamphlet Jean Pierre Brissot démasqué in February 1792, mocking Brissot and painting him as a fool. Danton’s name got mentioned three times throughout, Camille calling him and Robespierre ”the best citizens.” Danton also got mentioned a total of eight times in the journal La Tribune des Patriots Camille and Fréron published from April to June the very same year, but not in any way that could give us more insight into their relationship.

In her memoirs, Manon Roland claims that Danton and Fabre d’Églantine in the summer of 1792 often came home to her. At one point Fabre told her that “We have a newspaper project which we will call Compte rendu au Peuple souverain, and which will present the picture of the last revolution. Camille Desmoulins, Robert, etc, work on it.” Manon suggested they bring it to her husband for him to subsidise it, something which the two apparently never did, and there was no more talk of the journal again.

On June 23 1792 Lucile starts keeping a diary. The first time any of the Dantons show up in it is already on Wednesday June 27 — ”Madame D(anton) came, we played music.” A few days later Lucile gives this rather odd account: ”My head is spinning. I was madame D(anton) after dinner.” The day after that, July 6, she gives birth to her first child, and a week later, Camille writes to tell his father that said child ”was immediately sent to a wetnurse in Isle-Adam, with the little Danton” (François-Georges, born February 2 1792). If Camille and Lucile made a conscious choice of sending their son to the same wetnurse as Georges and Gabrielle’s (perhaps on the suggestion of their friends) one can only speculate in.

A week after Camille wrote his letter, Lucile traveled to her parents’ country house in Bourg-la-Reine. On July 25 Camille writes to tell her that ”I was brought to Chaville this morning by Panis, together with Danton, Fréron, Brune, at Santerre’s” (letter cited within Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république). Lucile returned to Paris on August 8. In a diary entry written four months later she reveals that she, in the afternoon of August 9, together with others went over to the Dantons. ”Her mother was crying, she was sad, her father looked dazed. D(anton) was resolute. As for me, I was laughing like a madwoman! They feared that the affair [the insurrection of August 10] would not take place; although I was not at all sure, I told them, as if I knew it well, that it would take place. “But can we laugh too?” mde D(anton) said to me. ”Alas, I said to her, that presages to me that I will perhaps shed a lot of tears this evening!” At the end of the day, Lucile, Gabrielle (and others?) go home to Gabrielle’s mother to go for a walk and eventually sit down next to a cafe with her. When groups of sans-culottes and troops on horseback pass by, Lucile gets scared and tells Gabrielle that they should go. ”She laughed at my fear, but by dint of telling her, she too became scared and we left. I say to her mother: ”Farewell! You will soon hear the toscin sound!” The two go back to Gabrielle’s apartment, where a scared Lucile eventually admits to Camille she doesn’t want him to get involved in the dangerous insurrection — ”He reassured me by telling me that he would not leave D(anton).” Lucile and Gabrielle are soon left alone in the apartment with Louise de Kéralio-Robert, but after only a little while Danton returns home and goes to bed. This eventually upsets Louise who tells Lucile that if her husband dies in the insurrection she will stick a knife in Danton. ”From that moment on I never left her. What did I know what could happen? To know what she was capable of…” Some additional time later Camille returns to the apartment and falls asleep on Lucile’s shoulder. Louise tells her that “I can’t stay here any longer! Madame D(anton) is unbearable to me, she seems to be calm, her husband does not want to expose himself!” Lucile therefore suggests she come with her and Camille to their apartment to get some rest. When they around noon go back to the Dantons’ place again ”Madame D(anton) ran up to us to see how we were, she was soon informed when she saw the silence of one and the tears of the other. We waited long enough without knowing anything. Finally they came to tell us that we were victorious.” In a letter to her mother penned down the very same day, Lucile, similarly to how she described them during the Flight to Varennes, writes: ”Mme Danton and I do not leave each other, when I would have liked to flee it would have been impossible, the women are kept from going out.” The following night Camille and Lucile sleep over at the Roberts. When Lucile returns home on the 12th she learns that Danton has been appointed minister of justice. ”These news gave me great pleasure, especially when C(amille) came to tell me that he was secretary.” One day later Camille writes a letter revealing the very same news to his father:

My friend Danton has become minister thanks to the canon. This bloody day could only end, for the two of us especially, in being raised or hoisted together. He said to the national assembly: If I had been defeated, I would have been a criminal. The cause of liberty has triumphed, and Danton has associated me to his triumph.

According to Prudhomme’s Histoire générale et impartiale… (1797), it was Camille and Fabre themselves who three o’clock in the morning announced to Danton that he had been named minister of justice, after which they demanded he make them his secretaries:

”But, are you sure that I am appointed minister?” [said Danton].  “Yes,” replied the two midshipmen; and we will not leave you until we have your word for these two places.” ”Right on time,” said Danton. And everything was arranged according to the wishes of the two revolutionary patriots; but all this does not praise their disinterestedness.

After Camille and Danton had gotten their new occupations, both families briefly went to live at Hôtel de Bourvallais. Lucile writes:

I really liked it there, but only one thing bothered me, it was Fréron. Every day I saw new progress and didn’t know what to do about it. I consulted Maman, she approved of my plan to banter and joke about it, and that was the wisest thing to do. Because what to do? Forbid him to come? He and C(amille) dealt with each other every day, we would meet. To tell him to be more circumspect was to confess that I knew everything and that I did not disapprove of him; an explanation would have been needed. I therefore thought myself very prudent to receive him with friendship and reserve as usual, and I see now that I have done well. Soon he left to go on a mission. I was very happy with it, I thought it would change him. But many other cares to be taken… I realized that D(anton)… Oh, of that one, I was suspicious! I had to fear the eyes of his wife with whom I did not want to be hurt. I did so well that one did not know that I had noticed it, and the other that it might be. We spent three months like this quite cheerfully. At the end of this time C(amille) was appointed deputy and we returned to our first home.

Somewhere during Camille and Danton’s time in the ministry we find the following undated letter ”from the minister of justice to citizen Desmoulins, national commissioner in Vervins” (Camille’s father). Charles Vellay, who published the letter in 1792, did however find it more likely for the author of the letter, unlike what the header leads you to believe, was Camille, seeing as it is in a secretary’s handwriting and the letter was found among his and not Danton’s papers:

I am pleased to learn, Citizen, that yielding to the wishes of your compatriots, you have accepted the position of Natal Commissioner at the Vervins District Tribunal. You could undoubtedly desire some rest after the long fatigues you have had and the feeling which invited you to retire was very legitimate; but it was worthy of your good citizenship to still make the sacrifice for your country, and I am convinced that it was not in the midst of the agitations which precede the most beautiful of centuries that you would have left without regret a career where you you still have services to render to public affairs for a long time to come. It is not fair, however, to forget that the more you redouble your efforts, the more it is in your fellow citizens' interest to prescribe reasonable limits for yourself, and it is also your duty to moderate your zeal and not to forbid you these considerations which can be reconciled with public service and the care of your health. Your colleagues will themselves urge you to give nature the moments of relaxation it needs; a few temporary absences can be infinitely useful to you, and certainly they will not harm the interests of business if some attention is given to the circumstances and replacement measures. I will approve the first of wise precautions which I feel the necessity of and sure of my attachment to your duties I will rely with confidence on your respect for this moral responsibility as sacred as the will of the laws to true republicans.

Danton would however not remain minister of justice for a long time, already on August 26 Camille reported to his father that:

It seems that several departments will nominate me and especially Danton [to the National Convention], and he will not hesitate for a moment to leave the ministry to be representative of the people. You can imagine that I would follow an example that I would have given him, if I were in his place. Danton is from Paris no more than I am, and it is a remarkable thing that among all the principal authors of the revolution and among all of our friends, we perhaps do not know a single one who was born in Paris.

However, before the opening of the National Convention, the so called September Massacres took place. In l’Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs… (1797) Prudhomme attributed big responsibility for the prison killings to both Danton and Desmoulins, portraying them as aware of what was going to happen already on September 2, the day before they began:

September 2, at midday, I go, hearing the noise of the tocsin and the cannon of alarm, to my section de l'Unité.  People came to announce that the barriers had been closed. A general consternation was painted on all faces. At the news of the arrival of the Prussians in Paris, as well as of a conspiracy of the prisoners against the patriots (a vague rumor had been circulating about it for fifteen days), a number of citizens questioned me on this subject.  ”Your profession as a journalist should enable you to know something,” one said to me.  ”I know nothing,” I responded, ”but I’m going to visit someone who could tell me.” As I knew Camille Desmoulins since a long time back, I thought it a good idea to go to his house. I didn’t find him anywhere, one assured me that he was at Danton’s, minister of justice. It was about half past two in the afternoon, I went home to the minister, and told him: ”I have come, in the quality of pure patriotism and in my own name, to ask you what this canon of alarm, this toscin and the arrival of the Prussians to Paris.”  ”Calm down, old friend of liberty,” Danton responded, ”it’s the toscin of victory.”  ”But,” I told him, ”people talk about slitting throats.”  ”Yes,” he told me, ”we were all about to have our throats cut this night, starting with the most patriotic. All those arisocrat rascals, who are in the prisons, had been provided with firearms and daggers. At a specified time next night, the gates were to be opened to them; they would have spread in different quarters to cut the throats of the wives and children of the patriots who will leave to march against the Prussians. We addressed ourselves principally, above all, to those who had demonstrated the principles of freedom.” ”All this comes off as a bit made up to me,” I responded, ”but what means are to be employed to prevent the execution of such a plot?” ”What means?” he said. ”The People, irritated and instructed in time, want to do justice themselves to all the bad subjects inside the prisons.” At these words I was seized with horror; I told him that such a measure appeared to me unworthy of a people who claimed to be free. At this moment, Camille Desmoulins entered.  ”Hello there!” Danton said to him. ”Prudhomme just asked me what is to be done.  ”Yes,” I said, ”and I am heartbroken after what I have just heard. ”So you (tu) didn’t tell him that one won’t mix up the innocent with the guilty? Camille said to Danton. ”All those who will be claimed by their sections will be returned.”  ”Seems to me that we could take a less violent measure,” I responded. ”Spilling blood is an abominable act of which those who govern are responsible. The people will one day make those who make them commit this crime pay dearly. Let Paris march en masse against the Prussians. Send the wives and children of those who are to march at the enemy out of Paris to avoid them getting massacred by the prisoners, let us lock them up in fortified castles.”  ”Any kind of moderate measure is useless,” Danton said. ”The anger of the people is at its height, there would even be danger in stopping it.” His first anger assuaged, one could make him listen to reason.  ”But,” I say, ”if the Legislative body and the constituted authorities spread themselves through Paris, and harangued the people?” ”No, no,” replied Camille, ”that would be too dangerous; for the people, in their first wrath, might make victims in the person of their dearest friends.” I withdrew filled with pain. 

Exiting Danton’s house, Prudhomme adds:

As I passed through the dining room, I saw the wives of Camille, Danton, Robert, etc, Fabre-d'Eglantine, and other guests. I did not know what to think of the tranquility that reigned at the house of the Minister of Justice; everything led me to believe that it was indeed impossible to stop the resentment of the People, at the news of a conspiracy hatched by the nobles and priests. 

The next day, Prudhomme also claims that Théophile Mandar went over to Danton’s place, where he saw ”all ministers, with the exception of Roland, Lacroix, president [of the Assembly], Pétion, mayor of Paris, Robespierre, Camille-Desmoulins, Fabre d’Églantine, Manuel and several members of the so-called Commune of August 10. The presidents and commanders from each of the 48 sections had come as well.” Half past seven in the evening everyone sat down in Danton’s salon to discuss the means to save Paris, Danton staying firm in his conviction of what had just happened and was still happening as necessary.

On September 8, two days after the end of the massacres, the time had come for Camille to be elected to the National Convention. He did at first come under question for his friendship with the royalist journalist François Suleau, killed in the Insurrection of August 10. The journal Gazette nationale de France does however report that Camille after this ”was defended with a lot of energy and eloquence by M. Danton and his election was almost unanimous.” With that, Desmoulins became the sixth elected deputy representing Paris (Danton was the second).

In December 1792, Lucile returns to keeping a diary. On the 22nd she writes: ”I went to supper with little Brune at mde D(anton’s). How detestable she is!” It’s hard to tell if it’s Gabrielle or madame Brune she designates as detestable, and even harder to know what she had done in order to get called that… Two days later, December 24, Lucile documents the following:

We had dinner at mde D(anton's), mde R(obert), B(rune) and B(oyer) were there. After dinner the men asked themselves if they should go to the Jacobins. They said yes. We were asked if we would go. We say no. Madame D(anton) said to me: ”do you (vous) want to spend the evening with me?,” I said yes, but soon I did not know what to do. Brune suggested I go to the theater! It was very embarrassing. Madame Brune said aloud: “I have never been to the Jacobins, I would be very happy to go there.” "Well, I'm going with you," I tell her. Finally, here we are, all ready to leave, when I see Mme Brune and Boyer whispering in each other’s ears. I, like a fool, go to ask them what they’re saying to each other. Mde R(obert) told me that she was very embarrassed, that she would like to go with us to the Jacobins. I was very kind, I said a few words to her that meant nothing, then I went into the antechamber. She came there soon and told me to wait for her, that she was going to follow me, she came back near madame D(anton). Brune came and told me “let’s go”. I followed her saying: ”but mde R(obert) who wants to come?” Finally, we are hardly in the middle of the staircase when we hear someone who says “here they are, here they are!”, then we descend with astonishing speed, and when we are in the street we run even harder. We took a fairly long detour. God knows how we laughed! Nothing, too, was more comical.

Throughout the first two halves of January, Lucile goes to the Convention to follow the trial of Louis XVI every single day. If Gabrielle went with her to these sessions is not confirmed, but not disproven either. Danton was absent on a mission in Belgium for most of the trial, but on January 14 he returned to Paris and two days later he voted for death, just like Camille. One day after the execution of the king, January 22 1793, Lucile writes: ”I went to Robert’s. Danton came there. His jokes are as boorish as he is. Despite this, he is a good devil. Madame Ro(bert) seemed jealous of how he teased me…” Two days later she witnesses the funeral procession of the recently assassinated Michel Peletier from the window of Jeanne-Justine Boyer, an event which moves her deeply. Once all her guests have left for the evening ”I felt that I could not be alone and bear the horrible thoughts that were going to besiege me. I ran to D(anton’s). He was moved to see me still pale and defeated. We drank tea, I supped there.” A week later, January 29, Lucile reports that ”we had dinner at D(anton's), where I just laughed, because I was preventing Brune from eating by saying "poa, poa, poa". D(anton) too couldn't keep himself from laughing.” Four days after that, February 3, Lucile writes ”I went to see madame Danton. Sick.” Three days later, she goes back to see her friend — ”I went to see madame Danton… She is very ill.” Yet another three days later Lucile writes ”Madame Danton is ill. She has given birth to a girl.” and at last, the day after that: ”I had dinner with Maman. Madame Danton is dead.” Two days after the death of her friend, Lucile goes to visit Gabrielle’s mother together with madame Brune and Robert. Shortly after that, she and Camille do however leave for Essonne, the latter having been apointed to a mission there, while Georges returned to Paris after another mission in Belgium to receive the sad news. Lucile did however not forget about him, in a letter to her mother Annette dated February 16 she asks her to ”give us news regarding Danton.” Apropos of Annette eventually joining them in Essonne Lucile adds: ”I forgot to mention a facility that could be of use for you, it’s Danton’s carriage. No doubt he could still have it.”

On March 26 1793, Desmoulins and Danton were both elected for the so called Commission of Public Safety, alongside 23 others. The commission, which consisted of both fervent montagnards and fervent girondins, was however off to a rocky start, and already on April 6 it was put to death and replaced by the Committee of Public Safety. A little more than a month later, May 17, Desmoulins announced the release of his new pamphlet l’Histoire des Brissotins to the Jacobins. Danton’s name gets mentioned eleven times in it, but only one can be used to really say something about their relationship, and it’s when Camille on page 54 writes: ”Jérôme Pétion told Danton in confidence that ”what makes poor Roland saddest is the fact people will discover his domestic sorrows and how bitter being a cuckold is to the old man, troubling the serenity of that great soul.” This implies Danton went and shared Roland’s secret with Camille after Pétion had confided it to him. Two weeks later, on June 7, a ”member” is recorded to have voiced suspicion on Danton’s current sentiments — ”This deputy isn’t as revolutionary as he used to. He doesn’t come to the Jacobins anymore. He left me the other day to approach a general.” In response, Camille is recorded to have ”advocated Danton’s good citizenship.” In Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, au général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes released a few months later, Camille calls Robert Lindet, Robespierre and Danton ”the best citizens of the Convention.”

On October 30, 22 girondins were sentenced to death. In Les mysterès de la mère de Dieu dévoilès (1794) Joachim Vilate described a dramatic reaction from Camille’s part upon hearing the final verdict: ”hearing the juror's declaration, he suddenly threw himself into my arms, agitated, tormenting himself:”ah my god, my god, it's me who kills them: my Brissot dévoilé [sic], ah my god, it’s that which kills them.” If Dominique-Joseph Garat’s Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct, in the public employments which I have held (1795) are to be believed, Danton too was deeply moved by the fate of the girondins, to the extent it motivated him to, on October 12, ask for a leave of absence to go to Arcis-sur-Aube in order to recruit his health:

I could not convince myself that among all those who, since May 31, had retained great popularity, there was not one who did not still retain a little humanity, and I went to Danton. He was ill, it only took me two minutes to see that his illness was above all a deep pain and a great dismay at everything that was coming. ”I won't be able to save them (the girondins)”, were the first words out of his mouth, and, as he uttered them, all the strength of this man, who has been compared to an athlete, was defeated, big tears strolled down his face, whose shapes could have been used to represent that of Tartarus. […] When the fate reserved for the twenty-two [girondins] seemed inevitable, Danton already heard, so to speak, his death sentence in theirs. All the strength of this triumphant athlete of democracy succumbed under the feeling of the crimes of democracy and its disorders. He could only talk about the countryside, he was suffocating, he needed to escape from men in order to be able to breathe.

Danton’s absence did not go unnoticed. In a letter from Toulon written October 18, Fréron tells Lucile that ”I have been really worried about Danton. The public papers announce that he is ill. Let me know if he has recovered. Give him 1000 friendships from my part.” Through the next letter Fréron writes Lucile, dated December 11, we learn that Danton had a nickname within this inner circle of friends — ”I would like to have news of Patagon (Brune), Saturne (Duplain) and Marius (Danton).” It can be observed that Camille, as seen above, had likened Danton to Marius in Révolutions de France et de Brabant already in 1790.

Danton was however back in Paris again on November 22, when he is recorded to have spoken of ”the relief to be granted to abdicated priests” at the Convention. Two weeks later, December 3, he was accused of ”moderatism” by Coupé d’Oise for having opposed the suggestion of sending a group with a portable guillotine to Seine-Inférieure in order to deal with rebels fleeing the Vendée. Robespierre did however rise to defend Danton, saying that he had always seen him serve his homeland with zeal and ending by asking that everyone says what he sincerely thinks about Danton. Aside from Merlin de Thionville, who hailed Danton as the saviour of the republic, no one said anything, and Momoro therefore concluded this meant no one had anything to accuse Danton of. The discussion therefore ended with Danton embracing the president of the club amidst loud applause. Just two days later, the first number of Camille’s new journal, the Vieux Cordelier, was released. In the number, Desmoulins designates the session at the Jacobins on the 5th as the event that caused him to return to the journalistic pen: 

Victory is with us because, amid the ruins of so many colossal civic reputations, Robespierre’s in unassailed; because he lent a hand to his competitor in patriotism, our perpetual President of the “Old Cordeliers,” our Horatius Cocles, who alone held the bridge against Lafayette and his four thousand Parisians besieging Marat, who now seemed overwhelmed by the foreign party. Already having gained stronger ground during the illness and absence of Danton, this party, domineering insolent in society, in the midst of the most sensitive places, the most compelling justification, in the tribunes, jeering, and in the middle of the meeting, shaking its head and smiling with pity, as in the speech of a man condemned by every vote. We have won, however, because after the crushing speeches of Robespierre, in which it seems that talent grows in pace with the dangers of the Republic, and the profound impression he has left in souls, it was impossible to venture to raise a voice against Danton without giving, so to speak, a public quittance of guineas of Pitt. […] I learned some things yesterday. I saw how many enemies we have. Their multitude tears me from the Hotel des Invalides and returns me to combat. I must write. 

If Danton had a bigger role in the Vieux Cordelier than simply being part of the event that caused Camille to start writing it is debated. When Robespierre a little more than three months later was working out the dantonists’ indictment, he claimed that Danton had been the ”president” of the Vieux Cordelier, whose prints he had corrected and made changes to, and that Camille had been his and Fabre’s ”dupe.” In Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct… (1795) Garat claimed that Danton during his stay in Arcis-sur-Aube had been cooking up a ”conspiracy” with a goal to ”restore for the benefit of all the reign of justice and of the laws, and to extend clemency to his enemies,” and to which ”all of his friends,” including Desmoulins, entered into. In Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs… (1797) Prudhomme claimed that Danton, Lacroix, Camille-Desmoulins and Fabre-d'Églantine made up a secret party wishing to overthrow the Committee of Public Safety, and that Camille, as part of this plan, got charged with a ”moral attack,” leading to the creation of the Vieux Cordelier. Danton’s friend Edme-Bonaventure Courtois wrote in 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), that ”it was in these painful moments that [Desmoulins] put to paper (in his Vieux Cordelier) the reflections that his indignation could no longer contain, and whose acrimony Danton, through his advice, softened in many places.” Finally, in  his Camille Desmoulins And His Wife: Passages From The History Of The Dantonists (1876), Jules Claretie included the following passage:

I know, through information given to me by M. Labat the elder, that one evening in that mournful summer of 1793, Danton and Camille Desmoulins had walked to the Cour du Commerce, along the Seine, by the quay des Lunettes, and, thinking of that 31st of May, which was to end in the events of the 31st of October, Danton pointed out to Camille the great river in which the rays of the sun, setting behind the hill of Passy, were reflected so vividly that the river looked like blood. ”Look,” said Danton — and, like Garat, Camille saw the tribune's eyes fill with tears — ”see, how much blood! The Seine runs blood! Ah! too much blood has been spilt! Come, pick up your pen again; write and demand clemency, I will support you!”

However, considering Robespierre’s notes had an interest in wanting to paint the ”dantonists” as a unified grupp (and perhaps also to absolve Desmoulins of some responsibility), while all the other testimonies were reported after the fact, its hard to be sure of anything. 

Danton went unmentioned in the rest of number 1, as well as number 2 (released December 10) of the Vieux Cordelier. When Camille on December 14 passed through the Jacobins ongoing scrutiny test, he regrettingly admitted that ”a well marked fatality willed that, among the sixty [sic] people who signed my wedding contract, I only have two friends left — Danton and Robespierre. All the others have emigrated or been guillotined.” In the Vieux Cordelier’s third number (released December 18), he wrote the following about Danton, apropos of underlining he was not asking for moderation:

In this duel between liberty and servitude, and in the cruel alternative of a defeat a thousand times more bloody than our victory, overruling the revolution therefore had less danger and was even better than remaining behind it, as Danton said, and it is necessary, above all, for the republic to secure the battlefield. […] Despite so many guineas (guinées) said Danton, name for me a single man strongly pronounced in the revolution, and in favor of the republic, who has been condemned to death by the revolutionary tribunal?

Danton went unmentioned again in number 4 (December 21), but in number 5 Camille brings him up seven times, writing that ”I said with Danton, that to outrage the revolution was less dangerous and even better than to remain within it; that, on the course taken by the vessel, it was better to approach the rock of exaggeration, than the sandbar of moderation,” insisting he has never ceased to ”conspire against the tyrants with Danton and Robespierre,” denouncing Hébert for having attacked him, Danton and nine other deputies and claiming to have heard Danton say that ”[Hébert’s] pipe resembles the trumpet of Jericho, when he has smoked three times around a reputation, it must fall of itself.” At one point he also accuses Barère of having discussed the arrest of Danton on June 2.

On January 7, Camille and Robespierre got into a fight at the Jacobin club after the latter had denounced the fifth number of Vieux Cordelier as counter-revolutionary, but insisting that its author had been ”led astray by bad company,” and therefore proposing that the Society forgive him and ”just” burn the latest numbers of the Vieux Cordelier. When Camille refused that ultimatum, exclaiming that ”burning isn’t answering,” the fight worsened until Danton stepped in to act as meditator between the two:

Danton: Camille mustn’t be frightened by the rather severe lessons Robespierre’s friendship has just given him. Citizens, let justice and cold-headedness always preside over our decisions. In judging Camille, be careful to not strike a deadly blow against the liberty of the press.

In a letter to Fréron dated January 13, Lucile regretfully reports that ”Marius is not listened to anymore, he loses courage and vigour.” Around the same time, her father was arrested and locked up in the Carmes prison due to a few objects decorated with fleurs-de-lys having been found in his home. On January 24 Camille protested against his arrest at the Jacobins, gaining the support of Bourdon d’Oise who asked that the Committee of General Security make a report about the case in three days. Danton did however object to this, but did make the more vague suggestion that ”the Convention consider ways to do justice to all the victims of arbitrary measures and arrests, without harming the action of the revolutionary government”:

I oppose the kind of distinction of privilege which would seem to be granted to Desmoulins' father-in-law. I want the Convention to deal only with general affairs. If we want a report for this citizen, we also need one for all the others. […] My colleague's complaint is fair in itself, but it would give rise to a decree unworthy of us. If we were to give priority, it would belong to citizens who do not find in their fortune and in their acquaintance with members of the Convention hopes and resources in the midst of their misfortune: it must be to the unfortunate, to the needy, that you should first hold out your hands. I ask that the Convention consider ways to do justice to all the victims of arbitrary measures and arrests, without harming the action of the revolutionary government. I would be careful not to prescribe the means here. I request the referral of this question to the consideration of the Committee of General Safety, which will consult with the Committee of Public Safety; that a report be made to the Convention, and that it be followed by a broad and in-depth discussion; because all the discussions of the Convention have resulted in the triumph of reason and liberty.

When Robespierre about two months later was preparing the dantonists’ indictment, he wrote that ”during this last visit [to my place], [Danton] spoke of Desmoulins with contempt. He attributed his deviances to a vice that is private and shameful, but absolutely foreign to the crimes of the conspirators to the Revolution. Laignelot was witness.” Robespierre used this as evidence Danton had ”an ungrateful and dark soul,” as he previously had ”highly recommended the last productions of Desmoulins.”

Both Danton and Camille were arrested in the night between March 30 and March 31. They were taken to the Luxembourg prison and placed in solitary confinement. On April 1, in his very last written letter, Camille regrettingly tells Lucile: 

How to believe that a few jokes in my writings, against colleagues that had provoked me, have erased the memory of my services! I do not disguise the fact that I die as a victim of these jokes and my friendship with Danton. I thank my assassins for letting me die with him and Philippeaux. And since my colleagues have been cowardly enough to abandon us and listen to calumnies that I don’t know, but must be the most vulgar, I can say that we die as victims of our courage to denounce traitors, and of our love for the truth. We can well carry this testimony with us, that we die as the last republicans.

It would however appear Lucile wanted to do something about the situation. We have the following anecdote published in Histoire de la Révolution française (1850) by Nicolas Villiaumé, which, as far as I’m aware, is the only known connection we have between the Desmoulins couple and Danton’s second wife Louise-Sébastienne Gély (married June 14 1793):

[After the arrest of Danton and Desmoulins] Lucile ran to Madame Danton to suggest that she come with her to go find Robespierre, ask him for an explanation, and recall the feelings of friendship which had attached him to their husbands. Madame Danton refused, saying that she wanted nothing from a man who had showed himself to be the enemy of her husband. (I obtained this particularity from Madame Danton herself, who was then pregnant. She gave birth fifteen days after Danton's death, but her child did not live.)

On April 2, Danton, Desmoulins and seven other deputies were brought from the Luxembourg to the Conciergerie prison. If Mémoires d’un detenu pour servir à l’histoire de la tyrannie de Robespierre(1795) by Honoré Riouffe are to be believed, the accused were kept in seperate cells here as well. He writes:

Danton, placed in a cell next to Westermann, didn’t stop talking, less to be heard by Westermann than by us. […] Here are some phrases I retained: […] ”What proves Robespierre is a Nero, is that he never spoke as kindly to Desmoulins as on the day before his arrest.”

Their trial began the very same day. For three days, the accused defended themselves (or at least tried to) against the charges of ”complicity with d'Orléans and Dumourier, with Fabre d'Eglantine and the enemies of the Republic, of having been involved in the conspiracy tending to re-establish the monarchy, to destroy the national representation and the republican government” side by side. It did however not go that well, and on April 5, Danton, Desmoulins and thirteen others were sentenced to death. The execution took place the very same afternoon. Contrary to the myth of Danton and Camille sitting next to each other in the same tumbril as they were driven to Place de la Révolution, number 561(April 6 1794) of Suite du Journal de Perlet reports that ”they were in three tumbrils: in the first was Danton, next to Delacroix; Fabre near the executioner; Hérault opposite Chabot. In the second, Phelippeaux [sic], Westermann, Camille Desmoulins, Basire and Launai d’Angers [sic]. […] Danton […]seemed to pay little attention to the crowd around him: he was chatting with Lacroix and Fabre. […]Desmoulins spoke almost continually to the people; the courage he affected seemed like a painful effort, he was an actor who was studying to play his last part well.”

After the death of Camille and, eight days later, Lucile, their son Horace was taken in by his maternal grandparents and aunt, who then permanently retired to their country house in Bourg-la-Reine. Danton’s sons Antoine and François-Georges were they too adopted by their maternal grandfather and uncles. In 1805, the two moved from Paris to Arcis-sur-Aube where they instead got looked after by their paternal grandmother. I have not been able to find anything indicating the families stayed in touch to process the grief or let the children come together, something which we on the other hand know Lucile’s mother did with Philippeaux’s widow.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #22: Kith and Kin

Prompt: rencounter (free write) || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: Spoilers through Patch 6.5: Growing Light, and very very very minor ones for Dawntrail.

---

Radz-at-Han was a truly beautiful sight from the air. Built atop a large, lonely plateau rising above the Thavnairian jungle, the city covered its entire surface in a myriad of brightly painted buildings, open plazas decorated with mosaics, and lush gardens on multiple rooftops. And even from this distance, there was no mistaking the crowds that bustled throughout the city and crossed the great bridge connecting Radz-at-Han to the rest of Thavnair.

Excitement bubbled up in Ehll Tou’s throat and she trilled an adventuring song as she began to glide downward in a smooth spiral.

The airship landing was easy to spot, a series of long platforms jutting out from the plateau close to the main gate. As she drew closer, Ehll Tou spotted a figure waving from the end of the westernmost dock: large and broadly built, grey skin, large ears, a sinuous trunk, and wearing a beautiful sari of pink and purple. Ah, that must be Nidhana! Ehll Tou obligingly adjusted her course.

The arkasadora took some steps backward as Ehll Tou neared, her ears held up perked and alert. Almost to the edge now, Ehll Tou threw herself into a backwards loop—it had taken quite a bit of practice to relearn how to do that in her adult body—both as display and to slow her momentum. Coming back upright, she flared her wings as a finally braking maneuver, and landed delicately on one foot, and then the other.

[Hello!] she sang happily. [Are you Nidhana?]

“I am indeed!” Nidhana said, striding forward with surprising grace for a being so tall. She held out her hand, and Ehll Tou reached forward to shake eagerly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ehll Tou! Welcome to Radz-at-Han.”

[A pleasure to meet you as well!]Ehll Tou said. [I’ve heard so much about you and your city! Thank you so much for allowing me to attend your introductory alchemy class.]

“Oh, it is a delight to accept a student so diligent and eager to learn,” Nidhana said, beginning to walk down the pier. “I am only sorry I cannot introduce you to Master Vrtra and Mistress Azdaja, but diplomatic business has taken them to Tural and I’m not certain when they will return.”

Ehll Tou kept easy pace beside her and reached into her bag, retrieving her hat and carefully pinning it back to its rightful, jaunty place atop her left horn. [That’s all right,]she said. [There will be plenty of time to properly meet my kin! I am not in any rush.]

“Ah, the benefits of a draconic lifespan,” Nidhana sighed wistfully. “The things I could learn over such time!”

The two chatted happily as they traveled through Radz-at-Han’s streets towards the High Crucible, with Nidhana pointing out many shops and restaurants and landmarks and Ehll Tou dutifully committing them to memory as she built her mental map of the city. She drew curious looks from many Hannish citizens, though dragons had become a somewhat more common sight since Vrtra began openly ruling as satrap. The adventurers were a familiar sight, and some she even knew from Ishgard! With those she exchanged hellos and promises to meet for a snack and cup of tea.

“Such a wonderful world we now live in,” Nidhana said, her trunk curled and ears gently flapping in the manner Ehll Tou was quickly learning meant happiness. “As terrible as the Final Days were, its aftermath has brought new life to the city and Thavnair as a whole. New foods, new ideas, new friends!”

[It is wondrous to see,] Ehll Tou trilled and tapped her claws together with excitement. [I never thought to see the end of the Dragonsong War, but now I may safely travel the lands of man and learn new skills and meet new peoples, and compose songs to share it all with my kin and encourage them to travel and learn, too!]

Nidhana trumpeted a laugh. “Oh, Sisters have mercy on me, I know now why Synnove adores you so much! It is going to be an honor to teach you, truly!”

Ehll Tou chuffed, chest puffing with pride.

--

Five days later, Ehll Tou was browsing one of the markets, humming happily to herself as she examined a stall of clockwork devices. Her first days of classes had gone well and she had settled into the nest that the Alchemists’ College had prepared for her in the student housing close to the High Crucible. She was making new friends, too, and while some of it had no doubt been engendered by the allure of a draconic classmate, once her classmates realized how well-read she was, they had quickly settled into a mix of gossip and idea sharing. Such fun!

She did miss Hautdilong and Arvide, but they had encouraged her to take this opportunity, and she would be back home within the next few moons once the class was concluded. And in the meantime, she would write letters to them, eagerly await their own, and acquire some souvenirs to bring home with her!

Today was a free day and while she would later meet with her classmates to review their notes and prepare for their first laboratory session, this morning was the perfect time to shop.

Ehll Tou had already purchased some silk for a potential sewing project she had in mind, thread for embroidery in colors that made her purr, and a number of interesting snacks she could share at the study session. The clockwork had caught her eye, used as she was to Ul’dahn styles, and her perusal right now was for an item or two she might carefully disassemble to compare its construction to a Goldsmiths’ Guild mammet she was building. A watch was always a good starting point…

A flash of moving scarlet caught her eye, and Ehll Tou raised her head to spot a dragonet further down the boulevard. She blinked curiously; none of her cousins had said they would be visiting Radz-at-Han, but the dragonet didn’t quite look like any of her cousins, either. Perhaps this was a Meracydian dragonet, one that Great Mother Tiamat felt was well enough to travel beyond the safety of her restored brood? Oh, what fun, she hadn’t met any of her Meracydian kin yet!

Ehll Tou made her selections, gently haggling with the shopkeep, and shook hands once they were both content with their deal. She exchanged gil for the watches, placed her purchases within her satchel, and trotted off down the street.

As Ehll Tou drew closer, she noted that the dragonet was certainly no Dravanian but was quite pretty: her wings had feathers, and a fluffy ruff of white feathers crowned her head behind her horns! She whistled a hello, and the dragonet turned—

—this was not a dragonet.

Ehll Tou scrambled to a stop.

{Oh, look at you!} The great wyrm in a dragonet’s body swooped closer. {What a beautiful dragon you have grown into, scion of Ratatoskr!}

Her voice purred and rolled around the careful enunciations of Dragonspeak in both Ehll Tou’s ears and mind. The sound was warm and multi-toned, drums and dulcimers and heavy woodwinds, a deep contralto of age and experience and affection. In it was echoed the symphonic rumble of Kinfather Midgardsormr and the memory of the green skies of the Dragon Star; the hatching songs of new generations and warsongs of wyrms flying to protect their children; the hollow loneliness of a red moon and the dream of home.

Ehll Tou dropped into a bow, neck low and wings spread, and frantically pawed through her mental library of etiquette. Azdaja the Lost had never mothered a brood, so ‘Great Mother’ would not be the proper courtesy title, but perhaps a more mortal term would work, she could contract the layers of generations into one—

[It is my honor, Great Aunt Azdaja,] Ehll Tou trilled in Dragonspeak, though the term for ‘aunt’ translated rather awkwardly.

{Such wonderful manners, I am well met,} Azdaja said, squinting her eyes closed in pleasure. {Further formality is not necessary, little niece.}

Ehll Tou popped up from her bow, fairly vibrating with excitement. [Thank you, Great Aunt! I am Ehll Tou.]

{Yes, yes, Ehll Tou of Dravania! First of a new generation of dragons born to peace.} Azdaja’s voice had warmed even further. {My brother and I just returned to Radz-at-Han last night. How fortuitous that I met you this morning; Vrtra planned to send you an invitation to dinner so that we might properly meet and exchange songs. Would you be able to attend tonight?}

[Oh, yes, I would! Today and tomorrow are my rest days,] Ehll Tou said, fighting the urge to fairly dance in place. Oh goodness, to share family songs with two of the great wyrms! So much to learn! So much to share! She was going to be the utter envy of Zenith and Anyx Trine!

Azdaja’s laugh was a rippling sound of bells and flutes. {Might I accompany you?} she said. {I am still learning much about Radz-at-Han myself, and such excursions are always more joyous with company.}

[It would be my pleasure!] Ehll Tou couldn’t stop her excited hop as Azdaja came to hover next to her, both of their attentions caught by a samosa stall opening as the lunch hour began.

This, Ehll Tou knew, was going to be one of the best days she ever had.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐲𝐨𝐮+𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ Miguel has a bad reputation after the events with Miles and the spot. You saved him once, now you were gonna clear his name. If only he loved you back…. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_madame web!reader, age gap (legal), idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, sexual content 18+, vague, but still piv sex, and oral (f receiving) happy ending, long ass fic, 8.1k words. 𝐀/𝐍_ any song from my favorite album reputation (but this specifically about end game, don’t blame me, delicate, so it goes, CIWYW, and dress)

♪ ♫ My Miguel O’Hara playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

___________________________________________

Miguel knew he was lucky to have found you.

You had been his miracle when everything was about to get lost.

A spider woman that was also a telepath, had the ability of clairvoyance, a direct connection with the web of life and destiny.

In every universe, your other versions were blind, sick, and old.

But you were different. Healthy, young, and wise.

“Miguel, you’re the strongest spider I’ve ever seen in my visions. Don’t risk everything you’ve built because of your fears…” you had said with such care and smoothness. And that was enough for him to surrender. He apologized to Miles, begged for help from his fellow spider coworkers, and helped to get rid of the spot.

Although Miguel O’Hara tried and did his best, the damage was done. Nueva York was against him. And half of the spider society too.

He was low-key shocked and depressed. All he ever wanted was to protect as many people as he could. That was his initial thought after carrying the weight of accidentally destroying an entire universe. He wanted to do things right. He wanted a safe place for spiders.

That wasn’t the case in the present though.

Miguel spent most of his days locked in his office. Putting Jess in charge, taking a liking to Ben to be sent on missions. And ignoring the spiders who only were part of the society to help clean the mess spot. He didn’t even visit his apartment in downtown Nueva York. That way he would avoid his city. The one that he had helped, even when the citizens never thanked him.

Miguel knew May's universes. Where people loved their Spider-Man or Spider-Woman. But in Nueva York, it seemed like people were always hesitant about Miguel, well… about Spiderman 2099.

Even the needle that injected the serum Miguel needed, seemed annoying.

He sighed, admitting he was tired.

And it would get worse.

“Hey, Miguel?” Jess asked, poking her head at the entrance of his lab.

“Hmm?”

“People are fighting at the cafeteria again” he exhaled, extremely tired.

“Fuck…” he whispered before activating his mask and following his friend.

“Lyla. Tell me what happened…” the AI appeared immediately and opened a little virtual screen in front of her.

“Another disagreement over the new rules at the HQ” Jessica sighed loudly.

“I don’t get it. We’re giving them a chance to do what they think it’s correct”

That was the issue. After the incidents with The Spot, Miles, and your apparition, Miguel suggested that the spider people could choose whether to stay at the HQ or leave to only work in their respective universes.

But some people wanted to stay, only not with Miguel in charge.

And nobody had the guts to make front to him.

The cafeteria was all barks and curses when Miguel and Jess joined.

“Silence!” The woman yelled. And everyone obeyed, looking shocked and scared even through their masks.

“What happened?” Miguel asked looking down. Even when he knew the reason, he wanted to hear it.

“Nothing, boss. Just this asshole who thinks we should plot against you” said a grey Spider-Man pushing another spider, who seemed to be from a Victorian era.

“We’ve talked about this…” Miguel explained.

“Yeah? Listen, man. I’m only here because my universe always ends up with anomalies. But I don’t want to be your employee. Not after what you did…” said the Victorian spider.

“I’ve also apologized. And it’s been some time for everyone to figure out that I meant it” Nobody said anything.

“That matters? Our perspective has changed. And your apologies can’t soothe it at all”

From the upper level, Peter appeared. Balancing and landing in the middle of the conversation.

“Boy, don’t be like that. We all need each other here. Miguel is not evil, he’s done a lot for us” Miguel was not used to being defended by anyone. And he changed his behavior towards Peter after the incidents. Peter had stayed on his side even after siding with Gwen and Miles.

“Oh, you act like his boyfriend, Peter. What has this asshole done?” Miguel was about to punch Victorian Spider-Man. He was so close…

“That asshole created everything for you to save all the anomalies you claim to have in your universe. Say thank you and don’t be dick…” everyone turned their masks to see you there.

Miguel almost choked.

You were there.

New suit, new haircut, new lipstick. It was you…

“Wow! Y/n! You’re back!” Peter cheered walking to give you a big hug.

“It’s been some time..” you replied smiley.

“Who the hell are you?” The vintage spider asked.

“I’m the one who finished The Spot. And you? Charles Dickens in tights?” Peter and others laughed, surely making Victorian Spider-Man embarrassed.

When you looked again, you finally faced Miguel.

“Hello, Miguel” Your smile was enough to make him feel less worried.

“You’re back…”

“I am. I told you I’d be back” his face remains still. No articulation on any of the muscles, he just stared. And you slightly worried that he might have been not so happy to see you. Until he stepped closer.

“I’m glad you’re here” you smile. Then you face Victorian Spider-Man back.

“I’ll make sure you understand…” through the mask, the vintage spider is giving you a bad look. But you ignore it.

Miguel wonders what you meant. He wants to know everything; why you came back, why you looked happier than the first time, why your hair seemed different, why your lips looked softer. His brain was burning.

The silence dies when most of the spiders start leaving the cafeteria again.

Leaving you alone with Peter, Jess, and Ben who recently joined by the end of the argument.

“So… That was…” Jess babbles but never finishes the sentence.

“I wasn’t threatening him…” you assure her. Miguel eyed you constantly, while Peter could only smile like an idiot.

“So you meant it? How do you plan to make him understand?”

“Not sure yet, but I’ll help” They look confused at each other.

“Mind to elaborate on that?” Jess asks with crossed arms. Not that she didn’t believe you, but you appeared so randomly the first time, and now… the same.

“Hey, we should have dinner to discuss this…” Peter had thought about something, and it would doom everything, for good… and bad. Jess looked at him oblivious, and Miguel remained stoic as usual.

You, on the other hand, were surprised.

Since you were younger, you expected them to not take you seriously. But since day one, they respected you. Which never happened before.

“A dinner? That would actually be nice” Jess agreed.

“We can talk, y/n can explain why she came back and Miguel can be there too” Peter is being silly, but he has faith in his ideas.

“Right, Miguel?” You eye the man, and he only sighs before nodding.

“Awesome, then… How about tomorrow?” Leaving aside the surprise, you smile at the group of adults.

“Okay, so…Jess and I have to go somewhere else.”

“Peter, we don’t-“ Jess tried to say, but Peter shushed her.

“YES!, we need to update our gizmos” exchanging weird looks, they left, leaving you alone with Miguel.

“I’m sorry for… them” you giggle.

“It’s okay, I really like them” he nods. Miguel stares at your shiny and slightly disheveled eyes. Some glitters are scattered across your nose bridge and cheekbones. He wants to clean your face but only stares.

“Do you mind if I stay?” You ask.

“No.”

“Cool.”

“I-, I could show the lab. We have new gizmos” Your excitement is so potent, that even Miguel senses how happy you are.

“I’d like that…”

“Okay. Follow me…” his broad back faced you, and obstructed most of your view.

The HQ was still the same as before. Only that seemed… less crowded.

It saddened again the reason why you came back.

A vision.

Miguel O’Hara is accused of being a violent instigator. Many people from Nueva York demanding him to give up on being Spider-Man.

He would be in pain. A silent pain that you would make sure to free him from.

Because you didn’t owe him anything, he did in fact. But you had a feeling, a tingly feeling that made you feel warm.

“Here it is…” You would never know, that he was nervous. About having you there.

“Wow, I’m not a scientist but I know that very few people have something like this” he wants to smile. You inspect everything, with caution and some insecurity.

“You can touch…” the jars with strange contents, the machines, and tools, everything was very interesting.

Miguel wants to slap himself after analyzing what he has said. It might have sounded inappropriate. But you seem to not have minded.

Lyla suddenly appeared beside the tall man. You smiled widely after spotting her looking at some papers.

“Miguel. You left this report incomplete. And-, OH!-… Y/N! HEY!. What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Lyla. I’m here to help if I’m being honest” Her heart-shaped sunglasses now are butterflies ones. And her hair is slightly shorter. Oh, not to mention her couture coat seemed better with some jewelry around.

“Which you haven’t given details of” Miguel added, arms crossed. His arms looked bigger and you wondered how many hours he trained to keep those giant muscles.

“I’m cleaning your reputation, Miguel” you revealed.

His gesture changed, from a cheeky little chuckle to a serious face.

“My reputation?”

“Yes.” You confirm to him. Even Lyla seems surprised.

“How?” He’s unsure of what or how to feel.

“Empathy.” he laughs. You hear an actual laugh from Miguel O’Hara, even if it’s sarcastic.

“Really? Empathy? You think empathy will make people understand that I’m not a danger to them?” Lyla hurries to appear beside you, like trying to defend you from Miguel.

“When I do things I don’t even want or need to, empathy is what I feel for them” Suddenly, Miguel remembers you are a telepath. And the reason why you came to him the first time, is because you saw something.

“I’m sorry” he apologizes.

“It’s fine. Just… believe on this, please” The lab was in complete silence. Only the beeping sound of a machine draws your attention away from the man in front of you.

Miguel had no choice. He didn’t have the heart to say no to you. Besides, he was still eager to get to know you better.

“Okay.”

“Hey. Can’t you just like to erase their minds and boom? Done?” Lyla asks. You smile at her.

“I’m not powerful enough to do that. But there’s something related I can do. However, I prefer to explain in more detail with the others. Is that okay?” Miguel nods again but wonders what you meant by saying you were not powerful enough, you were literally the only spider person with telepathy and clairvoyance.

“So… See you tomorrow? At dinner?” Lyla inspects your face. She gets lost in your irises, and Lyla’s processing unit makes a statement. One that she will reveal to Miguel just after you leave.

“I guess so.” You giggle and it makes Miguel awkward. He felt some kind of comfort at hearing you laugh.

“Hey, I like your new suit,” you say pointing at his chest before waving goodbye to him and Lyla.

As soon as you disappeared through the door, Lyla squealed and went straight to Miguel giving little hops.

“OH MY GOSH! Did you see that? TELL ME YOU SAW THAT, MIGUEL”

“What are you talking about?” Miguel asked getting heavily annoyed by the AI.

“Well… y/n!. She was so sweet, and the eyes. OH MY!, THE EYES!”

“Could you stop screaming?”

“Oh c’mon, Miguel. You saw it, right?” Lyla pushed.

“What, Lyla?”

“She had heart eyes. And dude, she was definitely flirting by the end” Miguel’s blood went cold. He felt even more awkward, a strange feeling running through his arms, chest, and stomach.

He didn’t like it.

“No. You’re wrong, Lyla”

“I’m an AI, you programmed me to be straight and precise about the things I see”

shit, she was right.

“Okay, enough of this. Call Ben, there’s patrol on earth-37” he acidly said. Lyla shrugged, leaving immediately.

Miguel replayed Lyla’s words over and over.

He could never see you other than a workmate. Probably not even a friend. You were younger, you had suffered your own pain as far as he knew and you had different goals than him.

But you were so sweet, you appeared to help him and you didn’t expect anything in return. This time, you were there for him, again. And your hopes to help and succeed were something Miguel couldn’t crush, he wouldn’t even try.

He didn’t dislike you, but he didn’t believe you turned out to be his epiphany.

He was totally wrong.

…

The sound of glasses, faded conversations and laughs ruled the fancy restaurant.

It’s an early night, the place is full. Miguel chose the best restaurant in Nueva York. A steak and salad place with holographic trees and dim lights. The terrace is also full, but you are inside with your friends… and Miguel.

To Miguel’s dismay, the only thing he has eyes and ears for… were for you.

“And then, my parents discovered the suit. That’s when I had to tell them, it was so embarrassing. But we’re okay at least” Peter was laughing with Jess as they told him how his family discovered you were Spider Woman last Thanksgiving.

“Just because of a burnt turkey?” Peter mocked.

“Just because of a burnt turkey.” You confirm laughing.

For a second, you exchange looks with Miguel and you hurry to sip from your wine. The man noticed and felt guilty. He had been so quiet and he didn’t want you to feel like he was hating the night.

“Isn’t it funny, Miguel?” Peter asks. In his twisted mind, Peter B. Parker really thought he could play Cupid.

Both men were seated together, with you and Jess across them. And you had to be facing Miguel. He stops chewing his food and looks at Peter, but doesn’t reply.

“Do they know about the society?” Miguel didn’t care if society was not a secret anymore. A lot had changed.

You sighed, placing your hair behind your ear.

“I never confirmed it to them. But they must know, they are scientists after all” you shyly explain. He nods, paying attention to your outfit. A maroon dress that seemed elegant, salmon makeup all over your face, and some tiny glitters shined on your eyes.

“Hey, I like your lipstick.” Jess complimented tapping at her own lips.

“Thanks, it’s an old brand back at home” she nodded. And Miguel looked at your lips too. Again that salmon tone, made you look younger.

“We haven’t discussed any of the important stuff” Jess and you stopped talking before turning to look at Miguel.

“Oh, right” Once again, Miguel didn’t mean to sound so harsh. He knew your eyes usually got stuck on his turtleneck sweater to avoid his eyes.

A sudden clatter caught everyone’s attention. When you turned around, a lot of people started screaming and hurrying to run away.

Explosions end up unleashing chaos.

Immediately you and your companions stand up, and through the crystals of the wide windows of the restaurant you see the cause of all the sudden violence.

“Isn’t that…?”

“Lightning?” Miguel asks back, confirming to Jess and Peter that an old enemy is back.

You immediately assumed it was a female variation of Electro. A woman with red hair, a green and golden costume, and a mask covering her eyes.

“Female electro?” Everyone nodded to you.

Since the restaurant was now empty, everyone activated their suits.

Miguel barely had time to see the new webs you had. The first time, he met the first spider with no webs, he wondered how you operated in your earth. Now, you had created some potent glittery webs.

But he focused on Lightning.

“Missed me, love?” The woman asks as soon as Miguel threatens her for the first time in the night.

“Don’t call me that.” Miguel despised the woman. She was pretty, but annoying and horrible.

Lightning attacked Miguel and the bright lights made you turn away from the bridge Peter, Jess and you were trying to stop from collapsing.

“Go. Miguel needs you” Peter said to you, groaning as he did his best to save everyone.

“But I can’t leave you two alone”

“Just go!” Jess added too.

Doubting, you end up breaking the webs you made.

You follow the lights.

You swing across the futuristic city with desperation because you know Miguel does not possess a spider-sense.

Also, you realized a night before, how much you cared about him.

Miguel was still an enigma. You barely knew him, yet… You felt like you had some influence.

The moment you told him in the middle of the chaos to stop chasing Miles, to do the right thing. It felt special.

Like your voice had an effect that wasn’t part of the telepathy you handled.

In the present, you gasp when another lightning hits near the top of a building.

With your webs, you land. Only to see Miguel cornering the woman.

He is saying something to her.

You don’t like the image.

This electro woman was very flirty and cheeky, she was pretty and strong.

You had no right, though.

She is about to hurt Miguel but you make her hand shoot some bright electricity into the air.

Both turn to look at you.

“A telepathic spider? That’s new…” Lighting says sarcastically.

“…y/n” Miguel calls.

The red-haired woman smirks looking at Miguel.

“Looks like you have a new little girlfriend” Miguel feels angered, and she pushes her further into the wall, making her laugh.

“Oh no, I’ve been replaced” you cringe. But an uncomfortable feeling sets in your stomach.

“You’ve never been an option” Miguel eyes you, and you don’t know how to feel about the whole action.

The woman seems angered, and before she can attack him again, you make some of the lobes of her brain freeze.

She falls on her knees and covers her eyes.

Miguel looks shocked. He knows you’re doing something, but he hurries to handcuff her.

“I’m sending her to the HQ” You nod at him.

Miguel opens a portal and pushes her to the HQ.

“…y/n” he calls you once the portal closes again.

You have the feeling that he’s gonna tell you something about the woman. Like he wanted to explain who she was.

You didn’t want to hear. Even if it meant Miguel could possibly like you.

You look to your right, to the skyscrapers. You can hear some people screaming. Probably scared of the bridge that was about to fall.

Your excuse.

You don’t even look at Miguel, you swing away.

He sighs, hands on his hips.

At that moment, two statements were made.

I have no right to be jealous, but I think I like him; you thought.

I don’t like how this feels, but I think I’m falling for her.

…

The heels in your boots end up making everyone turn to look at you at the HQ. Some bad looks, some impressed.

However, most are bad looks.

“Good morning, y/n. How are you?” Lyla pops out of nowhere. You smile at her.

“I’m good. How is everything doing?”

“Uhm…”

“Lyla?” You ask, growing worried.

“The night Lightning attacked the people from the bridge. They demand Spider-Man 2099 to leave the city.

You gasp in horror.

“I need to see Miguel” Somehow you end up jogging towards his office.

Cautiously, you enter the dark room.

Miguel is focused on his screens. His platform is lower than usual. And his back is facing you.

“Miguel…” you greet and call him.

He doesn’t flinch. You can feel how angry he was. His shoulders were slightly hunched, the way he breathed telling you how hard he was trying to remain calm.

Because of you.

You wanted to think this ability to sense emotions wasn’t always accurate. Because the way Miguel felt indicated that he might like you.

“We’re gonna fix this…”

“How?” He abruptly turns around. You are startled by his red eyes, his talons evident. And somehow he looked even taller.

“You can’t help me, y/n. And I’m not going to get you in any trouble” your heart swells. Beyond his anger, you can see softness. Miguel looks at the edge of being pouty.

It gets confusing. Is it just a crush or are you falling in love?.

“It’s over. Lightning was an annoying recurrent figure in Nueva York, she was plotting with Sinister Six from your Earth to bring back another spot. The civilians are tired, they don’t want any spiders anymore. It’s over, y/n” You shake your head, getting close to him.

That strange feeling invades his arms, chest, and stomach. Only that it’s not strange anymore. Miguel knows the feeling only appears whenever you’re around. It’s his heart telling him that his growing in love with you.

You take his hands. And when he tries to flinch again, you stop him, squeezing his hands tighter.

“No. Listen to me. The last vision I had, was about this. I’m not leaving you alone” he wonders if the vision said something about you two being together. Then he regretted it, thinking he was being too reckless and going further. Even if they were only thoughts in his head.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” You want to say you’re falling in love with him. That you never felt so attached to anyone. That you wanted him to be okay because you cared for him despite barely knowing him.

You don’t. Not entirely…

“Call me crazy, but back home, I don’t have anyone. And after the vision of the spot and the chaos. I feel so attached to you” Ever since Gabriella, Miguel hadn’t been emotional. He blocked his feelings, but you come and say you feel closer to him.

“I know that feeling” you offer him a brief smile.

Trying to hide your disappointment. You didn’t expect him to confess his love for you. But you hoped he would say more.

Still, his talons disappeared. His red eyes returned to the usual dark and warm brown.

By the way, he’s also attached to you now.

“Lyla?” You call the AI. She appears and smiles at you.

“Yes, y/n?”

“Could you please call a press conference?” Miguel’s eyes widen.

It had been years since he was involved in a press conference. The last time he was in one, was before becoming Spider-Man. When he had a full-time job at Alchemax.

“You’ll see what I’m capable of…” he’s smitten. He’s fully attracted to you know. But he’s so afraid of losing you. He knew that when he fell for a woman, he loved hard. Literally, only death could break the love spell in him. And yet, he sweetly remembered his first love, his late wife and Gabriella.

Once again, he didn’t like the feeling.

…

Being Spider-Man is a responsibility. We are aware of the dangers it comes with. However, behind the masks, we are humans. And behind the mask of the Spider-Man of this city, there’s a good man. A man with a warm heart who had always thought about the people, even if it meant putting himself in second place. You blame the only person that decides to sacrifice to ensure your security. You call him a danger for fighting the danger he doesn’t plan. You say his a bad person, but I dare you to spend a year without a hero. I won’t minimize what the police department and other branches do. But you’ll need someone bigger. All of you know it’s true.

All of you are in your right to not like the Spider-Man from your city. But you have to accept making him your enemy when he’s the first one to help you, will not take you anywhere. He built a place for spiders to help and keep everyone safe. The least you can do is respect him. And thank him that we can help you. Next time, that bridge might fall, and all the people on it, they’ll collapse.

Any questions?

Jess and Lyla were hearing your speech in Miguel’s office. Lyla is smiling like a Cheshire Cat, and Jess smirks.

“Yup, she ate,” Jess said with her arms crossed.

“Look at the way she smiles at Miguel. I’m dying” Lyla fan girls over the screen that shows you and him. Flashes are evident, the NYPD logo in the back, the American flag, and the microphone cover the image.

In the footage, questions can be heard.

How many spiders work in the base our Spider-Man built? Is there a multiverse? Are you Spider-Man’s wife?

Miguel only knew one thing.

You fulfilled your promise. People apologized, but the HQ remained secret despite Nueva York knowing Miguel had founded a group at least.

“She made it” Jess added, standing beside Miguel.

“Did she say something else?” The man did not like the tone her friend opted for. Playful and nosy.

“About what?”

“ I don’t know. Y/n seems like a good girl” Lyla also added.

“Jessica” the woman knew she had to hush.

“I’m just saying. She’s linked to the web of life and destiny. What could be wrong?”

“And, she just cleared your image the society’s”

“Lyla shut up.” Miguel pleaded.

“Don’t you think so?”

“That’s exactly the problem, Jess. I don’t want to find out what could possibly go wrong” For the first time, indirectly, Miguel accepted he had feelings for you.

“Aha, Jess!. Miguel just admitted he likes y/n” Both Jess and Miguel glare at Lyla.

“Miguel. You can’t keep living like this. Believe me, it’s not gonna happen again” he knew he was closer to leaving his past behind. But your image and the feelings he had for you made him remember everything.

“I don’t know, Jess.”

Oh, he knew.

…

Gwen Stacy almost burned the apartment when she heard you scream. She threw a napkin to the stove, setting it on fire. But quickly throwing the burned piece to the sink.

She ran to your bedroom, only to find a nail polish glass shattered on your floor, the scarlet red making it look like blood.

The smell was intense and you were cursing.

Gwen had to laugh.

“You killed someone”

“I killed my look” you pointed at the top and skirt on your bed. Gwen arched an eyebrow.

“Who are you trying to impress?”

“Miguel. But I know I look hot in it. It’s not entirely because of him” the girl nodded.

She knew you liked Miguel.

And while the blonde had seen some changes in the grumpy man, she also knew you were experiencing different things with him.

“I can’t picture this. You having a date with him”

“It’s not a date” you state.

“Really? Fancy restaurant, HE asked you out, the outfit, and that lipstick!. You can’t trick me” you roll your eyes. But you love having her as a roomie.

Miguel approved her to live with you. With the condition to not cause any disturbance in your earth.

She followed the rules very well.

“If you’re not here in the morning, I’ll tell your parents” Gwen was trying to be serious, but you laughed, cleaning the nail polish mess with her.

“I can legally drink, Gwen. And if I don’t come home, I’m in good hands” Gwen pretends to be vomiting.

“The nail polish couldn’t make me puke, but your comment and whatever implying sure did” You can’t stop laughing.

She takes the glasses away and you can finally enter the shower.

…

He never learned.

Miguel was at the edge of being tipsy. That never happened.

But he offered a dinner to you.

Three weeks after the press conference, he had spent so much time with you.

In his office, in the HQ cafeteria, the rooftop of his apartment. Hours and hours of talking, eating together, even laughing.

“I’ll get the squash blossom and a tlayuda. What about you, Miguel?” You pull him out of his thoughts. He smiles at you and glances quickly at the menu.

“I want the Oaxacan fondue and the tasajo, well-cooked term” The waitress takes the order and disappears.

“We can share” he adds, making your smile grow as you nod.

He had to like you back. The things you’ve shared together. Friends don’t do that.

Miguel O’Hara didn’t make friends to begin with, this had to be love.

You had this aquamarine top full of sequins, a long denim squirt, and green shimmery heels. You wanted him to take the clothes away.

You weren’t rushing, after a whole month and a half of reuniting with him, you couldn’t deny your desires. At least they came after realizing you were in love with him.

“You look very pretty” Your cheeks turn red, and he giggles noticing it.

“Thanks. Don’t expect me to say the same, you always look gorgeous”

Shameless flirting, oh, you two had lost it.

As you eat your food, you can see his hungry eyes.

The first time you sensed he was having a lewd thought about you was some days ago. When his hands ended on your hips. You thought about it too. You wished he gripped them harder.

As the food finishes and the drinks too, your leg brushes his. Your shoulder brushes his and in a hazy moment. You kiss him, passionately.

He can’t run away. He knows he loves you. He is tipsy, and he also wants to kiss you so badly.

So he makes you happy by grabbing your hips again, harder like he didn’t know you wanted.

“Please, take me to bed” he nods between kisses. And he thinks the restaurant is dark, enough to drag the attention away.

He pays the check against your insistence of paying half of it. But Miguel makes you shut up with another deep kiss.

His lips were softer than you imagined, and his hands were bigger than you could ever thought.

And in the first alley, he opens a portal straight to his bedroom. Not even the entrance of his place.

You can’t believe what happens.

You don’t even remember when he took off your clothes and laid you in the middle of his giant bed.

“You’re so gorgeous,” you say moving your hands across his strong six-pack. His core was so tight that you think it’s impossible.

“But look at you, muñeca. I’m so lucky…” he says kissing your lower belly.

You know what’s coming. You’re desperate, eager for him to reach your wet folds with his lips and tongue.

“Oh-, ah…Miguel!” You moan arching your back, the intrusion of his tongue making feel you so desirable.

“You like it, Nena?” You nod moaning. Hands pinching your own nipples, eyes focused on the city at your right. Through the window, your eyes focused on the bright lights.

“Yes, yes. Oh-, fuck…” his tongue circled your clit, making you squirm everything the hood of it was uncovered. A lot was happening that night.

“Miguel!, Too much!”

“Too much, mami? We’re just starting…” how he dare? To be that hoot and sweet at the same time.

“No. Fuck me, please” you plead, massaging his scalp, making him even harder. His cock was at the edge of feeling painful, the head leaking more than ever.

“You think you’re ready to take me?” The sight is glorious, his hair disheveled, mouth shining thanks to you.

“I’m a big girl. Don’t stop even if I cry” he felt nasty, but he was about to have you.

“Good. Now spread those legs for me…” You slowly do it, teasing him. Miguel lost it when he saw you throb around nothing.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the love, but even the pain was pleasure.

He ripped you open, but it only made you wetter.

He kissed your tears away. And promised to make you see stars.

Miguel was so down for you, that he accidentally said it.

“Fuck, I love you” you were so lost in the pleasure. His tip is to give your cervix the massage you ever asked for. The veins covering his cock draw patterns across your warm walls.

“Ah-, I love you too, Miguel” He almost stopped fucking you.

Miguel fought the tears as he concentrated on the pleasure.

He quickly got lost in your increasing moans. Your face of pleasure was enough.

And as if it was for the attachment you mentioned weeks ago, both of you reached the biggest orgasm.

A panting mess, but he caught you in his arms. He kissed your forehead and held you the whole night.

…

The first seconds of the morning, you don’t know where are you. But then, you feel a massive body beside you, Miguel.

His room is so boring. It’s grey, and most of the furniture is darker. Only some perfumes and candles stand out in bright colors.

You smile fondly. Instantly remembering the night before.

He treated you so well, and he said he loved you.

“Good morning,” you say once he starts opening his eyes.

Regret floods him.

‘Hey…’ he greets you.

He gave in, he had everything under control. But then you came with that stupid sequin top. And your perfume smelled so damn well. Then your eyes gave him that look. So he lost.

Miguel couldn’t love you. Because that meant you would suffer. One way or another, even if it was unsure.

Even when the annoying voice of Lyla replayed in his head, saying that he deserved someone like you.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, hoarse voice stumbling across the room. He stands up, his naked upper body appearing in your sight.

“What?” You ask confused, panic building up. As you prepare for the worst. Failing…

“This was a mistake”

“No. Stop it…” you say sitting up, covering your chest with the sheets.

“Y/n…”

“Stop pushing me away!. All these weeks we’ve had amazing times, but you keep avoiding it. You’re not gonna lose me” you plead, touching his shoulder.

“I think it’s better to keep some distance” tears start forming. You swallow the lump.

“You said you loved me” you try, your last hope.

‘I was drunk. I don’t love you, I was just lucky to end up having you in my bed. Like I could have ended up having anyone else” you sob, he closes his eyes, swallowing his lies and trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

You were right, he was pushing you away.

“If you are so afraid of repeating your errors, you could have said it straight to my face. No need to be a fucking asshole and imply I’m a whore” you say, hurrying up to get out of the bed.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s-“

“You can lie to yourself. But not to me. Appreciate me one last time, because you’ll never see me like this again” The venom in your voice panics him.

You stare at him, naked, crying, and realizing all you did for him, meant nothing. You could feel how much he loved you. The ability to sense his emotions. But you would never force him to do anything.

“I came back to help you because I had a vision. Of you being hated, the HQ crumbling. But I would save you. And we would end up together.” It takes him aback.

As you activate your suit, his gizmo beeps. The alarm of an anomaly.

Six anomalies in your earth.

“Wait, y/n” Miguel pleads. To prevent you from fighting without notice, and to know more about your vision.

He believed in the thing you saw. Maybe your visions were even more powerful than canon.

But before he could grab your hand. You disappeared.

“Mierda…” he said, activating his suit too and heading towards the HQ.

…

The HQ seemed fine. As Miguel paced to learn more about the anomalies in your earth.

Only that everyone was reading some newspaper.

El mañanero is the most famous newspaper in Nueva York.

Headliner? Local Spider-Man has a Spider-Woman lover?

A picture of you and him in your suits. A picture someone likely took in disguise as you two had a patrol.

Miguel barely pays attention as he feels even more stressed.

He knows you are so strong, but he worries as there are six anomalies at the same time. Which could be attacking you at the same time.

“Lyla?” He calls her desperately.

“Yes, I know. There are a bunch of anomalies with y/n. I called you”

“Is she okay?”

“Let me check, but what are you doing here?” Miguel rolled his eyes.

“I need to locate the anomalies. And call for backup”

“Since it’s y/n. Everyone is available. They’re coming…” Suddenly, Peter, Mayday who was learning to walk now, Pavitr, Gwen, Miles, Penni, Noir, Jess, and Ben appeared.

“How the hell did the sinister six decide to attack y/n’s earth today?” Jess revealed the enemy and complained. A mission on Saturday morning, how annoying.

“Looks like Lightning finished her deal with them” Peter was the one who discovered the female electro for the first time. And he knew the woman constantly allied with them.

“What do we do?” Noir asks Miguel.

“Split into two groups. We don’t know which variants they are. And-…”

“Miguel?” Lyla interrupts. He only stares.

“I checked y/n’s suit vital signs. Slow blood pressure and high heartbeats. She’s not okay…” Miguel felt like he couldn’t breathe. And he didn’t think twice, he only repeated to the group to split, as he was the first one to leave.

…

Your New York was a chaos. The usual anomaly mess.

Jess, Noir, and Peter were fighting Kraven and Vulture, and Miles and Pavitr were focused on Mysterio. While near the waters, Penni and Miles were about to finish Sandman. With the help of Ben, Miguel had just finished with Doctor Octopus.

Because his head was distracted by the thought of you. He wonders how fast were you weakening. As you stated before that trying new abilities with your mind left you very tired.

He also worried that his words in the morning were making you fight worse. All those insecurities only grew as time passed and he wasn’t next to you yet.

Gwen was nowhere to be found. Until she appeared on Miguel’s gizmo.

“Miguel, I found her. Sixth Avenue, she’s fighting Electro. Hurry up!” Unbeknownst to him, Gwen had sneaked away from the fight to find you.

And to everyone’s unawareness, Gwen was highly worried about you. You were the first one to offer him a home after Miguel sent her home when all the problems with Miles started.

It was an issue once he discovered it. But you as the sweetest woman she ever met, made Miguel change his mind.

You were her role model, an older sister who stood up for her when no one did.

And now she feared losing you like she did with Peter. Now she had her dad back, but it would never take away what you did for her.

Electro had no mercy. Some of the electricity hitting you. The blonde girl balanced from a lamppost faster to reach you.

She abruptly stopped once she analyzed what you were doing. Something with your mind. Because you weren’t moving.

And like an invisible force protected you, it also weakened the villain.

As soon as Electro fell to the ground. Your web broke and you fell, unconscious.

Gwen gasped in horror, jumping to prevent you from dying.

Time seemed to pass like a flash. Gwen’s heart beat so fast that she was sweating as her hand was already positioned to catch you in the air.

Once her hands touched your body, Gwen knew she made it. She pulled you to her chest and balanced with you. Until she placed you on the grass in some secluded area of the park.

“No, no, no. Y/n…” Gwen was near the tears. She quickly searched for your pulse. And after confirming you were breathing, she felt less worried. But very stressed.

“Please. Be strong…” she said.

That’s when Miguel found you.

His mask immediately disintegrated to inspect you.

“She’s alive” Gwen soothes him. Give him some space to hold you.

“What happened?”

“She finished Electro with her mind. She must’ve passed out from the exertion. But I see she has bruises and her leg is extremely tense” the girl explained, with a broken voice.

“She’s gonna be fine, kid. I promise” Miguel knew how important you were to Gwen. He also had to be an adult and remain calm.

Even if deep down he was just as broken as Gwen after seeing your face with blood, bruises, and a weak appearance.

“Tell Miles and Penni to catch Electro” Gwen wiped her watery eyes and nodded. Giving you one last look, she shot a web and left.

“Lyla. Please scan her…” The AI appeared and applied some blue scans all over your body.

“Low oxygen levels and blood pressure, left leg is sprained, two ribs are swollen. Aside from that, she’s stable. We need to take her to the HQ” Miguel nodded, quickly turning off Lyla.

Miguel inspected you. And he smiled.

“I’ll never push you away again. Never…” he promised, carrying you in his arms before he opened a new portal.

…

You violently squirm once you move after opening your eyes.

Panic invades you as you don’t remember what happened.

“Hey. It’s okay…” you hear a voice. As soon you turn you see Miguel.

You’re in your bed. Distant voices can be heard.

��I don’t know what happened?” you ask, slowly sitting against the headboard. Ever the gentleman he is, Miguel pulls a bunch of pillows behind your back.

“The Sinister Six from your earth,” Miguel says. He remains looking at you, arms crossed and surprisingly he’s in normal clothes.

“Whatever you did to Electro, nearly killed him and it exhausted you. We took you to the HQ. You slept for a day and then we brought you home” You nod. A lot of questions still floating in your head.

You are mad at him, but how long?

“Do you know why they attacked?” Miguel nods.

“What Lightning from my earth said. They wanted to bring back a variant of The Spot” your stomach churns, and your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“Are you hungry? Gwen invited everyone. I said she should let you rest. But she insisted you’d like to wake up with everyone here” he likes how you start smiling.

“She’s right.” Your hair is disheveled, lazy eyes and smile make you look adorable. Miguel wants to squeeze your cheeks and kiss you softly.

And he realizes that he had hurt you when all you wanted was to make him see the truth.

“If you let me. I’ll never push you away again, y/n” The subject change takes you by surprise.

“I felt so attached to you too. From the moment you appeared out of nowhere and changed my path,” you don’t say anything.

“Maybe I already loved you when you came back the second time. Every moment with you is comforting. You helped me, even if you didn’t owe me anything” his words are taking you on a curve. Hearing him open his heart would leave you a mess of tears.

“And that night. You appeared to that restaurant looking so fucking beautiful. You kissed me and I knew I had already won. I meant it when I said I love you.” his voice is smooth, you sense the honesty. He sits at the edge of your mattress, beside you.

“The only reason why I said those awful things was because I thought that would push you away enough to stay away from a mistake like me. And all the chaos I bring whenever I go” he explains, asking permission to hold your hand. His long fingers play with your knuckles, and it comforts him more than ever.

“You are not a mistake. You are so brave and strong. You kept going after all the horrible things that happened to you. And you dared to fall in love with me. Why would you push me away? When I know we’re meant to be together” silence fills the room. It’s only you crying in silence and Miguel in your chest.

“Can you forgive and give me another chance?” You nod, pulling him closer to kiss him.

“Yes. But you should know I want a loyal, loving, honest, and devoted partner”

“Ay, querida. Right now I only have eyes for a woman, and that’s you. And I know as long as you’re alive, my feelings will remain the same” he accepts another kiss.

“Now let me get ready to have a nice dinner with our friends” Miguel had come to accept the bunch of spiders in your place, where his friends were too. They made you happy, and they cared for him.

“You should rest” Miguel warned you as he saw you jumó out of bed.

“You had a sprained leg and two injured ribs, y/n” you shrug, taking a dress out of your closet.

“I feel amazing. And I’m just taking a shower. You can sit in the toilet and wait for me” Miguel changed his demeanor. He had time to smirk and feel cheeky about it.

“I thought you said I’ll never see you naked again” You roll your eyes.

“We can still do that” Miguel hurried to get inside the bathroom and patiently sat on the toilet. He looked like a giant among your cosmetics, shampoos, and colorful towels.

“I oppose,” he says making you laugh. With his help, he removes the bandages on your leg and helps you get inside the shower.

You like that the makeup was fast, and straight to the point. You two were compromised to work for a future together.

You were okay with it.

…

Penni is the first person to hug you once you enter the backyard of the apartment.

Then Margo who you hadn’t seen in weeks but Gwen moved her to hold you tightly.

“I was so worried. And I hope you don’t mind this little party. I thought you would want to be surrounded by friends and-“

“Gwen, it’s perfect. Thank you” You soothe her anxiety hugging her back.

But you start laughing when you spot Peter and Pavitr on the grill, cooking some steak and vegetables.

“Really? I was passed out and you two are grilling?”

“But it’s for you…” Peter defends himself. You laugh, a squeak of excitement filling the backyard when Noir hands you not-so-baby Mayday.

“Mayday, my big baby!” She coos and says random words.

“Baby…” she says holding her doll.

“Yeah, it’s a baby” you confirm giggling.

During the whole interaction, Miguel is behind you holding your hips. In his defense, he didn’t want you to apply much pressure with your post-injured leg.

Mayday places the baby in your lower belly, cooing.

“Baby” the little girl repeats. You blush and Miguel looks awkwardly.

“Oh…” you manage to say.

“Little girl is implying something” Jess intervenes, laughing teasingly.

“Not yet, Jess” Miguel says.

“Not yet?” Your shocked tone makes him laugh while he rubs your back.

“That’s what usually happens when you plan on marrying someone” he whispers in your ear and your cheeks could explode from how red they were.

“There’s a baby in my arms, O’Hara” Mayday seemed to preoccupied with throwing webs at the sky. However, you just wanted to mess with Miguel. You let Mayday walk around the grass, and soon Miles goes after her.

“Hopefully one in your belly soon” you almost choke.

“You’re so annoying. Who would’ve thought?” He hears your stomach churn again as soon the steak smell fills the air.

He shrugs proudly.

“What do you say then? We can disappear for a couple of months to have some time together. Would you marry me?” Neither of you knew what had possessed Miguel to be so chill and open. He meant it. He wanted to call you his wife. Put a ringer on your finger, wear your initials on his neck, and make you the mother of his children.

“Would you cut the steak in strips for me?” He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, I can do that for you, y/n”

“Then yes. I’ll marry you.” He kisses you without shame. Nobody notices though.

You take a seat on the little patio furniture and you breathe.

Everyone is happy. You look at Miguel, who’s with Peter and Pavitr on the grill, they’re talking and the others are scattered doing random things.

But you look at him. You would do anything for him, you could forgive him because he would never intentionally hurt you. You could hate everything and everyone, but him.

_____________________________________________

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[elitadream]

Happy MAR10 Day! Though this may be a little late now depending on when you answer… ^^;

I’ve headcanoned for a while that once the connection was made (March 10 - Mar 10 - Mario), Princess Peach would declare it a national holiday, a day that celebrates Mario’s heroic deeds and for everyone to show their appreciation not just to him, but Luigi as well! Though, that’s all assuming that world uses the same calandar and month names as us.

I’ve yet to decide if Luigi or Peach would be the first to figure it out, but Mario would have no idea until it’s pointed out to him by either. I could see Luigi mentioning it to Peach and they spend the next few days figuring out how they can show their love and appreciation, as well as any festivities for the new holiday. Mario would, of course, be super humble about it, but feeling the love nevertheless. :)

Likewise! :D It's still the 10th here for me, so it definitely still applies! 😁

OMG I've had a pretty similar headcanon for a while too actually!! 😍🙌 Peach creating a holiday in honor of the bros is such a sweet thought, and something I could totally see her do as a Monarch. Going out of her way to have them officially acknowledged by all of her citizens and make them feel as appreciated as possible, to the point of arguably overdoing it? That's so her! 🤭💖

The Mushroom Kingdom having a different calendar would probably make more sense, but I'm sure Peach would still manage to choose a strategic and very appropriate date to honor her friends. 🥰 I imagine Mario would probably be quite flustered about it at first, but he would indeed also be very touched by the honorific gesture. 💫