#i had to make new ones as the old banners are on my old m*acbook and i love love how they turned out <3 and the babies deserve it <3

[starry-eyes-love]

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader (One-shot, AU, No Outbreak). One-shot but in the same universe as Marriage Dynamics. This happens way later than the storyline within that series though.  Can be read as a stand-alone or within the series.

Summary | Joel feels a little self conscious that he has to admit to you, his wife, that he has erectile dysfunction, and that he’s out of his little blue pills. You, being the understanding and loving woman that you are, remind him just how sexy he is, even with his little problem and that love doesn’t come with conditions.

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI, Smut.

Age gap (58/40s), language, husband/wife dynamics, got some angst in this one (but it ends where they are ok and happy), smut, f! (fingering), m! (hand job), mentions of f! (oral), slight body descriptions (she states she’s 30 lbs heavier), mentions of erectile dysfunction and Joel having to take Viagra, Joel being out of Viagra (that poor man), sweet and tender moments, comfort, terms of endearment, you teasing Joel that he’s old and him showing you that he’s not.  This is basically half story and half smut, so enjoy :) 

No longer using tag lists, please make sure that your notifications are turned on for my page so you are notified when I post something new.

Top banner created by artist on Instagram:  caimages_love 

The longer your husband snapped his powerful hips and ground into you, the more worked up you were getting. Joel knew how to work you up, get you so riled up that you’d beg him to fuck you. You were trying to bite back your moans and whimpers, not wanting to give in right away.  But when you heard Joel speak filthy things into your ear, you turned into a needy, whimpering little mess. 

Joel stood in the bathroom, looking up at himself in the mirror while sighing. He didn’t know how it happened. How did he become an old man where his body required medication to function normally. Here he was, 58, with a worn out body that he no longer recognized.  He had spent his entire life working construction, and now he was feeling it.  He had aches and pains in places that he didn’t even know existed. He took blood pressure and cholesterol medication everyday just to keep his body somewhat on the right track. But worst of all, he had to start taking a small blue pill to help him obtain and sustain an erection.  Yup, Joel Miller was diagnosed about six months ago with erectile dysfunction, something that he thought only old men got.  But here he was, 58, and having to take Viagra just so he could properly fuck his wife. Joel didn’t know what was worse, having to take the little blue pill or the fact that you knew nothing about it. To make matters worse, he ran out of his special little pills, and he couldn't get any more until about six weeks. His doctor was on vacation and wanted to see Joel upon his return before re-filling his prescription. Joel didn't know how, but he had to figure out a way to keep you happy, without embarrassing himself any further. As he ran a hand down his face, he exhaled loudly, mumbling to himself ‘goddamn, when the hell did I get old?’ 

“What's that scowl for, old man, especially so early in the morning?” You teased, walking up to the other sink in the bathroom to wash your face. Your master bathroom now had two sinks, his and hers. It was a side project that Joel had completed last summer with the help from Tommy. He got tired of your constant nagging of finding his facial hair trimmings in the sink. So he decided to knock out a few walls and build you your very own sink with counter space. A his and hers master bathroom off from your bedroom. It only took a few weekends, but eventually his little side project was done. Now you both had enough counter space, where the two of you weren't bickering about where everything went in the bathroom anymore. Joel no longer grumbled about you taking up his side of the counter with your serums and ointments for your face. And you no longer nagged him about finding his beard trimmings in the sink.

“Quit it,” he had huffed, giving you a dirty look in the mirror as he finished trimming his beard.

“Woah, what's that look for?” You asked, taking a few steps towards him to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. “Good morning. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?”  

Joel exhaled and shook his head, mumbling to you, “mornin,’” as you went over to your sink to wash your face.  You knew Joel enough to know that this scowl on his face was only reserved for when he was upset about something or someone. You had hoped that someone wasn't you. 

“Did I piss you off or something?” You asked while looking at him in the mirror, trying to figure out where his sour mood was coming from. “You're awfully grumpy this morning.”  When he didn't respond, you replied again with a little more bite to your words. “Well, for someone who got laid last night, you don't seem very happy about it today.”

Joel huffed at you while rolling his eyes and mumbling, “yeah, well, I'm paying for it this morning now ain't I? M’back is fucking killing me.” 

Oh, so that's why he was grumpy.

A part of you instantly became frustrated at his statement, but you bit your lip and tried not to say something inappropriate back. You enjoyed last night a lot with your husband, especially when you begged him to go harder. His answer to that request was to hold your head against the mattress as he fucked you hard from behind. It had been a long time since Joel Miller became unhinged like that in the bedroom, and if you were being honest with yourself, it felt fucking fantastic. It was something that you desperately missed.  However, according to Joel’s comments and current mood, apparently he didn't feel the same way today as you did. He was now hurting, wincing as he twisted to grab the scissors to trim his mustache. You didn't want Joel to regret doing what he did with you, nor did you want him to be in any pain. His obvious lack of enthusiasm this morning about your midnight activities made you feel self-conscious.  Nodding your head you said “ok,” as you attempted to wash your face. But when you stood there you felt yourself get anxious and self conscious about last night. 

Did he not enjoy it with me? Maybe it’s because I’m not as thin as I used to be anymore? I did put on about 30 pounds over the years, so maybe I hurt him with my weight?  You knew your body had changed a lot over the years, you no longer had a flat stomach or a tight ass. You had what people called a mom body. A slightly curvy, unattractive, stretch-mark laced body that carried three kids.  Your later adult years were more about raising your kids than it was about going to the gym and looking sexy like a model or a porn star. 

As you stood there, allowing your mind to run wild at the reasons why Joel may have not enjoyed himself last night, your hands started to tremble slightly and your eyes started to sting from the tears that were threatening to form. You quickly splashed water over them to try to stop the emotional reaction that you were getting. You were very hormonal recently, especially since your doctor said that you needed to stop your birth control. She told you several months ago that it wasn't healthy for a woman in her forties to continue to take birth control. So you stopped last month, two months after Joel got a vasectomy. Joel and you were done having kids. With Sarah finishing college, and with three kids that you had with him still at home, you had agreed that the only other future babies that would be in your house would be future grandchildren. What you didn't realize was that when you stopped birth control you would become more sensitive with your emotions again as your body adjusted. 

Usually any type of grumpy behavior or comments from Joel like this wouldn't bother you under normal circumstances, but today you were extra sensitive and emotional. It didn't help that you had been super horny for your husband for the past two weeks while he was gone on a business trip. With the lack of kids for the weekend, Joel had taken his last blue pill right before he got home. When he got home, he barely made it through the door before he was thrusting himself deep inside of you, claiming you once again as his. 

Now as Joel stood there, watching you through the mirror, he knew something was up. You kept alternating between splashing water on your face and then drying it. When he saw you do it a fourth time, he had to say something to you.

“Babe,” he said, trying to get your attention. When you didn't answer, but kept up your routine of splashing water onto your face, he knew something was wrong. He also noticed that you untied and retied your robe several times, mumbling to yourself that you hated your mom-type body. 

Fuck, Joel thought. He could see that you were reading too much into his mood and that you probably were coming to the wrong conclusion yet again with his attitude. Joel wasn't upset or grumpy from the sex he had last night, because damn he loved your body so much. He was so turned on by it last night. He loved pounding his wife’s tight little pussy and hearing all those filthy little noises that you made for him. The reason for his sour mood this morning was because he was out of those damn blue pills, the ones that allowed him to be buried deep inside of you as he heard you moan his name. 

When you didn't answer him, he tried again. “Honey, will ya look at me for a second?” When you finally looked up at him, he saw your lip quiver and the tears begin to fall. He immediately let out an exaggerated sigh, mumbling ‘fuck’ under his breath. 

As soon as you turned to leave, Joel spoke up saying, “baby, I didn't mean anything by it. Fuck, c’mere will ya.” You had only gotten about three steps out of the door before Joel grabbed you by the waist and pulled you hard against his chest. 

“Baby c’mon, I didn’t mean it like that. No, shh, it’s okay, don’t cry,” Joel said, holding you close. He had one arm around your waist holding you firm to his body, while his other hand was gently wiping the tears from your eyes. You wouldn't turn to look at him, so he just held you against his chest while trying to console you. “Baby, come on now. Shhh, don't cry sugar. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I'm not cryin’,” you mumbled, trying to sound stern, but failing miserably at your attempt. Joel cupped your cheek, and gently turned your head back towards him, kissing you tenderly while continuing to softly tell you that he was sorry for his mood and that he loved you. 

Joel Miller may be several things in life. He may be grumpy and not very communicative from time to time. Often he’s described by others as being an asshole, especially when people piss him off. Usually he doesn't apologize for his grumpiness or gruffness, unless it's dealing with family. And it fucking kills him to see you, his wife, someone that he desperately loves and cares for cry because of his behavior. Joel never likes seeing you cry, in fact, it’s his least favorite thing to see.

After a few moments of tender kisses, Joel slowly started to deepen them into more passionate ones. He was walking a fine line here. He was trying to make up for being an asshole to you this morning, but also trying not to progress it too far where his lack of ability in performance would be seen. But with those little whimpers that you were doing, along with how you were gently nipping his neck, Joel found his resolve quickly crumbling.

“Baby, we gotta slow down,” he said, nipping at your collarbone and then giving you a hot and messy kiss to your lips.  

God, it felt so good kissing his wife like this. Joel didn't remember the last time you two made out like this; all lips, tongue and teeth. He slowly backed you up to the wall and then hoisted you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. After another needy whimper from your mouth, Joel's resolve completely crumbled and he found himself thrusting hard up into you and grinding his hips against your clothed core.

The longer your husband snapped his powerful hips and ground into you, the more worked up you were getting. Joel knew how to work you up, get you so riled up that you’d beg him to fuck you. You were trying to bite back your moans and whimpers, not wanting to give in right away.  But when you heard Joel speak filthy things into your ear, you turned into a needy, whimpering little mess. 

“Is this what my baby wants, huh? Does she want her husband to show her who’s boss? To show her how a real man fucks, hmm? 

“Yes. Please baby, f-fuck me. Show me how a real man does it, I need it,” you panted, reaching down to unbuckle and unbutton his pants. Your cunt was practically throbbing. So desperate to feel your husband’s stretch, to feel so full of him. Joel was a big man, he was long and thick. You always enjoyed the sting of his stretch, and the heaviness of his cock inside of you. 

As soon as you touched Joel’s belt, he remembered the big problem that he had. He was only half hard with the inability to get fully hard for you. Goddamn fucking pills.  Joel, feeling embarrassed at the situation, gently set you back down while placing a hand on top of yours. He was trying to stop you from reaching inside his pants.

“Baby, fuck, we can't” he said, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours, breathing slow, trying to find a way out of this embarrassing situation.

“What? Why? I don't understand,” you said with disbelief. You were trying to understand why your husband, who had been gone several weeks on a work trip, didn't want to have sex with you when the kids were gone. “Is it your back, honey?” You asked somewhat perplexed. “If it is, I can be on top and do all the work for you if you want. I don't mind, really.” You said, trying to reason with Joel to let you touch him more. When he didn't respond you reached forward and palmed him, feeling him only half hard.

“Please stop.” Joel said in a stern voice, grabbing your hand and gently removing it. “I- uh, I can't- fuck- we can’t, ok.” He said, voice shaking as he slowly backed away from you, running a hand down his face. He was disgusted with himself and the fact that he couldn’t give his wife the proper attention that she deserved. 

You stood there bewildered, unable to make sense of what was happening.  Did Joel Miller just turn down sex?  In all the years you two have been having sex together, he has never once stopped sex from progressing. You were racking your brain, trying to figure out why all of a sudden he’d stop you.  And the only solution that you could think of was that maybe you weren’t the only person he was seeing like this. Maybe he, just like your father, had found a new favorite toy on the sideline. You looked at your husband with mortified eyes, fighting with the firm possibility that maybe he was no different than your dad; a lying, cheating, bastard. “Wow mom, I guess you were right, all men do fucking cheat.”

Joel snapped his head up in your direction at your statement. What did you mean that all men cheat? What the hell were you even talking about?  

As you started to walk past Joel he grabbed your arm and said, “what the fuck do you mean all men cheat?”

“Joel, please” you said, struggling to keep your voice even.

“No,” he said, shaking his head and grabbing both of your arms, slightly shaking you in his grasp. “You think I’m cheatin’ on you, is that it? That I’m fucking another woman. Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he growled.

“Joel, please don’t do this. I-I-”

Joel saw your eyes in that moment, saw that you thought he was fucking someone else. That wasn't the case. He didn't want to admit his problem, but goddamn it, he wasn’t going to have you think that he was no different than your father.  Joel had no idea all those years that his best friend, your father, was using him as a goddamn babysitter so that piece of shit could go out and ball half of Austin as your mother recovered from her cancer treatments before she died of cancer.  No. Joel wasn’t a piece of shit like that, and goddamn, it killed him to have his wife think so low of him.

“Baby, ya gotta believe me. I ain’t fucking around on you, ok? Please sugar, ya gotta believe me. I’d never do that.” He said, clenching his jaw, battling with the anger and rage that was rising up inside of his mind. He didn’t want to explode at you over this. He wasn’t mad at you, he was disgusted with himself of why he wasn’t honest with you when all of this shit started for him. 

Joel’s problem of not getting or being able to sustain an erection didn’t happen right away.  It was a slow process.  At first he thought that maybe it was because things in the bedroom had gotten a little stale. But when Joel struggled to keep an erection even when he was alone, he knew that something was wrong.  He didn’t want you to worry, so he didn’t say anything to you. After a lot of embarrassing situations at home, and with himself, he decided that he needed to bring it up to his doctor.  After a few tests, his doctor had diagnosed him with erectile dysfunction, and then had given him a prescription of Viagra to try. At first Joel was nervous about taking them, wondered if he’d feel different.  But once he did, holy shit, it felt amazing. Those little blue pills were like a magic drug.  He could last longer and was harder than he’d been in years.  When he noticed your increase in sex drive because of it, he felt like he won the lottery, especially when he could give you two orgasms with just his dick alone. 

But slowly, his secret was getting harder and harder to keep from you. He quickly realized that those pills took anywhere between 15 to 60 minutes before they started working, which created a problem when you were trying to be spontaneous with him in the bedroom. At first he played it off at being tired, needing to rest for a little bit.  Sometimes he’d also tell you that he needed to take a shower first, to freshen up for you.  But when you’d wake him up on a Sunday morning, rested and freshly showered the night before, he struggled keeping his secret.  He started using blindfolds in the bedroom when the two of you would have sex, so he could hide the fact that he had to take a pill quick.  Sometimes when he waited for it to work, he’d give you oral sex and edge you.  On days when he couldn’t do that, he’d just lie and tell you that he had a really bad headache and he couldn’t have sex right now.  

He hated lying to you. He always wanted to tell you the truth, but every time he got the nerve to tell you something would happen or it just wasn’t the right time.  If he was being honest, he didn’t tell you because he felt embarrassed and ashamed at the situation. 

As you took another step to go around him, he yelled out “I got erectile dysfunction, ok.  And as much as I'd love to fuck ya right now, my dick won't- fuck- it doesn’t get hard like it used to and I ran out of my prescription pills. I ain’t cheatin’, I never have, and I’ve never wanted to. You got to believe me. I know, I’m sorry I haven’t been honest. But baby, I can’t do it anymore with you like we used to.” He said, voice cracking at the end.  Joel covered his eyes for a moment with his hand, wiping the tears away. 

“I want to fuck you so much right now, so much. But I can’t, ya hear me. It ain’t a different reason, baby. My body, it just won’t let me do it anymore. It won’t let me be the man that I’m supposed to be for you.”

You stood there shocked at his admittance.  When you went to open your mouth to console him, Joel quickly cut you off by saying, “I don't need your pity right now. I know I can't perform up to my wife's satisfaction anymore without help. And before you ask, no, I can’t take a pill right now. I have to wait until my doctor is back from vacation in six weeks. And I get it, you can’t wait that long and-”

“Joel” you said, gently cupping his cheeks in your hands. “Honey, I'm so sorry that this has happened.” He scowled at you with your reply, shaking his head and trying to step away. “Baby, please let me finish,” you said, forcing him to stay near you.

After taking a big breath you said, “I wish you would have told me about this when it happened instead of hiding it. Can you get an erection at all or?”

“Sometimes I can,” he said with a sigh, “but it ain't anything to write home about.” Joel let out a long exacerbated sigh. “Fuck, I can't fuck my wife when it's only half hard like this ok, and I’d appreciate it if you didn't think less of me for it and-” 

“Joel Allen Miller,” you said in a commanding tone.  “I would never think less of you for this. Baby, I love you, and everything about you. Yeah it does cause a little bit of an adjustment for us, but honey, I don’t care. You’re my husband and you should never feel like you can’t tell me something like this, ok?”  You then gently cupped your husband with your hand, slowly palming him, feeling him slightly stiffen. 

“Baby I-” Joel said, straining, trying to stay level with his voice and not break down with his words again. He didn't feel like a worthy man right now, and he was so embarrassed to feel or admit it.

“Please, Joel” you softly spoke, “let me try baby, please?”

“Darlin', it ain't gonna-”

“It doesn't have to get fully hard. Just please, please let your wife show her husband how fucking sexy he is, even with this little problem.”

“It ain't a little problem darlin’.” He said, slowly leaning his hips into your touch. He desperately wanted to feel his wife, to be inside her, to fuck her and hear her moan his name. 

“I know it ain’t a little problem honey,” you whispered, gently nipping Joel’s neck. You slowly started to unfasten his belt and unzipped his pants, lowering them with his boxers down to the floor. You encouraged him to step out of them, trying to get him as comfortable as possible. As you stood up, you slowly licked your hand, and then gently wrapped it around his half hardened cock, slowly stroking him the way he liked. You were also nipping, kissing, and lightly sucking on his neck, on the places that you knew drove your husband wild. As you continued, you whispered loving messages to him, things that you hoped would remind Joel of how much you loved him. 

“You are so sexy baby, and so big and strong. I feel so safe with you. I've missed you so much. I missed hearing you snore,” Joel let out a little grunt at that statement. “I've missed hearing you play your guitar, humming in the morning while you make your coffee. I've missed kissing you goodnight, and waking up next to you in the morning with you holding me.”

Joel leaned forward more, pushing your back against the wall as he tapped one of your legs to open wider for him. He quickly placed his hand down your sleep shorts and started playing with your clit as you talked.

“I-ah-I also missed your, your-”

“You missed my what darlin'?” He growled, thrusting his hips into your hand as he started moving two of his large fingers in and out of your wet, throbbing core. 

“Shit Joel, I'm-”

“Did ya miss this baby? Did ya miss your husband's fat fingers fucking you dumb?” He said, nipping at your sensitive spot on your shoulder.

“Mmhmm” you said, tightening your grip around his half hardened cock. Joel wasn't lying, he really did have erectile dysfunction. But at this moment, you didn't care. Your husband was curling those fingers perfectly inside of you, to where you were almost seeing stars while he continued to snap his hips back and forth hard, helping you stroke him the way he liked. 

Even though he wasn't buried deep inside of you. Something about the lewd noises the two of you were making, in combination with not being able to see your husband for the past two weeks, was rapidly propelling you towards the edge with your orgasm. 

Joel could feel your breaths becoming more erratic, and could feel your walls tightening around his fingers. He was also getting closer to finishing himself. Your hand was the perfect tight fit around his cock. He kept rocking his hips back and forth, fucking your hand, feeling himself leak precum everywhere. He wanted to bury himself so badly inside of you, but he knew that he couldn't. Just as he started to feel self conscious again about the situation, your filthy mouth forced him to stay in the moment.

“God, baby, I fucked myself so hard with my fingers when you were gone. But nothing ever felt as good as yours do right now. Fuck, next time I want to fuck myself with my fingers, I'm just gonna use yours-oh fuck.”

“Oh, you dirty fucking girl. Shit- You were fucking those- yeah baby- those small little fingers inside of you pretending- fuck- pretending that they were mine, huh?” He said, speeding up his thrusts with his hips and with his fingers.

“Yes Joel, fuck, don’t stop baby, please don’t-”

“I won’t stop, not until you gush around me.”

The two of you continued to pleasure each other, bringing each other towards the edge, but neither one tipping over just yet.  “Joel, I need more, baby. P-please, give me more,” you moaned. You were desperately snapping your hips back and forth, wishing it was your husband’s cock that was inside of you.

“Aw baby, look at you, riding my fingers like the dirty little girl that y’are.”

“Joel, baby, please-”

“Say it,” Joel growled, “say I'm the only one who makes you feel this good.”

“You are Joel, you are.”

“Say I'm the only one who gets to fuck this tight little pussy whenever I want.”

“Fuck- You do Joel, you do. It's yours, she's all yours.”

“She's all mine, huh?” Joel said, feeling your walls put his fingers in a choke hold with how tight you were squeezing him. “If she's all mine, then do it. Fucking come for me. Show me who's pussy this really belongs to. Ya heard me, I said come, now,” Joel growled. That coil that had wound itself so tight in your belly snapped hard at Joel’s command. You screamed your husband's name as you coated his fingers with your juices. Joel tightened his grip around your hand that was stroking him, while continuing to work you through your orgasm. After a few more hard thrusts himself, he came all over your hand.

You both slowly came down from your highs, and you couldn't help but giggle at the acts that the two of you just did. It brought back memories of when Joel and you dated. As Joel’s giggles eased he slowly ran his hand that was coated with your juices through your hair. 

“Hey you,” he said, smiling fondly down at you. God he loved you so much, in every way possible. You were his soulmate, his better half.

“Wow, where the heck did that come from?” You said, giggling to yourself again. When you looked up you saw how Joel was looking at you, like he could see your soul. 

“I love you so much, you know that right?” He said, slowly running his nose along your jaw.

“I know,” you said, sighing at his affection.

He then grabbed your hair hard in the back of your head, pulling down slightly to force you to look up at him. It didn't hurt, just surprised you a bit, which forced you to listen to the next words that came out of his mouth.

“Then never, ever, hint at the possibility of me wanting to fuck another woman again, ok. Baby, you are the only one for me. I ain't your father, and I sure as fuck ain't my ex-wife.”

Your eyes widened at the mention of Joel's ex-wife, he never told you the in-depth story of what happened, just the highlights that they drifted apart. “Joel, I-”

“No, sweetheart, I ain't talkin’ about her. What's done is done. Just, don't ever say that to me again, hinting that I'd cheat on you. Cause baby, I'd never, haven't ever, won't-”

“Ok Joel, I promise. No more fussin’.” You gently kissed your husband, giving him the slow intimate affection he was just giving you. After a few more passionate and tender kisses, Joel sighed and rested his head against your forehead, while rubbing his nose slowly against your nose. 

“I reckon we both need a shower,” he said after a moment, exhaling and laughing slightly to himself. “Come on, I'll get the shower started.” 

When Joel got to the bathroom doorway you said, “wait a sec,” and then walked up to him as he turned around to look at you. 

“Next time, please tell me this stuff ok? No more secrets.” He nodded his head in understanding as you leaned up and placed another tender kiss to his lips. When you pulled back you added, “good, cause I hate to break it to you. You’re officially now an old man.” Then with another small peck to his cheek, you sauntered off into the bathroom, giggling at the nickname that you gave him back when he was in his thirties. After starting the shower and getting in, you yelled back “are you coming old man, or do I need to help you with your wheelchair?”

“No wiseass, ya don't,” he yelled, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head at your smartass remark. 

When he looked down he saw himself in the mirror once again. Yes, he did have gray in his beard, in his hair, and on his chest. He also could see that he wasn’t as physically fit as he once was in his 30s, but he still looked good.  He needed glasses to read most of the time now, and you and Sarah constantly harassed him about it. But that was ok. He liked it, and he loved you both dearly. He also creaked worse than the old board on the stairs, along with feeling his age every time he tried to do something that he knew he shouldn't. 

Sure, he had to take medication for his high blood pressure and high cholesterol. And now he got to add a little blue pill to the regimen, just so he could have sex with his wife. He was also at that age where he needed a colonoscopy done, something that was scheduled next week for him. 

With all of these things going on, Joel did have to admit that he was older than when he first started dating you. But even with this admission, he knew from the moments before that he’s never made you come so hard in your life from just his fingers alone. So you could say getting old did have its advantages.

With a small smirk on his face, and a slight puff to his chest, Joel quickly entered the shower with you. When you turned around he said, “old my ass. I'll show you who's old, ya little shit.” Joel then dropped down to his knees and ate you out like a starved man. After he gave you another two orgasms, one of which he heard you screaming his name off the shower walls. He eventually found himself lying next to you, cuddling you in the bed. You were exhausted from all of your extracurricular activities the past two days, and were curled up and ready for a nap. After catching your breath, Joel slowly whispered in your ear, “who's old now darlin’?” 

Before you could answer, Joel made his way down back your body and gave you one more Earth shattering orgasm. He wanted to prove a point. That he, in fact, wasn't too damn old.

End Story

[taintedcigs]

𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃彡

rockstar!steddie x reader

summary: dating two rockstars is fun, except when you get caught breaking their rules, and your punishment ends up in the form of some festive fun — tied up with christmas lights.

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI, p in v, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up irl im so serious), spanking, punishment?, daddy kink (but its so very light do not look at me im so seriously embarrassed), oral (m receiving, good old bj), kinda rough, dom/sub dynamics, mean!dom!eddie, mean!dom!steve no use of ‘y/n’, degrading, praises, nicknames!

authors note: the banner thingy of this is making me laugh i tried ok. graphic design is my PASSION.

Taming brats. 

That was something Eddie was really fucking good at. 

Expert even, especially after he started dating you. And once Steve was thrown into the mix, you were unstoppable.

Acting out more than usual, being a teasing little slut.

It all happened with a drunken night out after their show, three-way kissing, and hours of making each other cum led to one realization; the three of you worked perfectly, and you and your boyfriend were more than okay to open up the relationship to Steve. 

To Steve it was all so exciting, this new dynamic, the fun stuff the three of you tried, the punishments, the edging, the overstimulation, all the new kinks, intrigued him to no end. Yet, Steve still had one problem; he wasn’t that good at being a dominant. 

Whether it was him apologizing to you and not being able to fully punish you, him letting you be bratty, or him letting some of your actions go unpunished just because you looked at him all prettily. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like being a dominant, he did, he really fucking did. So much so that he was doing everything he could to not fuck it up and make you and Eddie proud.  

It was that he was just very new to this, while Eddie had his fair share of kinky sex stories, and so did you, all Steve had were some hookups here and there, the groupies he had weren’t that interesting; the wildest thing he ever did was some dirty talk, and maybe getting his dick sucked at a public bathroom. This was a brand new territory he was trying to get adjusted to. 

The two of you were more than okay with helping him adjust to it all. Eddie loved teaching Steve about you and your body, what you enjoyed, what made you squirm, what made you instantly cum and of course; how exactly to punish you the right way. It all sounded perfect as an idea, but Steve could never execute it well. 

Whether it was because of those puppy eyes you did, or the whines that he drew from your mouth anytime he tried to put you in your place, or the begging and the sweet-talking, Steve didn’t have it in his heart to go all the way, which earned him the ‘soft daddy’ tittle you giggly called him all the time. 

So, Eddie wanted to teach him how to do it properly, in a way that was enjoyable and comfortable for all three of you, clearly, he knew you better than Steve did, and he knew his sort of punishments were always something you took pleasure out of, so he wanted to show Steve that, make him realize how good it made you feel, and how the dynamic truly worked. 

And this was the perfect time to show him, especially when you broke one of the most important rules. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed against his chest, disappointed, angrier than you ever saw him, you with your head drooped low and your hands behind your back, and Eddie with that goddamned smirk on his lips leaning against the wall, tilting your chin upwards with a tut. 

You were naked, fingers still coated with your juices, a slight guilt flashing across your eyes​​—but not really. Because you wanted to be caught, you wanted this punishment. Wanted the attention. 

Especially when both of them were so busy with work since New Year’s was coming up. They were either at gigs or at the studio, not even letting you come with them because you were ‘too distracting’.  

So, once again when they left for the studio, you had an idea. An idea that would surely bring out a mean punishment, yet the best pleasure. 

The second you heard the door getting unlocked, you were naked, laying on the bed, turning on your vibrator, knowing that once you let out a few slight gasps, the two of them would end up in the room, and all of their attention would be on you. 

“Eds, I swear I—I didn’t even cum!” You muttered with a whine. 

Eddie barked out a chuckle, mocking you. “That doesn’t mean shit, baby, rules are rules.”

“Steve!” You whined all brattily, turning to him with a pout, expecting to earn some sympathy from him, because you always did. Yet, there was something different this time, a darkness his gaze didn’t possess until now, you’d be lying if it didn’t make you rub your thighs together in excitement. 

“Don’t think you can try to get out of this one by sweet-talking me doll, not gonna work,” Steve mumbled, the nickname rolling off his tongue with all the pent-up anger. 

“Now we have to punish you.” He narrowed his gaze, making you swallow. Shit, he’d have to cave eventually, right? Because this was Steve. 

“And I’m sure, that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Our attention?” You don’t answer, knowing that anything coming from your mouth could get you more into trouble, and Eddie scoffed at the state of you, that devilish grin playing on his lips. 

“Steve, honey, can you get those Christmas lights?” He asked sweetly, a smile flashed his way, and nothing but a scowl flashed yours. 

“L—lights?” You asked with a pout. Fuck, lights meant trouble, because you hated how tight they were, and you hated not being able to touch them. 

“Yeah, have to bring out the big guns, you’ve been so bratty lately. Such a shame too, because you were doing so good honey, when was the last time you were all tied up?” He quizzed mockingly, face inches away from yours. 

“I don’t remember.” You mumbled.

“Aha, that’s why we need it back, and so that I can teach Steve how to tie our little slut up, isn’t that right?” As if on cue, Steve came back with a grin, the long string of Christmas lights in his embrace. 

“Thank you, baby,” Eddie hummed excitedly, pressing a harsh kiss on Steve’s lips, flushing his cheeks a salmon pink, before he made a show of the strings of light, wrapping it around his hand, and grinning while he made his way over to you. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed again, and Eddie motioned toward you. “Lie down on Steve’s lap, face down.” With a quick huff, you obeyed, crawling over his lap, making a show of it as you wiggled your ass in the air, enjoying the low hisses from both men. 

“Arms behind your back, slut,” He hisses, and you’re quick to obey, crossing your arms over your back, watching as he plugs the lights into the outlet, a grin overtaking his face as they light up. 

He stretches them forward before he begins tying you up, twisting them around your arms, making sure your wrists are steadily restrained, before he loops them around your hips and your legs, making sure it has a tight hold on you. 

“Look how pretty you look like this.” He grins, watching the way the Christmas lights illuminate your skin as he lands a harsh smack on your bare flesh, and you yelp dramatically over it, skin burning with the impact. You try your best not to giggle, not to make him know that you’re enjoying this, because you want the punishment to be over as soon as possible. 

You need to cum. And you know Eddie can, and will edge you till’ however long he wants, so as much fun as it is to be a brat, you need to behave, for these next ten minutes, or try to seduce Steve in some way, you knew he tried to be tough, but you always managed to break him. 

Eddie kneels next to you, while Steve squeezes your ass, his cock stirring more and more you whimper for him. “Steve’s gonna spank you five times,” Eddie taunts with a grin, and you nod, trying to ignore the flutters in your stomach the more you feel Steve’s grabby hands. 

“That is unless you want some more?” Eddie challenges with a raise of his brow.

“N—no!” 

“Good girl,” he praises, and fuck, does that make your stomach instantly tumble. 

“Make it rough, Steve, she enjoys that shit,” he spits, fingers teasingly dancing around your shoulder. 

“She sees you as her soft daddy, she thinks you can’t really punish her, you gotta show her that you own her, too,” Eddie mocks with a slight grin, enjoying the way Steve’s gaze is overblown with lust now. 

“Is that right, honey?” Steve hisses, all mean and biting. Something you haven’t seen to this length, something that was making you so intrigued that you could barely speak. 

“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, head dipped into the couch, before Steve had a harsh grip on your chin, making you face him. Chocolate gaze growing darker, and pupils blown wide. 

“Need you to count for me, honey, can you do that?” You nodded, quick and obedient, and Steve was starting to understand how good it felt, to have you surrender to him, his cock stirring at your doe-eyes. 

His hand raises in the air, the smack of it much softer than Eddie’s, but still rough enough that you feel the sting, a warm feeling overtaking your flesh, causing you to yelp at the unexpected intrusion. 

“You can be rougher, baby,” Eddie encourages, enjoying that pure hunger in Steve’s amber hues, and he’s quick to nod. 

“I thought you said you could count, slut. Is that pretty little head of yours so full with the thought of our cocks that you forgot to count all of a sudden, doll?” The nicknames roll off his lips like a warning, tone so coarse that you immediately tense up, apologetic gaze meeting his dark ones.

“S—sorry, Stevie,” you muttered, his sudden dominance making your body tremble, and your cheeks flush with heat. “O—one.” 

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He coos, hand smoothing over your reddened skin, reveling the way you shudder under his touch. 

He spanks you again, and another yelp falls out of your lips, this time much harder than before, you can fully feel the pain, and Eddie watches the two of you in awe.

“Two.” 

His hand gropes your ass again, massaging over your heated skin, and once again, harsh smack lands on your marked-up flesh, much rougher, but easing the second he carefully traces over it. 

“T—three,” you mutter, moaning into the pillows your head was smushed in. 

You feel another hand join Steve’s, but your attempts to look up at Eddie are turned down when he tuts, “Focus on your punishment.” 

His fingers are teasing as they make their way up to your trembling thighs, drawing whiney breaths from you. He uses his index fingers to spread you apart, both him and Steve groaning at the sight of your puffy clit. 

His fingers find their way inside of you, earning shaky moans while you try to push yourself back onto him, to have more, to feel that fullness, and all Steve does is chuckle at you, at how pathetic you want them both, rutting against Eddie’s fingers while you moan. 

And just as you’re about to beg for more, beg to have both of their cocks, two harsh slaps land on your ass, one on both cheeks, the two boys grinning devilishly as they watch the way their handprints mark your ass. 

“Four,” you mumble, words scrambled together when all you want is more from them, the mocking making you wetter and wetter. Especially when Steve is being all mean for the first time.

“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, sweetheart, did you?” Steve mocks with a pout, and you moan into the pillow again. 

Steve kneads your sensitive skin, while Eddie’s fingers are still inside of you, your ass is burning, but it feels so good that you can’t help the whines that leave your mouth. 

“Such a fuckin’ slut for us, aren’t ya? Soaking my fingers just for being spanked, told you she likes it rough, Stevie.” Eddie pushes his fingers fully inside of your walls, thumb toying with your clit, so agonizingly slow that you bite down on the pillow, incoherent babbles leaving your lips. 

You need this punishment to be over so that you can have both of them, it’s so pathetically overwhelming and teasing that you don’t even realize what you’re begging for, just when you’re about to push back on his fingers again, the roughest slap comes, and you cry out at the impact. 

You’re sure your ass is practically burning now, but it feels so good that you’ve basically already melted into the sheets, body feeling frail with how turned on you really are. And, thankfully this was the last.

“Five!” You wail out with excitement filling your tummy, Eddie’s fingers slip outside of you with that, you’re too fucked out to register any of it, the pain subsiding and fast to turn into pleasure when Steve is kneading your firey flesh, it has you feeling so painfully empty that you’re looking at Steve with pouty lips and a desperate gaze. 

“Good girl,” Steve praises, pressing a sloppy kiss on your bruised skin, and you whimper at the cold feeling, cheeks fluttering at the much needed praise. 

“N—need more, please,” you mutter, it’s a long shot, and by the way they’ve both been so mean, you knew neither their teasing nor the punishment was going to end soon. But, fuck, were you desperate. 

Steve barks out a laugh, it’s evil, and just as mocking as you’d expect, but not from Steve. Eddie looks almost as surprised, but so very proud, because both of you want this dynamic to work, and for Steve to be in this as much as the two of you are, and it looks like it’s finally working. 

“So fuckin’ mouthy today, aren’t ya?” He coaxed, picking you up to roll you over to the bed, hands grabby before he turned to Eddie. 

“I think we should put those pretty lips to use, baby, what do y’think?” Steve quipped, gazing at Eddie with the need for approval, and Eddie’s cock stirred at the both of you. 

Steve submitting to him, still taking a bit of control to dominate you. Fuck, this was exactly what he wanted. 

“Get on all fours for your daddies, pretty girl,” Steve hummed, leaving a playful smack on your already marked-up ass while you yelped, pussy clenching around on nothing. 

“Do you know how fucking hot you are when you order her around like this?” Eddie groaned, his hand gathering curls at the nape of his neck, gripping it tightly to pull him in for a kiss, all teeth, and no mercy. Greedily sucking at each other’s tongues, ignoring all of your squirming. 

You’re so unbelievably wet and you need something, anything. Seeing the two boys kiss is not doing you any good, so you just mewl with such desperation that both of them break apart from the kiss with a dark gaze. 

“I said all fours,” Steve hisses, but you pout, struggling to stand while your hands are tied behind your back, and your body is wrapped around the lights, making your skin glow in the best way possible. 

“Aww, can’t do it on your own, sweetheart?” Eddie taunts with a pout, and you’re quick to nod. 

“You need our help, baby?”

“P—please,” you muttered, almost embarrassed.

“You want your daddies to fill all your holes is that it, slut?” You nodded vigorously. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat, speak up,” Steve chimed in. 

“Y—yes, please, please I need both of you, need both of you to fuck me, please—” your rambling was cut off by Eddie’s dark chuckle. 

“God, so fuckin’ desperate, should we give her what she wants, Stevie?” He nodded off toward Steve, a mocking pout on his lips. 

“I do want to punish her more… but I also need that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock, she’s been too mouthy lately, don’t ya think, Munson?” Steve groaned loudly at the thought. 

“Mhmm, and I should fuck her pathetic little pussy, show her who really owns her, yea?” Eddie grinned toward you. 

“You definitely should, does she think she can make herself cum better than we do?” Steve asked tauntingly. 

“N—no I don’t! P—please need both of you s’bad, ‘m sorry, I won’t touch myself again, daddies, I promise,” you cried out, desperate, enough to have both of their cocks ache with the need to fuck you. 

“You’ll be sorry, sweetheart, we’ll make sure of it.” Both of them were quick to get rid of their clothes, joining you on the bed, Eddie holding you by your hips, and Steve steadying you by your shoulders, both sets of angry red tips facing your holes. Eagerness ignites a fire in your entire body. 

“God, I was going to stretch you out a little bit, but look at you sweetheart, practically gushin’ for me and we barely did anything.” Eddie grins, fingers toying with your soaked clit, and you whimper loudly, looking up at Steve with hooded eyes, excitedly waiting to get what you were promised for, your entire body feels like it’s on fire, everywhere they touch burns, and you want nothing more than to have them fuck you, anywhere and everywhere. 

Steve barely jerked his erected cock before he dragged it over your lips, smearing his beaded pre-cum all over, mixing with your gloss. Starving, you were quick to lick it all away, that salty taste coated your tongue and you hummed. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He almost lost it there and then.

“God, she’s soakin’ my fingers, Stevie.” Eddie moaned, relishing in the squelching sounds your pussy made the more his fingers entered inside of you.

“Please,” you whispered, desperately pushing back on his fingers, trying to get more. 

You turned your head as best as you could. “Please, daddy. Fuck me.” Your tone was sultry, making Eddie groan. 

“And, please, fuck my mouth daddy, I deserve it,” you muttered, this time faux innocent gaze at Steve’s, his mouth hanging open, eyes lulling as he looked down on you. 

With a slight groan, “Open up,” he ordered, and you opened your mouth eagerly, while he dragged his aching cock inside, watching the way you quickly wrapped your lips around his length, sucking on it greedily.

“Her mouth is heavenly, Munson, you need to fuck her while I’m fuckin’ her mouth,” Steve groaned loudly when you bobbed up and down. 

“Open her up, Eddie, really fuck her, use her like the little slut she is.” That was all the encouragement Eddie needed, his fingers left your hole with a slick sound, emptiness making you whine around Steve’s cock. 

You didn’t have much time, or even the space to complain with Steve’s cock hammered into your mouth. You couldn’t see Eddie but you could feel him shift behind you, his hot tip teasing against your entrance, pre-cum smearing all over your clit, making you whimper crazily around Steve’s cock, driving him further into a pleasure he didn’t know existed.

You were at your fucking limit. Only when the head of his cock teased against your slit that you let out a sigh of relief. He pushed his cock inside, the hold he had on your waist was bruisingly rough. 

He pushed and pushed his way inside, cock slipping easily through your soaked folds. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

It always amazed you how fucking big and thick he was, stretching you out in every way possible. 

His groans were guttural, and so were Steve’s, especially when his hands wrapped around your hair halting his cock into your mouth, realizing you were too fucked out to do it properly. 

“So sloppy when you get your holes filled,” Steve tutted, “fucking love it when you go all dumb on our cocks like this, such a perfect little cock sleeve for us, aren’t you? Just waiting to be used by your daddies, hmm?” He hummed, eyes stuck on you when he yanked you by your hair again, pumping his cock further into your mouth. 

You whimpered in an attempt to nod, crying out once Eddie pushed in deeper inside of you, cunt clamping around him and so very willing. Your pussy was his. 

And you felt full, so fucking full.

“Shit, shit, fuck! She’s so fuckin’ warm and tight, Steve.” Eddie grunted, voice ragged, his weight on top of you, as he poised all the way inside of you, and you tried your best to adjust to his cock. But, fuck, did he always stretch you out, make you feel all of him. 

“Jesus, baby, look how perfectly your holes are taking our cocks, it’s like you were made for us, huh?” Steve almost growled, fucking your mouth with ease while he enjoyed the way you gagged around his cock, tear-streaked cheeks, and looking up at him with those alluring eyes. 

All three of you were about to fucking lose it. It was all too much, all so fucking good, making your body feel like jelly while they manhandled you in the best way possible. 

He slammed into you rougher, not stopping until he was sure you were full of him, same with Steve, filling you all the way in. You felt achy in the best way possible, and their grunts sounded lewd and angelic at the same time. 

He pulled out and slammed back in. Just as brutal but his hips picked up speed, the more he fucked into you, the more you took Steve into your mouth. Creating the perfect harmony between the three of you. 

You felt like you were going to explode, mind going hazy with everything. And of fucking course Eddie could tell, with the way you were squirming, thighs shuddering, and your tender pussy gripping his dick nicely. 

Your mewls and whines were muffled by Steve’s cock slammed down your throat. “Shit, honey, are you gonna cum already?” Eddie asked with a low groan. 

You nodded, as best as you could with Steve’s hold, eyes pleading, begging, so fucking desperate that neither of them wanted to hold you off. 

Besides, your punishment wasn’t edging tonight. 

“Pretty girl, cum for us, baby, soak Eddie’s dick,” Steve grunted, teeth grinding together, just barely holding all of it. It was making him feral watching the way Eddie’s thick cock plunged into you, while you took his cock into your mouth, like the good fucking girl you were. 

He almost looked at Eddie for approval, and he nodded quickly. “Cum for us, sweetheart.” His words were all the encouragement you needed. Muffled noises tumbled from your mouth as Eddie’s cock hit spots you didn’t even know existed and brought you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you, pussy shuddering around Eddie’s cock.  

“Our perfect girl, cumming just from us using your holes, shit,” Steve cursed, desperate to give you all of his load, make sure you never spilled a fucking drop of it.  

“God, she’s so fuckin’ tight when she cums, Steve, don’t think I’m gonna last,” Eddie growled, his thrusts dramatic, enough to have the bed creaking with a squeaky noise.

“Come with me, baby, let’s fill her up at the same time, hmm?” Steve grunted.

“Yeah, you’d like that, baby? You’d want your daddies to fill all your holes?” He taunted with your chin in his hands, Eddie’s rough hold on you was making it harder to focus, you just came but you simultaneously needed more. They were so fucking addicting. 

“Shit, you’re so fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuckin—” Eddie rambled, so deep inside of you that you whimpered around Steve’s cock, making him grunt like a madman. 

“Me too, Munson, shit!”

“Gonna give you so much of my cum you’ll never get it out of you, princess, fuck!” It was a promise, his thrusts were brutal, bruising, and fucking divine. 

“S—shit baby, I’m—fuck! I wanna see you swallow all of my load, not one fuckin’ drop—oh fuck!” Steve added.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Both of them yelled in almost perfect sync. Thick cum filled inside of your walls and shot down your throat, it looked like Steve was too fucked out to tell you to swallow, and you beat him to it, sucking him dry with an exaggerated humming sound. 

Eddie was still unloading inside of you, seed spilled so deeply that it made you feel so warm, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. Both of their cocks and cum filling your holes, darkened gazes staring down at you, and it felt fucking amazing. 

You loved the little praises, the ‘good girl’ and ‘perfect girl’ they uttered before they placed thousands of kisses over your skin. Yet, you were nowhere near done, no, this was just a little taste. And you were hungry. 

“A—are you going to untie me now?” You asked, unwillingly, bringing that desire spark back into both of their gaze in an instant.

“Oh, sweetheart, you thought we were done?” That mocking voice was back like it never left, and you couldn’t help the way excitement pooled your tummy again. Shit, they were fucking good. 

“You wanted to cum, didn’t you? We’ll make sure you’ll cum, over and over, creaming our cock till you physically fucking can’t anymore.” Steve added, both of them grinning like a Cheshire cat, knowing there was so much more to your punishment. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi hi! Have you seen the new Rook and Jade cards?

TWST REALLY SAID HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR (they dropped these card designs when it was still Christmas day in my time zone www) 🤡 IMAGINE THE PURE DISTRESS AND TERROR I FELT WHEN I SAW THE NEWS FOR THE FIRST TIME, I ALMOST CHOKED ON MY BREAKfAST The New Year Attire card artwork looks fantastic this year!! zs,j bdhjvkas3t77135f38odwOYdtSIvyiadiyisa I THINK THE tHIRD ANON SAID IT BEST, TREY, ROOK, AND JADE LOOK LIKE YAKUZA DRESSED NICELY TO USHER IN THE NEW YEAR 😭 and Ortho's there to be their cute and innocent errand boy nephew (when in reality he's committing just as many crimes as they are); I KNOW this kid's not above pulling out a laser beam and threatening people to get what he wants.

Trey finally gets another event SSR (man deserves it after like 4 Rs OTL) and not gonna lie, he kinda looks like my grandpa in that outfit... I really like the pattern on his rose print scarf and the flowerpiece though; you can also see the classic Heartslabyul solid sleeve-checkered sleeve combo. The parasol he's holding is nice too, it makes me think about him whimsically twirling it around as he walks through confetti.

This isn't one of my favorite looks for Ortho, but again I really appreciate how the designers and artists used their creativity to reinterpret the traditional NY garb into robotic parts! You can tell Ortho's "clothes" are more blocky and rigid than the others', yet it still retains the festive feel of the line. There seem to be cables and wires attached to the piece pinned to his chest, and, of course, three doggos at his waist to symbolize Cerberus~

Trey and Ortho being on the same banner... It feels like Ortho was dropped off for Trey to babysit, and Trey's the kind old grandpa who dotes on his grandkid.

... Okay, that's enough of being civil 😇

t315751vAUVgddfiyCUvILNDADFFIYAIBFQEOBNABHOACsdaafjkuc??F<>>Mw/q12yft7BLINJZ>?????m,A'PSCPK[QJNsn;nbegquo PLEASE, I'M SCREAMING AND CRYinf aG ON THE GORUNDA RN OTL Of course TWST would release a new Rook SSR not too long after I said Rollo has replaced Rook in my heart as the superior pseudo French anime boy, OF COURSE. WHY DiD THE YM HAVE TO GIVE hiM SUCH A SMYSTERIOSYF SMU g FACE TOO..... . . . ........ . . . .... . . . . AND THAT LIGHTING??//????? ? ?? ? ?hELLO??? ?? ? ?? ? ????? ? GORGEOUS 😭 THE FAN??? ? ?? ? ? ? ?? ? ?? HOW HE's POSED AEJQWHLBIWQ WIHT IT, weL,Ccopmaifn G YOU INTO YHTE SHOP... I'M GOIBNG TO DUCKIUFN G CHEW HSis FINGNERS OFF, HOLD ME BACK BEOFRE I DOn kqw fhgutiuqfvwofueiyviHnsoguewtqtbwipFFQEGFVIVOQE8?>vLM;N;AEGFLQMJEINP I'm not super into Rook's outfit though; the peacock imagery incorporated into his robes and stuck in his hat are kinda... too much for me? The colors are also weirdly blocked out; it looks odd to have the hat as being the one prominent part of the outfit in red. I would have expected... I don't know, more red throughout the entire outfit? BUT IT'S OKAY, ROOK'S FACE STILL LOOKS GOOD AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS HERE

ADKJBLBSLiyfiysafvoyvgad8fVEFQGIYUOVBVADLM;vsomjvsM,.38920TH??:vL;,AD'PGDMA'PFSm J WORD, NEW YEAR'S J WORD IS HERE 🤡 I'M SO GLAD HE';S NOT THE SSR, I CAN EAISLYR MAX HIM OUT BLESS YOIU MCIUAHRD MOUSE 🙏 ABSHLDVUYADVOQDWADOLBIPfsp ip BIG FAN, HUGE FAN OF HIS POSE HERE OTL rUBINGNG HIS HANDS TOGETHE R AND BENDING SLIGHTLYT FORWARD, INCLinING HIS HEAD TOWARD YOU...... .. ............ . .... . .. . . . . . . .... I CAN SMELL THE USED CAR SaLESMAN ENERgy COMING OFF OF HIM it's working on me He looks like he's still wearing a suit and threw extra shit on top... THAT'S LITERAELLY THE SAME HAT HE WEARS FOR HIS OCTA dORM UNIFORM, HE JUST SLAPPED ON A DIFFERENT HATbaND ACCESSORY. AND SAME WAY OF weARING THE SCARF, JUST USED A DIFFERNT SCARF THIS TIME

I love the fact that Rook and Jade are on the same banner this was made specifically to target me/j, shady bitches deserve to be next to other shady bitches 🤣 Imagine how much pettiness and fake smiling will be had between them????? ???? ??? ? I’ve been dying for more interactions between these two, so this is really a treat for me!! 😋

To summarize: yeaaaaaah uh my rolls are in trouble come 2024 🪦

[kamwashere]

saw your tags and yes PLEASE do a proper fic rec list!

5 times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did by keikoHPfan [T, 1K]

Wade isn't a fool. And he knows better, whatever Spidey says. Or five times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did.

✦ kam's notes: The first ever SMDP fic I’ve ever read! I had this bookmarked in 2016 with a note saying, “I wanna scream but fam is literally right hEre so I'm just here making this weird sound in my throat this fic must be treasured for life.” Super angsty and fluffy!

The Perks of Being Smarter Than Everyone Gives You Credit For by alphasaceraptor, Orcusnox (Cat9894) [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 32K, WIP]

Peter Parker, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, is sapiosexual. You'd think, working as an intern under Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, he'd have his pick of the best brains around. But apparently not. Someone's been lying about how smart a certain mercenary actually is, and that puts Peter in a sticky situation when said mercenary starts interacting with Peter. And with trouble brewing at Stark Industries, you just know this is going to be a wild ride...

✦ kam's notes: Sadly, I think this has been abandoned  as it hasn’t been updated since 2017 but it’s still worth a read! Featuring super smart Wade and super horny about it Peter. 

Propositions by stuckybarnes [T, 8K]

“Yeah…” Deadpool drawls. “Anyway, Pretty Boy, I have a proposition for you.” This makes Peter kind of want to throw up. Propositions by Deadpool always end up with them in varying degrees of pain, and a lot of explaining to do with the Avengers. OR Wade finally convinces a very tired Peter to go to New York Comic-Con with him and enter a Deadpool and Spider-Man cosplay contest, sure they'll win. Obviously. It doesn't go exactly as expected, and Peter is not thrilled.

✦ kam's notes: Spidey and DP go to Comic-Con! Fanservice, cosplays, banter, and feelings! All that fun stuff.

Ooh, Spicy by misato [E, 2K]

“It’s me,” he croaks, and Peter readies his web-shooter, aiming it at his mouth. He starts talking. Fast. “I’m Deadpool. Wade Wilson. I’m from another universe. In that one you’re dead and I’m more than a little bit bummed about it.” Surprisingly, that’s what gets Peter to loosen his grip. “You’re from another universe?” he sighs. “That’s so last week.”

✦ kam's notes: Hell yeah, another Peter B./Wade fic! This one is very spicy, kinda sad, but still sweet. Wade worships every version of Peter and I love that. 

baby, i’d victoria your secret anytime by ghostsoldier [E, 4K]

Peter’s known Wade for a while now, so he can maybe see how this makes sense -- like, maybe Wade has a thing about going commando and just happened to have an old girlfriend’s panties lying around, one thing led to another…but… “And the bra?” Peter croaks.

✦ kam's notes: Wade (unknowingly) seduces Peter with lingerie (!!!) and pancakes. Spice ahead!

I Think I Missed a Step ('Cause I'm Fallin' For You) by mokuyoubi [E, 42K]

There’s a weird familiarity about the kid's tone and posture, and it’s true that Wade is pretty far from home today but he’s also certain he’d remember that baby-face if he’d seen it before. On the other hand, he has spent the better part of the past few years feeling like he’s missed a step, so this conversation isn’t exactly anything new. [[A hot guy is willingly talking to us. Go with it.]] [Don’t make an ass of yourself.] “Shaddup,” Wade grumbles, though Yellow has a point... OR Peter thinks Wade knows his secret identity, and Wade is really confused by the hot coed who keeps popping up and hanging out with him.

✦ kam's notes: I debated putting this here a lot since when I first read it, I did so without reading the tags or the notes and missed the Tom!Spidey disclaimer but please don’t be discouraged, it is still a very good fic. Peter is aged up (still feels like a weird loophole) and is a full-fledged adult. Anyways! This fic lovingly abuses the classic identity porn trope. Very good and there is a variety of MCU cameos.

what light through yonder window by hellornothing [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, 14K]

The figure moves quickly, but Peter’s faster. He’s still adjusting to the sudden brightness, so dark red is really the only thing he takes from this initial encounter, but it’s enough. ‘Deadpool?’ - aka the one where they get together via late night window visits

✦ kam's notes: This fic has EVERYTHING: late night talking, identity reveal, pining!Peter, TLC. I really love Wade in this; he’s so tender, funny, and charming. This is also domestic in ways I can’t explain.

finger tap pulses by twentytwosevens [T, 3K]

"The first time Peter’s timer stops he is eleven years old. It times out in the middle of the night and wakes him up like an electric shock. The blank timer stares at him from his wrist as he yells and screams for his aunt and uncle." Spideypool AU with timers where Wade keeps getting killed and making Peter's timer go blank. By the time they meet he's pretty pissed off. This was certainly a summary with words, but they were not good ones. Based off a tumblr prompt that I cannot find anymore.

✦ kam's notes: Oh, this one has a delicate amount of angst and crack. Poor Peter! Deadpool-typical suicidal ideation, be warned. 

BDE (Big Dick Emergency) by DerRumtreiber [E, 6K]

“Oh my god,” he says again. “Oh. My. Gaa-awd, Becky. Did you?” Wade is visibly vibrating. “Did you really say ‘giant penis problem’? Really? Truly?” “What did you think I meant the first time?” Peter asks through clenched teeth. “I dunno, wrong hole?” ~*~*~ Or, the one where Peter is in need of some practical advice, and Wade is always happy to share his ass knowledge.

✦ kam's notes: THEE BOTTOM!WADE FIC, imo. Peter has unsatisfying sex life due to his Big Problem/Blessing and Wade is determined (and super thrilled)  to change that. Not to be a spoiler but he definitely succeeds. 

Love of a Different Lifetime by alicat54c [T, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 15K]

In another time and place, Wade would have gone back to Weasel’s bar and met the love of his life, Vanessa. However, in this life, predicated by a squeaky skateboard wheel, he met Peter instead. ... “Yo mamma so dumb, she thought Tiger Woods was a forest in India.” Wade's arm spasmed, causing his swing to go wide, sending the ball clear out of the course and across the sidewalk. Peter carefully kept his eyes on the score sheet as his companion turned around, expression playfully murderous. He scratched a line with a short pencil. “So, that’s one point against you.” The older man’s face split into a toothy grin. “Oh, it is on, baby boy.”

✦ kam's notes: And to end this fic rec, I bring you the ultimate filmverse!Spideypool fic. It rewrites both DP1 and TASM1 and it entwines both of the film’s canon together. In this fic, Peter doesn’t have his powers yet but he does meet Wade pre-cancer. They fall in love. While Wade goes into the program, Peter becomes Spider-Man. Cue Deadpool being born, Spider-Man trying to stop him, heartaching reunion and all that. Loved this one. 

Oh, and also there are some Team Red moments!

As usual, I'll just add my own fics as well —

my heart is wild (and my bones are steel) [T, 9K]

Out of the corner of his eyes, MJ quietly takes the seat across the younger Peter, swiftly sliding into his place. He visibly relaxes, resting his forehead against hers. They belong together in a quietly intense way. Longing burns hot inside of him, like a branch caught in a forest fire. It’s strange. Even if this version of Peter has lost virtually everything, he still finds a way to be envious of him. He thinks of Wade. For some unfathomable reason he isn’t quite ready to examine yet, he misses the idiot.

No Way Home, but in Peter-Three’s perspective.

all the skeletons you hide (show me yours, i’ll show you mine) [M, 23K, WIP] [Just updated]

A wave of affection and longing almost makes him stagger on his feet. Just seeing him in that suit—looking less than impressive, scratching his butt—makes him realize just how much he missed him. “Wade,” Peter cringes at how his voice catches, “Hi.” Wade turns around, turns back, turns again and does a double take. He eyes Peter up and down and to his surprise, turns away snootily. “Sorry cutie, any other day, I would be super into this hipster nerd slash skater boi with an I you’ve got going on—devastating combo, by the way—I’m sadly not in the mood.”

Peter, fresh out of his multiversal escapades, gains a new perspective in life. One that includes a certain mouthy mercenary, perhaps?

The problem is, the mercenary doesn’t seem to remember him. Like at all. He has a sneaking suspicion it has to do with that spell thing Peter-One was talking about…

‣ Both are a part of the new york isn't new york without you series

[mybworlds]

Chapter 1

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… so here we are… I am very excited and nervous to write about this story 'cause I really care 'bout it. 🙏 I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. If you want to follow my new fanfiction, I appreciate it 🙏

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

If there's one thing you really can't stand it's Monday mornings, not finding coffee on your desk in the office, not being able to catch a criminal after a long investigation that has taken you so much time and energy, you are in the office and you persistently look at the documentation related to Alvaro Monteiro, also known as 'El Diablo,' a drug dealer known in South America but also in half of the European countries, now also infamous for exploitation of prostitution and organ trafficking in countries like Mexico and Argentina.

You shake your head trying to bring order to the few testimonies about his movements, sightings, and the last deals he conducted; those who could really talk are afraid for their relatives and their own lives; those who talk more are found with a bullet in their head somewhere.

You hold your head in your hands watching the faces of all the young women, men and even children caught up in this so far endless trail of blood and death. You don't know when you will arrest Monteiro, but you know one thing for sure, you will not let up until you catch him. They wouldn't call you Bulldog like that.

Everyone whispers this nickname of yours because of your determination at work and then because, if you start pursuing a case, it becomes your priority even over your own life. None of your colleagues, however, has ever dared to openly call you that. With the exception of your insufferable colleague Javier Peña.

Speaking of him, he's a huge pain in the ass, a huge Don Juan who is convinced he can have everyone at his feet with that grin and his dark eyes always ready to look seductively at anyone who comes his way. He even hit on you once, but you told him everything you thought about him, about his absurd ways of getting information about investigations, about how he slept with half the office and all of them, even though they had been dumped by him, kept kissing the ground he walked on!

That's crazy.

By the way, here he comes into the office, agent Peña, hair perfectly coiffed, glasses on his nose, winking smile, and everyone looking at him dreamily, you roll your eyes and shake your head to go back to looking at the Monteiro dossier.

"Good mornin'." he greets you in a detached tone.

By the way, you and Peña can't stand each other. Not because you stood him up, or maybe even because of that, but because both of you were engaged on the Monteiro case a couple of years earlier. You each had your own method of investigation, as you do now for that matter, and you ended up pointing a gun at each other losing your target and then blaming each other in front of your boss. Your boss removed you from the case.

From that moment on, Peña treats you frostily, if he has to spite you he does, if he has to tell you a nasty thing he tells you, he doesn't think twice about it, if he has any news he keeps it to himself and reports it to your superior making you look like an amateur always bent over papers and little in action.

"Good mornin', Agent Peña," you greet him in the same tone.

Within a year of being removed from the case, however, Peña continued to keep his female informants - mostly prostitutes - on the alert about all that might be his movements, you for your part have always kept an eye on money movements and possible strange transfers from American to Mexican banks and vice versa, all of which led your boss to reassign both of you the case, making you promise to cooperate and share any information that either of you might obtain. Collaboration that has not happened so far, however, not entirely, at least.

Peña lays his palms on the documentation you were sifting through forcing you to look up at him, looking at you insistently with his huge dark eyes with the expression of someone who is studying someone intensely.

You sigh, "What do you want?" you ask him.

"Just to inform you," he replies.

You lean your back against the chair and raise your eyebrows as if to invite him to continue, you cross your arms "That would be news!" you exclaim in an icy tone "I'm all ears."

"Monteiro has been spotted in Paloma Beach, France."

You widen your eyes, spreading your lips wide, he smiles in that annoyed grin.

"Peña. Speak up. Now." you tell him, looking him straight in the eye.

He leans against the desk "I'm glad to have your attention," he says crossing his arms in a satisfied expression of someone who got to a race first "I thought you were too focused on staring at the paper…"

"Peña, you have my attention and if you don't talk right now I'm going to kick your ass and throw you out of my office!" you threaten him in an icy tone "So?"

He sighs, "Always in a good mood, I see!"

"Always a stupid and misplaced sarcasm," you retort using the same tone.

"Whatever," he says showing a green folder in his hands "Monteiro has been spotted in France, in Saint - Jean - Cap - Ferrat." he's telling you, because you're too eager to read news about the narco-trafficker, you get up from your chair and make to pull the clipboard away from him, but he's faster than you and pulls it away from your reach. You almost end up against him, you're within an arm's length of his angular nose and those dark pools, you both immediately retreat. He clears his throat and then resumes, "I was saying, Monteiro has been spotted there and according to this informant of mine he will be there for the next few summer months."

"When would the informant have told you these things?" you ask him raising an eyebrow.

"Does it matter?" he asks you raising an eyebrow as well.

No, not really considering how she must have gotten this information. You don't want to hear him say it, you are bothered by this display of how able he's to get his informants to talk and get comfortable and then get them to confess what he wants to know. No, thank you.

"Have you told Diáz yet?" you ask him, furrowing your brow.

"Claro." he answers you raising his eyebrows with a satisfied air.

"Cabrón." you answer him curtly.

You don't speak Spanish, but obviously living in those parts of South America you had to learn and especially you had to learn how to respond in tone to Peña's exclamations who likes to retort punctually in Spanish. In the early days he was doing it on purpose to retort in Spanish having realized you didn't understand Spanish and who knows how many he must have said to you and you didn't even understand them, but from the moment you started studying Spanish, you started responding in tone leaving him surprised in the early days, then it became a habit of yours to retort on each other with Spanish barbs.

"Muy bien, shall we go?" he asks you.

"Where?"

"Diáz of course! Did you have your coffee this morning, agent?" he asks as he gets up from your desk and adjusts his dark pants.

"And did you ever go to sleep?" you ask him making to head for the door. He does before you, however, and opens the door for you, then makes a hand gesture at which you roll your eyes and snort.

"Let it not be said that agent Peña is not a gentleman!" he exclaims.

"You're supposed to be a gentleman with all the poor girls you screw and then quit!" you exclaim. You just can't stand it, you can't help it.

Diáz is your boss, a man of about fifty, sturdy build, graying hair, big eyes with thick lenses on his nose, he wants everything to work perfectly in his department.

"Sir." you say as you enter his office.

"Sir." Peña greets as he enters the office closing the door "You wanted to see us?"

"Yes, thank you for coming, agents. I know you are both involved in the Monteiro case and as we know Monteiro has now become a world class criminal. I am in contact with departments in other countries and it's been confirmed that he is in France." he pauses "Do you speak French?"

You wrinkle your forehead, "Sir?"

"I need two agents - you -" he says pointing at both of you "to go there in the field in Saint - Jean - Cap - Ferrat to investigate undercover."

"Sir, with all due respect," you continue "but this is perhaps a CIA job-- we-- we are just DEA agents." you state externalizing your concern "We don't have the proper training to…"

"Agent," Diáz resumes, "I understand your fear, but the Monteiro case has become important to all of us. Monteiro could be in France today, the day after he disappeared from circulation again, it's too important for us to catch him."

You watch Peña in the hope of getting his support, but you see him thoughtfully "They will find out right away that we are agents, they might-" you are about to say they might kill you right away or torture you to figure out what you know and then kill you, but it's Peña who interrupts your stream of thought "When are we going to get him?"

Diáz smiles, "Have a seat, now I will explain everything."

Diáz explains to you in hand that you will not be completely alone, there will be CIA men who will be ready to intervene if you deem it necessary. He also explains to you that you will change your names, you will be Blanca Torres and Peña will be Diego Torres, and the role you will have to play. Diáz explains to you you will be two newlyweds on honeymoon ready to enjoy the sea, the sun, but your true goal will be to approach Monteiro and try to understand his plans and catch him.

"Todo claro? " asks your superior.

"Si." replies Peña.

"Está bien, aquí están sus pasaportes. Nadie te hará preguntas en el aeropuerto, pero sé discreto." continues Diáz in Spanish.

"¿Cuándo nos iremos?" you ask him not at all enthusiastically.

"In two days, just enough time to get the final paperwork in order. Needless to say, be discreet, don't ask too many questions around and play smart." he tells you again "Remember your roles and you won't fail." he adds taking your leave.

When Peña closes the office door behind him, you throw yourself into your chair with a despondent air "What do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" he asks you crossing his arms and furrowing his brow.

"Peña, you and I can't stand each other and now we have to pretend to be husband and wife, I don't know if you got that!" you exclaim nervously.

"Sure, Blanca. Or would you prefer, amor?" he asks smiling at you with that slapping face of him.

You roll your eyes; you don't know how you're going to stand him! You hope to catch Monteiro in a few days and put an end to that charade as soon as possible.

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624 if you want to be added let me know, if you liked this first part, leave a comment, like or reblog, if you didn't like it, it's okay, be kind and move on 🙂

[shina913]

On Tilt, Part 5 | KNJ

On Tilt, Part 5

Definition: a poker term for a state of mental or emotional confusion or frustration in which a player adopts a suboptimal strategy, usually resulting in the player becoming overly aggressive.

On Tilt Masterlist

Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞

Genre: idol!AU; strangers-to-FWB-to-lovers; toxic relationship; angst; fluff; smut

Warnings: unhealthy/toxic relationship dynamic; cussing; miscommunication; bitchy friend with the reality check; trouble setting personal boundaries; neck kisses; light petting; soft, fluffy Namjoon

Word count: 5.9K+ words

Summary: You’ve said time and time again that you wouldn’t lose yourself to him. You were in control now. You were going to make better choices. For a minute there, you were able to keep up with it. It wasn’t ‘til Namjoon’s extended break that you found yourself falling into old habits. Will you ever learn to quit Kim Namjoon?

A/N: Thanks for being soooo patient with my super-slow updates! I’m trying to pick up the pace here as next chapter will be date number 5 (huzzah)!!!

If you're still following this story, thank you 🥹 Also, my meager Photoshop skills were tested with this banner photo 😅 Sorry to Namjoon’s friend and the other museum-going guest in the background 🥴

"What are you doing?"

It wasn't the question that made your belly flutter, but the undertone behind it.

You direct your voice to your phone on speaker mode, which sits on one corner of the table, next to the piles of new author manuscripts that you had to review before the end of the week.

"Do you always have to switch to that voice when you ask me that question?"

Namjoon feigns innocence. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice already low. He then adds insult to injury by rasping, "This is my usual voice.”

He was in Spain spending some much-needed downtime with his family. Before that, he was in Italy for a scheduled public appearance, a week after he kept you company while you were sick.

The vacation was pre-planned and he offered to pay for your ticket so you could come along. While it sounded like a great offer, you declined. His family hadn’t seen him much and with his solo album gearing up to be released soon, free time would be more difficult to come by.

You pick your phone up off the table and lower your voice, mimicking him. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Namjoon’s laugh was deep and husky, it made your toes curl. “I can’t help how I feel when I talk to you while you’re not with me. I miss you.”

There was an ache in his tone now and you were missing him just as much. 

“Are you feeling better?”

You sighed, “I miss you, too—and yes, I am. Thank you for asking.”

“I wish you’d just taken me up on my offer to come along. My parents would have loved to have you on the trip.”

You and Namjoon were communicating more openly and were better at managing each other's expectations these days. If one of you had to cancel plans, which he still did, but not as often, you no longer felt disappointed. Similarly, he was less cranky whenever you couldn't break pre-existing commitments to rush off to him.

Just as you no longer felt the need to move your whole schedule to fit his, he’s also made some concessions to spend time with you, which was refreshing.

“Next time,” you say in consolation. “Besides, you know I’ve got way too many things going on right now. Between work and house-hunting.” You groan at the thought.

“How’s that going? Are you closing in on any properties?”

You shared your initial plans to buy a new home, but they became more concrete when Lani told you that she and her boyfriend, Kai would move in together, speeding up your timeline. Investing in purchases that would contribute to your future was crucial at this point in your life, but browsing listings online was overwhelming. Jia, who worked as a realtor, stepped in to help.

You hummed in disappointment. “There are a couple of good candidates.” You suddenly remember Jia’s email this morning about another possible listing. You make a mental note to check it out after you hang up.

“Remind me why you’re getting kicked out of Lani’s place again.”

“She’s not kicking me out,” You correct him. “I just didn’t feel like becoming this third wheel. Anyway, Jia says based on market trends, it’s the perfect time to buy. I’ve got enough money saved up from the last two years. It’s the perfect storm!”

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.

"Not unless you have information on affordable real estate in the downtown area. Otherwise…" you trail off as you walk back to your desk.

"Actually, I might have a lead on something if you're interested," he offers.

"Really?" Of course, Namjoon would have leads to the best properties. Some of them were probably not even publicly listed.

“It’s about half an hour from downtown, without traffic.

“Oh.” You scrunch your face in disappointment at the prospect of a longer commute. You spin your chair around to face the window behind you in your office, which had a beautiful view of the bridge over the bay.

"Now, hear me out for a sec,” he says. “It's on the east side and I know you said you didn’t want anything farther than a 15-minute commute. But it’s in a nice area and I happen to know the listing agent and the owner.”

You smile at Namjoon's attention to detail. Even though the city you lived in had a commuting culture, it wasn't something you pictured doing for the rest of your life.

"Can you send me the information? I can have Jia connect with them."

“Sure, I can give you the contact info right now, whenever your ready.”

“Okay, hang on,” you say hastily while turning your chair back around to reach for a pen and a piece of paper.

“Also, I don’t think Jia needs to get involved. At least not much.” He had a slight edge in his voice when it came to her. Even though they had a silent truce, it still didn’t ease your discomfort.

But you didn’t feel like hashing that out during this call. “Namjoon, the number?” You ask him.

Namjoon dictates the number on the other line. After jotting down the last four digits, you pause and stare at your handwriting. “Are you shitting me? This is your phone number!”

“And?” He says, unperturbed.

You groan. "Come on! Be serious, please."

"I am being serious! Three bedrooms, two full baths, and a sizable kitchen. It's fully furnished with the basics. The downtown area is also very accessible. All you need to do is call Kim Namjoon!"

You snort. “You sound like one of those late-night infomercials.”

“Aw, don’t make fun of me,” You practically hear him pouting. “I’m trying to sell you on my place!”

You choke on nothing. "Yours? Uhm...are you moving out or something?" He just bought his place less than two years ago.

"Nope," he replies simply.

"So, if you're not moving out...then…" 

He laughs at the panicked tone in your voice and assures you, "Relaaax! I figured you'd run for the hills if I asked you to move in with me."

He was right about that.

"Not gonna lie, though. It's crossed my mind before,” he adds nonchalantly. "But I know that would be inappropriate of me to offer since we’re taking things slow.”

His casual admission is a huge surprise to you. Before you could say anything about it, he quickly adds, “Anyway, I own the unit next door. That’s what I’m offering."

You stifle a laugh. “Okay, let me get this straight: You thought it was inappropriate to ask me to move in with you, so you’re proposing that I move in next door instead?”

“Well…” he laughs, feeling cheeky. “Worth a shot!”

"I don’t understand how or why you even own a second unit," you wonder out loud. “You’re barely in your main home as it is.”

"It was sort of an impulse purchase six months ago. The woman who used to live there decided to sell it. I even got into this stupid bidding war with Seokmin,” he adds begrudgingly. “Anyway, my plan was to knock the wall down to convert it into one huge space. But between the last tour wrapping up and finishing my album, I just haven’t had the time. So right now, it’s a glorified storage closet!”

Welp, he had a lot of disposable income. His rationale also quelled your skepticism. "Oh, okay."

"I figured, it would at least liven up the space if someone was living there instead of my clothes and books."

"That’s really tempting, Joon, but you know I can’t afford your place."

"You didn't think I'd give you the family and friends discount?" he teases.

You snort. "Oooh…friend, huh?"

“Or girlfriend,” he corrected himself. There was that word again, ’girlfriend.’

“Don’t you think we’re too old for those terms?” You say in jest.

He laughed heartily into the phone. “Would you rather use, ‘person whom I’m in a committed relationship with’?”

You giggle at his suggestion but your cheeks warm at the sentiment. He was making an effort to define what this relationship was. It certainly counted for ‘more’ in your book. “How about we shorten it to ‘person’? Like, I don’t know…” you sigh, “You’re my person and I’m your person. What do you think?”

You’re met with dead silence on the other line. You think the call has dropped.

“Namjoon? Are you still there?” 

Still nothing.

“Fuck. Hello?” Maybe it didn’t drop, you think. Maybe he thought your idea was so stupid that he just hung up.

Seconds later, you hear faint trilling on the other end. You pull your phone away to check the screen, thinking it was your other line ringing. Instead, you see Namjoon trying to convert your call into a video one.

You feel a sense of relief to see him call back, knowing that he didn’t just hang up on you. You press the green button to accept it and his face immediately comes into view. He was already in bed, his hair all mussed up.

“I think I lost you there earlier.”

“Nope. I was on the line the whole time,” he says with a wide grin.

“Okay, well…You know, w-what I said, uhm, earlier…” You’re feeling completely flustered, thinking that your suggestion was idiotic. 

“I like it,” he interrupts softly. “You’re my person and I’m your person.” His dimple flashes on-screen.

You laugh nervously. “Yeah?”

He nodded his head gently, rocking back on his pillow. Your chest flutters in response and your cheeks hurt from grinning so hard. 

"Ah, man," he sighs when he sees you smile. "Now I really wish you were here with me."

The warmth in his gaze pierces its way through your phone screen. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of him looking restful and relaxed. Could you love this man any more?

"I know that look.” He shifts in bed, his words interrupting your completely wholesome thoughts of him.

"I am not giving you a look."

"Are you sure? I don’t think we excluded phone stuff from our agreement," he wiggles his eyebrows.

You laugh. "Nice try, but we’re not doing ‘phone stuff’ either! Not to mention I’m at the office, for crying out loud!”

“Damn,” he clicks his teeth and pouts in mock defeat. “But it’s not like that’s ever stopped us before. Remember that one flight from Tokyo? The Wifi was shitty on board but my god, your thighs were–”

“Oh my god, Namjoon! I’m at work!” You squeak in between a fit of giggles. Your office door was shut but people who walked by could still see you through the partially frosted glass wall.

“So was I! Do you know how hard it is to hide under those standard-issue blankets? Do you know how big I am? I had to ask for two just to make sure that my movements weren’t too obvious!”

You let him continue his tirade while your stomach hurts, wheezing from laughter.

As you sip on your mocha at the cafe table, Jia peers up at you. "Please tell me you told him, 'Thanks, but no thanks,'" she says after hearing about Namjoon's offer.

You hesitate before answering. "Well...I didn't exactly rule it out," you grimace.

Jia groans in disappointment. "YN, I thought you two were taking it slow. Now you're telling me he's asked you to move in with him?"

"No, he didn't ask me to move in with him,” you insist. “It's a second unit that he owns in the same building where he lives. It's right next door to his place but completely separate.”

"Tomato, to-mah-to," she says dismissively waving her hands. "Wasn't the goal to buy your own place?”

“Well, yeah…but have you seen his place? The area is a little bit farther but it’s super nice out there and the neighborhood has changed a lot–" You babble aimlessly.

Jia rolls her eyes. She knows that the only person you are trying to convince is yourself. Seeing as she’s tuned you out, you get right back to the point. "Anyway, if I decide–and this is a big 'if'– to take him up on his offer, at least the unit is already paid for. All I’d be paying for is annual taxes!"

"Okay, sure," Jia responds, clearly unconvinced. "But at the end of the day, the unit won't be under your name." She pauses, taking a breath and rubbing circles on her temples. "I don't know what to say anymore." She shakes her head in exasperation.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” you argue, growing annoyed at how rude she was sounding. “I'm only telling you out of courtesy since you've been so helpful during the loan application process and finding great listings.”

Jia, feeling a pang of guilt, changes her approach and softens her tone. "Look, I'm not trying to be overbearing. Obviously, I can’t tell you how to spend your money. At the end of the day, it’s your decision. And if you’re choosing to go with Namjoon…" she trails off.

But you couldn’t simply ignore her being dismissive of Namjoon. "I just wish you could see how much things have changed this time. If you did, perhaps you wouldn't keep writing him off."

She purses her lips in thought before continuing. "It's not that I'm 'writing him off'," she gestures with air quotations as she tries to explain herself, "I'm only worried about you. I care about you and I love you. I don’t want you to be disappointed again."

You sigh in frustration. "And I'm grateful and appreciative of that, Jia. I know you're just trying to be a good friend–which you totally are. But things really are different this time, and we're both on the same page now."

Jia continues to stare at you silently while you rationalize your relationship.

“This is also the last chance I’m giving him and myself. If this blows up in my face, then that’s on me,” you say, placing your hand over your chest. “But if it works out, then he and I could be happy and…that’s what’s keeping me going. And not to throw this in your face, but I always thought you would be more understanding of my situation since you went through something similar with Yeonjun,” you said, hoping to appeal to her better nature.

When Jia and her boyfriend Yeonjun broke up a while back, she was devastated. But when there was a chance that they could get back together, you encouraged her because she still loved him so much.

“But Yeonjun is a normal guy. He’s not an idol,” she said, reasoning. “We split up because of his job. The whole long-distance thing was taking its toll on us. I was tired of waiting around–”

She fell silent when she saw you staring at her wryly. “What?” she asked, scrunching her face in confusion.

You slow-blinked at her. "I mean, I don't know, Jia... your story sounds exactly like mine, except for the part where Yeonjun is not an idol."

Jia opened her mouth to argue, but immediately shut it in concession. "Okay, fine. But the difference between Yeonjun and Namjoon is that my man is not tied to some contractually obligated schedule. He is entitled to vacation time and even sick days. Does Namjoon have the same benefits?"

You couldn't deny that Namjoon's career obligations weighed on you. You also had your own flourishing career keeping you busy. Striking a balance and making compromises between your professional lives would prove to be challenging. It was definitely something worth discussing in detail if you both wanted to make this work.

"I know that Lani and I have different approaches when it comes to Namjoon, but I swear to you – the one thing we have in common is that we would never shit on your happiness. You're one of my best friends! Of course, I want you to see you happy!"

Back then, Lani used to tease you, saying that she didn't know where you started and Namjoon ended. You were so into him and adept in his ways. However, that was precisely what made it difficult to break away from him and realize that things just wasn't working for you.

You feel a twinge in your chest as you ponder what to do next.

"Congratulations and welcome home!" the agent tells you.

"Thanks," you smile as you look up from the documents you just signed. The agent hands you the keys, which you accept. You shake hands with them, and they shake hands with Jia. It's been over two weeks, and you've closed on the multi-level townhouse that was only 15 minutes away from your office.

"Will there be anything else?" the agent asks.

"Nah, I just need to take these back to the office, but other than that, we're all set," he smiles politely.

"Thanks again," you tell him before he shuts the door.

Jia beams at you before wrapping you in her arms in a tight hug. "You did it, babe!"

You laughed at her. “No, we did it. Thanks for finding this place for me.” You looked around the room, which was a blank canvas for now, but you couldn't wait to fill it with furniture and memories.

Her face softens and she fixes her gaze on you. "I know it's not exactly a luxury high-rise--"

"Jia," you say with a hint of warning, "He was perfectly fine with my decision. He’s happy that I’m happy so, can we ease up on him now?"

Jia bit her tongue. “Okay, I’m sorry,” she offers sincerely.

“Thank you,” you tell her.

Afterward, she continues to ramble on about some new fixtures you could include in your place, practically planning out how your space should look. You rolled your eyes, nodding and smiling as she gave you suggestions.

Right before move-in day, as much as Namjoon wanted to help out, his schedule wouldn’t allow it. He had several meetings that day–mostly involving his album release.

He was apologetic and to make up for it, offered to hire and pay for the moving company. Lani and Kai were there to help unload and unpack some of your items the day of.

It was after 10PM by the time your friends left after you bought them some dinner. It was the least you could do, after they bickered while they mounted the TV in your living room.

You had a few minutes of quiet so you decide to put away the empty takeout containers to continue unpacking. While sorting through some dishes and kitchen utensils, you hear a knock on your door. You walk over to check the peephole and immediately grin.

"Hi!" You beam at Namjoon.

With a tilt of his head, his adorable face appears behind the arrangement of gardenias that he carried, along with a bag of takeout. You greet him with a quick kiss before taking the bag and flowers and setting them both on the counter.

"This actually looks nice," he remarks as he turns his head, scanning the kitchen and living room area.

"I told you, the videos make it seem misleading," you tell him. "I can give you the grand tour so you can see for yourself!"

He slowly settles into a still shrink-wrapped barstool. "Let’s do that later. For now, I just want to look at you."

As he regards you, you take the opportunity to drink him in, your gaze sliding all over him. He looks exhausted but still handsome, your eyes burning just from looking at him. The way his black hair falls above his eyes makes your fingers twitch with the urge to run them through it.

Before you can say anything else, you round the corner of the kitchen counter and slot yourself between his legs to grab his face and kiss him.

When you pull away, a big smile breaks across his face. "Wow,” he says breathlessly, “What did I do to deserve that?"

"Well, I missed you,” you smile at him. Then, you inhale sharply, taking in a luscious scent. “Is that fried chicken and jjajangmyeon?" You pull away from him, reaching out to grab the bag of takeout to dig in.

He swipes the bag away to tease you. “On second thought, maybe you should give me that tour now!” He laughs.

******

After a quick tour of your new place, both of you settle in the living room, sitting on the floor and eating fried chicken while drinking beer. It feels like an impromptu picnic, much like like the old days when he had a couple of hours free between shows. Before their group hit it big, you and Namjoon used to sit on the grass at the nearest park wherever they were playing that week, and snack on fried chicken and noodles.

You start discussing what upgrades you would make to the place–some recessed lighting and a new backsplash in the kitchen. The house that you bought was slightly older and despite the previous owners making some modern additions, you still wanted to customize a few things to fit your taste. In the end, Jia was right about some of her design suggestions.

"Well, you could have just taken me up on my offer. Then you wouldn't have to worry about outdated fixtures."

Recalling your conversation with Jia, moving into Namjoon’s place would further blur the lines between you both. You were in denial about it at first but you knew she made a good point. It wasn’t that Namjoon’s offer was bad but you wanted to make more independent decisions that didn’t directly involve him. It was hard to break away from that pattern but it was necessary. If you didn’t make those decisions, then you’d end up resenting him again.

"I really have no problem sharing. In fact, I could sign it over to you," he nonchalantly drops that comment in just before taking a bite of fried chicken.

You gasp at his ridiculous suggestion. "Joon? What–"

"Don't worry. I'll pay taxes on it and whatever maintenance or repairs needed. Only difference is legally, it would be yours." He said it as if it was just as easy as settling the check at a restaurant.

"I need you to stop doing that," you say calmly.

"Doing what?"

"Trying to pay for everything. The movers were great and that was a big help for me but signing over property to me?” You shook your head. “That’s too much and I don’t need you to do that. I have money, too. Not as much as you do but I have enough.”

He shifts in his seat, looking apologetic. "I’m sorry, I didn't mean for it to come off like that. I thought, hey, I have the resources and I can help. I figured it would be one less thing for you to worry about."

"And I appreciate that. But I need to do things for myself," you say.

Namjoon nods in agreement. "I understand. But I hope you’ll understand where I’m coming from, too," he hesitates, biting his lip. "I just want to show you that I can be here for you…even when I can’t be," he mumbles.

"That's what you're worried about?"

Namjoon looks at you with trepidation in his eyes.

You look at him calmly, then gently take one of his hands to clasp it with yours. "I don't need you to give me a condo or pay for flights just to assure me that you’re here for me.”

His lips narrow into a thin line. “I just feel guilty that I can’t make a lot of compromises when it comes to my work. I can take small breaks and make time for our dates but there are times when I feel like I’m not doing enough.” he sighs. He doesn't want to keep using work as an excuse, but there's only so much he can do.

“Some days, I think that if it were up to me, I’d just say ‘fuck it all’!”

"You don't really mean that," you say quietly. “You love what you do.”

He holds your gaze, hiding nothing and letting you see his insecurities and fears. "I just don't want us to end up in the same spot we were in before."

“And you think that me living next door to you solves all that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe? I like having you close.”

“And I do, too. But that’s not always possible, is it?”

He pauses for a few beats then says, “I hate it when we’re apart for too long. I just miss you so much and then here I am, acting like a selfish asshole again.”

"We'll keep working on the distance thing," you say but it doesn't placate him. He takes a long swig of his beer, then sighs wistfully.

"Hey," you rest your hand on his arm. "We can only learn from the past, right? It's not about our missteps but how we move on and grow from them."

After a pause, his frown fades, replaced by a half-smile. “I thought that was my line.”

You snort at his lighter tone. Reaching forward, you brush his dark strands away from his eyes. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me, Kim Namjoon.”

His lips quirk up slightly. “And I cannot wait until this fifth date to rub off on you.”

You pause to smack him on the shoulder with a laugh. “You are so not helping!”

Namjoon laughs again, his deep chuckles reverberating throughout the living room. He tightens his arm around you, pulling you in closer to him, and places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. As you feel his lips on your hair, you sense a shift in his demeanor. His mood appears to have improved, if only slightly.

"So, one of my meetings today outlined the marketing and promotional schedule for the album."

"Oh?" You welcome the change of subject, but deep down, you are anxious to hear about his schedule.

"It's pretty exciting. We're kicking it off with a launch party in two months. I'd like for you to be there if you can?" It was a plea that was hard to resist. But it has also been a while since you attended any "official" appearances with him—and by "with him," that meant you being smuggled into a separate entrance by a manager or lurking in the background of a party until he could retreat backstage, largely inaccessible by cameras or fans, so you could pretend that you were on a date.

"Is it safe?"

"I'll make sure of it. We have a guest list and only a few members of the press covering the event. They're ‘friendlies’,” also known as members of the media who were in the record label’s quid pro quo payroll.

“Could you include Lani or Jia to the list so I could hang out with somebody while you mingle?” This was also a standard protocol from before. You’d have your girlfriends with you so you’d have a cover story in case some tabloid decides to put two and two together. You weren’t sure if Namjoon’s bandmates were inviting dates to this event as well.

"I could but it might be lonely for them since I was hoping you’d be right by my side."

Your mouth falls open at his suggestion. “Uhm…what about…” you hesitate to finish your thought. Actually, you weren’t sure about what he was thinking, taking you as his date during his solo album launch–where all eyes would be focused on him.

“What if people asked questions? What does your label think about bringing a date to a huge event like that?”

He straightened but the warmth in his gaze remained. “But you’re not just my date. You’re my person, remember?”

Your eyes start to sting with emotion. You bit your lower lip, heart twisting in your chest, then agree without further argument. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes, smiling warmly before planting a soft kiss on you. 

******

After a few more bites of jjajangmyeon, you ask, "So, when do I get an advance copy of this? Will just send me a link or do you have a demo CD that I can listen to?"

"Nope," he says with a laugh, surprising you. "You'll hear it first when everyone else does. Which is on the day of the party!"

"But you always give me first dibs," you whine.

"Can I be honest?" 

"Of course."

He blows out a shaky breath. "I'm really nervous about it," he confesses. "I know I keep saying that I can't wait until this whole thing is done, but in reality, I'm fucking terrified." He laughs humorlessly.

You tilt your head to the side, looking concerned. "Why?"

"I went for a different vibe on this album. I've been anxious about it the whole time. And when I say nobody has listened to this--I really mean nobody! Apart from my co-producers, of course. Otherwise…" he trails off.

"Okay, now I'm really intrigued," you say before turning away to take another piece of chicken.

He shrugs. "I started working on this project three years ago, so there were a lot of intense, unfiltered feelings there."

As you pause, you slowly peer up to find him staring. Your face can't hide all of the thoughts running through your head. During those three years, you took a break from him and had a real relationship with somebody else.

Namjoon always turns his pain and joy into art. Although you are worried about what kind of pain he channeled into his album, you don't want to be presumptuous. You give him an encouraging smile to let him know that you can't wait to hear what beautiful things he's created.

"I'm sure it will be great," you state confidently. "You always question yourself before a release, but it always works out."

"You believe in me too much." He smiles sardonically.

"Am I not supposed to?"

He smiles sheepishly, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He remains seated on the floor and leans back against your couch. Tugging at your arm, he beckons you to sit on his lap. "C'mere."

You laugh softly but eventually oblige.

You gingerly climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and drape your arms around his neck. He tilts his head forward to touch his forehead to your chest. You feel his breaths through your shirt, warming your skin.

You run both hands through his hair, nuzzling against him. "Everything will be fine, you'll see."

"Thank you," he murmurs against you.

"You don't need to thank me. I'm not the one who did all this work to record an album."

His head falls back, and he gazes up at you. "Not the album. I meant this. Thank you for giving us..." He pauses to correct himself. "Thank you for giving me another chance."

You brush his hair back again, noticing how tired and worn he looks. The past few months of nonstop work and trying to make time for you have taken their toll. His fingertips slide gently down your cheek as you continue to silently stare at him.

Being this close to him makes you realize how much you've missed him, how much you've craved physical contact. You lean in and kiss him with ease.

The feel of his mouth on yours sent a searing trail of goosebumps racing up your arms, stirring memories of his mouth on other parts of your body. He groans when you move your lips down to his neck to suck on it.

You hear and feel him gulp audibly, trying to regain control of himself. “Baby, slow down...”

You ignore his pleas and push his hands under your shirt. “Touch me, please,” You sigh against his skin. He gasps when your warm breath brushes at his earlobe. You nuzzle deeper, taking in his scent. It was intoxicating.

"We can't." All of his teasing in the last few days and his little joke about rubbing off on you earlier tonight have pushed you past your limit, and now you are sitting on his lap, all hot and bothered, and he decides to turn you down while you’re practically begging him to rip your clothes off? What kind of mental edging is this?

You sit up and whine, "Why not?"

"This isn't even our fifth date," he chuckles. "I just wanted to bring you some dinner and flowers."

"Please, Joon...you did it last time," you purr, trying to entice him again by dipping lower to lick his earlobe.

He lets out a pained groan when he feels your breasts press against his chest. He fights off his natural instinct to palm them and instead makes a pitiful effort to dislodge your mouth from him.

"I just really want us to see these five dates through," he says.

You playfully jerk your neck back. "Excuse me, Mr. 'Are you sure that 5-date rule is non-negotiable?'" you recite the same words he said during your first date after making this agreement.

A deep laugh rumbles within his chest, then he pulls you closer. "I know, I know... but..." His expression turns wistful. It's as if he knows something you don't.

"But what? Tell me," you coax him.

"There was something you said the last time we were together. It's been on my mind these last few weeks."

The last time you were together, you were a congested mess hopped up on cold medicine. What could you have possibly said to him? Did you suggest more dates?

Nervously, you ask, "And what exactly did I say?"

He purses his lips for a moment, seemingly unsure whether he wants to reveal it or take it to the grave.

He looks directly into your eyes with a calm expression on his face. "You said you loved me."

Your mouth falls open, as you don't recall verbalizing it to him. Perhaps you thought about it so often that your subconscious ended up blurting it out for you.

He cracks a smile. "You're not denying it."

There's no point so you just stare back at him, with gentle eyes.

"Did you mean it?" he asks.

His question takes you back to your old apartment, lying face-to-face with him while you tried to define your relationship. You were falling for him then, but you settled for whatever crumbs he could give you, downplaying labels.

This time, even though you had taken your foot off the gas, you weren't intending to slam on the brakes. You were cruising at a steady speed. Easy. Comfortable. Familiar.

"Yeah," you nod softly. "I did...I do." It isn't how you imagined saying it to him, but since it's been on your mind for a while, the words just decided to slip out on their own.

He smiles sheepishly at your admission, eyes drifting down to his hands. "I really want to earn those words, enough for you to say them to me when you're wide awake.”

"I can tell you now."

"No, don't do that," he says, loosening his hold on you. "I want you to decide when I deserve to hear it. At that point, I'll know that I deserve you, too."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He's always been poetic and an expert at wordplay when it comes to his lyrics.

"I love you," he says effortlessly.

You stare at him and let his words sink in. Like it or not, Namjoon was the only one who can make your heart soar to the highest of highs, but you also knew that he could very well pull the rug from underneath you. If that happened again, you weren’t sure whether you’d survive that fall.

◤Previous | Next◥ | Main Fic Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @itdoesntmatterwhy   @serendididy @onlythehobi  @majamarantha @joonschocochip @yoongukie-ff @betysotelo18

[luaspersona]

fic teaser | kim taehyung

pairing ↠ himbo!taehyung x reader (f. reader) genre ↠ college!au; holiday!au; smut; one-shot; humor summary ↠ after making some terrible memories together, Taehyung wants nothing more than to never see you again; and he was pretty much succeeding until — after a minor accident — he finds himself having to spend Christmas alone with you in the middle of nowhere. rating ↠ +18 teaser warnings ↠ nothing explicit; profanity; nudity; mentions of sex; mentions of bondage; mentions of puking.

complete work warnings (full warnings on the post) ⇝ alcohol consumption; sexual tension; religious jokes; minor accident; very minor parent issues; second hand embarrassment; pov switch; explicit smut: masturbation, orgasm denial and control, edging, dirty talk, pet names, soft dom!taehyung, switch!reader, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, light spanking, a splash of degradation, begging; overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, rough sex, aftercare.

release date ↠ released. teaser word count ↠ 0.8k estimated reading time ↠ 2 minutes

note ↠ so i had the idea to write a holiday!au for tae’s birthday around three weeks ago and just now finished the outline lol 🤡 i’m still working on it, but i decided to drop a little something so you can have a taste! the teaser happens a couple months before the actual fanfic, so it’s not christmas here yet lol sorry, i promise i’ll plan better the next time (i probably won’t tho). note² ↠ wanna thank @imakeamess for the BEAUTIFUL BANNER, i know i was all over the place but you were able to create the most amazing art for me, so thank you once again🥺 note³ ↠ special thanks to @uarmymoonlight for helping me come up with the story and patiently listening to me rambling about this fic nonstop, i love you! and @vsualitae for helping me find inspiration and letting me spam his dms with this lol note⁴ ↠ also, merry christmas for those who celebrate and happy holidays! hope you all have an amazing year ending and an even better new year🎄

if you wanna be added to the taglist just leave a comment 🥰

When Taehyung was eighteen years old, he told a slightly less experienced Jungkook that girls have a secret sweet spot on the back of their knees.

Yeah, pretty shitty, he knows, he knows— but!, in Taehyung's defense, Jungkook was too damn innocent for his own good and he obviously didn't expect that Jungkook would take a whole ass year to google it. How hard is it to differentiate a freaked out face from a fucked out face, really? It was only like, 30% his responsibility. 

Clearly, though, the universe wasn't as understanding, because now Taehyung is pretty sure that he’s cursed.

Whenever he’s feeling like he’s hot shit, life finds ridiculous and absurd ways to humble him — being extra careful to guarantee Jungkook front row seats.

Fair enough. Taehyung has no problem owning his stuff, and he didn’t really believe all this karma shit anyway.

Except when it came to you.

“Shit.” Soojin curses, hands stopping in their search for her keys.

“What's wrong, babe?” Jungkook frowns.

“Can we maybe go to your place? My roommate had some work stuff to prepare and asked me to give her some space this afternoon.”

Taehyung groans “Soojin, we live on the other side of campus and I'm starving.” He punctuates this by lifting the food bags in his hands.

“But she's been super stressed lately, I don't wanna add to that.”

“We won't! We can be quiet, baby.” Jungkook reassures. 

Soojin chews her bottom lip. “You sure?”

“Promise.”

Taehyung nods. “She won't even notice us.”

Soojin sighs. “Fine.”

“Also, it can be a great opportunity for Tae to finally meet her.” Jungkook turns to Taehyung. “She's painfully your type, man.”

“Don’t even think about it! My roomie is not interested in Taehyung’s fuckboy ways, Kookie, she’s a pure soul.” Soojin protests.

“Baby, that’s slutshaming. Not cool.”

“What? I'm not a fuckboy. I'm just a very good boy who likes to give people what they want, nothing wrong with that.”

Soojin rolls her eyes, then finally opens the door.

Barely they step into the apartment, though, the three of them freeze — somewhat distracted by the sight of a blond man standing in the middle of the living room, covered only by a blue underwear and a trail of purple marks on his neck and collarbone.

And damn, what a fine man that is. Taehyung had never seen such pretty pouty lips before and he can't help the sudden wish to add a couple of purples to that soft skin himself. 

“What the hell?” Soojin's question prompts the man to cover his crotch with his hands. Pitty. “Who the fuck are you?”

“So, I found these old ropes in the back of my drawer, but I think they can hold—” you stop talking once you enter the living room, seeing a hell of a lot more people than when you left.

Jungkook snickers, glancing down at the rope still in your hands. “Pure soul my ass.”

When your name drops from Soojin’s mouth, something snaps in Taehyung’s mind. You see, he isn’t dumb by any means, but Taehyung sure sometimes is slow.

To be fair, he’d spent so much time trying to forget everything about you and the day you met that it’s only natural that he would take some time to recognize your face from his days I wish I hadn’t woken up archive.

But the way your fingers tighten around the knots before you hide them behind your back? Shit, how can he forget the way those fingers felt entangled in his hair that night? The way you made him groan against your neck whenever you pulled a bit too strong?

And your thighs? Fuck, they are so much prettier than he fantasized they’d be, barely covered by the oversized shirt you’re wearing. Taehyung almost has to stifle a groan because holy fuck how he wishes he could’ve seem them — felt them under his palms that night.

“Is he your work thing?” Soojin sarcastically points to the man’s general direction.

“Yeah, sorry about that, Soo, I just wanted to— Taehyung?!”

He grimaces, eyes immediately darting away from your form as he clears his throat, letting out a silent “hey.”

“You know each other?” Soojin frowns.

“We uhm… we met at—” you stutter “we met once. At a party.”

Soojin is silent for a moment, before her jaw drops “Wait— is Taehyung the puke guy?!”

The blue underwear man looks at you immediately. “Did you puke on him?”

“No! No, of course not, Jimin, it was him who— I mean, uh” so this is what humiliation tastes like? “Nevermind.”

The sudden sound of Jungkook’s laugh erupts beside Taehyung, and the boy takes his hand to his stomach as he leans forward. Taehyung is sure he’s never seen Jungkook so happy.

It takes around a minute for Jungkook’s laugh to turn into light giggling as he tries to catch his breath.

“She’s the girl you puked on? No fucking way, man.”

Well. Yeah. Karma and shit.

READ THE COMPLETE WORK HERE

note ↠ lemme know what you think 🥺 links ↠ navigation | masterlist | join my permanent taglist

[bluenpjm]

bad decisions ; 3 — kth x you x pjm

© bluenpjm | all rights reserved. do not repost, translate or claim as your own.

synopsis. there are people who say that high school is one of the best times of your lives: where you find your first love, where you might lose your virginity, where you get to go to your first party, where you meet your friends for life. all they ask is that you live day after day, decision after decision… you try your best to avoid bad decisions and deal with your emotions at the same time. 

genre. high school au + fluff + angst + smut 

pairing. taehyung x you x jimin

rating. M

wordcount. 5.7K

warnings. underage drinking, mentions of smoking, abuse of alcohol, foul language, friendship ending, fights, heartbreak, and your good old teenage drama :) 

a/n. the biggest shoutout to my bestie @singguks for being kim tae on that last bit cause honestly they are both so scary i wouldn’t be able to do it without her <3 also do you see that new banner, tho? 🤭 

chapters. 2 × 3 × 4

The peace didn’t last. 

And now, you were starting to regret every life decision you had ever made. Good and bad. 

“Fuck, Angie!” You squeal, your hands immediately letting go of her hair as you step away, the vomit in your shoes almost making you slip and fall onto the bathroom floor. 

There really was no turning point from where you were now. This was your lowest. 

“Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry!” The girl cries and you sigh, frustrated. 

“Just… don’t move your head.” You whisper. The music outside makes it almost impossible for the girl now hugging the toilet to hear you, head stuck in the bowel. “You’re a mess and the party barely even started.”

Using all the baby wipes available in the bathroom, you try your best to clean your shoes without mimicking Angie. If there was something you always had difficulty facing was vomiting—especially from other people. 

Leaning against the sink, your eyes fall again on the girl on the floor. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” You ask but in reality, you hope she says no. You had been expecting this party. Almost as much as the host. 

Jimin’s so-expected eighteenth birthday had finally arrived and it turned out that all the beforehand gloating wasn’t as fabricated as everyone expected. Yes, you had come later than you had wanted. The invitation of getting ready with Angie was unexpected but a welcome surprise considering the relentless couple of weeks you’ve been having. 

As you stepped into the heart of the party, a surge of emotions washed over you. The vibrant atmosphere enveloped you and you felt an electric energy buzzing in the air. Excitement mixed with a hint of nervous anticipation coursed through your veins, intensifying your senses and making you acutely aware of the pulsating rhythm of the music and the infectious laughter that filled the room. 

As you and Angie made your way through the crowd, the irresistible pull of the dance floor proved too strong to resist, your bodies moving in sync with the music, swaying and twirling with carefree abandon. The euphoria of the moment mingled with the laughter and cheers of those around you, creating a whirlwind of joy and liberation, so much so that you end up forgetting your mission of finding either your best friend or the birthday boy.

As drinks flowed freely, the liquid courage emboldened Angie to try new concoctions, her inhibitions melting away with each sip. Laughter spilled from her lips, cheeks flushed with a combination of exhilaration and the warmth of alcohol. The room seemed to spin in a dizzying haze, lights swirling and blurring together. Until the girl couldn’t stand her ground anymore, and you found yourself chaperoning her to the bathroom.

“Nah,” Her hair falls all over her face. “I’m good now.” But as she attempts to get up, you rush to grab her arm, preventing the messy blonde from hitting the toilet with her hip. 

“You’re in no condition.” You shake your head, torn between staying with her as a good friend would and going out to enjoy the so much-needed party.

“Naah,” She repeats but this time the syllables are lengthier. Her eyes are fixed on a blank point on the wall. 

“Let’s get you some water, yeah?” 

With a mix of determination and concern, you end up hoisting Angie up around your neck, holding her tightly by the waist as you venture through the crowded corridor of the second floor of Jimin’s house. The scent of alcohol and traces of smoke fills the air. 

“What’s going on in there?” Angie lifts her head that had been hanging as her earing sense doesn’t seem to be dormant like the rest of her body. A baffled moaning is heard through the corridor. 

You can’t help but chuckle as you struggle not to lose balance amidst the chaos. “Trust me, Angie, you don’t wanna go in there now.” 

Still half-dazed, Angie reluctantly agrees as you continue your journey down the stairs. The sounds of laughter and thumping music grow louder, beckoning you toward the epicenter of the party yet again. 

Descending to the first floor is a tricky task but you end up managing to arrive safely without breaking a leg or letting Angie go. Huffing and puffing, you navigate through the throngs of partygoers. Laughter and snippets of conversation surround you as your path is guided by the flickering lights. The kitchen shines like a beacon of respite, a sanctuary amidst the frenzy. You could already imagine the cool touch of water against your lips, offering momentary relief.

Leaving Angie by the kitchen island, you scan the room in search of clean cups. The room buzzes with activity, a vibrant mix of laughter and hushed whispers, punctuated by the aroma of the various drinks opened on the counter. Your eyes end up falling on familiar’s ones. 

“Jake!” Making your way through the crowd, you force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“YN!” He swings his arms up, showing the red cup he had been holding. “It’s just juice.” 

“Very responsible,” You pat his shoulder playfully, irony dripping from your voice “You should see your sister.” 

Jake’s smile fades slightly, concern filling his eyes as he glances at his sister behind your shoulder. He purses his lips together. “I’ll get her.” 

Accompanied by a light drink, you make your way outside to the pool area, seeking a moment of peace from the lively chaos indoors. As you step through the glass door, a refreshing breeze caresses your face. October was almost halfway through and fall hadn’t been the most gentle. 

The poolside was a haven of tranquility compared to the energetic atmosphere inside. Softly glowing fairy lights adorned the area, casting a gentle illumination on the water’s surface. Finding an empty lounge chair, you settle into it, savoring the solitude and the chance to collect your thoughts. You take a sip of your drink, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat, as you watch ripples dance across the pool. 

The distant laughter and conversations from inside provide a comforting backdrop, as your mind wandered, contemplating the complexity of friendship and the tangled emotions that had been stirring within you. Taehyung quickly comes to your mind and you turn back, facing the party inside, in hopes of spotting him in the crowd. 

At that moment, the doors swung open, and the vibrant sounds of the party spilled into the serene pool area, shattering the tranquility. And there he was. Your eyes fall onto Jimin as he steps through the threshold with an air of magnetic charm that makes your heart flutter. Charmingly so, he fixes his hair with his vacant hand as his tongue wets his lips. 

Quick to regain your composure, you rise from your seat, adjusting your dress that had ridden up slightly, and with open arms, you welcome the birthday boy, a radiant smile lighting up both of your faces. 

“Mochi, happy birthday!” You notice how he cringes at the nickname, scrunching his nose slightly. 

“Thank you, YN!” Jimin immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a warm and tight hug, his embrace making your heart skip a beat. One of your hands is quick to grab the hem of your dress. This would be the last time you would wear something of Angie’s.

“I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to see you today.” You chuckle as your other arm falls to your other side, signaling the hug was over. Jimin, however, keeps his hand firmly on the end of your back. 

“Had lots of people to speak to—and shots to drink.” He smiles sheepishly. “But I’m glad that you’re here.” 

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You chuckle. “The most anticipated party of the school.” 

“Just the school?” He snorts. “The God-damned country!” 

“Oh, of course!” You agree, shoving him playfully. “Nice game by the way.” 

“You know… I actually couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You were distracting me.” Jimin’s shameless flirting leaves you speechless, mouth hanging slightly open as the only reaction you can manage is a laugh. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah–” His grip on your back intensifies and you have to stop yourself from jumping into the pool, the fresh wind not being enough to refresh your burning cheeks. 

“Was that why you missed that pass?” Your defense mechanism kicks in and you laugh directly at his face, noting how he tilts his head slightly. 

The conversation is cut short, for your luck. The sound of excited voices nearby erupts in the area. A group of people gathers in a circle, moving the lounge chairs as to gain room, laughing and whispering conspiratorially. 

You’re quick to look at Jimin with a mischievous smile as the words spin the bottle catch your ears. “Should we join?” 

“Only if you don’t sit next to me,” Jimin states boldly as he watches you go toward the game area. 

As the group gathers in a circle, excitement fills the air, accompanied by nervous laughter and playful banter. You find yourself seated across Jimin, as he had said, eyes locking for a fleeting moment. The bottle is placed in the center, ready to decide whose fate will pair together. With each spin, anticipation grows, and Jimin’s heart pounds in his chest. 

The bottle spins, its momentum gradually slowing down. Jimin’s eyes remain fixed on it, silently pleading for it to point toward you. But as luck would have it, the bottle lands just an inch away from you, leaving Jimin feeling a mix of disappointment and curiousness as he moves closer to kiss the girl next to you. The group cheers as the birthday boy finally gets some action.

Still numb from what you had just witnessed, you prepare yourself for the next round, and your gaze shifts to the door opening yet again. Excusing yourself, you are quick to get up from the circle, immediately recognizing the wavy hair of the boy that had just stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket. You approach Taehyung, heart racing with excitement. A smile spreads across your face as he turns around, ready to greet your best friend. 

As you draw closer, though, your eyes catch the glimpse of someone by his side. Your steps falter for a split second as you register the presence of a familiar girl, her expression momentarily clouded with surprise. Maddie. Her smile wavers ever so slightly, replaced by a polite and somewhat forced greeting. Taehyung shifts by her side.

Deep inside, a pang of unease stirs and you can’t help but wonder what Taehyung was doing with the girl. But just as quickly it came, it faded, as you get reminded of the last time you had decided to jump to conclusions, you push those thoughts aside. 

“What’s up, guys?” The high-pitch tone that your voice comes out in makes you curse mentally. 

Jimin’s eyes flicker back and forth between you and Taehyung, as he had to turn his body completely to follow you out of the circle. He observes your interaction from a distance, a part of him yearning to understand the dynamics between the two. 

The circle buzzes with excitement as the spinning bottle gradually loses its momentum, the whirling sound fading into a gentle him. Jimin’s attention snaps back to the game just in time to witness the bottle coming to a stop, finally realizing that this could be his long-awaited chance to finally taste your lips. 

“YN!” Jimin whines, but before the can even utter another plea for you to return to the game, his words caught in his throat as the girl he had already kissed is quick to go back for more. 

One more time, the group erupts and Jimin fakes his disappointment with a smirk. He’s greeted by the sound of his best friend chuckling. The group makes space for the new players, Taehyung sitting right next to the jock. And as you go to sit, you find your seat unexpectedly occupied by Taehyung’s friend. Maddie sits perfectly in the diagonal of Taehyung and you can’t help but chuckle, before finding a space for you to sit in.

The game continues and the tension is palpable. Each time the bottle whizzes past you, your eyes lock with one of the boys. The anticipation lingers, electrifying the atmosphere. However, you’re not fortunate enough to kiss anyone, instead watching with amusement whenever the bottle lands on a pair. 

Taehyung, too, experiences a similar fate, except for when the bottle spin with too much force, resulting in a surprising kiss between him and Jimin. Laughter erupts between the group, as the Capricorn that at first had been reluctant, now caressed the knee of his best friend. 

“Get a room!” 

Of course, fate will always follow its own course and Taehyung’s was quick to change. As the bottle finally comes to a rest, it points directly at Maddie. The boy’s gaze instinctively shifts towards you, seeking a reaction. You, however, let out a laugh, shoulder-shrugging nonchalantly as if to say it’s a game, you idiot! while deep down a flicker of complex debate dances in your eyes.

As Maddie leans in to kiss Taehyung, a hush falls over the circle and the sound of catcalls and teasing fills the air. The onlookers, fueled by the energy of the party, can’t help but revel in the dramatic moment. Some cheer, while others whistle and jeer playfully, enjoying the spectacle of the unexpected kiss. You can’t help but force a smile while your eyes roll instinctively. Deep down, you’re getting eaten alive by jealousy but refuse to let it show. Staying in the game was the mature thing to do, undoubtedly.

As the cheers die down, Taehyung meets your eyes, silently looking for any type of emotion. Diverting your gaze from his, your focus on the bottle that, without wasting too much time, is already spinning again. 

“Ah fuck! I’m cursed at this game.” You finally get up from the circle. “I’m going to find myself a drink.” 

As you step away from the circle, the protests from your absence become less audible, muffled by the animated ambiance on the other side of the door. Your heart felt heavy by the conflicted emotions that rushed through your mind and you decide to search for solace inside. 

Stepping in, you get hit by the thick air with mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, laughter, and music, enveloping you in the pulsating energy of the party. The rhythm of the music seeped through the walls, syncing with the beat of your racing heart as you make your way to the kitchen. 

Right by the edge of the kitchen island, you spot the familiar sight of red cups, all messily stacked, ready to be filled with an array of beverages. Their vibrant red color contrasts perfectly against the dimly lit room. You scan the several options at your disposal as the cup is bountifully held in between your teeth. Finally choosing to go with a plain vodka, the liquid swirls within the cup as your pour it half-full. 

What you reckon to previously be the dining area of Jimin’s house had now been transformed into a beer pong arena. The clattering of ping pong balls against the plastic cups drums in your ears draws your attention to the game. You rest by the wall, watching the intense game of the four guys you had never seen before. 

Your eyes met the gaze of one of the boys, slightly disheveled and clearly tipsy. The odds were not in his favor, especially considering the way his friend had collapsed onto a nearby couch, leaving his teammate all alone. 

You can’t help but chuckle as you shake your head at an epic miss and the boy’s eyes sparkle with a mixture of amusement and mischief, as he held another ping-pong ball in his hand, ready to shoot in the place of his friend. 

“Wanna play?” He stops with his arm half pushed back. 

With a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, you decide to join him, confidently pushing your hair back, as you seize this would be the perfect distraction from your thoughts. “We still got a shot to win this.” 

“I’m Jin, by the way.” He shakes his hand but is cut short by the protests of your newly found adversaries. 

“Nice to meet you Jin,” Opening your mouth slightly, you jump in your place, feet never leaving the ground as you take your shot. The ball turmoils around the cup, finally drowning in the liquid. “I’m YN.” 

Your camaraderie with Jin grows with each thrown ping-pong ball and, although you form an unlikely duo, you find comfort in the temporary connection amidst the chaos of the party. With each missed shot and shared laughter, you begin to feel the weight on your shoulders dissipate. 

Weary from the relentless beer pong games, you decide it was time to step away from your throne. After dominating two consecutive games, the alcohol coursing through your veins made your head spin and your stomach churned uncomfortably. Bidding your farewells to Jin with a bright smile, he doesn’t let you leave without inviting you to a fraternity party his frat would be having soon. He comments that you should bring all your friends. The more, the merrier. 

As yet again you made your way through the lively crowd, your path intersected with Hoseok, a familiar face from the neighborhood, who had opened up his dance studio after finishing up high school with the help of his parents. Rumour had it that he would often bring girls to the studio after hours for epic make-out sessions. 

The pulsating beat of the music reverberated through the air, compelling Hoseok to showcase his jaw-dropping dance skills. A circle had been quick to form around him, entranced by his fluid movements and captivating energy. 

Your gaze lingered on Hoseok, his body effortlessly gliding across the dance floor. The vibrant lights and infectious rhythm created an electric atmosphere, infusing the room with a sense of euphoria. 

As you couldn’t help to be drawn to the vibrant energy that surrounded him, you raid Jimin’s pantry, your eyes immediately noticing a tantalizing array of cookies neatly arranged on the shelf. The detour was necessary, as you feared that joining Hoseok with an almost empty stomach would make you reach a state similar to Angie’s. With a cookie in hand, you succumb to the magnetic pull of the dance floor. The glee pulsed through your veins as you joined the crowd, surrendering to the infectious beat. 

As you twirled and swayed to the music, the intoxicating ambiance of the party involved you, temporarily silencing your worries as the thought of Taehyung and his whereabouts kept on crossing your mind. In that whirlwind of sound and movement, surrounded by familiar faces and the carefree spirit of the night, you found yourself breathing freely. 

Get Stüpid by Bülow echoed through the house as the party had reached its peak. The decor was slightly disheveled and you were sure that Jimin’s mom would add a couple of rules for the next rager that her son threw. Despite the party going on for more than a couple of hours now, people were still cheerful chaos to witness. 

Amidst the commotion, you find yourself settled comfortably on a couch in Jimin’s living room, your colleagues occupying the nearby seats. With a mixture of exhaustion and contentment, you sink into the cushions, letting your body relax as your feet find comfort on the glass coffee table. The room shone with the colorful party lights casting a soft glow over you. 

To your left sat Jimin, radiating his signature charm as once again he commented about the last point of the game that had granted them the victory. He leaned in closer to the public, engaged in the conversation that would occasionally be punctuated by his contagious laughter. 

To your right, Taehyung lounged with a relaxed demeanor, his arm casually draped around your shoulder. The warmth of his touch offered a sense of familiarity and comfort amidst the loud and clamorous surroundings. His fingertips playfully traveled up and down your arm, goosebumps forming on your body. 

As the night wore on and the party gradually winded down, you felt a comforting weariness slowly seep into your body. The constant buzz of conversations and music seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a gentle lull that rocked you toward the embrace of sleep. As your drowsiness deepened and your eyelids began to flutter, the soft tendrils of sleep began to wrap around you. Just as you were about to succumb to the blissful embrace of slumber, a voice pierced through the haze, calling out Taehyung’s name with an excited urgency. 

You jolt, eyes flickering open, as you were momentarily disoriented by the interruption. Jimin clasps your legs on his lap together as Taehyung releases his embrace on you. 

“Where is he going?” You begin to rub your eyes before stopping mid-action, remembering that you had mascara on. 

“Beer pong,” Jimin says softly. “Were you sleeping at my party?!” His voice shrills and you can’t help but snort at the fake offended look on his face. “Guess I was.” 

“Time for a game then,” Jimin’s smirk makes your heart beat faster, the mischief almost dripping from his voice. 

As Jimin’s voice rings out, proposing a game of truth or dare, the people sitting on the other couches come alive. The childish game makes people eager to gather around, forming a circle that crackles with anticipation and excitement. The group that formed for the game was rather small, but it made things much more exciting. 

“Given it’s my party, I should do the honors,” Jimin proposes. His hand lands on your tight, squeezing it lightly as he scans who his victim will be. “Maddie, truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” The girl speaks confidently. Some people watching the game cheer excited. “I’m an open book.” 

“Do you have a crush on anyone in this room?” Jimin winks at her as everyone waits for an answer. 

She looks around the room and you can’t help to raise an eyebrow at her theatrics. “Considering you have an open floorplan, I do, actually.” 

“Oh, so it’s not me?” Jimin pretends to be offended and everyone laughs, some still eyeing the girl 

“Shut up,” She giggles at his flirtatious comment. “Now… Lisa! Truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” 

Maddie clasps her hands together, devilishly. She ends up daring the girl to twerk for everybody in the room, which she has to do to the sound of Ed Sheeran. Everyone laughs and it’s the turn of someone else to be faced with the decision. All participants take turns eagerly, revealing amusing truths and partaking in some entertaining dares, igniting laughter and creating unforgettable moments even in the minds of those that are a little bit too tipsy. 

As the game continued, the energy in the room escalated, each turn becoming more dramatic than the last. You sit on the edge of the circle, bracing yourself for the next challenge to come. “YN,” You jolt at the sound of your name once again. “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” You speak after a momentary pause. 

Maddie’s eyebrows shoot up, as she leans forward into the circle, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Again? We’ve had 3 truths in a row. I dare say that’s a little… boring.” She clicks her tongue, gaining a dry laugh from you. 

A collective gasp rippled through the circle, followed by a chorus of playful boos and teasing remarks. You feel your cheeks getting flustered by the sudden spotlight. 

With your competitive spirit igniting, you met Maddie’s gaze head-on. After a moment of contemplation, you made up your mind. A mischievous smile spreads across the girl’s lips. “Alright, Madeleine,” you begin, voice dripping with annoyance, “I’ll take the dare.” 

The room erupts with cheers and applauses, impressed by your bold choice, laced with the effect of the liquids they had been ingesting all night. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, ready to step out of your comfort zone to wipe the smug smile off the girl’s face. 

“I dare you to…” People chip in, whispering giggles into Maddie’s ears of suggestions to make you tap out of the dare. “Skinnydip into the pool.” 

“What?” You look around the room as everyone expects some sort of action from you. “It’s freezing outside, I’m not doing that.” 

Glaring, Maddie takes a deep breath. “Fine, but then you can’t refuse the other dare.”

“Those are the rules.” You reply dryly. 

The brunette looks around the room until the mischief returns to her features, face lighting up. Truthfully, the only thing missing was the light bulb popping up on her head. Flickering, obviously. 

“I dare you to make out with Jimin.” 

Your heart pounds in your ears, the room suddenly swirling with a mix of cheers, laughter, and excited whispers. The weight of Maddie’s dare hung in the air, and you felt like someone had a hand on your throat, stopping you from breathing properly. 

“Excuse me?” 

Your gaze shifts to Jimin, still sitting by your side on the couch as his face shows a mix of surprise and curiosity. Unlike you, he wasn’t offended by the dare, seeming more like he had to make a mental note to thank his friend later for the opportunity to finally kiss you. 

Of course, making out with Jimin had crossed your mind hundreds of times. He was the hottest guy in the school but he was also Taehyung’s best friend and Taehyung was your best friend. It was a very complicated mess.

“Are you chickening out of this one too?” 

Brushing off the surge of nervousness that travelled through your veins, you take a deep breath, chest filled with determination to prove her wrong. Turning to your side, you now face Jimin. Your hands travel to his face and leaning forward, you give him a small peck on the lips. It was so quick, that he barely even had the chance to close his eyes. 

“There you go,” You smile, sarcastically. 

“Didn’t I say make out? Not even a 5-year-old would be that bad.” Maddie hysterically laughs.

“That was a bit too quick…” Jimin whispers beside you and you feel like you could snap his head out.

“Oh, so you want a scene?” You feel your blood boil, ready to get up from your seat and drag Maddie into the pool so you could watch her drown. 

“Of course, girl.” 

“Fine.” 

Readjusting yourself, you take one last deep breath before brushing Taehyung off of your mind. Trapping Jimin between your legs, you adjust yourself in his lap, moving your head to one side to as to hide your flustered cheeks from the crowd. He’s smiling like a fool and his hands are quick to find a strong grip on your hips. The room erupts with excitement.

“Fuck it,” You whisper, hand resting on his face as you finally close the space between you. 

As your lips clash, an electric surge pulses through your entire being. The softness with which you had initiated the kiss was quickly transformed into a fervent hunger, as your mouths melded together. Jimin’s lips pressed firmly against yours. 

You felt the warmth of Jimin’s breath mixing with your own, synchronized breaths quickening as the kiss deepened. His lips moved with skill and confidence, exploring the contours of your mouth with an intoxicating mix of tenderness and longing. 

As he kept on asking permission, your tongues danced, almost in a tango, an unspoken language of eagerness growing as the seconds passed. Each gentle stroke of his fingers and playful tease sent shivers down your spine, the intensity of the moment causing you to lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours. 

“What the hell is going on here?!” Taehyung’s voice boomed through the room, shattering the moment you and Jimin were intensively emerged in. You hastily pull away from each other, your expressions a mix of surprise and confusion at the sudden abruptness. 

Taehyung’s face contorted in a combination of anger and hurt as he mumbled a few incomprehensible words under his breath. His eyes met yours and you could immediately note that they were filled with disappointment and a pain that cut deep. 

Without a word, he turned on his heels, storming out of the room.

You are unable to find your voice or move, suddenly feeling all eyes on you as your own filled with tears. The realization of the consequences of your actions sank in, deepening the state of shock your mind was in. 

Jimin, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events looks back and forth between Taehyung’s retreating figure and your stunned loss of words. Confusion clouded his expression as he struggled to make sense of the situation. He hesitated for a moment before his brain commanded his legs to move after his best friend, hoping to be able to clarify whatever was going on. 

“Hey, wait up!” Jimin sprints after Taehyung, catching him by the pool. Taehyung spots on his tracks, eyes glued to the floor as he’s afraid of whatever might fall from his lips. “What is going on, bro?” 

Hands placed on his hips, Taehyung still has his back facing Jimin. He ponders if he should do this now if he should even bother at all, and finally turns away. His eyes quickly shift between Jimin and the people inside the house. “Oh, I don’t know… you tell me!” Sarcasm drips from his voice and Jimin catches himself frowning.

“Tae, are you feeling ok? Did you take something?” Jimin trails lightly and Taehyung’s reaction only adds fuel to the fire, as he laughs at the question. 

“Did I take–” He scoffs, “are you really that daft?!”

More and more people gather outside, curious about the commotion that had just begun. Jimin laughs nervously, taking a step closer to his best friend. “I’m starting to feel like I might have done something I shouldn’t.” 

“You feel? You feel, is it?” Taehyung raises his eyebrows, tongue wetting his lips as he goes over his emotions. “The worst part is that you don’t even know what it is–” He laughs at his own disgrace, hands resting over his hips.

“The kiss?” Jimin threads carefully, still clueless. “We were playing truth or dare, bro. Like, I know she’s your best friend but–” He chuckles but not because he finds the situation funny. 

“You’re supposed to be my best friend.” Taehyung glares. “And you’re so fucking absorbed by yourself that you forgot to do at least an ok job at it.” 

“Why are you being a dick?” Jimin looks around the area, offended by the harsh words of his friend. 

“You stick your tongue on the girl I like and I’m the dick?!” Taehyung raises his voice, “but I guess we should all make way for the all-year-round birthday boy, right?!”

“What?” Jimin faintly asks, his mind struggling to process all the information he’s receiving. 

“Are you two out of your fucking minds?!” You come rushing in from inside the house, finally having snap out of your trance and noticing how things were escalating quickly. “You’re causing a scene.” 

Taehyung looks directly into your eyes, his expression boring and numb. “I’m actually zero concerned about other people. Perhaps that’s why I don’t seem to fit.” He shrugs, carefree. “Happy birthday. I’m done here.” 

You can’t help but scoff at his attitude. Of course, deep down you were in the right, but his tone didn’t sit well with you, making you raise your voice. “Oh, so what? You get to kiss whoever you please and I can’t?!”

“So now you’re blaming me?” Despite already having turned his back on the two, Taehyung can’t ignore your comment and turns to face you once more. His expression, though, now is an angry one. “I’m not the one who’s not able to make up my mind. I was pretty clear with you.” He pauses, yet again wetting his lips. “And you didn’t seem to bother right then if I kissed someone else or not—You didn’t seem to bother when you were making out with my best friend. So why now?! Why put the blame on me now?” 

You find yourself speechless at his outburst. Taehyung never spoke out. He would always let things slide, except for when he reached his limit. And when he did so, he could be scary. 

“Ok, I think we should stop before we say something we might regret.” Jimin chips in. 

“We already did,” Taehyung states blankly. “But it wasn’t today.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” All the words he had said to you run through your head and you feel your heart beating faster. 

Taehyung sighs, fingers rubbing his temples. “It means that I don’t to wait for you and I should have never said so.” He pauses, hand returning to rest on his hips. “I told you I like you, and I mean it still… So, do you like me or not?” 

You’re at a loss for words. Your heart pounds heavily and you feel like there’s a lump in your throat. What Taehyung was implying was a lot more than a simple let’s be together or not. It put your whole friendship on the line and you were not yet ready to answer his question. You were being selfish, of course, but despite how hard you tried, not a single word came out. 

“That actually says a lot.” Taehyung nods, hurt. “I’ll get going now.” 

“Taehyung, wait, let’s talk about this.” Jimin panics, grabbing his best friend by the arm. 

“Let go!” 

Wanting nothing more than to get out of that environment, Taehyung pushes Jimin away and doesn’t dare to look. Not even when you call for him. Nor when Jimin hits the water and everyone gasps. He wanted nothing more to do you or Jimin.

next chapter.

want to be part of the tag list? send me a ✉.

[redfurrycat]

🤠👨‍🏫🏫🐓Educational Occupations Fic Recs🐓🏫👨‍🏫🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: BeautifulCreature, Callsignsmax, Davidbyrne, Greenstuff, Hangmanbradshaw, LulaluzHazel, MadeItUp, Nimuetheseawitch, Ok_thanks, ProtectingH_ngm_n, ReformedTsundere, Rnadison, SunMonTue, Teacupivy, Vannral.

> High School & College/University

learning steps by vannral {E}

/Top Gun Instructor!Bradshaw/

”So, an instructor?”

A straight hit. Bradley shifts uncomfortably on the leather seat and clears his throat. ”… Yeah.”

In which Bradley becomes an instructor after the mission, Jake keeps showing up to his classes and his students are very curious about their dynamic.

sereshaw student/teacher 'verse by callsignsmax

/Physics Teacher!Seresin/

a first time for everything {E}

Mr. Seresin is his new physics teacher, he’s twenty six at the most. With how he looks Bradley would be shocked at anything more. He’s from texas, obvious from his accent and the obnoxious Texas Rangers banner he has pinned on the cork board next to his desk.

I see right through you {E}

“Nothing’s fair, Mr. Seresin,” He hiccups, throat sore and scratchy from suppressing his sobs. “Why don’t my friends support me and you being together?”

NSFW alphabet with Mr. Seresin and Bradley {E}

Learn the ins and outs of Mr. Seresin and Bradley's sex life, including the struggles of true love in a teacher/student relationship.

I’d wait forever for you {M}

“Red,” he manages to choke out, even though Mr. Seresin had already stopped. His hands were off of Bradley the second the younger froze up. “Stop, please.”

You Are My Treasure by hangmanbradshaw {E}

/Librarian!Seresin/

History's Like Gravity, It Holds You Down Away From Me

“That’s too much thinking for you, obviously. You should leave that to the professionals. Don’t want to hurt yourself.” This time Bradley let out a laugh. Jake had missed that sound. “I don’t see any professionals around here, do you?” “You wound me, Bradley.” “Sorry, princess.” Bradley didn’t look sorry at all. “Just don’t come crying to me when you get lost in the tomb and can’t read the hieroglyphics that say this way to the exit.” “I’m not worried. I don’t plan on leaving your side, problem solved.” “I will leave you behind.” “You would never. Plus, someone’s gotta talk you out of leaving society for good and moving into the ancient burial grounds to live amongst your favorite mummies and old ass relics, like some modern day form of an Egyptian hobbit hole.” Jake stopped. “You know, that’s a valid point. Weird ass way to put it, but valid.” Bradley grinned. “What can I say, I know you.” Jake was starting to realize just how accurate that statement was.

You Can Make My Wish Come True, If You Let Me Treasure You

“Jake…you know you’re my family right? If we do this, we do it together. It’s not a Bradshaw only thing.” The man blinked at him and then smiled softly. “Okay. You’re my family too so if you’re doing this, I’m riding shotgun.” Bradley nodded and grinned brightly. “Think we’ll have to fight off any zombie founding fathers brought back to life?” “I’m putting $5 on at least two. I call dibs on fighting off Franklin though.” Or, The one where, fresh off their mummy adventure, Jake and Bradley steal the Declaration of Independence, make way too many mummy related jokes, and get married, all with a little help from their friends.

I can be your fantasy (football punishment) by ok_thanks {_}

/HS Teacher!Seresin/

“This year, the second annual season of the Dagger Squad Fantasy Football League, the loser, one Bradley Bradshaw, must face a fate worse than death.” Nat pauses for dramatic effect. “He must – drumroll, please, boys... — Successfully and wholly complete the Scholastic Aptitude Test, also known to some as the SAT.” As if that wasn't bad enough, the proctor being Javy's stupidly handsome best friend — who he keeps running into — adds to his misery. AKA: the one where Bradley's fantasy football punishment leads to an embarrassing crush of high school teacher Jake.

it's such a magical mysteria, when you get that feeling by  hangmanbradshaw {E}

/Paleobotanist!Seresin & Paleontologist!Bradshaw/

“So, they pulled you away from some bone dig for this? Let me guess, you were looking for a velociraptor?” He asked as he pulled out a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth. “It’s a little more than that.” Bradley replied with a furrowed brow. He was annoyed that he was right. “Sounds like a lot of sand and dirt to me. Then again, your type always loves that stuff. I’m shocked they were able to pull you away from it.” The man said with a smirk around his toothpick. He was being obnoxious, but the smirk sent a jolt down Bradley’s spine. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. Seresin here.” Simpson said with an annoyed grimace. “He suffers from a case of extreme personality.” “It’s Dr. Seresin.” Simpson rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

The Penguin Agenda by greenstuff {E}

/Marine Biologists!Bradshaw & Seresin/

Penguin Day at the aquarium not only means Bradley has to put on a penguin costume for their full day of elementary school kid tours, but he has to work with his rival in academia and life: Jake Seresin. He should have called in sick.

but I absolutely love him (when he smiles) by rnadison {G}

/Field Trip Educator Contractor!Bradshaw/

“Did you just hit on me?” Jake tilts his head, weighing his options. Clearly this wasn’t the response he’d been anticipating. “...Yes?” Bradley nods. “Right. Okay.” He pulls himself closer to his monitor and opens a new browser window. “What are you doing?” “Trying to see if I remember the link to the Title IX complaint form.” -------- In which they work in a museum, and Jake is the director's annoying assistant, and Bradley is just trying to get the Education Department name-brand markers.

Extra Credit by ReformedTsundere {T}

/History Teacher!Seresin & Maths Teacher!Bradshaw/

"I'm going to kill him," Bradley seethes, stomping into the teacher's lounge and briskly cutting across the room to get to the fridge where his lunch is waiting. Or 5 times Jake and Bradley's teaching forces them together, and 1 time there's no force at all

you were nothing but trouble, baby and I've been sifting through the rubble lately by hangmanbradshaw {M}

/Professor of Meteorology!Seresin & Storm Chaser!Bradshaw/

Rooster rolled his eyes, but didn’t go any faster. He was in his head, which Jake knew how to handle. He pulled out his phone and tapped on the music library, swiping until he found what he was looking for. The beginning strums of Slow Ride filtered through the car bluetooth. He lulled his head over, smirked widely, and said, “I love this song.” Rooster shook his head, but Jake could tell a small smile was threatening to blossom. It felt like a small victory. “You haven’t changed.”

Suitable Replacement by ReformedTsundere {E}

/Professor!Seresin/

It's the middle of mid-term hell week, Jake's vibrator is broken, and the fastest Amazon can get him a new one is after the weekend. His only salvation seems to be the newest sex shop in town and the weirdest, hottest clerk Jake's ever seen.

A thief to catch a heart by LulaluzHazel {E}

/Art Professor!Seresin/

Using as an excuse that the Head of the Department, Professor Mike Metcalf, a goofy but authoritarian guy, was away one week before the Spring Break, Jake ditched Javy and Reubens, telling them that he was going to have some sort of crazy party. (Even if he would probably stay home browsing dating apps where people would promise crazy plans that would entitle them to pretend to go hiking and end up getting drunk at brunch. In the best case scenario.) What he didn’t expect, is to have to receive on Friday morning to the FBI in his boss’s office. “Sorry, Special Agent Mitchell,” Jake sat behind his boss's desk. He felt it was too big and out of place. “Let me get this clear, you need my help to certify if two paintings that were stolen from a museum in Spain are authentic.”

Most Arduously by MadeItUp {M}

/Film & Media Associate Professor!Seresin & English Literature Associate Professor!Bradshaw/

When the Dean of Hale South Western College announces a prestigious new writing course, rival Associate Professors Dr Jake Seresin and Dr Bradley Bradshaw find they've got to co-operate. But as the two of them pit their disciplines against one another, each set on proving the other wrong, they're grudgingly forced to admit that in order to teach, they've got to learn... Jake stares forlornly at his laptop as he contemplates withdrawing his acceptance. But damn if that wouldn’t make Bradley fucking Bradshaw happy. And Jake would rather drive himself to the depths of misery than give that dickhead one single second of satisfaction.

my love life waits for me by davidbyrne {T}

/Chemistry Teacher!Seresin & English Teacher!Bradshaw/

Jake’s been a Chemistry teacher at Winthrop Preparatory Academy for more than three years and has, so far, avoided holding over, the dreaded duty of having to stay over the holiday break to watch the kids who aren’t going home. It’s a two-teacher job, and in Jake’s experience, it’s always been Bradshaw and some other poor sap. Jake had been promised it wouldn’t be his year. He has plane tickets, family plans, and his mother’s pecan pie sitting on a kitchen counter in wonderful, warm Houston. And now he’s gonna have to stay trapped in this snowy hellscape with a bunch of obnoxious kids and Bradley fucking Bradshaw. or jake and bradley are two teachers at a boarding school, forced to spend the holiday season together

Experts In A Dying Field (the math prof au) by nimuetheseawitch

/Math Professor!Seresin & Poli Sci Professor!Bradshaw/

Experts In A Dying Field {T}

He gave in to the inevitability of gravity and slid to the floor, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath, he looked around his office and saw his early career researcher award and the excellence in teaching award he’d earned last year, and he reminded himself that he loved math, he loved teaching, he was good at both, and that the beginning of his fourth semester here was too early to lose his shit just because a student had asked him for the 27th time today what was going on with him and their favorite Poli Sci professor, Bradley fucking Bradshaw. It was the end of January, he hadn’t even seen his ex-husband this calendar year, and yet, their supposed rivalry and mysterious bad blood were the talk of the campus yet again. Jake had hoped that the incident in December would’ve been forgotten by now, but apparently not. OR Jake and Bradley used to love each other, and now they're working at the same small, Midwestern college.

I just want back in your head {E}

It's the faculty holiday party, and all Bradley wants is for his ex-husband to notice him. Once Jake does, the rest is history.

It's all academic darlin' by SunMonTue {E}

/Engineering Professor!Bradshaw/

Bradley is a professor but living his best life with IceMav parents. Jake is a pilot. Maverick sort-of tries (and fails) to play matchmaker, so he tries again. Touch of epistolary and sprinkling of one-sided unknown/mistaken-identity.

vesuvius by teacupivy {M}

/Chemistry lab/

It’s too much, and it’s infuriating, and Bradley has a lot of shit he should be doing, but instead he’s making goo-goo eyes at the asshole in the corner.

arms wide open (I stand alone) by BeautifulCreature {T}

/Graduate Student!Seresin & Librarian!Bradshaw/

Jake knows this is San Diego and all kinds of characters live out here, but he didn’t think he’d walk into the public library and see a man wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and sporting a god’s honest pornstache. -- Bradley is a reference librarian and Jake is a graduate student studying social work.

Lucky One by ProtectingH_ngm_n {_}

/History Teacher!Seresin & English Teacher!Bradshaw/

Mr. Seresin is too amused by his students complaining about Mr. Bradshaw to stop them

Peer reviewed by SunMonTue {M}

/Engineering Professors!Hangster/

Secretly married Hangster in an academic environment.

[racefortheironthrone]

I've been reading 'The Ever-Changing Past: Why All History is Revisionist History ' by James M. Banner Jr. And in it he seems to claim, as the title suggests, that by virtue of every historical work making some new argument, or using some new methodology, or some new focus that historians are in a continuous process of revising History.

While I can see where he's coming from, I can't help but think that broadening the definition of revisionist history so much cheapens the idea of its definition as a broad shift in historical understanding. Does that make sense? Or am I thinking too hard about historical revisiobism and how it fits into historiography and its professional practice?

I'd be curious if you had any thoughts or had ever read anything like this.

I think David Blght is right:

As I discussed with my coverage of the Objectivity question in the historical discipline, we've long since moved past the old idea that historical events/facts can known so for certain that we'll eventually acquire a total comprhension of the past and history will cease as a discipline. Instead of forward motion, we are engaged in a process of constantly seeking to understand ourselves anew in each generation and from every angle conceivable.

I think Banner makes an excellent point: since the act of doing history involves bringing to light evidence that either no one has ever seen before or interpreting it in ways that other historians didn't think of (this is a major reason why the historical practice is so solitary; since what I consider significant and what you consider significant varies so much from person to person, cooperation isn't particularly useful), we are always engaged in revisionism.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Friday, April 12

XANDER: I know what you're thinkin'. Can I get by him? Get up the stairs, out of the building, seconds ticking away... I don't love your chances. JACK: Then you'll die, too. XANDER: (raises his eyebrows) Yeah, looks like. So I guess the question really is... who has less fear? JACK: I'm not afraid to die. I'm already dead. XANDER: Yeah, but this is different. Being blowed up isn't walking around and drinking with your buddies dead. It's little bits being swept up by a janitor dead, and I don't think you're ready for that. (Jack tries to leave but Xander blocks him. Xander is calm. Jack is clearly afraid.) JACK: Are you? XANDER: (glances at the bomb, smiles thinly) I like the quiet. (Jack and Xander face off, the bomb timer counts down. Both are taking deep breaths. At the last second Jack caves and deactivates the bomb.) XANDER: Good boy.

~~The Zeppo~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

No Biggie by NotASlayer (unrated)

Weekly Drabbles #111 — Nothing Inside by veronyxk84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Poolparty by AnkiKind (Buffy, Spike, Scoobies, G)

Dark Night by mabus101 (The Time Machine (HG Wells) xover, T)

Le revers de la médaille by LadyHeather92 [francais] (The Sentinel xover, T)

Say Yes to Heaven by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, R)

Stay by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Kiss It Better by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Pandora's Box by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

What the Drabble? Vol. 2 - Ch. 11 by VeroNyxK84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Paschendale - Ch. 1-2 by Ninjaviolinist (SPN xover, Buffy, Winchester brothers, M)

Hand in Flightless Hand - Ch. 1-2 by tragic (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Green Eyed Monster - Ch. 3 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Angel Doesn’t Know - Ch. 2 by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Celebrating You - Ch. 10 by DeamonQueen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Glimpses of the Cellar Dwellers - Ch. 34-35 by Maldorana Complete! (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Love Lives Here - Ch. 47 by Passion4Spike (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Early One Morning - Ch. 32 by all choseny (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Goodbye to Everything That I Knew - Ch. 29 by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Transformed By Love - Ch. 5 by Buffyworldbuilder (Ilyria/Fred centered, The Originals xover, FR15)

Xander Harris and the Little Pink Pill - Ch. 7 by KyliaQuilor (Xander/Cordelia, FR21)

The Boyfriend Swap - Ch. 5 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Glimpses of the Cellar Dwellers - Ch. 34-35 by Maldorana Complete! (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: cangel-tattoos-posting again... by artsying-ifer (Angel/Cordelia, worksafe)

Artwork: Vampires only want to pose ... [with song link] by novivi (Spike, worksafe)

Poster: "No two people in this world are the same..." by l0veisntbrains (for Spuffy fic, worksafe)

Banner: Guess what I was watching while making this Spuffy banner by effulgent-girl (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER | 7.18 by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma (Faith, Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: You know kids today and their buggin’ street slang. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 6.11 | Gone by spikedaily (Buffy, Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: [IWRY scene] by ptieuca (Buffy/Angel, mildly NSFW)

Gifsest: Buffy the Vampire Slayer | 4.20 - "The Yoko Factor" by buffysummers (Buffy, Riley, Angel, worksafe)

Gifset: Willow: If I had that blue one... Jo- Joyce really liked the blue one... by andremichaux (Anya, worksafe)

Fanvid: Buffy The Vampire BROKE me by shaun-middleton (Buffy/Angel)

Fanvid: My old Buffy fanvid! [Bring Me Victory] by borninwinter (Buffy/Spike)

Artwork: [key] BTVS 518. Intervention 🤖 by tmcarlee (Spike, Glory, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

[series recap by new viewer partway through S3] by coolbeansnico

Season 5 - Destiny (Spike and Angel) by AppropriateYou5011

[Recs & In Search Of]

ISO: swiss_marvin [in Switzerland] is wondering where to find [all] the comics

ISO: Qorce seeks a book like Demons of the Hellmouth but for ATS

[Fandom Discussions]

POLL: [Who] Hates Angel The Most? [in S3?] by tana-draws

[Joyce kicking Buffy out and how everyone reacts] by takaraphoenix

[they should have made Willow a teacher starting in S2] by takaraphoenix

[fic idea: The Mayor plays matchmaker for Faith and Buffy ...] by sunnydalebimbo

[buffy summers wasn't straight] by mean-vampyre

Robin should have been more involved in the training of the potentials. by finalgirl1984

you just know robin wood ... [post S7] by angelthemanspanker

Buffybot and Anya should have moved to LA ... by breezybeej

POLL: S01E10 Nightmares by she-saved-the-world-a-lot

POLL: Prelim Round Poll 6 [and other polls] by btvsepisodetournament

POLL related: Semifinals have started! by bestepisode

Controversial opinion - The Body is overrated updated by garfan

A to Z of Buffy updated by various

Which lines hit different when you know everything that will happen in the show? by dontwannachoose12

Would Xander being killed by Warren trigger Dark Willow? by jdpm1991

[the slayer line through Buffy or Faith in S7] by DanTrueCrimeFan87

If Buffy were... 8-10 eps [per] season, which “filler” episodes would be cut? by SunnydaleHSDropout

Jane Espenson on how Buffy was written [2003 posting] by IgloosRuleOK

How Spike's chip worked: A discussion by loki2002

Who are your least favorite non-main characters? by Slayerette444

Spike's chip not working on Buffy by brwitch

Buffy in Tabula Rasa by brwitch

Was this The First manipulating Connor? [ATS thread] by brwitch

POLL: What is your ranking of "The Big Three"? by rednax2009

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Happy Birthday Nicholas Brendon! [who played Xander] via Hepcat10

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[potatotalksculture]

Watch Lindsay Ellis and Contrapoints also: why canceling JKR is more than just cancelling

To observe that canceling someone is a try to retrieve the power over some narrative is probably nothing new. And we’re talking about JKR here, of course.

As I’m watching the newest video essay by Contrapoints, I’m remembering all the other essays about cancel culture and about JKR and canceling her specifically. Those were brought to us, among many other, by the internet intellectual royalty: Contrapoints and Lindsay Ellis, who’s lengthy essay about a personal struggle this specific case of canceling causes and how it’s so much complex than just saying “this gal said this. this gal bad. let’s cancel”.

Contrapoints opens her second essay about the JKR case with the recollection of a similar case that was about Anita Bryant and took stage in the 70s. If you don’t know this story, just watch the first like 15 minutes of Contra’s video [link below] as this is my main source of information about this case anyway. In this section of the essay Contra draws a parallel between sending death threats, feces and others, some a bit less harmful, things to Anita Bryant per physical mail. As much as I find this crass and do condemn this kind of behavior, I kind of can see where is it coming from. Please do not cancel me, yet.

Narratives are about control and about people. Michel Foucault talks in, if I remember correctly, one of his lectures about the production of truth. Or truths, whatever the English translation says. I’ve read it in German. The production of truth is a process of creating sentences that are considered truth by some or many or even make it into the common sense. Gay rights are a good example for this process: once it was widely believed that “the homosexuals”, as every news reporter cited by Contra drawls in the original audio, were perverts, living astray from the laws of nature or rather the christian world order. It was common sense to either ostracise them or “heal” them. Nowadays we know, don’t we????, that homosexual people are people (see what the news reporters were doing in the 70s with their use of the language?), who are part of the normal life and do not need to be “fixed” because there was nothing wrong with them in the first place. This a paradigm shift that occurred party because enough people have fought for enforcing this truth in the place of the old one. It was produced. And this is nothing pejorative about it.

But before homosexual people had the power over the narrative regarding themselves, they were very f. much discontent about the way other people spoke about them. This discontent was one of the forces that put them in a position of fighting for their rights. And part of this fight was reclaiming the narrative and so being able to shape the way they were talked about, so that the way the society views them follows. And changing any dogma spread in a society, carved into a stone of common sense is not an easy task. So sometimes it requires stronger tools than writing a letter to your representative. That’s were protest come in. And sometimes - poo.

If you’re living in a democratic country and are not happy with what the politicians in your government do while being payed with your tax money, you have the possibility to take to the streets. But what do you do when it’s not a politician but an other public figure that is the one causing your irritation. How do you protest a pop star? An entrepreneur? A writer? You can put up a banner or two. You can try to shout out your dissatisfaction during a march or a demonstration, preferably a one regarding a subject your dissatisfaction is connected to. Like the people including paroles critical of Anita Bryant during demonstrations for rights for homosexual people. But what if the person you want to protest is so present, so powerful, so loved by the society, that you feel practically powerless in your fight to express your own irritation caused by their actions? How many “JKR is wrong” marches could there have been? Enter the cancel culture. And before cancel culture was a thing - poo.

In the case of JKR, and I cannot stress enough the fact that I am focusing on her case and not the cancel culture as a general phenomenon… In the case of JKR, as Lindsay Ellis expressed it well, one is dealing with an extremely influential figure. She shaped and still is shaping minds of oh so many children. Probably everyone living in the realm of western culture knows who she is. So how do you express your discontent with her actions? You can’t ship some feces to her doorsteps. It’s too 70s. You cancel her. In this case the act of canceling is an extreme act of call to arms in the fight of trans people for their narrative and so their rights. It’s not about people wanting you to burn HP books and not play Hogwarts Legacy. This is not the point here. It is rather about using any possible mean there is to make the public aware that, what JKR is saying and so representing and so normalizing with her f. huge presence in the public opinion, is wrong, hurtful, twisted, turned, irresponsible and hateful. And a single not well known person does not stand a chance in a fight for their right to, first, publicly express their anger about the statements of JKR. There is an imbalance of power: a private trans person with a Twitter account doesn’t have the same power in the public sphere as a world renowned writer with a Twitter account. In other world: the Tweets do not have the same range. So you need more than one person tweeting the same thing to overcome this first imbalance. Then the fight for the range starts: how many people will support which side. Who will win the public debate? It’s not exclusively on Twitter now. It’s everywhere. News articles, podcasts, video essays, views, buys, complete run through a, downloads, streaming hours… numbers, numbers, numbers. How many people are on which side. So the call to canceling JKR is, at least in my opinion, a cry for help that has been resonating in the public sphere for a few years now. By keeping the conversation surrounding JKR being a f. TERF is putting the discussion of the current narrative regarding trans people in the public spotlight. And maybe, just maybe, if enough people get behind respecting the very human right to being perceived in a way that is in accord with their own truth, it might become ok to play Hogwarts Legacy. But as long a Joanne is being vocal and relevant, the canceling will continue. And maybe, if there is some justice in the world, there will be some feces at her doorstep some day.

Trans women are women.

Trans men are men.

This is the truth.

___________ Footnotes: [1] the first video of Contapoints regarding Joanne [2] the second video of Contrapoints regarding Joanne [3] the first video of Linsday Ellis regarding Joanne [4] the second video of Linsday Ellis regarding Joanne

[thepackdogs]

Selfship blog. This blog is maintained by an adult and may include NSFW takes, please proceed with caution if minor and block "#nsft selfship". /Srs

I'm koiri/Benne, my main is @ Reveseke and which is where I will be interacting from. I'm 18 years old. I'm genderqueer & a transboy among other labels, aroacespec (fictospec), Omnisexual & sapphillean gay. My aux pronouns are he/him and it/its, my full set is it/xe/hy/shy/cae/any + I'm revoxpronominal. I'm ND and would appreciate tone tags when interacting!

I'm an alterhuman (highest being canid kin, dogboy + Ashlyn Banner), deadfriends refers to my source friends.

I am pro para (+ anti c/hazard contact), anti radqueer & not involving myself in shipcourse. However, I AM peacefic. That does not make me neutral, I do not want to be associated with the whole discourse due to both and all sides being raging dumbsterfires in one way or another. Thank you.

I don't mind sharing if I don't know about it or I discover it myself, so please don't talk about it. I don't enjoy sharing Hotch, Simon, Robinsons fam & Harry though </3 (heart break emoticon). + My dead friends, thanks.

~~~~~

Graphic & header by @/bittersweet-bonbons

Dividers by @/phaea

Icon by @/dieterbr4vo

My revêr others!! Bunch of mentioned twice for a reason lol. Not all, had a list at some point and deleted it in a fit. I don't remember everyone anymore on top of the new ones :(

Misce specific -> (CoD;) the taskforce 141 team & (CM;) BAU team (packs). Fictomates; Simon Riley, Spencer Reid, König.

Deadfriends -> Logan Fields, Taylor & Tyler Hernandez, Aiden Clark, Ben Clark. (Ash ficto)

Family -> (dad figures) Tony Stark, Garmadon, Clouse, Aaron Hotchner. (family generally) The Robinsons, The Hotchners. (Siblings) Lloyd Garmadon, Penny/Judy/Will Robinson, Jack Hotchner.

Other ~ Harry Warden, Klarion, König, Simon Riley, Spencer Reid, Ultron, Golden brain, Anya, Daisuke, Morro, Ben Hargreeves, Megatron, Starscream, smokescreen.

F/o related tags -> #name : f/o, #name : s/i, #au : au name, #deadfriends, #unselected : f/o, #item : s/t alt

S/I names -> Diana (DC/MC), Carmilla, Vergil,

M/S -> Vesper, Saltia, Koiri, Stray.

General tags -> #koiri.txt, #koiri.asks #koiri.rb

Here you can find AUs & S/Is I associate with them !!

[audio-luddite]

Listening to tunes.

Right now I have that (not inexpensive ) Super Tramp "Breakfast" album. You know the Audiophile version A&M Canada made. It sounds really damn good. I gave it a good clean. Actually I bought a jug of "Groove Washer" which is made by the heirs of the original Disc Washer product. They claim to use the original formula. Not the made in China, not sure what it is, stuff. The bottle is big enough for 4 life times I think. It works good.

I spun up the LP with no real warm up. And it had some rough edges in the high treble. Even after a couple tracks it is getting better. Gotta work that entropy out you know. Get them electrons lined up and dancing.

I have spent maybe too much $$ on LPs recently. And some of the deliveries get dinged at the border by FEDEX. Free Shipping my ass.

The weather is cool and wet today. Perfect for sitting on the couch and using the system. Everything but the phono cartridge and the speakers is 30 or 40 years old. I would put it up against any system I have ever heard, or can hear in this city.

Yes we are still using the Tube Amp. It is lovely sounding. Over the last few days I have been thinking about and discussing why it sounds as it does. Usually Tube versus Transistors discussions fall into fights. One side against the other. Screw that, I like both sides for what they bring to the party.

Back when photography was all film some people swore by different brands and types of film. AGFA, FUJI, Kodak and others I cannot think of right now. (yes I am old). The reason they did was for the subtle differences the formulas gave to the resulting prints. Was one perfect or correct? No perfection then or now. But some films and print paper made really fine images. And that was the point!

Everybody seems to need to stick a war banner in some heap of truth. Tubes versus solid state is only one. Digital versus analog is big. Oh and you get magic speaker cables and interconnects. It all plays to a particular audience.

One thing the Tube Guru said to me in our dialog is that Audio Research had to keep faithful to the "tube sound" their customer base expects. They could but will not make a more perfect amplifier. Still they make things of excellent quality and have for many decades. Think about that against the ideal of continually improving. If you approach perfection the voice goes away.

I can testify that over 50 odd years of listening to stereos my system has got better, but the state of the art has not. It is a soft mushy set of goals with each team making their own rules.

Oh this track is amazing. A piano showing why it's a percussion instrument. Last track, hmmm inner groove distortion what's that? Aint any here.

Still have the AT 7V in the phaser TT. You want depth? That sax just strode up from the back to front.

Ok now for some serious Jazz. Miles Davis. This recording is almost as old as I am. The LP is new of course. Where did this idea of limited dynamic range come from. That Trumpet is powerful. I like that the mix does not try to park everyone in the centre. One Sax is hard left the other centre right. The drum kit is to the right. Piano centre left. I suspect the reverb is added. Oh I just checked the studio was a converted church and had excellent room sound. So apologies to the engineer, its real.

Just grooving.

I am going to stop writing now.

[mavidin]

Happy New Year!!!

No photos to attach. Just thoughts and prayers of hope, healing and fortitude. And this song.

No matter how festive the Holidays is, December has recently always gotten me down. It is a season of love and family - and usually I am not bothered, love-just-ain't-enough or family-are-people-we-choose and all. But lately, I must have been having a mid-life crisis of sorts, or perhaps in the late thirties, I have a better view of the past and how it sort of paved the now.

And even if they say that we don't need to mark yesterday as the end of something, or today as the start of something, I wanted to write this as a reminder that I have somehow:

Quarter 1:

Went to the world-famous Destileria Barako that very few Aklanons know of 🍻

I managed to sustain Maharlika Tribe last year and made one of the most beautiful banner yet. That talk with Nong Rodel, could be the last since he is currently in the hospital now. But I will always remember that night and be thankful that I was able to literally write that history with him.

Quarter 2:

I experienced the wonderful serenity of alone-ness and independence for three weeks in Manila and miraculously (through prayers) topped our vascular training. And had five new acquaintances! It was such a blessing that I went with a group of people who help each other and do not compete with each other.

I made a dream come true! It is not often that I make my dreams come true, I do not even think about dreams anymore, but I have been to the culture-filled ten-peso bill church that I have looked at so often in my childhood. Oh, Barasoain.

I experienced the country's longest procession with Renee!

I stupidly, hungrily lost my phone and funnily found it!

Quarter 3:

The heart-breaking moment that tested my credibility have gone. I ended so many friendships because of this quarter. I built even higher and thicker walls than I already have. I realized that time and shared experiences do not define the strength of a relationship and so, I am now even more wary of humans. Doc M asked,

So nanghinayang ka sa friendship ninyo?

I actually did not think of it that way. I thought I wasted my time and investment in a person who should not be a friend in the first place. But the friendship, I could do away with that.

Quarter 4:

I discovered how to listen to podcasts (Short History of, Catholic Saints and Everything Everywhere) and liked it (especially meeting Saint Thomas in a new light and shedding a tear for Vincent van Gogh)!

So if Doc E did not notice 2023 pass by, I have a few milestones at least.

I heard this song played thrice yesterday. First, I saw an old woman who looked to be in her sixties sing this in a karaoke. So I played it again in Spotify. And third, as I was sitting with Tay Upong. And I thought, how simple and yet so fitting.

🎼🎵 Okay lang naman ang ating usapan

Hindi na lang babalikan ang nakaraan, ang nakaraan

Ayos lang, basta't kasama

Konting alak lang kahit walang pulutan

Ang minsan, naaalala

'Di magtatagal, tayo ay liligaya 🎶🎤

Tay Upong is the single living good influnce in my life. Tati was gone. He is the only person I know that gave me thoughts like, "Gusto ko mag asawa sa ulihi it makay Tay Upong," the only male figure I love completely, the only person in my childhood that showed me love and stayed the same.

The nakaraan in the song is not about hate and bad memories with Tay Upong. I remember afternoons when I would get white hairs in exchange of five pesos. I remember playing with his skin tag. I vaguely remember riding in his beaten and rusted motorcycle while I was a kid. I remember that afternoon when I told him I will go home but he asked me what's wrong and took that worm crawling in my leg. I remember being so high sitting in his shoulders. I remember einabog he would cook for me.

With Tay Upong, there is only kindness and love. The one and only remaining good in my life. The only one that makes me look back in the past and not fear the ghost there. And I was so glad we were together yeterday. And I pray that 2024 would be good to us, to him especially.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

1793

Brissot and Robespierre were also put against one another in the trial of Louis XVI that started the very same month, with the former arguing for an appeal to the people on the matter and the latter against it. On new year’s day 1793 Robespierre told the Jacobins: ”I say that the Vergniaux, the Brissots, the Gensonnets, the Guadets and all the rascals of this type do not appeal to the people, but to all the aristocrats, to all the feuillans whom they rally under their banners.” Number 1 of the second series of Lettres de Maximilien à ses comettras, it too released in early January 1793, consisted of a long article by the name of Lettre de Maximilien Robespierre à MM. Vergniaud, Gensonné, Brissot et Guadet sur la souveraineté du peuple et sur leur système de l'appel du jugement de Louis Capet:

For you, Brissot, if you are susceptible to jealousy, I pity you; you are nothing but a schoolboy, even in your art, with Gensonné. Listen, and educate yourself. M. Gensonné proves that only scoundrels can demand that the tyrant be condemned without appeal. He proves, a hundred times better than you ever did, that the Republicans who do not draw on national and foreign coffers, are only an execrable faction which dominates the people of Paris, and through it, wants to subjugate all the Republic. But it's the way he proves this that I want to force you to applaud. First of all, we know, he says, that a section of Paris has sworn that, if the tyrant is not punished, none of its members will inhabit the territory of France; he adds that it thought that the republic would then need a defender. First observe that you, who know this decree, like the public, know that it does not contain these last words. M. Gensonné adds: “but you are aware who the leaders of this faction are, it is Robespierre, who proclaimed himself the defender of the people, since he wrote a newspaper under this title. Admire this connection. You also know very well that I do not publish any other periodical work than this one, and you see clearly that it is not entitled The Defender of the People; you know well that I am not crazy enough to proclaim myself the defender of the people, nor to place myself in the crowd of charlatans that I abhor. So here is a very short sentence which, without counting the atrocities, contains at least three proven lies, uttered, with heroic impudence, in the face of the public, who knows and sees the contrary. Three lies! Ah! Brissot, poor Warville! It was well worth it to have cultivated, for forty years, your happy talents in London and Paris, in the best schools of the old and new regime, only to see in an instant, your glory eclipsed by the exploits of a lawyer from Gironde. Mr. Gensonné adds that there is another leader of this party, a lieutenant general, a vicedictator, can you guess who? it was Marat, who, as Gensonné was careful to point out, titled a journal L'Ami du Peuple. But also, wanting to tie me to Marat, is there consciousness? I appeal to your judgment, Mr. de Warville? What obstinacy to want me to be someone other than myself? It doesn't even matter to you that everyone believes that I named Marat: having not been able to succeed, you have decided to repeat my name so often with his, that I was taken at least for a accessory of this great character, so celebrated in your pages; as if I had not had an existence of my own, several years before you had decided to strip me of it; as if my constituents and my fellow citizens had not been able to judge me by my own actions; while Marat wrote underground, and Brissot still obscurely intrigued, with the henchmen of the old police, his colleagues, and crawled in the antechambers of the men in power. In the past, I still remember, Brissot and a few others had entered into I don't know what conspiracy to make my name almost synonymous with that of Jérôme Pétion; they took so much trouble to put them together. I don't know if it was for love of me or of Pétion: but they seemed to have plotted to send me to immortality, in company with the great Jérôme.

The number had the following to say regarding Brissot’s Discours sur le procès de Louis, read at the Convention on January 1:

Brissot speaks for two hours, in favor of the appeal [to the people]. You must read this speech in its entirety. Above all, he endeavors to justify the antipathy of foreign powers for our revolution by the events of the month of September, and by the barbaric relentlessness with which members of the Convention pressed the condemnation of Louis XVI. Until then things were going very well in England, according to him; and everyone was prepared to favor and enthusiastically embrace the cause of the revolution. Everything changed; the cannibalistic tone, which we adopted in the discussion of this affair, has alienated all minds. We are struck by the resemblance of this speech to those of the members of the English parliament and George's ministers. He claims that foreign powers want us to bring down Louis' head, because Louis the XVII would find many more supporters in France than his father; we will have to fear the anger and the power of these kings, if we condemn Louis to death. He concludes that it is necessary to refer the application of the penalty to the primary assemblies, because their judgment will be more imposing in the eyes of foreigners than that of the National Convention.

In the next number of Lettres à ses comettras was inserted two speeches on subject of the king’s trial, one by Desmoulins and the other by Poultier, both of which mentioned Brissot in negative terms. Nevertheless, in the last days of the trial, Brissot voted for an appeal to the people and for death with a postponement of the execution up until the ratification of the constitution by the people, while Robespierre voted against an appeal to the people and for death. The same day the final verdict had been pronounced, the deputy Michel Peletier was murdered by Philippe Nicolas Marie de Pâris for having voted for death. Paying homage to him on January 23, Robespierre implied that ”the brissotins” had his death on their conscience:

[Peletier] declared himself the friend, the comrade-in-arms of the Republican deputies, at the moment when an army of libellists, paid for by a guilty minister and by the faction of which he was the instrument, devoted them to public contempt and rage of conspirators, under the name of anarchists, agitators, factious.

In number 1301 (March 5) of le Patriote Français, Robespierre got accused of having said ”When the people rise, is it to amuse themselves with pillaging sugar, but bigger projects must occupy it, the heads of the guilty must roll in the dust; I have denounced these culprits to it; they are the ones who negotiated last year with Brunswick” in a speech to the Jacobins four days earlier. ”And then people say that Robespierre does not provoke his people to assassination, just like his boss Marat!” One day later, March 6, Robespierre told the Jacobins that ”Brissot, Roland and all the other scoundrels have led public opinion astray since the glorious event that saved liberty” (August 10 1792). Four days after that Le Patriote Français again portrays Robespierre as preaching insurrection: 

Yesterday (March 8), among the deputies who went to the sections, humanity had to groan to meet several leaders of the anarchists. Robespierre and Billaud de Varennes were commissioners for the Bonne-Nouvelle section. Robespierre spoke there as a true Maziniel; he urged the people to rise up against what he calls the intriguers and the moderates; and the meaning of his words was so well understood that a gunner who accompanied him made the motion to slaughter the signatories of the petitions of the eight and twenty thousand. A general indignation broke out; the gunner fled; he was injured in the midst of the tumult, and Robespierre praised this excellent citizen.

In the number released the very next day (March 11), Girey-Dupré could however report that Brissot would stop editing the journal following the decision "that members of the Convention who conduct newspapers must choose between the profession of journalist and that of representative of the people” decreed by the Convention on March 9. This decision was according to Girey-Dupré the result of ”a faction that wants to reign, in the midst of darkness, has forbidden philosopher deputies from enlightening their fellow citizens.” Robespierre would however appear to have thought it a good one, on March 10 he told the Convention that it is necessary to specify the writings which are not in the sense of the true friends of liberty, holding it as strange that authors of ”these poisonous writings” cannot be sent to the Revolutionary Tribunal. ”Isn't that conspiring against the country? What, these perfidious writers who tend to oppose all the measures of the ardent friends of liberty, who constantly slander them, are they not counter-revolutionaries? (Voices in the tribunes cry: yes, yes, yes).” 

Three days later, March 13, Robespierre attributed to Brissot a part of the blame for the massacre on Champ de Mars — ”When Lafayette wanted to kill liberty, he clearly felt that the public spirit was too pronounced, consequently he imagined using the pretext of the laws and the constitution to assassinate the defenders of liberty;  leaders allied with Brissot lead the patriots to the altar of the homeland, and there, Lafayette awaited them with his satellites.”

On March 26 1793, Robespierre was elected for the so called Commission of Public Safety, alongside 24 others. Said commission, which consisted of both fervent montagnards and girondins, would not be longlived, being put to death already on April 6. In his memoirs (written 1793-1794), Buzot could nevertheless report about the following discussion he had had with Robespierre during one of the few sessions:

After some debates useless for me to report here, I strongly reproached Robespierre for his conduct, and repeating his eternal slanders against the most estimable men: "And me for example," I said to him, "can you in the privacy of your conscience, can you here publicly, in the presence of your friends, indict mine, accuse me of improbity, ambition, intrigues, slander my patriotism and the righteousness of my intentions?” “No,” Robespierre replied to me, “no, I esteem you, because I know you well; but one deceived you about us, about our views, and that’s all.” “How can you ignore the good faith, the probity, the patriotism of Roland? Would you dare say that Roland is sold to foreign powers? You must also know his inflexible austerity of morals, and his unwavering civic-mindedness, and his ardent love for liberty. Have you not forgotten the services he rendered you, that he was your most intimate friend under the Constituent Assembly? “No,” replied Robespierre, “I do not accuse Roland of having sold himself abroad, but I stopped seeing him from the moment he adopted Brissot’s opinion on the war.” “And Brissot,” I said to him, “Brissot, whose honorable poverty you know, you accuse him of having sold his pen and his talents to the enemies of France!” “I do not believe him to be corrupt,” Robespierre continued, “but since his opinion on the war it has been shown to me that he is not a patriot.” I was going to respond with passion; but the silence and the interest that our conversation had caused in the committee aroused some jealousy. Our debate was bitterly interrupted, I responded in the same way to the interrupters, and Robespierre left. One of us said: “I bet Robespierre is going to the Jacobins to start his odious accusations again;” and the fact was true: he slandered us louder than ever. As for his views, his projects of ambition and disorder, the event has only too justified our useless foresight.

This incident may have taken place on March 29, as we in the very same day find Robespierre at the Jacobins accusing Brissot, among other things, of having wanted to flee the capital together with the royal family after the taking of Verdun and Longwy in August 1792.

At the Jacobin session on April 3, two days after Paris had found out of Dumouriez treason and plan to turn his army on Paris, Robespierre accused Brissot of being the accomplice of the general — ”Brissot was and is the intimate friend of Dumouriez; Brissot has never lost an occasion for defending Dumouriez; Brissot and Dumouriez together first proposed the war with Austria; Brissot and his partisans made Dumouriez commander-inchief; Brissot holds in his hands all the threads of this wicked conspiracy. The first measure of public safety to be taken is to indict all those who are accused of complicity with Dumouriez and notably Brissot.”

He continued this lengthy enounciation at the Convention’s evening session the very same day, ending by repeating his wish that an act of accusation be issued against Brissot:

Since Brissot is here, since Brissot asks for the floor to speak against me, I am going to apply to Brissot himself the principles which direct my conduct, I do not want to sacrifice the homeland to Brissot; and if Brissot had the confidence of a large part of this assembly, I declare that if the interest of the country required that Brissot be unmasked, I would have the courage; I would tell the entire truth. I therefore apply to Brissot the principles that I had first announced. I said that I did not want to deliberate with Dumouriez’s friends. Well! I say that Dumourier and the enemies of liberty never had a more faithful friend, nor a more useful defender than Brissot: if he is in good faith, he will admit in advance in his conscience, the proof of what I'm going to say. I defy anyone to show me an action, a circumstance, where Brissot did not agree with Dumouriez, with the satellites and with the henchmen of this ambitious man. […] I do not want to convince the conspirators, (someone yells: You call for daggers!) I only want to tell the truth; and when the men who speak of daggers have murdered liberty and the rest of her defenders, just like they murdered this one, (he turns and points to the bust of Michel Lepelletier), then we will say at least at the moment when they believed they had consumed their liberticidal plots, and where their insolence seemed to be redoubled by the proximity of a counter-revolutionary general, who seemed to guide the cohorts of the despots of Europe, I would have told the truth, and I would have done everything in me to urge the National Convention to take real measures to save the homeland; and I declare that I consider it as the first measure to decree an accusation against those who are accused of complicity with Dumouriez, and in particular Brissot

This time, Brissot was there to hear the denounciation, and he responded the following way:

I will not follow Robespierre in his ramblings, I will simply respond to the reproach he made of me for being the accomplice of Dumouriez. Robespierre acquired proof of this alleged complicity in the comparison he made of my opinions with those of Dumouriez, and he cited, in support of what he put forward, the history of Dumouriez since his entry into the ministry until this time; I'm going to go through this story too. First, I declare that I had no part in the appointment of Dumouriez to the ministry. Who, at that time, was in charge of these places? It was the queen, and certainly, Robespierre will not accuse me of complicity with this woman. The appointment of Dumouriez to the ministry was the result of an intrigue by Bonnecarcere. Robespierre claimed that I was Dumouriez's accomplice, because I had the same opinion on the war with Austria as him. I declare that I did not know Dumouriez before his entry into the ministry; and that four months after he entered it, I had expressed my opinion to the Jacobins, and I had proven that war was the only means of revealing the perfidies of Louis XVI. The event justified my opinion. Robespierre believed he would surely achieve republicanism by removing his command from Lafayette and his power from the king. I felt that in the circumstances this opinion was impolitic, because conflict was always opposed to us, and that the constitution could only fall by having war. This was the feeling that guided me, and once again my opinion was my own.

A week later, April 10, Robespierre held a long speech in which he denounced the girondins, describing them as ”a powerful faction conspiring with the tyrants of Europe to give us a king, with a sort of aristocratic constitution” led by Brissot — ”Brissot! How many facts would I not have to recall about him and the faction of which he is the leader!” The girondins were the successors of Lafayette, accomplices of Dumouriez, Miranda and d’Orléans, and supported by William Pitt, who had dishonored the Insurrection of August 10 and wanted to flee Paris with the king, tried to cause civil war by calling for an appeal to the people during the trial of said king, as well as having ”depressed the energetic patriots, protected the hypocritical moderates, successively corrupted the defenders of the people, attached to their Cause those who had some talent, and persecuted those whom they could not seduce.” Robespierre ended with for the third time asking that the Revolutionary Tribunal be charged with setting up a trial for ”Dumouriez and his accomplices” (”Dare I name here patriots such as Brissot, Vergniaux, Gensonné, Guadet?”) as well as for the Orléans family, Sillery and Madame de Genlis.

Ten days later, April 20, Brissot responded to Robespierre’s charges in the eleven page long pamphlet J.P. Brissot, député à la Convention, sur la dénonciation de Roberpierre [sic], et sur l'adresse prêtée aux 48 sections de Paris, arguing that the montagnards were really the ones responsible for them:

Roberspierre [sic] and some intriguers that he leads, and who borrowed the name of the Paris sections, accused me at the national convention. I had proposed to respond to them from the rostrum; Verguiaud, Guadet and Pétion got ahead of me, and I feared tiring the assembly by dragging on again with these ridiculous denunciations. However, I owe an account to the public, which must be clarified, of the response I gave them. Here is the summary, I only focus on the facts. [he then dismisses the charges of being 1, an accomplice of Dumouriez, 2, an accomplice of Miranda, 3, an accomplice of Orléans and 4, supported by Pitt] But how, I am told, does this man, so simple, so solitary, gather so much hatred in his head? It is because this man enjoys some esteem among the public; it is that inaccessible to fear as to corruption, he constantly unmasked, in his writings, the knaves, the ambitious, the charlatans of all colors..... This is the secret of the hatred, against him, of the colonists, monarchists, feuillans, and finally anarchists… Now these run, through their cronies, the municipality, the sections, and the clubs. So when they want to crush an enemy, a sign is enough, and all the models of the clubs, the sections, the municipality become agitated at once; we believe we have a general will, we only have the will of a few tribunes, repeated by slaves or idiots. What do we ultimately see in this accusation? Men who have a party, who portray themselves its leaders, who have public gatherings, secret meetings, who have a course, a tactic, a goal; reproaching their adversaries, isolated, without leader, without party, with no other weapons than reason, reproaching them, I say, for everything that they themselves are publicly! Men who conspire every day and publicly against the convention, accuse their adversaries of wanting to dissolve it, when all the efforts of the latter tend to maintain it? Men who have had the greatest intimacy with Dumouriez, to this day, who praised him, embraced him, caressed him to the Jacobins, who did not even denounce his projects when they became aware of them, accuse their adversaries of complicity with Dumouriez, when it is proven that all kinds of connections have been broken between them a long time ago! Men who constantly supported, advocated, caressed Orléans, accused as his accomplices their adversaries who never saw him, never looked for him, and who constantly provoked his expulsion! Men who, by their disorganizing system, by their eternal apologies for pillage, massacre, anarchy, have ruined France, made the republic odious, made French freedom hated everywhere; accuse their adversaries of these calamities, whose contrary system could only make the French revolution cherished and respected! It's time for this charade to end. The convention has already brought justice to one of these villains. If it wants to complete its mission, to bring order to France, it must strike at the trunk of the power that rivals it, or this power will crush it.

In spite of his support of issuing acts of accusation against Brissot and other ”main girondins,” Robespierre was still not in favor of a (by then many others supported) full blown insurrection, openly speaking against it on both April 16, April 18 (”What is the point of using these expressions: to purge the Convention of all traitors? This means that we are portrayed as men who want to dissolve the Convention and destroy the appellants and the moderates. These sentences give terrible ascendancy to our enemies. I urge you to weigh the terms carefully, and with these prudent measures you will save the Republic.”) and May 13. Brissot for his part published a pamhlet by the name The Anarchy and Horrors of France, Displayed by a Member of the Convention, where the very first sentence was ”I have announced, from the commencement of the Convention, that there is in France a Party of Disorganizers, of Anarchists, which has been, and is still, the sole cause of all the Evils which afflict France.” His suggested remedy was nevertheless ”just” the calling of a new Convention that would be insured perfect independence from any local interference.

On May 17, Desmoulins announced the release of another pamphlet, his soon to be influencial l’Histoire des Brissotins, to the Jacobins. The pamphlet portrayed the girondins, of which Brissot got described as ”the soul,” as royalists, that were accomplices of Dumouriez and in the pay of foreigners. They had been leading an anglo-prussian committee working for the military failure of France, which they wanted to divide into 20-30 federalist republics, or to overturn the republican government altogether, and to set up the Duke of Orléans as monarch. Desmoulins concluded that the establishment of a democratic republic won’t happen before ”the vomiting of the Brissotins from the bosom of the Convention.” We know that Robespierre had had a hand in the creation of l’Histoire des Brissotins through a note inserted in Camille’s Lettre de Camille Desmoulins au général Dillon released a few months later: 

The true origin of the rigor of the Committee towards you, would it be in a very long note, which was printed following l’Histoire des Brissotins, which Robespierre made me cut out? 

The Jacobins published l’Histoire des Brissotins on May 19, and exactly a week later, May 26, Robespierre had let himself become convinced that popular insurrection was the only way forward — ”It is when all laws are violated, it is when despotism is at its height, it is when good faith and modesty are trampled under foot, that the people must rise up. This moment has arrived,” he said to the Jacobins that day. He repeated this wish again three days later — “I say that, if the people do not stand up as a whole, liberty is lost, and that only a detestable empiricist can tell them that there remains another doctor than themselves” Two days after that, May 31 1793, petitioners from the sections and the Commune appeared at the Convention and demanded (among other things) the arrest of 22 Girondin deputies and members of the Commission of Twelve. Robespierre is only recorded to have spoken once during the session, but when Vergniaud called upon him to conclude, he got firm:

Yes, I will conclude, and it will be against you! Against you, who, after the revolution of 10 August, wanted to send those responsible for it to the scaffold; against you, who have never ceased to incite to the destruction of Paris; against you, who wanted to save the tyrant; against you, who conspired with Dumouriez; against you who doggedly pursued the same patriots whose heads Dumouriez demanded; against you whose criminal vengeance has provoked these same cries of indignation with which you want to make a crime against those who are your victims. Well! My conclusion is the prosecution of all Dumouriez's accomplices and all those whose names have been mentioned by the petitioners ...

Three days later, the Convention, surrounded by tens of thousands of armed men, issued arrest orders against 29 of its deputies and two ministers.

At the news of the arrests, Brissot fled the capital, but on June 10 he was arrested at Moulins. Twelve days later he was back in Paris where he got locked up in the Abbaye prison, unlike the other arrested deputies that had simply been put under house arrest. He there began working on his memoirs. The first time he mentions Robespierre’s name in these is when correcting an idea put forward by the marquis de Luchet that his second lastname de Warville was proof of aristocracy (which, as can be seen above, Robespierre too had accused him of in number 7 of Lettres à ses comettras), writing: ”how pleasant it will be to see us put on trial by the republican Danton, who, not two years ago, called himself M. d'Anton; and by the republican Robespierre, who, at the same time, wrote a letter to Camille Desmoulins still signed: de Robespierre.” Analysing said letter, in which Robespierre reproaches Desmoulins for having made up that he said ”let the brat clap his hands” after spotting the dauphin in the window applauding a decree, Brissot laments that when it was written, summer 1790, ”for a long time I had been almost openly preaching for the republic; I defied the court, its offers, and its threats; and Robespierre? M. de Robespierre was only trembling at having offended a royal brat! Remembering the audacity he had not had, he was terrified.” Aside from that, there’s not much else Brissot has to say about Robespierre in the memoirs aside from things already presented above.

Robespierre for his part openly celebrated the Insurrection of May 31 on both June 8 (”You have all recognized the principle and the patriotic character imprinted on the people's insurrection; you saw that it was necessary, under penalty of seeing liberty buried in Paris, and consequently lost forever”), June 13 and June 14 (”Can we hope for greater proofs of patriotism and energy than the insurrection of May 31, which brought down the colossus of intrigue? It was at this moment that the Convention declared itself, that it proved that it was free, that it took the people of Paris under its protection against those who were led astray by tyranny.”) On June 24 he demanded that all the girondins put under house arrest three weeks earlier be thrown in actual prison like Brissot (whom he called a ”cowardly police spy, […] whom the hand of the people has seized covered with opprobrium and crimes!”), a suggestion that was adopted. Two weeks later, July 7, he is recorded to have said the following, which I’m not sure should be interpreted as him already wanting to see the girondins executed or not:

The monsters! they wanted to save the tyrant; they have joined forces with all the enemies of the people, to resuscitate tyranny, and they still dare to blame you for their crimes, at the moment when you have just sealed their tomb forever, by the Republican Constitution that they had stopped for so long. They have slandered the sublime people who have confounded all the traitors, defeated all the tyrants, at the moment when, flying in front of the new code of liberty, they give to the whole of France the most beautiful of all examples, and to the world the greatest of all spectacles. In the convulsions of their despair, all the enemies of liberty are spreading imposture and division everywhere to prevent, if it were possible, the French from rallying to this happy signal, and instead of sharing our holy transports of joy and mutual attachment, our brothers of the departments bring to the meeting of August 10 only mistrust. This intrigue is still linked to the perfidious schemes of the royalist stockbrokers: they want to lower the assignats which bear the imprint of the Republic, and raise the royal assignats which bear the image of the tyrant, according to the plan that a liberticidal faction tried to execute in Bordeaux, as proven by the report of your Gironde commissioners. I wanted to say all these things to all of France; I propose them for your meditation to make you understand that the French people will have neither peace nor truce with such perfidious and stubborn conspirators, as long as the sword of the laws has not struck them.

On 4 September he expressed himself in a similar way, saying: ”…one asks who are the enemies who have sworn our destruction? They are those who took over Valenciennes, Condé, Mainz; they are the monsters who would like to open the prisons in order to slaughter the small number of patriots who are confined in there. Brissot and his accomplices are the ringleaders. We must arrest all the suspects, and let the national razor fall down on all the guilty heads.” Again, I’m not sure if this should be read as Robespierre concreatly calling for Brissot in particular to be struck by the national razor or if this is just exaggerated language aimed at ”guilty people” in general. Regardless, just one day later, September 5, the Convention, of which Robespierre for the moment served as president, decreed ”that Brissot, Verguinaud, Gensonné, Claviere shall be taken before the revolutionary tribunal.”

On July 27 1793, Robespierre became a member of the Committee of Public Safety. If the memoirs of Barère are to be believed, ”hardly had [Robespierre] entered [the committee] when rigorous measures became the order of the day, and time was devoted to proceeding with the charge against the deputies who had been arrested on the 31st of May.”

On October 3, after further pressure from parisian popular societies to see the girondins have a trial as soon as possible, the Committee of General Security’s Amar presented the act of accusation against the them. When Billaud-Varennes right after this called for an appel nominal like in the case of the king’s trial, Robespierre opposed this, and had his way.

I do not see the necessity of supposing that the National Convention is divided into two parties, one of which is composed of the friends of the people, and the other of the conspirators who betrayed them; I only see the traitors that are named in the report, and whom your justice is going to immediately strike. Except for them alone, there is no man stupid enough to close his eyes to the flames of Lyon and Marseille that these conspirators have kindled; so as not to hear the cries of blood that they caused to flow in Belgium, in Vendée, in Toulon, and everywhere where this criminal faction exercised its influence. I ask that the decree of accusation be simply put to the vote.

When someone then asked for an act of accusation against 70 deputies arrested for having signed a petition protesting against the expulsion of the girondins on June 2, Robespierre successfully opposed this as well — ”I say that among the men put under arrest, there are many in good faith, but who have been led astray by the faction, the most hypocritical faction of which history has ever provided an example.” At the end of the discussion, he argued for the printing of the act of accusation the following way:

There seems to be a fear that this printing will delay the hearing of the trial. Citizens, the written evidence is the weakest; it is the history of the Revolution which condemns them; it is public opinion which has struck the conspirators whom we have just indicted. I ask that we refer for the printing of the trial to the opinion of the Committee of General Security

In his Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct, in the public employments which I have held (1795) former Minister of Interior Dominique Joseph Garat claimed to have gone home to Robespierre and argued that the Girondins ought not to be tried by the Revolutionary Tribunal. But Robespierre did not share those feelings at all: 

[François Robert and I] were both persuaded that all depended upon Robespierre; that if he should demand blood, blood would be shed; that if he should not make the demand, none else would dare. With this conviction upon my mind, I was induced to make a last attempt upon that haughty and vengeful foul. I begged Robert, if possible, to obtain for me an interview with Robespierre. Robert went, that instant, and soon returned to tell me, that Robespierre would see me that very morning. Robespierre accordingly received me at his house. But he was not alone; Chabot was with him. The conversation which passed between us, would deserve to be recorded at length in the pages of history. It might throw new light upon the hidden recesses of the human heart. I shall here set down only the heads of it. Of two very different cart of generosity of which the human heart is capable, one has its origin in the tender affections, the other in our pride. The latter, I well knew, was the only generosity that could spring in the breast of Robespierre. I therefore set before him, in the first instance, the captivating prospect of this species of grandeur and triumph. But I instantly saw, that he himself placed his pride, his triumph, his grandeur, in crushing his enemies without mercy. I fought to touch his heart by another key — his fears. I represented, that if a beginning were once made by the slaughter of some of the deputies; they would soon be all threatened by the same fate; and they, who sent others to the scaffold, would soon be made themselves to follow. I then perceived, that he believed the slaughter of all those of whom he was afraid to be the only means by which he could protect his own safety. Repulsed, as if it had been by a wall of brass, on whatever side I assailed him: ”Will the Convention,” said I, ”suffer them to be judged by a court which was established in opposition to all their remonstrances?” ”It is good enough for them.” What an expression! Chabot, this justice I owe to his memory, Chabot, who, during the whole conversation, continued walking about, smiling at Robespierre, nay, sometimes smiling aside on me, ventured to assert and to maintain, that there ought to be a different court. I proposed the formation of an assize out of all the departments, and that they should be sent to sit somewhere else than at Paris: Chabot thought this suggestion to be a great and good one.

On October 23, the day before the start of the trial of the girondins, we find a Committee of Public Safety order written in Robespierre’s hand ordering 50 000 copies to be made of the act of accusation to be sent into the departments. On the trial’s fifth day, October 29, public prosecutor Fouquier-Tinville confronted Brissot with an article published in number 1235 (December 29 1792) of Patriote Français, criticising a speech held the day earlier by Robespierre, who got accused of only wanting applause, fearing reason and being deep in perversity. Fouquier concluded by asking the jury ”if this is not the work of a man who has not made a system of defaming patriots.” Looking at the actual article it can be noted that it had been signed not by Brissot but by Girey-Dupré. Brissot response to the charge was nevertheless that his opinion couldn’t be made into a crime.

The trial did however go too slow for many people’s liking. The very same day, October 29, a deputation from the Jacobins presented itself at the Convention demanding that 1, the Revolutionary Tribunal be rid of forms which stifle conscience and prevent conviction; and 2, there be added a law which gives jurors the option of declaring that they are sufficiently informed. The first part was sent to the Committee of Legislation to be examined, while the latter was converted into a motion and adapted right away. Robespierre did however judge it too vague and therefore made the more concreate suggestion that, had a trial been going on for three days, the president of the tribunal was to ask the jury if it was sufficiently enlighted, and if the answer was yes, the process would immediately be closed:

Robespierre: the decree as it is written does not seem sufficient to me. Your law must enable the jury to explain its convictions. We can decree, for example, that when a trial has lasted three days, the president of the Revolutionary Tribunal will open the next session by asking the jury if it is sufficiently informed. If the declaration is negative, the investigation will continue until a contrary declaration is made in the same form. If you do not express yourself with this precision, you will not achieve the goal you set for yourself. If you make the law in this sense, you save all the rights of the accused, and you reconcile what you owe to the public interest, with all the scruples that the accused may inspire.

With the support of Barère, this proposal was adapted. The following day, October 30, it came into use during the trial and with its help, Brissot and the other 20 accused men were sentenced to death. They were all guillotined the next day, October 31 1793. 

We also have the following unfinished decree written in Robespierre’s hand, a clear expansion of the proposition made by him on the 29th. It is however undated, making it hard to know if he wrote it as a follow up to said proposition with the goal to pin down its exact precisions, or if it on the contrary is a memorandum for the things he planned to suggest to the Convention, something which would indicate Robespierre had been working on shortening the trial even before the outside pressure from the Jacobin petition came knocking.

The National Convention, considering that no count of conspiracy has yet been tried; that attempts have been made to excite aristocratic riots, alarming for public tranquility; that the judgments of the great culprits have always experienced delays which compromise the interests of liberty and which contrast scandalously with the promptness of the punishment of obscure criminals; considering that these slownesses give time to develop intrigue, imposture, corruption and all the maneuvers of the enemies of France; considering that judicial delays are equally contrary to the spirit of the institution of revolutionary tribunals and to the interest of liberty as the conspiracies hatched against; the homeland in front of the...; that it is equally absurd and fatal to the public interest to subject to eternal procedures crimes committed in the face of heaven, where the nation is the accuser and the universe is a witness; and to make the cause of liberty depend on the whims of chicanery or the chances of intrigue...; to set liberty...; that the judgments of the major culprits experience delays equally contrary to the public interest, where intrigue, imposture and sometimes counter-revolutionary audacity are deployed; while... Considering that the sword of the law only seems to reach with ease the heads of obscure culprits; while the judgments of major criminals experience slowness which gives free rein to intrigue, imposture and counter-revolutionary audacity; Considering that it is also absurd and contrary to the institution of the revolutionary tribunal to subject to eternal procedures crimes committed in the face of the universe, of which the causes are crimes committed against the face of heaven and whose nation where an entire nation is the accuser and the universe is a witness. Decrees the following: If it happens that the judgment of a case brought to the revolutionary tribunal has lasted more than three days been extended for three days, the president will open the next session by asking the jury if its conscience is sufficiently illuminated. If the jury answers yes, the judgment will proceed immediately. The president will not suffer any kind of questioning or incident contrary to the provisions of this law.

Following October 29, Robespierre didn’t speak in public again until November 9, nine days after Brissot’s death. He is however confirmed to have signed several decrees at the Committee of Public Safety on each of these days, so the idea that he was startled after having contributed to someone’s death and had to absent himself from work because of it would not appear to be very well backed up. Nor does Robespierre have any nice words to offer Brissot the 20ish times he is recorded to have mentioned his name between October 31 1793 and his own execution in July the following year — he was part of a ”liberticidal faction” (December 12) made up of ”pygmy instruments of Pitt” (November 17), ”rascal girondins” (unfinished speech written around March 1794) and ”scoundrels whose name the French people would never pronounce except with horror” (June 12) who ”called himself poor while we knew he had houses in London” (April 5), ”wanted to arm the rich against the people” (May 7) and tried to ”strangle the voice of truth” (July 26). The ”factions” of the ”hébertists” and ”indulgents” that sprung up in the aftermath of Brissot’s death got described as his ”successors” (undelivered speech written at the end of January, March 21). On November 28 Robespierre read aloud to the Jacobins two confiscated letters to Brissot from a friend of his residing in London. In the first of them, dated November 9 1792, the friend shows outrage over the arrest warrant issued against Brissot during the September massacres but consoles him by writing ”if they really abandon you, their triumph, even their fortune, will pass like smoke, except what they have in the banks. I warn you that I have just (before you) told our correspondents in Amsterdam, Genoa and Geneva, finally to all our associates, to be ready by mutual agreement; that if the slightest thing happens to you, they will hear no more about their 17 million.” In the second letter, dated November 16 1793, the friend (who has obviously not been up to date about things) recognizes Brissot’s ability to ”think aristocratically” […] ”I know that you want the Republic, but you also want the nobles and priests like you several times declared to me during my stay in Paris. […] It is very clever of you to have put to death the Duke of Orléans, this villain, and at the same time have seized the authority, in order to be able to place it in the hands of the princes, who I, like you, hope will come soon.” Five days later, December 3, Robespierre mentioned that he had criticized Danton ”for not pursuing Brissot and his accomplices quickly enough” and after the same Danton had gotten arrested on March 31, he justified it with the following words: ”Tender friends of Danton, you cannot sacrifice to your homeland these feelings which unite you to him! I too, was linked to Pétion, Roland and Brissot, the mask with which they covered themselves soon fell, I saw in them only traitors, and I called down national vengeance on their heads.” The decree founding the Cult of the Supreme Being, presented by Robespierre to the Convention on May 7 1794, designated May 31 1793 as one of the days that in the future would be annually celebrated alongside those of July 14 1789, August 10 1792 and January 21 1793.

If you want to learn more about Brissot as such, I recommend checking out Brissot de Warville: a study in the history of the French Revolution (1915), partly because it’s the only Brissot biography I can even find (online at least), partly because I found what I’ve read of it to be pretty good.

Could you talk about Robespierre and Brissot??? Or maybe more about Brissot, I'm really curious about him!

1789-1792 In his memoirs (written 1793), Brissot writes the following about his activities as a law student in Paris around 1774:

Before leaving the subject of Nolleau’s chambers, […] I must recall the fact that chance gave me there, as second clerk, a man who has since played an amazing part in the Convention, but against whose future celebrity I should at that time have been prepared to bet anything. Ignorant, without knowledge of any scientific subject, incapable of conceiving or expressing an idea of any kind, he was eminently fitted for a career of dishonesty. 

Though Brissot doesn’t state it outright, the second clerk and future member of the Convention mentioned here was at first identified as Robespierre. When Claude Perroud published an edition of the memoirs in 1912, he did however dismiss the idea entirely, considering the fact that in 1774, there would be another four years before Robespierre even began to study law in the first place.

If connections between Brissot and Robespierre before the revolution is something we’re in other words lacking, once we’re into it, it doesn’t take long before the former starts to mention the latter’s name. This in relation to describing interventions made by him during the sessions of the National Assembly and the Jacobin Club in his newly founded journal Le Patriote Français. Based off volume 6 of Oeuvres complètes de Maximilien Robespierre, I find Brissot to have mentioned Robespierre’s name a total of 26 times throughout 1789 and 1790, the very first being in number 17 (August 27 1789). As the journal was more concerned with giving a neutral summary of the sessions, as opposed to spreading the author’s own opinions, most of these cannot be used to determine what Brissot’s personal stance on Robespierre was. Sometimes, the overall neutral tone does however give way for a bit more colorful adjectives:

M. Roberspierre [sic] wanted us to adopt this truly noble formula: ”Louis, by the grace of God and by the will of the Nation; King of the French: To all citizens of the French Empire; People, here is the law that your representatives have made for you, and to which I have affixed the Royal seal. He wanted to develop his thoughts, but he was stopped from doing so. Le Patriote Français, number 66 (October 10 1789)

M. de Robespierre claimed that martial law should not be imposed in the critical circumstances in which the Nation finds itself plunged, and he produced a great impression, with an idea that is imposing and sublime at first glance but which lacks accuracy. Le Patriote Français, number 76 (October 22 1789)

MM. Roberpierre [sic], Biauzat, and Chapelier easily shattered this diplomatic erudition and proved that it was not a question of the rights of the Province of Cambrésis but of a crazy deliberation of an unconstitutional body. Le Patriote Français, number 105 (November 21 1789)

M. de Robespierre defended good principles, he showed that the executive power had an interest in increasing the number of wars, while the interest of the legislative power laid in avoiding them. He concluded that it was dangerous to entrust the law of war to the former. Le Patriote Français, number 184 (May 19 1790)

...There is, however, an article touched by M. Robespierre which has aroused murmurs. This ardent orator made it understood that priests must belong to society through the first of bonds, that of marriage. There is no one who has reflected a little on the cause of ecclesiastical corruption, who has witnessed the good effects of the marriage of priests among Protestant sects, who is not convinced of the necessity of this reform. But although all good minds are convinced of it, although all are convinced of the possibility of combining it with Catholic doctrine, not all also think that this is the moment to propose this idea; they are stopped by the fear of increasing the effervescency among the ignorant: it is perhaps only a false terror... In any case, we must at least prepare the minds, and that is what M. de Robespierre had not done. Le Patriote Français, number 197 (June 1 1790)

M. Robespierre responded very well to the prepositions, by proving that the legislators of a people that succumb under the weight of taxes and debts, can not lend themselves to sentiments generous enough to leave to the prelates their immoderate powers. Le Patriote Français, number 320 (June 14 1790)

M. Robespierre courageously defended the true principles against M. d'André.  Le Patriote Français, number 474 (November 25 1790)

In his memoirs, Brissot writes that Robespierre in July 1790 brought him a copy of a letter to Desmoulins to insert in Le Patriote Français — ”I remember on this occasion Robespierre with his fears and his scruples which he could not dissimulate. Desmoulins' thoughtlessness alarmed him; he didn't know what to think of it.” Brissot did however ”think it agreeable” to Desmoulins to insert neither this letter, nor the response the latter wrote in return and which was also given to him. In December the same year, both Robespierre and Brissot signed the wedding contract and attended the wedding ceremony of said Desmoulins, who in a letter to his father reported that everyone present had been driven to tears during it, after which they all went over to have dinner at his place. These are the earliest confirmed meetings between Brissot and Robespierre that I’m aware of, though it’s far from impossible they had had contacts prior to this as well.

Brissot continues to bring up Robespierre in his journal throughout 1791. He mentions his name or debates which he has taken part in around 50 different times, calling him things such as ”a vigorous defender of liberty” (number 525, January), ”a friend of principles” (number 571, February), ”an enlightened patriot” (number 600, March), ”a vigorous patriot” (number 608, April), ”[someone with] rigorous principles” (number 646, May), ”[someone] favored by eternal principles and sound politics” (number 659, May), and ”a good patriot, firm in principles, deaf to considerations [and] the most implacable enemy of the aristocrats” (number 676, June), and openly showing his support for his stance on topics such as the colonies/the rights of men of colour (number 646, May, number 671, June, number 777, September), the self denying decree (number 608, April), the right to bear arms (number 630, April), the dismissal of army officers (number 673, June) and other smaller affairs (number 586, March, number 591, March, number 592, March). On April 2 1791 Mirabeau passed away, and the following day, Robespierre proposed to the Assembly that the honors of the Pantheon be given to him. In his memoirs, Brissot claims that ”Pétion reproached [Robespierre] for this the same day, he reproached him for it in my presence.”

On June 18 1791, Adrien Duquesnoy attacks both Brissot and Robespierre in number 30 of his journal Ami des Patriotes — ”We are, moreover, on the eve of reaping the fruits of the infernal spirit of system which torments MM. Robespierre, Brissot, etc. They have shouted so much against the distinction of active citizens.” In number 682 of Patriote Français, Brissot responds to his charges and at the same time clarifies that he and Robespierre don’t have any private contacts:

What more will I say about the connections you tie between me and M. Robespierre, and about this infernal spirit that you attribute to us both, about this party over which you make us preside? I have always liked to pay tribute to the inflexible patriotism of M. Robespierre, but I do not share all his opinions; but I don't see him; more than a month has passed since I last had the pleasure of servicing him (de l’entretenir). Party leaders who form a coalition see each other, I believe, a little more frequently.

The number was released on June 21 1791, the same day Paris woke up to the discovery that the royal family had fled the capital during the night. In her memoirs (1793) Madame Roland claimed to in the afternoon have seen both Robespierre and Brissot at Pétion’s house discussing these most recent events:

I was struck by the terror with which [Robespierre] seemed to be overcome on the day of the king's flight to Varennes; I found him in the afternoon at Pétion’s; where he said with concern that the royal family would not have taken this course without having a coalition in Paris which would order a Saint-Barthélemy for the patriots, and that he expected to be dead within twenty-four hours. Pétion and Brissot said, on the contrary, that the flight of the king was his loss, and that it was necessary to take advantage of it; that the dispositions of the people were excellent; that it would be better enlightened on the perfidy of the court by this approach than it would have been by the wisest of writings; that it was obvious to everyone, by this fact alone, that the king did not want the constitution he had sworn to; that it was time to ensure a more homogeneous one, and that it was necessary to prepare minds for the Republic. Robespierre, sneering as usual and biting his nails, asked what a Republic was!

One month later, July 16 1791, both Brissot and Robespierre are found signing the same adress as two of 24 members of the Jacobin Club’s Committee of correspondence. This is the third time Brissot is listed as taking an active part at the club as far as I can see, and the first time he and Robespierre are mentioned during the same session. The day right after, in number 707 (17 July) of Le Patriote Français, Brissot is found agreeing with Robespierre in the big discussion regarding what’s to be done with the king following his capture at Varennes and return to Paris the month before:

…It is very true that to have the king judged by the legislative body would be to violate principles. Also their defenders, Robespierre and Buzot, constantly asked that this great trial be referred to the nation. In that way, we don’t make one power dependent on the other.

The same day this number was released, the massacre on the Champ de Mars took place. Three days later Brissot defends Robespierre against allegations he would be responsible for what had just happened in number 710 of his journal:

Let patriots in all parties stop accusing each other of being the authors of this terrible catastrophe. How did one have the audacity to suspect even the purest virtue? How did one have the audacity to suspect and circulate that MM. Buzot, Pétion, Robespierre were at the head of this uprising? How did one try to raise the national guards and the people against them? Have we therefore already arrived at the unfortunate times of demagoguery, when Socrates and the Phocians [sic] were made to drink the hemlock?

Unlike many other journalists who had to quit their journals in the wake of the massacre due to arrest or going underground, Brissot managed to avoid any repercussions and could stay in Paris and keep his running. In number 774 (September 23 1791), he does however make it clear that, following his election to the Legislative Assembly on September 14 (a place which he surely had the by Robespierre proposed self denying decree much to thank for), he will have to occupy himself much less with Le Patriote Français and leave most of the editing other hands, but nevertheless continue to give it his ”full attention.” If it would thus appear his role in the editing continued to be considerate, I don’t know how to measure just how much responsibility Brissot is to take for the things that appeared in the journal following this moment…

A week after Brissot’s announcement, the National Assembly was closed down, and yet another week later, October 16, both Robespierre and Brissot are listed as two of twelve jacobins appointed to take part in ”conferances on moral and constitution.” The former did however soon thereafter leave Paris for a visit back to his hometown. He was back in the capital in late November, after which it didn’t take long before a wrench was driven between him and Brissot.

It all started on December 16, when Brissot, after a two month long absence from the Jacobins, showed up and there delivered his first speech in favor of France going to war against German princes (Discours sur la nécessité de déclarer la guerre aux princes allemands qui protègent les émigrés). After the speech was finished, Robespierre, who had shown his opposition towards the idea of war already on December 9, 11 and 12, when brought up by Carra or Réal, suggested the printing of it be adjourned. Two days later, December 18, he responded to Brissot with a speech of his own (Discours de Maximilien Robespierre sur le parti que l'Assemblée Nationale doit prendre relativement à la proposition de guerre, annoncée par le pouvoir exécutif…). After he had finished reading it, Sillery rose to support Robespierre’s position, while Brissot asked to obtain the floor to speak against him during the next session. On December 21 and 25, Carra, Machenaud and Simonne all spoke in favor of going to war, while Desmoulins on December 26 instead took Robespierre’s side with a speech against it. Four days later, Brissot held his second speech in favor of the idea (Second discours de J.-P. Brissot, député, sur la nécessité de faire la guerre aux princes allemands). Journal des Débats de la Société des Amis de la Constitution reported the following in regards to the session:

M. Brissot reads a very long speech, frequently interrupted by applause, on the necessity of an offensive war. He ends with an exhortation to true patriots to submit to the law and never allow themselves to attack the constitution in any way. This exhortation appears to MM. Robespierre and Danton a criticism and an indictment made to the speakers and writers of the Society, because of the kind of affectation which appears to them to be there. They rise to demand the change of this passage in the printing made of this speech. The greatest warmth spread throughout the Society during this discussion, in the midst of which M. Brissot, giving the most striking testimony of the attachment the Societies and M. Robespierre have for the constitution, undertakes to correct the end of his speech in a way so that it won’t leave any doubt regarding his intentions. The sitting is ended at eleven o’clock.

Three days later, January 2 1792, Robespierre held his second long speech on the subject. Unlike his first one, where he had just spoken against going to war in general, here he rather chose to mainly speak against the arguments Brissot had used for it in his speech on the 30th.

…I will try to fulfill this purpose by responding mainly to the opinion of M. Brissot. If general features, if the brilliant and prophetic portrayal of the successes of a war ending with all the peoples of Europe fraternally embracing one another, are sufficient reasons to decide such a serious question, I will say that M. Brissot has perfectly resolved it; but his speech seemed to me to present a vice which is nothing in an academic discourse, and which is of some importance in the greatest of all political discussions; it is because he has constantly avoided the fundamental point of the question, to raise his entire system on an absolutely ruinous basis.

According to Journal général de France, there were however still no hard feelings between Robespierre and Brissot, who ended up embracing each other after the speech:

A great split has just taken place among the Jacobins. M. Robertspierre [sic] has always maintained that we should not wage war: it places in the hands of the executive power means that it could use against the constitution. M. Robertspierre's [sic] obstinacy in maintaining his opinion had made him quarrel with M. Brissot; but they solemnly reconciled, and the club applauded with enthusiasm the embraces they lavished upon each other. Today, M. Robertspierre [sic] is fighting against MM. Brissot, Guadet, Vergniaud, Grangeneuve. The ascendancy of Mr. Robertspierre [sic] still makes success uncertain.

Robespierre had ended his speech promising he would come with further clarifications a few days later, which he also did on January 11. A week after that, January 18, he and Brissot got into a controversy regarding a letter that would have praised Lafayette and expressed doubt over the patriotism of the inhabitants of Metz, printed in number 891 of Le Patriote Français, that had been released the very same day:

Robespierre […] was surprised to have seen a patriotic newspaper, Le Patriote français, expressing doubts about the patriotism of the inhabitants of Metz, and praising La Fayette.

A member asks to make a point of order, and observes that this letter had been inserted the day before in the Moniteur.

Several voices: You’re attacking the patriotism of M. Brissot.

M. Brissot: I declare to the assembly that I was unaware of the letter which was inserted in Le Patriote français by my collaborator. M. Robespierre seemed to cast doubt on the authenticity of this letter. I just saw M. Roederer, who assured me that he had seen the original, and who guarantees it to be genuine. Mr. Robespierre seemed to attack my silence. The painful task that I have imposed on myself prevents me from contributing to the journal assiduously; yesterday I once again spoke for an hour at the National Assembly, and the people can judge whether I am abandoning their cause.

M. Rouyer: Messieurs, I render justice to the patriotism of M. Robespierre and M. Brissot; I am angry that we discuss people when the public good needs us. I am guarantor of both; I ask the Society to move on with the agenda.

M. Robespierre: I declare, in particular, that I am very pleased that M. Brissot was unaware that this letter had been inserted in his journal; I am far from thinking that he wrote it, since the title states that it was inserted in the Moniteur: it is because it is in a newspaper which enjoys a great reputation that I thought it necessary to speak; I have never attacked M. Brissot, our principles are the same; I only refuted his opinion. I come back to my point: I say that the National Assembly must display great character, that it must bring order to the kingdom, that it must never protect the impunity of ministers, that it must exhaust all the good that legislators can do, and then it can declare war.

M. Rouyer climbs to the rostrum and makes some observations in favor of war.

M. Louvet reproaches Robespierre for not seeing the danger where it is, for denying it elsewhere, and thereby incurring a very great responsibility.

The sitting ends at ten o’clock.

In number 893 (January 20) of Patriote Français, Brissot’s collaborator Girey-Dupré responded to Robespierre’s charges, writing that the letter, which had been printed not only in Patriote Français but other ”patriotic journals” as well, had only been an extract from the Moniteur and did not contain any praise of Lafayette. ”As for the suspicions that M. Robespierre tried to spread against this paper,” Girey-Dupré adds, ”I have disregarded the slanders of the aristocrats and the ministers, I can well endure the bad mood of a patriot.”

At the session of the Jacobins held the very same day, Brissot held his third speech in favor of war, where he chose to mainly respond to the arguments laid out by Robespierre most recently, just like the latter had done with him on January 2:

I’m now arriving at the arguments Robespierre made against me at this tribune that I still haven’t answered. […] It is very strange to today see M. Robespierre walking on the same line as the ministry, nevertheless maintaining that he is on the opposite side, and claiming that those who support him are actually against him. […] Certainly, we will not accuse, despite these connections, M. Robespierre of being in concert with the minister; but he should at least believe that this concert does not exist between this minister and those who openly fight him, who vigorously denounce the vices and abuses of his administration. This idea brings me back to some insinuations on the purity of my intentions, which distort Mr. Robespierre's speeches. They are foreign to him, I like to believe; for I have seen him, I have known his soul, and wickedness never came near him. If there are disguised poisons in his speeches, I will only attribute them to the suggestions of men against whom he is not sufficiently armed with distrust.

When the speech was over, Brissot and Robespierre were made to embrace each other yet again:

M. Brissot justifies himself in response to the insinuations thrown at him by Robespierre in a previous session, and implores him to put an end to a dispute which can only be agreeable to the enemies of the public good.

M. Dusaulx: All the patriots of this club have long been suspended in the course of a discussion which seemed to compromise two good patriots who must love and esteem each other; something would be missing after what M. Brissot said before leaving this assembly, it is the duty of these two generous men to embrace each other. 

No sooner had he finished than MM. Robespierre and Brissot were in each other's arms, amid the unanimous applause of the Society, moved by this touching spectacle. 

M. Robespierre: By yielding to M. Dusaulx's invitation, I only gave myself up to the impulse of my heart, I gave what I owed to the confession and to the fraternity and to the feeling depth that I have of a man who enjoys the greatest consideration and who must render the greatest services to the fatherland; I will prove to M. Brissot how much I am attached to him. This should in no way change the opinion that every man should have of the public good; it is to do all that will be in me, and what I believe necessary for the public safety, that I will ask to answer in another session to the speech of M. Brissot. (speech 3?)

M. Rœderer: I ask for the floor to point out an oversight which, no doubt, escaped M. Robespierre, and that is to request the printing of M. Brissot's speech. I ask for it in his name.

Robespierre did however think this gesture had been a stupid one, as revealed through a letter he wrote to Antoine-Joseph Gorsas, author of the journal Courrier des 83 départements, eight days later. He also safeguarded his own position on the war (that he by then had already held a third speech against on January 25), which he meant Gorsas had gotten wrong when describing the session on the 20th in the latest number of his journal:

I noticed in your number from today an error which deserves to be corrected. When summarizing the latest session at the Friends of the Constitution, the article of which I’m speaking supposes that I have renounced my principles on the important questioned which today agitates all the spirits, since one feels it holds onto public safety and the maintenance of liberty. I would consider myself little deserving of the esteem of good citizens had I played the role this article ascribes to me. What is true in this recital, is that, after a speech held by M. Brissot, on the pathetic invitation of M. Duseaux, the two of us cordially embraced, applauded by the entire club. It is also true that I went through with this action with much pleasure, that the important discussion where we had embraced holding different opinions, had not left any bitterness in my soul; that I am far from viewing as particular quarrels debates that interest the fate of the people, and where I have never held any passion other than that for the public good. Also, far from thinking that neither the fate of the big question which occupies all of France, nor my particular opinion could in any way be subordinated to my sensibility and my personal affection for M. Brissot, I immediately mounted the tribune in order to manifest this sentiment in the following way: ”I just fulfilled a duty consisting of fraternity and of satisfying my heart; I still have an even more sacred debt to pay to my homeland. The profound sentiment which ties me to it, neccessarily supposes love for my fellow citizens and for those with which I have the closest of bonds: but all individual affections must give way to the sacred interest of liberty and of humanity: I could easily reconcile it here with the attachment, with the respect that I have promised to all those who have served the homeland well, and who will continue to serve it well. I embraced M. Brissot with this sentiment, and I will continue to combat his opinion on the points where it differs from my principles, by indicating where I agree with him. May our union rest on the sacred base of patriotism and virtue, let us fight like free men, even with energy if it’s needed, but with respect, with friendship.” Robespierre.

Robespierre didn’t hold more speeches purely about being against war following January 25, but continued to show his opposition at the Jacobins regardless throughout the following months. On February 10, he held a speech with the title On the Means to save the State and Liberty, ”that is to say, (he underlined) to stifle civil war and foreign war, by confusing all the projects of our internal enemies.”On February 24 he spoke out against the club’s committee of correspondence for having stated that the club was in favor of the war, and that those who had supported the opposite party had changed their mind — ”As for me, it remains for me to prove that I have not renounced my opinion in favor of a party that I consider to be the most dangerous for the homeland and for liberty.” Two days later, he demanded that a circular meant to be sent to the sister clubs in the provinces regarding the question include a table containing the reasons put forward by different speakers for or against war, as opposed to stating the majority of the society was for it. Brissot on the other hand retreated back to the Legislative Assembly to continue pushing his agenda there instead, supported by people such as Louvet, Gensonné, Vergniaud, Isnard, Guadet, Manuel, Roederer, Bangal, and Cloots. Number 963 (March 30 1792) of Le Patriote Français contained an article titled ”On the new tactic of the enemies of liberty” and, while not naming Robespierre by name, suggested that those that were against war had ulterior motives for doing so — “any opinion against the war can only be very disastrous, and we understand that it must be used by this Austrian committee, which wants to give its friends time to prepare to attack us.” The article is not signed by Brissot and as mentioned above, he had by this point in large part handed over the editing to others. Regardless, it can probably be concluded that such an article appearing in what was technically still his journal did no miracles for his and Robespierre’s relationship.

In February, Desmoulins released the 60 page long and influential pamphlet Jean [sic] Pierre Brissot démasqué, which acted both as a denounciation of Brissot, treated, if not yet as a full blown traitor and counterrevolutionary, at the very least as a fool and an object of ridicule, but also as a defence of ”my college friend” Robespierre. In Choosing Terror (2014), Marisa Linton writes that Robespierre ”may well have been involved in [the pamphlet’s] production,” probably basing this on the fact that we know he had had a hand in other of Desmoulins’ works. If we’re lacking any tangible evidence for this in the case of Jean-Pierre Brissot démasque, Desmoulins did himself nevertheless claim that ”[Robespierre] sees me as invulnurable after the proof of incorruptibility that I produced in my latest writing to Brissot” in a letter inserted in Journal de M. Suleau not long thereafter.

On April 20 1792, Brissot and his allies finally had their way as France declared war on Austria. The very same day Robespierre spoke at the Jacobin club, saying that, now that the dice had been rolled, he too was in favor of ”conquering Brabant, the Netherlands, Liège, Flanders, etc” while also stating that ”now is above all the time where we must supervise the executive and the constituted authorities.” Three days later, April 23, he asked the Jacobins to for the opportunity to share his thoughts on “a civil war plan presented to the National Assembly by one of its members” during an upcoming session. But before that could happen, on April 25, Brissot showed up at the Jacobins for the first time since January 20, when Dusaulx had made him and Robespierre embrace, and delivered a long speech where he defended himself against accusations that he would have nominated ministers, been allied with Lafayette and Condorcet and dined together with Narbonne and Madame de Staël, and, while not naming Robespierre by name, warned of ”agitators” seeking to divide the society in the time of war:

Their (aristocrats and agitators) conduct is the same; like the friends of the court, the agitators denounce and seek to divide the patriots; like the friends of the court, they cry out against war, when war is wanted by the majority of the patriots. [applauds]. Certainly, I will not imitate my adversaries' ease of slander, I will not rely on rumors that they are paid by the civil list; I will not denounce based on rumors that they have a secret committee to influence this Society; but I will say that they follow the same path as the supporters of civil war. I will say that, without a doubt, they do more harm to patriots. At what point do they come to divide this Society? At the moment when external war and internal war threatens us. Ah! Gentlemen, why, for several months, have one been trying to hijack the agenda here? The most important questions demand your attention. When all the Societies of the kingdom expect you to solicit a host of decrees favorable to the people, the sanction of which is easy in the present state of the ministry, you let slip an opportunity which perhaps will never arise again; It is time to occupy yourself with the discussion of the objects which interest the National Assembly, and which we want to make you lose sight of. I ask the Society to give explanations on this, and I conclude that, denouncing the denunciations that I have refuted, we move on to the agenda.

Right after this, Robespierre tried to take the floor for a point of order, but this request was refused and instead obtained by Guadet, who started denouncing Robespierre, calling him an ”imperial speaker” who would only talk about himself — ”M. Robespierre had promised to denounce a civil war plan formed within the National Assembly itself, I summon him to do so. I denounce a man who constantly puts his pride before public affairs, the position to which he was called. I denounce a man who, whether ambition or misfortune, has become the idol of the people.” Robespierre then took to the floor, declaring that ”my most ardent adversaries are not MM. Brissot and Guadet” but nevertheless requesting time to properly respond to them, something which he was given. Two days later, April 27 1792, he could deliver a speech by the name of Réponse de M. Robespierre, aux discours de MM. Brissot & Guadet du 25 avril 1792. Robespierre criticized both of the in the title named men, before nevertheless asking for peace — ”I only want to give you proof of moderation. I offer you peace on the only conditions that the friends of the homeland can accept. On these conditions I gladly forgive you for all your slanders.”

But just three days later, April 30, Robespierre complained to the Jacobins that the printed versions of the speeches Brissot and Guadet had held on the 25th matched badly with what they had actually said. His objection did however not gain any support from the president Lasource. A little more than a week later, in number 1003 (May 9 1792) of Patriote Français, we find an article titled ”On the war of M. Robespierre,” signed by Brissot and with the following content:

M. Robespierre continues to wage war against me, to denounce me, and to have me denounced to the Jacobins. I won't bother to answer him; this war is a scandal, and can become a source of calamity for liberty. Despite all the advantage that my adversaries give me over them, I consider it a real crime to continue it. The pain of true patriots, the joy of feuillans, and the interest of liberty, command my silence. Moreover, this war will fall by itself, I like to hope, because it is only about absurdities, and the people do not pay for absurdities for long. The trial between M. Robespierre and me will be judged by our common conduct. He deserted his post (as public prosecutor), without being able to give a single good reason; I am and will be faithful to mine. It is by faithfully fulfilling my duties, and not by eternally denouncing that I will respond to him. I expect him at the end of the legislature; I will produce my actions, we will examine his, and the public will be the judge of our patriotism. Agendo non dicendo was Cato's motto, and it is also mine.

A week after that, May 17, the first number of Robespierre’s new journal Le Defenseur de la Constutition was released. Just six pages in he takes a dig at Brissot and Condorcet, questioning their conduct in the aftermath of the Flight to Varennes and Massacre on Champ de Mars the year before. He remarks how these two men ”up until then known for your connections to La Fayette, and for your great moderation; long-time spectators of a semi-aristocratic club (the Society of 1789)” suddenly started waving the word ”republic” around, Condorcet by publishing the treatise De la République, ou Un roi est-il nécessaire à la conservation de la liberté ?, Brissot by founding a journal by the name of Le Républicain, while their friend Duchatêlet put up posters preaching the same ideals on all the walls of Paris. Robespierre considers the timing for this to have been counterproductive at best:

With all the spirits fermented; just as much as the word republic caused division among the patriots, gave the enemies of liberty the pretext they were looking for, to publish that there existed in France a party which conspired against the monarchy and the constitution. They hastened to attribute to this argument the firmness with which we defended in the Constituent Assembly the rights of national sovereignty against the monster of inviolability. It was with this word [republic] that they misled the majority of the Constituent Assembly; it is this word which was the signal for the carnage of peaceful citizens, slaughtered on the altar of the homeland, their whole crime having been to legally exercise the right of petition, enshrined by constitutional laws. Through this name the true friends of liberty were disguised as factious by perverse or ignorant citizens; and the revolution regressed by perhaps half a century.

He also brings up the fact that it was Brissot who had been the author behind the petition that asked for the the removal of the king ”at a time when the faction was only waiting for this pretext to slander the defenders of liberty” which was then presented on the Champ-de-Mars. While Robespierre is quick to underline he doesn’t think the intentions of Brissot or Condorcet were ”as guilty as the events were disastrous,” dismissing the thoughts of other ”patriots” who have suggested the two were secret allies of Lafayette, he also writes that ”I only want to see in their past conduct anything but impolitic sovereignity and profound ineptitude” and warns them that ”anyone who bases ambitious projects on new errors of the monarch, who dares to start civil war, at a time when foreign war is being provoked, would be the greatest enemy of the homeland.” The number also contained a copy of Robespierre’s Réponse to Brissot and Guadet from the month before.

In number 3 of Le Defenseur de la Constitution, which can be dated May 31, Robespierre also published an article by the name of Considerations regarding one of the main causes of our ills, where he attacked Brissot once again, designating him and Condorcet as the most famous leaders of a faction that also included ”other deputies of Bordeaux, such as MM. Guadet, Vergniaux, Gensonné...”(he justified going against his former stance to not focus on individuals by rhetorically asking ”how to reveal the factions, without naming Claudius, or Piso, or Caesar? How to fight the Triumpirs [sic], without attacking Octave, or Antoine or Lepidus?”). For 22 pages, Robespierre examined Brissot’s ”faction,” listing several charges and taking from it three truths:

The first [truth] is that, as members of the legislature, they have violated the rights of the nation, and labored mightily to imperil liberty; the second, that they have employed pernicious maneuvers to deprave the public spirit, and make it deviate towards the principles of despotism and aristocracy; the third, that they have done everything in their way to corrupt patriotic societies, and to make of these necessary channels of public education, instruments of intrigue and faction. […] Justice, common sense, civil and political liberty, you have sacrificed everything to the interest of your ambition and to cowardly vengeance; you had to complain about one of the denounced writings; and you were not ashamed to be accusers, judges and parties at the same time. With your heart full of cruel and vile passions, you invoked the public good and the sacred name of the laws.

Robespierre ends by declaring:

…it seems to me that it has now been proven that your patriotism was neither sustained nor true; that the scattered features, by which it seemed to announce itself, can well fool the eyes of unreflecting men, but not redeem the great faults that you have committed against the nation: that in general they do not relate to the public good and to the cause of the people; but to a system of intrigues, and to the interest of a party. I don't need to know whether it's the court or some other faction you serve; it is enough to see that it is not liberty. It is even clear that your conduct can only promote the triumph of the court; and that it is up to it to take advantage of it. If you are strangers to it, you are not so to any other party. However, any party is harmful to public affairs, and it is in the interest of the nation to stifle it, as it is the duty of each citizen to reveal it.

In the aftermath of the publication of both these numbers, sections with the title Why? (Pourquoi ?) appeared in Le Patriote François, the first in in number 1014 (May 20), the second in number 1032 (June 6). Each paragraph of these sections began with the mantra ”Why do M. Robespierre and his partisans [do this/that]. We don’t know, but [something that implies Robespierre has ulterior motives for doing it].” None of these articles are however signed, so there’s no way to know if Brissot was the author (I have my doubts that would be the case for at least the second article, since Brissot in that case would be referring to himself in third person). Throughout June 1792 we also find other numbers of Patriote Français where Robespierre gets mentioned in hostile terms (number 1035 (June 10), number 1036 (June 11), number 1042 (June 17)).

But on June 28 1792, Brissot and Robespierre were shortly reunited after the former had held a speech at the Jacobins denouncing Lafayette, who on the 16th had written an open letter to the Legislative Assembly where he had suggested shutting down all political clubs in order to retain order. 

M. Robespierre: When the danger to liberty is certain, when the enemy of liberty is well known, it is superfluous to speak of a reunion, because this feeling is in all hearts. As for me, I felt that it was in mine from the pleasure that the speech given this morning to the National Assembly by M. Guadet gave me, and from that which I have just experienced by hearing M. Brissot. (Applause.)

The journal La Rocambole des journaux, even claims Robespierre wanted to embrace Brissot once again:

I agree to this with all my heart, replies Robespierrot [sic], and to prove it to you: come here Brissot, let me embrace you; let us think only of crushing Lafayette, and of having him indicted; but first, each citizen must denigrate, tear apart, defame this conspirator with all his power so that before being judged by the national high tribunal, he is condemned in public opinion.

Of course, the reunion didn’t last for long, already a month later, July 29, Robespierre did for the first time openly show his support for overthrowing the king and the Legislative Assembly and replacing them with a convention tasked with carrying out major changes. He also argued that the selfdenying decree he had put forward a year earlier be used again, barring the members of the Legislative Assembly (obviously including Brissot) from sitting in the Convention. The next day, July 30, Le Courrier du Midi reported the following:

The club of 300 legislators was held today, in the former Jacobin barracks, near the club of friends of the constitution. Mr. Isnard has just caused a major split there, by declaring that he was going to denounce MM. Antoine and Roberspierre [sic], former constituent deputies. The latter had declared on the 30th [sic] that the current legislature was incapable of saving national sovereignty, and in the hands of intriguing legislators. Roberspierre [sic] spoke with rare energy; and the club ordered the printing of his speech, fortunately improvised. Mr. Isnard is therefore awaiting this civic harangue, to make his denunciation, tending to send the two constituents to the high court of Orléans: his motion was supported by the tartuffe Brissot, who showed the same commitment. Patriotic deputies left the insidious session and tore up their cards; they came to reveal this cowardly plot to the Jacobins; and the publicity of this uncivil act will undoubtedly cause Isnard and Brissot's project to fail.

During his trial a year later, Brissot claimed to not remember this incident.  Regardless, the day right after it, August 1 1792, it was spoken of at length at the Jacobins, with energic attacks being made against Brissot. Robespierre was present at the session but chose not to mention Brissot or Isnard, confining himself to repeating his wish of convening a national convention meant to last for a year. ”This effective way to keep all intriguers away from this constituent assembly seems to this speaker sufficient to save the homeland from the dangers that it owes only to weakness and intrigue.”

The very same day, news of the Brunswick Manifesto begun to sweep through Paris, and before the Brissot and Isnard controversy could get any too drastic follow-ups, it was overshadowed by the Insurrection of August 10 which brought and end to the Legislative Assembly. Two days after the insurrection, August 12, Robespierre began to serve on the Paris Commune. On September 2, during the end of which the so called September massacres began, he is recorded to have done the following during the evening session of said commune: 

MM. Billaud-Varenne and Robespierre, developing their civic feelings, paint the deep pain they feel over the current state of France. They denounce to the General Council a plot in favor of the Duke of Brunswick, whom a powerful party wants to bring to the throne of the French.

The next day, Brissot could report the following:

Yesterday, Sunday, I, as well as parts of the deputies of the Gironde, and other equally virtuous men, was denounced at the Paris Commune. We were accused of wishing to hand over France to the Duke of Brunswick, of having received millions from them, and of having concerted ourselves to go to England to save ourselves. Citizens, I was denounced at ten o'clock in the evening, and at the same time they were slaughtering in the prisons… This morning, around seven o'clock, three commissioners of the Commune came to my house… for three hours, they examined, with all possible care, all my papers.

If this had been a naked attempt to get Brissot murdered in prison is hard to know for sure. Historians willing to give Robespierre the benefit of the doubt have suggested he may not have learned of the massacres yet when denouncing Brissot. Though I wouldn’t say his case is much helped by the fact that, when explaining his actions during and attitude towards the massacres in a speech held November 5 1792, he denied he had even been present at the Commune the days before and during them (which is obviously false) as opposed to admitting he had been there and said what he’d said, while asseverating he had not had any evil intentions…

In his Discours de Jérôme Pétion sur l’accusation intentée contre Maximilien Robespierre (November 5 1792) Pétion recounts the following conversation between him and Robespierre which took place just one day after Brissot’s house was searched, and where Robespierre confirms his suspicions regarding Brissot having connections to Brunswick. Like Brissot one year earlier, Pétion too underlines that no personal relationship existed between the latter and Robespierre:

The surveillance Committee launched an arrest warrant against Minister Roland; it was the 4th (September), and the massacres were still going on. Danton was informed of it, he came to the town hall, he was with Robespierre. […] I had an explanation with Robespierre, it was very lively. I still made him face the reproaches that friendship tempered in his absence, I told him: ”Robespierre, you are doing a lot of harm; your denunciations, your alarms, your hatreds, your suspicions, they agitate the people; explain yourself; do you have any facts? do you have proof? I fight with you; I only love the truth; I only want liberty.  ”You allow yourself to be surrounded,” [he replied], ”you allow yourself to be warned. You are disposed against me, you see my enemies every day; you see Brissot and his party.” ”You are mistaken, Robespierre; no one is more on guard than I against prejudices, and judges with more coolness, men and things. You’re right, I see Brissot, however rarely, but you don’t know him, and I know him since his childhood. I have seen him in those moments when the whole soul shows itself; where one abandons oneself without reservation to friendship, to trust: I know his disinterestedness; I know these principles, I assure you that they are pure; those who make him a party leader do not have the slightest idea of ​​his character; he has lights and knowledge; but he has neither the reserve, nor the dissimulation, nor these catchy forms, nor this spirit of consistency which constitutes a party leader, and what will surprise you is that, far from leading others, he is very easy to abuse.” Robespierre insisted, but confined himself to generalities.  ”Allow us to explain ourselves, I told him, tell me frankly what’s on your mind, what it is you know.” ”Well!” he replied, ”I believe that Brissot is with Brunswick.”  ”What mistake is yours!” I exclaimed. ”It is truly madness; this is how your imagination leads you astray: wouldn't Brunswick be the first to cut his head off? Brissot is not mad enough to doubt it: which of us can seriously capitulate! which of us does not risk his life! Let us banish unjust mistrust.” Danton became entangled in the colloquy, saying that this was not the time for arguments; that it was necessary to have all these explanations after the expulsion of the enemies; that this decisive object alone should occupy all good citizens. 

A little more than two weeks later, September 21, the first session of the National Convention was held. Robespierre and Brissot had both been elected deputies, the former representing Paris, the latter Eure-et-Loi. In the pamphlet J. P. Brissot, député à la Convention nationale, à tous les républicains de France; sur la société des Jacobins de Paris, released less than a month later, Brissot writes that before the opening of said Convention, Danton, in the hopes of sorting out their differences, organized a meeting between the three. But as might be expected, it didn’t bear any fruit…

Before the opening of the National Convention, Danton, trying to bring together what he called the parties, sought me out, and I did not refuse explanations, because I have always had a horror of divisions. I attested to the consideration that I for a long time had held for Robespierre and his faction, although constantly harassed by them. Danton asked me some questions about my republican doctrine; he feared, he said with Robespierre, that I wanted to establish a federative republic, that this was the opinion of Gironde. I reassured him. Robespierre was informed of this, and Robespierre continued to spread the word that I wanted a federal republic.

Just two days after the opening of the Convention, September 23 Chabot came to the Jacobins and announced that in number 1140 of Patriote Français, released the very same day, ”Brissot or his croupier said […] that the Convention appeared to be divided into two distinct parties; one of which is a disorganizing party. This seems to me to be one of the intrigues that people play to keep the deputies sent from the departments to the Convention away from the Jacobins: they will be told that it is in this Society that this disorganizing party resides. […] I therefore denounce this intrigue that seems to me to have been made in order to depopularize Danton, Robespierre and Collot, and I say that, if Brissot does not explain this article in his journal, he is the biggest of scoundrels.” When Brissot hadn’t yet appeared to give an explanation on October 10, the jacobins struck him from their list of members, and other ”girondins” followed suit the very same month.

On September 25, a stormy session played out between girondins and montagnards within the newly opened Convention (as would be the case for almost every session the following time as well), that among other things included Osselin claiming that ”a party of Robespierre” existed within the Convention, Robespierre denying this to be true, saying that ”it was when I loudly demanded the dismissal of Lafayette before the war, that it was said, in these public journals, that I had had conferences with the queen, with Lamballe, and that my resignation as public prosecutor was the result of this infamous transaction; and it was at the same time that a patriotic but inconsiderate writer (Brissot) accused me of aspiring to dictatorship: and it was at the moment when the National Convention was about to begin its work that these miserable imputations were reproduced,” Brissot asking what right there is for issuing arrest warrants against deputies, and Verguiaux developing on this by accusing Robespierre of having implicated him, Brissot, Ducos, Guadet, Condorcet and Lasource in the complot favorable to the duke of Brunswick denounced at the commune on September 2.

On October 29 1792 Brissot released the pamphlet J. P. Brissot, député à la Convention nationale, à tous les républicains de France ; sur la société des Jacobins de Paris where he, after having accused Robespierre of secretly working with the Austrian committee during the Legislative Assembly and hiding out during the Insurrection of August 10, once again came back to what the latter had been up to during September 2:

Robespierre accused me, at the rostrum of the Paris Commune, of having sold France to Brunswick. He had, he said, proof, striking documents. He promised to show them. Readers, do you want to know this striking evidence? Here it is: I got it from Pétion and Danton, to whom Robespierre did not blush to entrust it. Brunswick, he said, would not have entered France if he had not had a deal with the Gironde faction and me to deliver Paris to him. And where was this deal? In Robespierre's head. Without doubt I could refute, with a thousand arguments, this profoundly stupid accusation, were it not profoundly atrocious. I could retort, with advantage, against Robespierre, this pleasant logic, and prove to him, perhaps, with more plausibility that he himself and his accomplices were in concert with the Prussians; but disdaining such an easy victory, I move on to other considerations. And, I ask my readers, what idea should one form of a man who, on a hypothesis, on a reverie, publicly dishonors representatives of the nation, already surrounded by slander and daggers; who delivers them to the people. What will I say to the brigards who took on the name of the people; to the brigards ready to strike, at the sole signal of the first slanderer who presented himself. And it was on September 2 that Robespierre resounded with this slander! It was the day when the surveillance committee, dripping with blood, issued arrest warrants, or rather massacre warrants, against the deputies of Gironde and against me! It was the day when the scoundrels, who triumphed in Paris, piled up their victims at the Abbaye prison, because they had made the Abbaye a butchery, a tomb for their victims...! Yes, Robespierre was obviously either a monster, or the imbecile instrument of monsters. He was accused of aspiring to dictatorship, to the tribunate. His conduct would seem to prove it, if the mediocrity of his means, if the terror of death, which constantly surrounds him, did not keep him from this perilous post: a dictator must include among his risks that of a violent death; and to brave death, you need some courage. Whatever his secret intentions, when I remember all the circumstances which preceded, accompanied or followed the awful day of September 2 [he then spends two pages listing these circumstances] I cannot help but believe that this tragedy was divided into two very different acts; that the massacre of the prisoners was only an accessory to the grand plan; that it covered and was to bring about the execution of a conspiracy formed against the National Assembly, the ministry and the most intrepid defenders of liberty; that its authors lacked only the courage to execute it, and to mount the tribunate on the corpses of Rolland, Guadet, Vergniaux, Gensonné, etc. and on mine... […] ”I know it,” said Robespierre naively one day to a deputy from Gironde who accused him of having ordered the assassinations. ”I know, that neither you nor your friends would have had an aristocrat assassinated.” This trait paints the spirit of the band.

The next part in the reblog.