#it’s like charles+camill but worse

[dreamsclock]

imo c!dreambur letters would be like james joyce's letters to his wife (sidenote: don't read james joyce's letters).

please delete this fucking ask. this is seriously fucked up

[its-avalon-08]

why did you leave me (cl16)

part7!

multipart story! prev || next

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

Y/N found a quiet spot away from the paddock, tears streaming down her face. She had been holding back for so long, and now everything was crashing down on her. Lando, noticing her distress, followed her and sat down beside her.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” he asked gently, concern evident in his eyes.

Y/N shook her head, trying to wipe away her tears. “It’s nothing, Lando. Just... everything’s a mess.”

Lando placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Come on, you can talk to me. What happened back there with Charles? Why are you so upset?”

Y/N sat with Lando, trying to compose herself enough to explain. Her voice wavered as she started, but as the memories flooded back, she spoke more steadily, her emotions pouring out.

“It started when we were kids,” Y/N began, her eyes distant as she recalled the past. “We were just friends back then, but even at that age, I felt something special. I remember the first time I realized it. We were about ten, and Charles had just won his first karting race. He was so happy, and his smile was infectious. I felt this strange warmth in my chest, a kind of joy I couldn’t explain. I think that’s when it all started.”

She paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “As we grew older, those feelings only got stronger. When we were teenagers, it became more complicated. I remember one summer, we were sixteen, and we spent almost every day together. We’d go to the beach, have picnics, just talk for hours. I loved every second of it. But then, there was that day we were at the beach, and he was talking about this girl he liked. I smiled and encouraged him, but inside, it felt like my heart was breaking. That’s when I knew I was in love with him, and that it wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper than that.”

Y/N’s voice broke slightly as she recounted her teenage years. “I never said anything, though. I was too scared. What if he didn’t feel the same? I couldn’t risk losing him. So I kept it to myself and tried to be the best friend I could be. I listened to him talk about other girls, gave him advice, and supported him. It hurt, but I thought it was better than losing him completely.”

Lando listened intently, his heart aching for his friend. “That must have been so hard for you, Y/N.”

“It was,” she admitted. “But I managed. Then we became adults, and things got even more complicated. Charles’ career took off, and I was so proud of him. But as he became more famous, more girls came into his life. Each time he introduced me to someone he was dating, it felt like a knife to my heart. But I smiled and supported him because that’s what friends do.”

Y/N wiped a tear away, her voice trembling. “The worst was when he started dating Camille. She was perfect for him. Beautiful, smart, kind. I knew I had to step back. I couldn’t stand to see them together. I started making excuses, avoiding him. I thought maybe if I distanced myself, I could move on. But it didn’t work. Every time I saw him, it hurt even more. I tried dating other people, but no one compared to him. No one made me feel the way he did.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. “And what could I even say to him? That I’m hopelessly in love with my best friend who’s in a happy relationship? That I can’t stand to see him with someone else? I couldn’t do that to him. Or to myself.”

She took a deep breath, her hands shaking. “And now, seeing him so angry and hurt because of me… it’s unbearable. I thought I was protecting myself, but I’ve just made everything worse. I’ve lost my best friend, and I’ve hurt him more than I ever wanted to.”

Lando squeezed her hand, his voice gentle. “Y/N, you’ve been carrying this for so long. You need to tell him. He deserves to know how you feel.”

Y/N shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “But what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ruin everything?”

“Maybe you will,” Lando said softly. “But maybe you won’t. Maybe he feels the same way and has been just as scared to tell you. You won’t know until you talk to him. But Y/N I have seen his eyes. The way they glow when he speaks to you. Just talk to him. Please, for his sake and yours.”

Y/N lay against Lando, completely exhausted from the emotional outpouring. Her body trembled with the weight of her revelations and the tears that had flowed freely. Lando, wrapping her protectively in his arms, held her close, offering silent comfort. As she nestled into his embrace, she whispered softly, "Thank you for listening, Lan. I just wish I could make everything right again." Lando's steady heartbeat and warm presence were the only solace she had as she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the turmoil within.

Charles stood in the shadows, his heart pounding as he absorbed the depth of Y/N's emotions. Every word she had spoken, every confession of love and pain, echoed in his mind. The realization hit him with a force he wasn’t prepared for—he had been blind to her feelings, and now he understood the true cost of his own actions.

He felt a mix of guilt and longing as he watched Y/N’s tear-streaked face, her vulnerability laid bare. The weight of his realization was almost too much to bear. He had to find a way to confront her, to make things right, but the enormity of it all left him paralyzed.

As he took a step back into the darkness, the world around him seemed to blur, leaving only the burning question of how to move forward. The shadows swallowed him, and the silence was deafening, a poignant reminder of the distance now between them.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Frev nicknames compilation

Maximilien Robespierre – the Incorruptible (first used by Fréron, and then Desmoulins, in 1790).

Augustin Robespierre – Bonbon, by Antoine Buissart (1, 2), Régis Deshorties and Élisabeth Lebas. Élisabeth confirmed this nickname came from Augustin’s middlename Bon.

Charlotte Robespierre – Charlotte Carraut (hid under said name at the time of her arrest, also kept it afterwards according to Élisabeth Lebas). Caroline Delaroche (according to Laignelot in 1825, an anonymous doctor in 1849 and Pierre Joigneaux in 1908).

Louis Antoine Saint-Just – Florelle (by himself), Monsieur le Chevalier de Saint-Just (by Salle and Desmoulins)

Jean-Paul Marat – the Friend of the People (l’Ami du Peuple) (self-given since 1789, when he started his journal with the same name)

Georges-Jacques Danton – Marius (by Fréron and Lucile Desmoulins).

Éléonore Duplay – Cornélie (according to the memoirs of Charlotte Robespierre and Paul Barras. Barras also adds that Danton jokingly called Éléonore “Cornelie Copeau, the Cornelie that is not the mother of Gracchus”)

Élisabeth Duplay – Babet (by Robespierre and Philippe Lebas in her memoirs)

Jacques Maurice Duplay – my little friend (by Robespierre), our little patriot (by Robespierre)

Camille Desmoulins – Camille (given by contemporaries since 1790. Most likely a play on the Roman emperor Camillus who saved Rome from Brennus in the 4th century like Camille saved the revolution on July 12, and not a reference to Camille behaving like a manchild to the people around him like is commonly stated.) Loup (wolf) by Fréron and Lucile (1, 2), Loup-loup by Fréron (1, 2), Monsieur Hon by Lucile.

Lucile Desmoulins – Loulou (by Camille 1, 2), Loup by Camille, Lolotte (by Camille (1, 2), Rouleau by Fréron (1, 2) and Camille, the chaste Diana (by Fréron), Bouli-Boula by Fréron (1, 2).

Horace Desmoulins – little lizard (Camille), little wolf (Ricord), baby bunny (Fréron).

Annette Duplessis (Lucile’s mother) — Melpomène (by Fréron), Daronne (by Camille)

Stanislas Fréron – Lapin (bunny) (by himself (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) and Lucile. According to Marcellin Matton, publisher of the Desmoulins correspondence and friend of Lucile’s mother and sister, Fréron obtained this nickname from playing with the bunnies at Lucile’s parents country house everytime he visited there, and Lucile was the one who came up with it). Martin by Camille and himself (likely a reference to the drawing ”Martin Fréron mobbed by Voltaire” which depicts Fréron’s father Élie Fréron as a donkey called ”Martin F”.)

Manon Roland — Sophie (by herself in a letter to Buzot).

Charles Barbaroux — Nysus by Manon Roland

François Buzot — Euryale by Manon Roland

Pierre Jacques Duplain — Saturne (by Fréron)

Guillaume Brune — Patagon (by Fréron)

Antoine Buissart (Robespierre’s pretend dad from Arras) — Baromètre (due to his interest in science)

Comment who had the best/worse nickname!

[nesiacha]

do you have some good sources about how women during the frev thought about universal male suffrage? (i've been uncomfortable with some claims about how the frev was not feminist enough because women got the rights to vote in the 20th century, but cannot back up this discomfort.)

"I am quite limited on certain subjects and this is one of them (I am currently researching the exact thoughts of women during the French Revolution on universal suffrage).

Unfortunately, it has been a great shame that the French Revolution was misogynistic despite the meager rights that were gradually taken away from them over time. Even the greatest progressives like Sylvain Maréchal, who was an important disciple of Babeuf, had as a project to ensure that women did not have a say in the learning of reading.

The fact that misogyny was already present during the Ancien Régime (Marie Antoinette is blamed for all evils when in reality she did not have much say during her husband's reign, to better absolve Louis XVI and the policy of France under this absolute regime) or that Napoleon made the condition of women worse than that of Italy or Spain (I mentioned this in my post 'Women's Rights Suppressed') while being a great hypocrite does not absolve the revolutionaries for what they did in their misogyny.

There was a habit of attacking the wives of their adversaries to better discredit them (like Manon Roland, Marie Françoise Goupil, wife of Hébert, Lucile Duplessis, wife of Desmoulins), which is an interesting parallel on this point with the attacks against Marie Antoinette.

Olympe de Gouges spoke about the rights of women and citizens. Pauline Léon, Claire Lacombe, who demanded the right to organize in the national army. Théroigne de Méricourt, Louis Reine Audu, and again Claire Lacombe fought in the Tuileries and yet, despite being rewarded with a civic crown, they would not have the right to speak on universal suffrage.

Chaumette was a great misogynist, Robespierre too (one could tell me that he supported Louise de Keralio's candidacy for her entry into the academy, but in political matters, it was another story), Danton, Sylvain Maréchal, Amar, etc. I am not here to blame Robespierre and I deplore that there is a black legend about him, but one can see a certain purely political gesture in my opinion for the action he will take towards Simone Evrard.

As much as Simone Evrard is a very intelligent woman, with an extraordinary destiny very underestimated, capable of making very good political speeches (one of the people of the French Revolution that I admire the most), I wonder if the fact that Robespierre personally introduced her into the Assembly was just an opportunistic gesture because he would have had an additional reason to discredit Jacques Roux and Théophile Leclerc thanks to the speech she made while he was among the revolutionaries who approved the restriction of women's rights. Respect towards Simone Evrard regarding her dignity and intelligence (maybe even surely) opportunism, I would be tempted to answer on this by affirmative.

Risking repeating myself, Napoleon being a greater oppressor towards women by taking away the few rights they had, enacting oppressive and hypocritical laws, and even bloody ones concerning them, does not absolve the other revolutionaries of their sexism.

And there is no excuse that it was of their time (in fact, I noticed that this lie is used in my opinion to absolve Napoleon but not the revolutionaries, but forced to see that it fits into the same idea)... First of all, Charles Gilbert Romme was more progressive in women's rights, Marat and Charlier too, Camille Desmoulins thought that women could have the right to vote, Condorcet demanded gender equality, Carnot worked with him in women education with Pastoret and Guilloud , Guyomar opposed the exclusion of women from universal suffrage. Worse than anything, while the clubs and societies of women ended up being banned, which is a regression.

In 1795, for attempting to revolt against the Assembly which abolished the social policies of the Montagnards, they were prohibited from attending assemblies and even from gathering in the streets in groups of more than 5. Moreover, the term 'tricoteuse' to insult women was not invented during the Napoleonic era or the royalist era but in 1795.

What did women think about this? This is where I am quite limited because besides the answers I have given about these women and their actions, unfortunately, there is not much else I can say due to my limited knowledge.

In any case, I hope I have helped a bit to support the aforementioned statements.

In the meantime, I can provide some of my sources: the historian Mathilde Larrère, Antoine Resche who made very good summarized portraits of some revolutionary women on the website 'veni vidi sensi', I would also recommend reading the book by the writer Claude Guillon on Robespierre, women, and the Revolution (even though I completely disagree with some of his books that have been legally condemned, this one is rather good and he had a quite good blog on the French Revolution that I recommend checking out), and the historian Jean-Clément Martin, 'La révolte brisée'."

Reedit: Thank you to aedesluminis for inform me the role that Carnot Pastoret and Guilloud did with women's education.

[canirove]

The Princess & the Football Player | Chapter 22

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Masterlist

"Welcome, your Royal Highness. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Jones. Has anyone arrived yet?"

"Just us" someone says to my right.

"Merry Christmas, grandmama."

"Merry Christmas, darling" she says, kissing my cheek. "You look beautiful. What is your secret?"

"Oh, you know. Eating and sleeping well, drinking water, working out..." I chuckle. 

"Alone?" she smirks.

"Grandmama!" 

"I know you, Eleanor. You are definitely seeing someone, that smile betrays you."

"How is that I am the first one to arrive?" I ask as we walk towards the library, trying to change the topic of conversation. 

"Your aunt and your uncle are always late, you already know them. The girls said something about some late shopping, and your uncle was supposed to be here already, but Pierre's connection flight got delayed."

"Poor Pierre. He probably lost his flight on purpose because he doesn't want to meet us all."

"But he already met us last year when he cooked for us!"

"Exactly" I smirk.

"Oh, Eleanor" my grandmother laughs. "I love seeing you this happy."

"Thank you" I smile. "What about Sophie and my parents?"

"They... They are arriving late because they are waiting for some guests."

"Guests? Who?"

"Please don't get mad, Eleanor."

"Why would I... No. Please tell me it isn't Charles and his parents."

"Eleanor..."

"I thought we were done! That we had agreed that pushing it will only make it worse! Why is my mother so stubborn?"

"Camille and Jean are your parents best friends, they just want to spend the holidays together."

"Yeah, sure" I snort. "What they want is for Charles and I to get back together, and that isn't happening."

"Ellie, darling. Give them the benefit of the doubt."

"No!" I say, walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to London. I'm done with this."

"Oh, don't be like that!"

"Like what, grandmama? I'm tired of my mother deciding my life for me!"

"She does it because she loves you, because she wants the best for you."

"If she did, she would be more like you. You never opposed to her and dad dating, and as long as dad was happy, you were happy too. You didn't care about mum not having a job or what she had studied."

"At first I did have my doubts."

"But you never tried to set up dad with the daughter of any of your friends, telling him that anyone that wasn't them, wasn't enough for him!”

"This boy you are seeing... He isn't from our world, is he?" 

"What?" I say with a nervous laugh.

"Your mother has been pushing you towards Charles for years and you've never behaved like this. You've never been this angry."

"Maybe I just reached my limit" I shrug.

"Or maybe you are just afraid because you know she won't approve of him. That's it, isn't it?"

"I don't know if any of you will approve of him" I whisper.

"Was he in jail or something?" my grandmother laughs.

"What? No!"

"Then what is it? Is he divorced and with kids?"

"No, it's nothing like that. It's... It's about his job."

"Oh, I see. It isn't enough for a future queen."

"It isn't enough for anyone decent like mum would say."

"Eleanor... Are you dating one of those actors? You know, the ones who do... Adult movies."

"Grandmama!"

"What? You said it wasn't enough for anyone decent" she shrugs, air quoting that last word.

"He... Urgh."

"It's ok, Eleanor. You can tell me" she says, caressing my cheek.

"He... He is a football player. There, I said it."

"Oh, so you also fell for one" she laughs.

"What?"

"I know about Roberta and that boy. Her grandmother called me the other day saying that she was taking him home for the new year."

"She... What?"

"Julia is my best friend just like Roberta is yours, we share these things. But tell me more about him. Is he English? Famous? Hot?"

"Grandmama!" I laugh, a shrug as her only reply. "He is all of those things, yes. His grandparents are half Irish, but he was born and raised here."

"You and boys with Irish blood..." she chuckles. "So you met him this summer in Canada?"

"I did, yes."

"And do you love him?"

"I do" I whisper, looking down at my bracelet and touching it. It already has become something I do all the time when I think of Declan.

"Did he give you this?" she asks, also touching it. 

"When he asked me to be his girlfriend."

"Oh, you are official already!"

"Just for a few days, but we are, yes."

"I'm so happy for you, darling."

"Really?" I say, meeting her eyes. "You don't mind that he is... Not enough for someone like me?"

"Poppycock" she chuckles. "I can't remember the last time I saw you this happy, Eleanor. If he makes you look like this, glow like this... He is more than enough for you."

"I wish mum would think the same" I sigh.

"Let me talk to her. I know I can convince her to respect you and your choices. It'll be my Christmas present."

"Ok" I smile. "Thank you very much, grandmama."

"You don't have to thank me" she says, taking my hands on hers. "I love you, Eleanor."

"I love you too."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━          

"Merry Christmas, Declan Rice."

"Merry Christmas, your Royal Highness. How did last night go?"

"Better than I expected. I think the talk my grandmother had with my mum actually worked."

"Really?"

"Yep. She didn't try anything with Charles. Though my cousins kidnapped him the whole night, we barely exchanged a few words."

"Good. Let's hope it lasts."

"The kidnapping or my mother behaving?" I chuckle.

"Both? I don't like seeing him around you."

"Oh, Dec, don't be jealous. You know I only have eyes for you. You are my boyfriend."

"Yeah, yeah. But he is just so... Handsome. I think I'm not just jealous because you dated and your mum wants you to get back together. I think I am also jealous because of how handsome he is."

"What?" I laugh.

"Yeah... Don't you ever get jealous of other girls because they are stunning? This is the same but with men."

"I mean, he is very handsome. But he doesn't have your eyes."

"But he has dimples. And really nice hair."

"So do you. Or do you think I'm constantly touching it because I'm bored?"

"Maybe" he shrugs. "But what about his nose? You say you love mine, but his also is kind of there."

"He has a nice profile, but yours is bigger. All of you is bigger than him."

"All of me?" he smirks.

"Yes, Declan. All of you. Happy now?"

"I guess."

"Men" I say, rolling my eyes. "Have you heard from Mason and Roberta?"

"Nope. You?"

"Nothing yet."

"They are probably still sleeping. Mason is so lucky he is injured and doesn't have to train on Christmas day..."

"But he will be missing his Boxing Day game, and that one is always special."

"Yeah... Anyway, I should probably get out of bed and meet everyone downstairs before I have to leave. I can already hear my nephews screaming."

"I should do the same, yes. My grandmother and I always go on a little walk and gossip about everyone."

"Today you will probably gossip about me" Declan laughs. "I can't believe you told her about us, and that she's fine with it."

"She looks scary, but she actually is a softie. Though now she will want to meet you in person, get ready."

"Looking forward to it” he smiles. "And I better go, Ron is crying already."

"Go and make peace, uncle Dec."

"I will, future untie Ellie."

"Untie Ellie? Really?" I laugh.

"They are into nicknames" he shrugs. "Anyway, Merry Christmas, Eleanor. I love you."

"I love you too, Declan" I smile before hanging up. 

[hourcat]

remember that scene from the sound of music where captain von trapp and maria dance in the courtyard.

yeah.

“We are at a party, Juliette,” Charles murmurs, resting a hand on the crown of flowers settled on her hair. “We are supposed to be dancing the way your papa is in there.”

Juliette’s expression is still sour. “But Charlie,” she whines, stomping her foot, “I don’t know how to dance like my papa does.” When her arms cross, Charles knows what he’ll have to do next. “What am I even meant to do while all the others have fun together?” The question gets a murmur of agreement from the rest of her siblings.

Charles can’t really fault her there. She’s eleven years old—there’s probably nowhere in the world less exciting to her than this ball is right now. “Well,” he answers after a beat, “I must teach you then, non?” With a slightly exaggerated bow, which earns him a giggle, Charles holds out a hand for her to take.

She does, immediately, with a little squeak of excitement. “You must!” But the delighted expression lasts only a moment, because her brow furrows in focus as she squeezes his hand tightly.

“Easy,” he soothes, squeezing back once gently. Her grasp loosens. The focused pout dissipates. “All right, Juliette. Like this—” he leads them a few steps forward, testing her willingness to move with him (she is, like always—a good girl, one that Pierre must be so proud of) and then stops, squeezing her hand again in signal. “Now I will bow, and you will curtsy.” He releases her from his grasp only for a moment to do so: Juliette’s curtsy is far too deep, one that has Elise and Camille giggling behind their hands, but Manon shushes them with a quick, sharp noise. Charles glances up to give her a grateful look. There is nothing worse than being humiliated trying to learn something new, after all.

Juliette, apparently, missed the commotion. “Like this?” She’s got her hands clutched in her dress, almost too tight to the point of concern over the fabric. (But—she’s so excited. Charles will mend it for her if anything happens.)

“Like that,” he affirms. “Now we go for a little walk. Just watch my feet, mon chou, I will count with the music the way we have learned.” She nods, a harsh bob of her curls, and Charles swallows the chuckle of fondness that seems to have risen from his gut. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” The orchestra inside is playing at the perfect volume to keep them in time as he starts to step with her. Juliette…is picking it up better than he’d imagined she would. Her head is focused on the ground, though—they’ll work on that next, once she figures out where her feet must go. “One, two, three, step together, yes? Very good, very elegant, Juliette. Now we move to—the music moves quicker here, so we must—step-hop, step hop.” Her grip on his hand tightens. “Look up, cherie, I will lead you here.”

“Okay,” she whispers, squeezing his fingers once more as she lifts her head to meet his gaze. As the music continues to swell, they dance to the middle of the courtyard floor, Charles leading and Juliette stumbling to keep up with the step-hop movement she’s clearly trying to skip into. They have all night, Charles will make sure all the kids take turns practicing with one another, as this band will likely be playing long into the night.

“Now turn under. Like I am twirling you, but—” her arms are just not long enough to properly execute the move the way Charles had learned, which forces him into an awkward move of his own to keep from dislocating her shoulders. She inhales sharply as they execute the first turn. “Not quite, not quite, but close, Jules.”

“Hey,” Jules calls from the other side of the courtyard, “I’m not even dancing!”

“Hush,” Charles shouts back, although he’s dissolved into giggles himself alongside the rest of the children. Juliette’s nervous-seeming expression is gone, now, replaced with that same excitement she’d first taken his hand with. “This way, we will try again. Hop step, hop—under, yes, and step.” She’s a little better at it this time around, the movements seeming less erratic than they’d been a few moments before. She’s a smart little girl. “You are doing well, we will just have to practice more this evening.” They attempt another turn, and Charles starts thinking of who he’ll try next with—perhaps Manon, as she will learn quickest as the oldest. Leo can hold baby Margaux for a little while, after all—

“Ma belle, please allow me, will you?” Pierre’s voice is suddenly right behind him, low and warm and so close Charles could—he could—

“Of course, papa!” Juliette exclaims; when her hands release Charles’, it feels like an anchor being cut from a ship out at sea. Of course she doesn’t know that this—that he—that they—

“May I?” When Charles turns back around, feeling warm in the face already, Pierre’s expression is soft and entirely unguarded. Amused, even. His hand is held out invitingly and god Charles doesn’t even wait a beat before taking it, threading their fingers on instinct. Pierre’s laugh is rumbly in his chest. (Charles is so close he can feel it.)

From inside the party, the music brightens even further. It has been so long since Charles has danced with anyone like this, so close, so warm, he’s blissfully surprised at the way it feels natural to move with Pierre as he leads them across the courtyard floor. The surprise increases exponentially as Charles realizes that Pierre is very familiar with dancing like this: he moves with Charles like he’s in his head already, their rhythm effortless as they go back and forth across the floor.

He's smiling, too. It’s something the Captain has been doing more often these days, Charles has realized. It’s a handsome look on him. Carefree, even if this party had been irritating to him when they’d first arrived. The hand he has settled at the small of Charles’ back is warm, bleeding right through the fabric of his dressclothes. Their clasped hands are starting to have that same effect.

God, Charles can’t even be terribly jealous of Pierre’s bride-to-be because of course she’s in love with him. To have him this close even just to dance is more than intoxicating, and Charles just takes care of the children. The idea of having this attention that Pierre is bestowing upon him now, both soft and raw as it pours over him, for a lifetime? He longs for it, of course, but he could never fault her for wanting the exact same.

At least she gets to have it, though. He’ll have to be happy with this. Pierre turns with him, effortless and smooth, and then pulls him suddenly closer as the music peals its final melodious notes. It is…breathtaking. “I did not pin you for a dancer, Charles,” he murmurs, so close that Charles can feel the puffed breath from each word gust gently against his face. “Although perhaps I should have expected it would come with your music.”

There’s a warmth to his words that makes Charles’ stomach coil in on itself. “I am not a dancer,” he whispers. “I—"

[inclineto]

Books, July-August 2023

The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen - KJ Charles

Dragonsinger - Anne McCaffrey [many elements of McCaffrey’s work haven’t aged well - let’s be honest and give past readers some credit for acumen: many of them were never good to begin with - and this book is not free of all of them, but as far as I’m concerned, this and Dragonsong are the most wholeheartedly enjoyable things she ever wrote] *

The Assistants - Camille Perri

An Archive of Taste: Race and Eating in the Early United States - Lauren F. Klein [excellent study of connections and divergences between taste (sensory), taste (aesthetic), and taste (social) and its role in defining the nature and boundaries of American national identity in the late 18th and early 19th centuries; creative use of the now-familiar language and methods of archival sources and silences, and chapter five (”Absence: Slavery and Silence in the Archive of Eating”) may be my new recommendation when professors ask for a chapter on digital humanities and archives to assign their grad students; open access full text] *

Caddie Woodlawn - Carol Ryrie Brink [I know I read this at least once as a child, but except for a vague impression of peacocks it didn’t stick with me, and that’s probably for the best...holy noble savages stereotypes, Batman]

The Impossible Art: Adventures in Opera - Matthew Aucoin [another one of those weird “I knew you before the MacArthur” reading experiences]

Brother’s Ruin - Emma Newman

Violets - Shin Kyung-Sook, translated by Anton Hur

Leave it to Psmith - P.G. Wodehouse

Ocean’s Echo - Everina Maxwell

Tolkien and the Great War: The Threshold of Middle-earth - John Garth [Between the thin skins of the fans and the litigiousness of the estate, I’m not sure it’s possible to write about Tolkien without falling into a hard-to-take, defensively pretentious voice; I used to assume the authors were imitating Tolkien (badly), but - much worse - I think they may really be trying to sound like Christopher Tolkien trying to sound like his father. The result is almost always unfortunate, and yet if you make it 150 pages or so you will eventually realize that you have begun not to notice it. Anyway, war is terrible.]

[gothicwidowsworld]

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Blogs I reblogged the most:

@oscar-piastri

@sebaston-vettel

@vettelhive

@springsteens

I tagged 203 of my posts in 2022

#gothicwidow - 86 posts

#f1 - 55 posts

#formula one - 43 posts

#imagines - 30 posts

#gothicwidow asks - 24 posts

#au imagines - 24 posts

#anon asks - 19 posts

#f1 imagines - 17 posts

#mick schumacher - 15 posts

#f1 x reader - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 78 characters

#my coworker tested positive and i spent practically all day with her yesterday

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Luck C.L

Luck didn’t mean a thing to Charles, the Ferrari driver would struggle to contain his urge to roll his eyes if Y/N ever mentioned luck. Charles was a firm believer in making and being responsible for your own luck but even then it would be a push for him to claim it as luck. The Monégasque could count on one hand all the moments where he’d felt truly lucky. When he felt weightless but in the best way possible. Right now wasn’t one of those times, in fact he’d go so far to say he’d be unbelievably lucky if the past couple of hours were wiped from his memory. Perhaps even from existence but luck doesn’t exist so instead he remained awake as he tortured himself replaying every move, every thought, and more importantly every mistake that lead him to P4. Every time he closed his eyes he was reliving the whole race , starting to notice all the bad elements tainting what should have been his moment. His home Grand Prix was always special, it was a race that allowed the two parts of him to embrace. The Racer who loved the speed and smell of burnt rubber and the young boy who’d watched racers with wide eyes in awe. The part of him that everybody knew and the part that only those close to him view. And this year his need for a podium had tripled, this year he’d be able to celebrate his much desired win with Camille. Who despite only being three months old had become the apple of his eye. He’d wanted to make her proud. And he’d failed. 

“Charles?” Y/N whispered tentatively rolling over to face the looming hunched figure of her boyfriend. It was 3 am and the Ferrari Driver looked like he was yet to sleep even a wink. The usual post race mess of brown locks that had been retamed once again looking like they’d gone sixty laps under a helmet. The now roughly jostled strands no doubt made worse as Charles combed through it aggressively. It was a nervous habit he’d picked up years ago, the movements usually calming him and also allowing him to shift through his thoughts but right now it was an absentminded action. 

Flinching slightly at the Y/NA woman’s voice, Charles frowned. Perhaps if he remained still Y/N would fall back asleep and he could continue to chastise himself alone. “What’s wrong Charles?” the Y/H/C young woman murmured, grabbing clumsily at the males pale hand attempting to pull him back into bed. The silence was deafening, it was yet to be uncomfortable but like lighting that could change it a millisecond. The pair were both too nervous to make the next move, one in fear of agitating the other even more and the other in fear of becoming resented. That weightless feeling fell over the Monégasque yet again, but the bad kind, the kind that made you feel like you were being plunged into a dark seemingly bottomless ocean terrifying. The overwhelming urge to fight against the blackened waves shocking him into a stoic stance.  Charles had never felt so disappointed. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry ma chérie” The driver managed to choke out before the tears of frustration he’d been holding back finally escaped. The salty tears almost laughing at him as they made tracks down his tired face.  “I let you down, Jules, Anthoine, my Father… Camille.” Charles whimpered, practically shutting down as he muttered his daughter's name aloud. It was as if by saying the little girl's name aloud he was confirming that he had indeed failed remarkably. The driver had beaten himself up so much about the Grand Prix he hadn’t registered until now how much he’d broken himself. He’d bottled it up, smiled for the cameras, answered reporters' questions, reassured his family he was fine to the point he wanted so badly to believe it himself. 

“You really think Camille would love you any less?” Y/N asked the driver quietly, her delicate movement sluggish in the dark. Sleepily resting her head against the man’s shoulder, the Y/NA woman’s heart couldn’t help but break a little, feeling him recoil in the darkness. “I let her down! Her first home Grand Prix and I didn’t even get a podium…” Charles replied harshly, the rage he’d managed to quash hours earlier returning. He was angry with himself, with his team and the thought of disappointing the one person who meant more to him than anything hurt. Hurt like dull dying embers would still burn if you tried to touch them. “No no you didn’t let her down Charlie.” Y/N insisted, now wide awake tentatively moving closer to the man.  “You could never let her down.” Y/N continued, attempting to comfort the driver as well as she could in the dim light the occasional car or passing light managed to provide. Shaking his head wildly in disagreement Charles repeated his statement quietly, it was practically the anthem to his anxiety at this point. “Look at her hmm, look at her Charles” Y/N spoke slowly, almost as if she was talking to a child. “Does she look disappointed in you?” the Y/H/C whispered delicately brushing the man’s damp hair for a few seconds so he could calm his breathing. Once his breath had become even again Y/N gently guided the driver's gaze to the three month old peacefully sleeping in her crib.  Camille had originally had her own nursery, something the three Leclerc brother’s had lovingly crafted. But upon returning home with the littlest Leclerc Charles had insisted Camille not leave his sight. He’d been so in awe of the young babe that he’d struggled to tear his eyes off her, worrying that if he even blinked she’d grow up. “Does she look disappointed in you?” Y/N questioned the man again. “Because from where I'm sitting she looks anything but disappointed.” 

“She looks peaceful.” Charles mumbled, his voice uneven and broken due his small panic. “Hm and she’ll remain that way for about an hour or so before she’s hungry again. And at that point you’ll wish you’d closed your eyes sooner” Y/N teased the Monégasque shuffling back to settle under the covers yet again but this time holding the pale bedding open inviting the man to take his spot beside her. 

A/N slight continuation of my who’s the baby daddy series i guess but can be read alone. Also Y/NA = your nationality

387 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

#4

Angie M.S

A/N this isn’t great but i haven’t posted anything in AGES bear with me also warning i guess talks of period pain

If Y/N L/N’s scrolled through her phone right now she was a thousand percent sure she’d see stories from her friends and family enjoying their Friday evening. In fact she knew her friend Y/F/N was planning a much needed night out but instead the y/h/c girl was at home. Time was seemingly passing but Y/N couldn’t quite be sure. She’d watched the f1 practices and even managed to catch some of f3 as she came in and out of consciousness. The girl had been feeling under the weather on and off throughout the day, cursing that after months of seeming painless visits from aunt flo that now she could barely move without feeling like she was being stabbed with a red hot poker. Medicine had managed to take the edge off but still.

Taking a bite of her slice of now lukewarm at best pizza Y/N frowned at the interruption of her Friday night plans. Despite having a Mick free weekend the y/h/c young woman was donned in a pair of sweats and an old worn hoodie that had definitely seen better days, an episode of Golden Girls displayed on the tv. If she was being honest Y/N hadn’t really been paying attention to the show, instead using it as background noise. It wasn’t  like the y/h/c girl hated her own company but with her feeling under the weather and lacking human company some noise was better than nothing even if it was three American ladies complaining. “Miss me already Schumacher,'' the y/h/c young woman hummed teasingly, answering the facetime request without hesitation before sluggishly reaching for the remote to mute the show.

 Y/N didn’t have to check the contact name before accepting the request, Mick had a habit of calling her every night they were apart, whether his absence was work based or domestic. The soft German had been bashful at the start of their relationship, scared of coming across as clingy but over time the part had gotten used to each other's so called quirks. “What I can’t miss my girls?” Mick asked innocently feigning a look of horror but the small grin settling on his pale features breaking his joking façade. “Ah girl.” the y/h/c girl corrected, lifting her phone higher to gesture at the sofa currently housing her, her pizza and a blanket. There was a hot water bottle floating around somewhere but that was now long forgotten having lost its comforting heat over the past couple of hours. 

“Where’s Angie” the German Driver asked in confusion, despite the dog originally being Mick’s it didn’t take long for Y/N to adopt Angie as her own furbaby. The German treated Angie like another family member but Y/N treated Angie like she was her life. It was unusual to see the two without each other especially if Mick was away. Angie loved being able to get unlimited cuddles without the blond man interrupting. Tucking her feet underneath her tired form the y/h/c girl frowned, tilting her head slightly as she searched the room. The Australian shepherd was currently curled up on her bed in the corner of the room fast asleep. Clearly so tired she hadn’t heard Mick’s familiar voice flood the room. “Angie?!” Y/N called gently, “Angie dein papa ist hier” the y/h/c young woman continued cooing slightly as the calm dog awoke. Patting the space beside her Y/N smiled softly as the tan dog bounded over seemingly now aware of what was happening. 

“Are you feeling any better Liebling?” Mick asked quietly, changing the conversation, his natural concern rising to the surface. The Haas Driver had been so disappointed that Y/N wasn’t able to go to Barcelona, especially after not having her for Miami but the young couple had agreed it wasn’t fair to travel when she was in such pain. The y/h/c young woman had unfortunately been unwell in the past couple of days and the combination of mind numbing pain and the general washed out feeling led her to staying home. It was nobody’s fault, nobody was to blame but Mick couldn’t help but be upset. “Mick I’m fine honestly.” the y/h/c young girl insisted, shooting the German Driver a reassuring smile. Capturing the girl’s y/e/c orbs the German narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his welcoming blue orbs scanning the phone screen for any possible sign that she was lying. “Mick, I promise I’m ok! I have Angie, I have Pizza and if I really need it I have pain relief.” Y/N stated calmly absentmindedly reaching for the dog in question. Angie had now settled beside the girl and had nodded off. “Well I mean if you have pizza you must be fine.” Mick exclaimed in mock exasperation choosing to ignore the mention of medication. “I’m not sure I like that tone Schumacher…I’m not sure Corinna would either.” 

“You wouldn’t snitch on me to my Mum. You love me too much.” Mick replied confidently. “Oh wouldn’t I?” Y/N replied plainly with a shrug of her shoulders. 

387 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

#3

Caught M.S

“Hey” Mick mumbled a red blush coating his pale cheeks as he shut the door seconds before the girl descended on him. Checking over him with eagle-like precision. Her hold was tender but thorough, almost like the girl was scared of hurting him. Inspecting the German gently the y/h/c young woman sighed in relief. Y/N wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting, perhaps at least some bruises, the young woman’s heart had been in her mouth, the suffocating lump only growing at the lack of footage. But Mick seemed fine, in fact that’s what he’d been claiming all morning as journalists pounced on the Blond Driver.

“I’m so glad you’re ok” Y/N mumbled self-consciously, burrowing her face into the lightly laughing man’s shoulder. Mick wasn’t the cause of her sudden shyness, the German could never make the y/h/c girl uncomfortable, it was more the fact that she didn’t want to be caught cuddling with the driver. Despite the fact their relationship had been blossoming since last season the pair were yet to inform anybody of their intimate connection. So instead their relationship at least during the race season became a collage of secretive moments in hidden rooms when they could get even a moment of privacy. 

Capturing Y/N’s sparkling eyes with his blue orbs Mick couldn’t help but frown, in spite of her warm hold and soft spoken words he could see her anxiety rising again. The previous night had really shaken the young woman. The idea of her watching the painfully familiar Haas spin and violently glide against the barrier was horrific. Guilt ate away at the Driver, the accident obviously wasn’t planned. The crash itself hadn’t been bad, in fact it was a pretty contained crash despite what the debris tried to suggest. But due to their hidden relationship Y/N hadn’t been able to go to the hospital with him, the closest she got to reassurance was the fact the waiting garage had been informed that Mick had been found conscious, in one piece and able to talk to the medical team. “It’s going to take more than that to take me out.” Mick joked stroking the y/h girl’s cheek reassuringly. “Don’t even joke about that Schumacher!” Y/N groaned, managing to poke an accusatory finger in the man’s direction. “Es tut mir leid meine liebe.” Mick replied, his tone was apologetic but accompanied by a dash of sarcasm. Jutting out his bottom lip, the blonde pouted slightly as the y/h/c young woman shot him a faux glare. “Y/N/N I am sorry” the German driver whined pitifully, before dipping down with lighting like movement to capture the girl’s lips in a quick kiss. Mick couldn’t help the dopey smile that found a home on his pale features as he felt the girl’s body relax into his. She tasted like peaches and felt like home. Mick often wondered how he’d gotten Y/N to agree to see him as anything other than someone who worked for Haas. How he’d managed to get the girl to agree to give him a chance at all. Mick almost didn’t feel worthy of the y/h/c girl. She was like a living breathing work of art. Something so expensive and lavish that he could only dream of her and yet here she was. 

“Mick, can I come in?” a masculine voice called out knocking loudly on the door causing the young pair to jump. “Quick hide.” Mick whispered, panicking slightly at the thought of being caught. “What?!” Y/N whispered back attempting to signal at the lack of hiding space in the compact room. “Mick?” the voice called again, this time opening the door cautiously. 

“You know you should be more careful, I could have been Guenther.” Kevin stated a smirk settling on his tired face. He wanted to tease the pair mercilessly but seeing the bashful faces watching his every move seemed like punishment enough. “Does… does your Father know you’re here?” the Dane asked the girl firmly, Kevin knew the answer but couldn’t help himself, the question slipped out before he could stop it. “Of course not… Mick still has his seat.” Kevin hummed quickly. 

Scowling lightly Y/N scoffed “No and you’re not going to tell him either Magnussen!” Pointing a threatening finger at the older man. “Please don’t tell him!” Y/N begged the Danish Driver quietly. “You think I’d do that to you?” The Dane replied hurt, running his wide eyes over the girl he’d grown to love like family over the past couple of years. “I wouldn’t betray you like that. Either of you!” Kevin exclaimed, his eyebrows furrowed. “Thank you.” Mick responded appreciatively, his tense stance starting to relax. The German couldn’t help but feel like he’d been caught by his Mother with his hand in the treat jar.  “Don’t thank me just yet… I wasn’t joking that I could have been Guenther. He wants to see you. Check on how you’re doing after yesterday.” Kevin explained gesturing at the door briefly before slipping out chuckling to himself. 

449 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

#2

Dream girl L.L

“Forgive me you look like you need this.” Laurie whispered hesitantly, his long pale fingers gripping the crystal stem of the wine glass. The dark haired man’s knuckles pressing against his ghostly pale skin, anxiety flooding his system. Theodore Laurence was never nervous, the young man usually oozed confidence to the point it was borderline cocky, however spotting Y/N from across the room donned in a beautiful pine green gown left him breathless. The rich green silk hugged the y/s/c young woman’s figure perfectly, it complimented her locks of y/h/c and left her looking utterly radiant. She was beautiful, she always had been even as a child but what really highlighted this Goddess among mortals was the soft smile that sat on her delicate features. 

“Felt the overwhelming urge to save me young Master Laurence?” Y/N teased gratefully accepting the offered glass of champagne, the golden liquid like an extended olive branch. “Not enjoying yourself?” Laurie asked quietly, raising his own glass to his lips focusing his mosaic green eyes on the dispersing bubbles. The older man didn’t want to be caught admiring the y/h girl, he didn’t trust himself to not zone out in utter awe of being in her presence. 

“I do find it a frightful bore.” the y/h/c young woman hummed in agreement. It was a simple dance, hosted by a wealthy local family, nothing compared to the grandeur of the debutante season but still the irritation of having to get all dressed up to stand in the corner was the same. “Mother insists I show my face… She’s becoming antsy about my lack of a suiter.” Y/N added a small giggle erupting from her berry stained lips. “Good luck to whoever manages to tie you down.” Laurie replied bravely, hiding his grin behind his hand. “Theodore Laurence, what is that supposed to mean?!” Y/N asked, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the man’s statement. “Nothing severe… the lucky gentleman will have to be strong willed that’s all?” The dark haired man responded with a shrug of his shoulders. The pair had known each other since they were children, in fact Y/N had been his first kiss. It had been magical, the pair had escaped to the fields on a warm spring evening and one thing led to another. Laurie had never forgotten it, his swore that if he thought back to that day hard enough his lips could taste hers, the strawberry jam they’d consumed an hour before was still evident on the young girl’s cupid's bow. When the pair had gotten older Y/N had changed into the lady her Mother had so desperately wanted and while Laurie had once thought they’d end up together his dream of being a musician didn’t seem grand enough for a girl like Y/N L/N. “Am I that unpleasurable?” the young woman asked quietly, insecurity laced in her tone. 

“No… Heaven’s no.” Laurie spluttered nervously but the harsh grip he had on his lip caught between his teeth did nothing to ease the building uneasiness. “You're perfect. A goddess, a dream girl.” Laurie rambled in self-consciousness, “My dream girl in fact.” the man trailed off, wincing at how uncertain he sounded. “I’m sorry.” Laurie mumbled apologetically, taking a step away from the girl as if putting distance between them would stop his racing heart. “I’ve never been someone’s dream girl.” Y/N mumbled bashfully, the young woman was grateful she was currently standing away from the main lighting only a couple of well placed candles and a fireplace providing a soft glow. The flickering amber flames occasionally highlighting her y/s/c face. “Well you’ve always been mine.” Laurie replied delicately, the embarrassed warmth finally leaving his cheeks. 

490 notes - Posted January 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Domestic L.H

instagram edit - Domestic dad!lewis x wife!reader

its been a while since i’ve done an ig post but i had an idea for a while but not enough inspo for a full imagine unfortunately

See the full post

Lewis Insta au really came outta nowhere and stole the show

517 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[pearlsoflongago]

The Poet

Speaking of Poetry...

Interrupted Reading by Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot

A Ballad of Appeal

TO CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

Song wakes with every wakening year From hearts of birds that only feel Brief spring’s deciduous flower-time near: And song more strong to help or heal Shall silence worse than winter seal? From love-lit thought’s remurmuring cave The notes that rippled, wave on wave, Were clear as love, as faith were strong; And all souls blessed the soul that gave Sweet water from the well of song.

All hearts bore fruit of joy to hear, All eyes felt mist upon them steal For joy’s sake, trembling toward a tear, When, loud as marriage-bells that peal, Or flutelike soft, or keen like steel, Sprang the sheer music; sharp or grave, We heard the drift of winds that drave, And saw, swept round by ghosts in throng, Dark rocks, that yielded, where they clave, Sweet water from the well of song.

Blithe verse made all the dim sense clear That smiles of babbling babes conceal: Prayer’s perfect heart spake here: and here Rose notes of blameless woe and weal, More soft than this poor song’s appeal. Where orchards bask, where cornfields wave, They dropped like rains that cleanse and lave, And scattered all the year along, Like dewfall on an April grave, Sweet water from the well of song.

Ballad, go bear our prayer, and crave Pardon, because thy lowlier stave Can do this plea no right, but wrong. Ask nought beside thy pardon, save Sweet water from the well of song.

—Algernon Charles Swinburne

Swallows in Flight, Postcard by A. M. Mailick

The Poet and His Songs

As the birds come in the Spring, We know not from where; As the stars come at evening From depths of the air;

As the rain comes from the cloud, And the brook from the ground; As suddenly, low or loud, Out of silence a sound;

As the grape comes to the vine, The fruit to the tree; As the wind comes to the pine, And the tide to the sea;

As come the white sails of ships O'er the ocean's verge; As comes the smile to the lips, The foam to the surge;

So come to the Poet his songs, All hitherward blown From the misty realm, that belongs To the vast unknown.

His, and not his, are the lays He sings; and their fame Is his, and not his; and the praise And the pride of a name.

For voices pursue him by day, And haunt him by night, And he listens, and needs must obey, When the Angel says: "Write!"

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Posthumous Portrait of Shelley Writing Prometheus Unbound by Joseph Severn

On Poetry

Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds. We are aware of evanescent visitations of thought and feeling sometimes associated with place or person, sometimes regarding our own mind alone, and always arising unforeseen and departing unbidden, but elevating and delightful beyond all expression; so that even in the desire and regret they leave, there cannot but be pleasure, participating as it does in the nature of its object. It is as it were the interpenetration of a diviner nature through our own; but its footsteps are like those of a wind over the sea, which the coming calm erases, and whose traces remain only, as on the wrinkled sand which paves it. These and corresponding conditions of being are experienced principally by those of the most delicate sensibility and the most enlarged imagination; and the state of mind produced by them is at war with every base desire.

—Percy Bysshe Shelley from A Defence of Poetry

Still Life with Books and Bronze Statue by Sebastian Stoskopff

[hey-kae]

I would like to request a Imagine with Charles when you're Jules Bianchi's daughter but you where only 2 weeks old when he crashed as Camille couldn't take care of you alone the Leclerc's decided of you the whole family loves you unconditionally especially Charles when you say his name as you're first word he promised you that he will do everything that you're safe and happy.With every centimeter you grow Charles love for you grows double so much you're his everything he couldn't think living without you. When you and Charlotte met for the first time she couldnt help but fall in love with you with the time you three become a little family. One day when you're 16 you come home with honey blonde hair and soft curls Charles which sits on the couch with Charlotte which try's to calm down they're youngest child while they're 4 year old runs around like crazy he almost chocks on his water if he wouldn’t know better he would think Camille just came trough this door he's used to you looking like Jules you always did but with the hair he sees how much you actually look like you're Mum he's shocked you could have dyed you're hair as red as his Ferrari and he couldn't have been angry at you which would get Charlotte riled up but this still would have been better then this… as you see the shocked expressions of Charlotte and Charles you decide to go again atleast you take the whining 4 year old with you Charles and Charlotte look at each other in absolute shock she’s the first to find her voice back asking Charles if it was Pascale which dyed you’re hair he simply shakes his head his mum wouldn’t have done this without calling him before and you know that so you probably went to another hairdresser by now he’s still to shocked how much you look like Camille Charlotte is the one to too speak again telling him that she knows that he's angry because you dyed vou're hair without permission but that it could be worse of course She doesn’t see the real problem she never knew Camille he can't help but tell her that his f*cking Problem is not that you died you're hair without permission but that you look like you're Mum and that Lorenzo and especially Jules parents will get an heart attack when they see you. Later that day you’re on the couch with Charles reading you’re book Charlotte is getting the kids to sleep and he can’t help but look at you all the time when you’re concentrated you even look more like you’re Mum he can’t help but take an picture of you sending it to Lorenzo he only gets an „Holy f*ck“ back of course his older brother is seeing the issue he was probably the closest with Camille and Jules he can’t help but jokingly ask Lorenzo if it’s too late to give you up for adoption they both know that he would never do that in one Million years. Later when you’re in bed Charles pulls up an picture of Jules and Camille so that she understands why he was reacting like that and she only looks at him with big eyes and open mouth.❤️

Hello love!

I’ve noticed that @sainz-leclerc has written this request very well and better than I would’ve written it so i definitely recommend you check hers out!

May Jules’ soul rest in peace🤍

[isauntervaguelydownwards]

to dream (perchance to see you)

Camille strode through the bustling crowds of the Charles-de-Gaulle airport, the Parisian French surrounding her welcoming her home. Despite that, or maybe because of it, it was a very British voice that caught her attention amid all the hustle and bustle.

“Well, where can my bags be located then? Since they did not come off the plane here!” The voice, the accent, the words spoken, all of it reminded her so painfully of him that it pained her even several years later. She thought – her therapist with her – that she’d never get over the missed opportunities, the love that had slipped out of her hands.

cw: temporary character death.

pairing: camille/richard (DiP)

fill for @febuwhump day 12: prompt "spiked drink" replaced with alt prompt #4, "I dreamt you were alive"

Camille strode through the bustling crowds of the Charles-de-Gaulle airport, the Parisian French surrounding her welcoming her home. Despite that, or maybe because of it, it was a very British voice that caught her attention amid all the hustle and bustle.

“Well, where can my bags be located then? Since they did not come off the plane here!” The voice, the accent, the words spoken, all of it reminded her so painfully of him that it pained her even several years later. She thought – her therapist with her – that she’d never get over the missed opportunities, the love that had slipped out of her hands.

It didn’t help that she had apparently located his doppelganger in Charles-de-Gaulle, for when she looked for the owner of the painfully familiar voice, she felt his appearance almost as a physical punch – it was the same suit, the same bearing, the same upset gestures when the airline lost his luggage.

When he turned around, still muttering about lost bags, someone could have – as he would have said – knocked her over with a feather.

It was Richard – slightly older, a bit more haggard, some silver streaks in his hair, thinner than she had ever seen him, but it was Richard Poole standing before her.

“Ah, Camille,” he said, lamely, after staring at her silently for at least a minute. She couldn’t exactly blame him, since she had been staring for longer entirely without saying anything. “How… nice to see you again.”

“Richard,” she managed to gasp out after what felt like an eternity of being struck speechless, but once that stupefaction she found she could throw herself at him, which she did – posthaste. “Richard!”

“Ah,” he stammered in response, not entirely certain where to put his hands with a Detective Sergeant hanging off of him. That she was sobbing didn’t help him, either – he’d never been good with crying women, especially not when the woman was Camille Bordey. Awkwardly he settled his hands on her shoulders, patting her in what hopefully was a soothing way. “There, there…?”

When it made her sob even harder, he wasn’t certain what to do, so he simply opted for doing nothing. If he didn’t do anything, he probably couldn’t make it worse, he reasoned.

“I have an apartment on rue de Bagnolet,” she said, once she’d eventually gathered herself as much as she’d be able to before talking to him properly. “You will be coming with me there, now.”

He didn’t feel like he had a choice, especially not when she got a good grip on his arm and towed him along, dragging him into one of the multiple taxis outside the airport.

Once they disembarked outside her building, Richard took care of the fee while she grabbed her bag from the boot, and while he wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing, he followed her up the stairs – no dragging needed.

He stood in the middle of her living room once inside, back uncomfortably straight, unable to look straight at her. She was wearing her emotions on her sleeve, in a way that he had forgotten she could in. The intervening years hadn’t made much of a visible impact on her, she looked a little more drawn, a few more crows at the corners of her eyes – but what struck him the most was that the happy DS he’d worked with in Sainte Marie looked, above all else, sorrowful. It wasn’t as immediate as sadness, but something deeper set, a grief that she just couldn’t shake.

“How is Catherine?” he couldn’t help but ask, her mother the only reason he could see for her to be as worn-down as she seemed. If Camille had lost Catherine, he could understand the grief.

“Maman?” she asked in return, standing a few feet away from him, looking incredulous at the question asked. “Maman is fine, I spoke to her before getting on the flight – why are you asking about Maman?”

“Well,” he stammered, looking away from her, uncertain how to continue when that assumption had been proven wrong. “I think – you look sad, and I couldn’t think of any other reason…”

“Richard,” Camille said, a slow, measured tone to attempt to hide her annoyance with his seeming obliviousness. “I have grieved you for years. Any sadness you see is because I have thought you dead since you left Sainte Marie.”

“But…”

“I dreamt you were alive, waking up only to remember that you were dead and had left me behind,” she told him, unrelenting in her need to make him understand just what she had gone through. “For years, always the same dream – I am not certain this is not a new dream, something my subconcious cooked up to pain me even more.”

“But – didn’t you know?” Richard said, seeing her genuine pain at the situation but not understanding it. Camille shouldn’t have been thinking he was dead. “I thought it – odd, that you didn’t write, but thought… well.”

“Didn’t I know what?” she asked loudly, not quite yelling but not far from it either.

“My death was – obviously – faked, and I requested that my parents and – you, actually, you three were the only ones outside the operation that I requested be in the know.” Richard had to make her understand, make her see that he hadn’t meant to keep her unknowing. She couldn’t be allowed to think he had meant for her to grieve him.

“I didn’t get any information of that kind.” She started pacing, hands behind her back, and it actually hurt to see a mannerism she had clearly adopted from him sometime during their years working together. “Did you… did you think I knew?”

“Well, that is to say… yes,” he admitted, after some prevaricating noises, eyes locked on the floor. He didn’t want to see when she realised quite why he had asked for her to be in the know.

“Did you – you thought I didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t you?” Camille was as sharp as she’d ever been in their investigations, not missing a single emotional tell.

“That felt like the logical assumption to make, yes.” It felt more than awkward, confirming her words, afraid he’d give away more than he meant to, especially when talking to her. “I thought… no, that’s irrelevant. I asked to have you informed, and then you never – contacted me again, so I assumed you didn’t wish to be in contact.”

“I loved you,” she said, stopping in front of him, looking straight into his eyes once he took his eyes off the floor. “I grieved for you, I grieve for you, and never did I stop loving you.”

Richard stumbled, even while standing still, at her words.

“And to be as open as we never were in Sainte Marie – I am in love with you, Richard Poole.”

“I…” he hesitated, uncertain how to continue – how to respond to her statements. He saw her face fall, shoulders dropping as she turned away at his surprised reaction.

Richard couldn’t bear to see her leave, not now. Reaching out he caught her hand, shocked at his own boldness, but – maybe some situations called for it.

“I never stopped loving you, Camille. That was – the thought that you didn’t want anything to do with me, happy to see me leave more than anything… I thought that would break me.”

This time he was prepared when she threw her arms around his neck, wrapping his around her waist in turn.

He wasn’t quite as prepared for her to kiss him, but with her, he had been as adaptable as he ever could be – and he thought, as he closed his eyes and kissed her back, he’d never deny her anything.

[mssleepy876b]

Family Ties Chapter 5

Summary: Family can be a positive and negative force in one's life. Detective Jay Halstead knows that personally and he helps a new Intelligence family member through it.

Requested? No. But promised @resanoona that I would post mine once she posted hers.

Word count: 1734

Warnings: domestic violence, PTSD possible

A/n: Unedited Sorry for any mistakes

Family Ties Chapter 5

Brielle’s father and Hank continued their discussion as the rest of Hank’s unit helped Brielle relax. “Damn it, Hank. It’s Brie. Why the hell didn’t you call me before? She’s been with your unit for hours.” He said sitting down on the couch in Hank’s office taking his head in his hands.

Hank moved to sit near him. “Jack, I didn’t know she was your Brie until I reached out to you. We didn’t have her name or address until about 8 this morning. Then I still didn’t want to assume until I saw her face to face and saw Alice looking back at me. I wasn’t with her when she cleared out of DiLeone’s place. Two of my detectives were. They helped her clear out photos, clothes she wanted, jewelry, and documents. They were looking over her documents in the last 20 minutes to see if they could find a way to get her on her feet and support herself without him. He was a leech. Her checks from the Center went to his accounts. Her cards, documents, and ID were all in his safe. He had his guys following her everywhere. She was never alone. Bet she never got to talk to you without him, did she?”

“I didn’t see it, Hank. I should have. I feel like I failed her. I should have gotten her out before he put his hands on her.” Jack said shaking his head.

Hank put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Trust me, Jack. I’ve been there. I have lost Camille, then Justin, and Erin moved to New York. My team and I will not let anything happen to Brie now that she is with us. She is family now. Michael is already in lockup. We are processing the paperwork for her formal statement; we have the medical documentation from Med. He is not going to see the streets for a while. Plus, I’ve been thinking, we have an opening here for a civilian administrative assistant. Her skills fit that bill plus who knows what else she can help with. It would make my team happy; Halstead seems to have taken her under his wing. It would let her rebuild her life on her own in Chicago and you would know someone was watching out for her.” Hank said.

“I won’t let her feel forced into anything, Hank. It has to be her choice. If this is it, I know she will be safe. You and Halstead have reputations for being out for blood if they hurt anyone close to you according to my old contacts.” Jack said.

“I promise we will let her decide. Dr. Choi warned me as did Halstead she shows signs of possible PTSD, so we are being cautious. She has built a trust with Halstead and Upton. The other girls just met her. We will keep her safe, Jack, I swear it. You know how protective of family I get.” Hank said. “Do you want to try to see her?” he asked standing.

Jack nodded and they left the office. Hailey, Kim, and Vanessa were talking to Brie making her feel comfortable and secure. They entered and saw the girls together. Brie was partially smiling. Brie’s eyes met her father’s and she paled slightly. “Dad?” she whispered.

“Hiya, Princess.” He said as Hailey, Kim, and Vanessa all turned to see him and Hank at the door.

Brie stood and went to her father who met her halfway and pulled her into a hug. Hailey, Kim, and Vanessa quietly slid out as Brie and her dad reunited. He helped her sit on the couch. “What did the Doctors at Med say, Brie?” he asked her as he held her hand.

“Dr. Choi said I was lucky. Nothing major other than bruising. It could have been so much worse, Dad. I swear he had never hit me before, Dad. He had yelled, thrown things, but never put his hands on me until last night. I ran once I could. Found my way here. I guess Detective Halstead saw me first. He made me feel safe. He has helped me with the dreams and memories too. It is so scary, Dad.” She said leaning against his shoulder.

“I’m so grateful that you are safe, Brie. When I went to the house and couldn’t find you or your pictures, or your personal stuff in your sitting room, I was scared out of my wits. Michael wouldn’t answer my calls. I knew you weren’t at work because I had gone there before the house. I had no clue where you were, but I knew something was up when I saw your engagement ring was sitting on the table with your house keys.” He said holding her closer.

They sat together for a few moments before Jack spoke up. “It must be luck that you ended up here with Voight’s unit. He and I worked together years ago. I knew him back when he met his late wife Camille. They were great friends of your mom’s and mine. We had lost touch after Camille’s passing due to cancer. I thought he had hidden you from me at first when I got here. That is why I was yelling. I’m sorry we upset you, Brie. But I must say that Detective has quite a backbone to stand up to both Hank and I for you. It was very surprising.” He said.

Brie smiled. “He seems like a good man, Dad. Everyone seems to respect him. Even at Med, they respected him and his brother there.” She said quietly.

Jack moved to look in Brie’s eyes. “You know you can’t go back to the Charity Center, right, Brie?”

“I do. I hate it. I loved that job. But it would be too easy for Michael to find me.” She said.

“Hank had an idea. They need an administrative assistant/office manager up here in Intelligence. He thought your skills might be a good fit and it would give you a chance to get back on your feet in a place where you feel safe around people you know.” Jack said.

“But where will I stay, Dad? I can’t come to you and mom. He will look there first. I can’t risk you getting harmed. I don’t have any money right now. He took it all. Convinced me to let him handle it all.” Brie said with tears in her eyes.

“Let me talk to Hank. See what we can do temporarily for you until you can get funds on your own and Michael has been formally charged.” Jack said rubbing her arm as she pulled away from him. She nodded and watched as he stepped into Hank’s office next door.

Hank and Jack had Brie stay with Hank for a few days. It was nice for Hank to revisit the memories with Brielle and Jack. Alice came into town the next day to join them and helped Jack and Brielle as Brielle began to heal from her injuries. Hank smiled coming home that next day once Alice arrived. He missed the feel of friends in his house and Alice’s warmth reminded him of Camille. Alice was grateful to Hank and would ensure that they all had meals at night until they could find Brie a place to set up as her own and feel safe with.

Brielle spent a few sessions with Dr. Charles from Med who helped her move past her assault as well as the controlling behavior Michael had used to isolate her with. He helped her create a plan for rebuilding her life and moving past the memories. She started to feel more solid and stable in her life.

The intelligence unit had taken Brie under their wings and introduced her to the groups at Molly’s and widened her circle of friends she could get help from. She found them all warm and made her feel as if she was safe again. She began to search out a new life for herself and knew that her place seemed to be at the 21st with the intelligence unit.

Kim, Hailey, and Vanessa all took Brie under their wing and she quickly felt like part of the girls’ group which at times included the girls from 51’s 2ndshift and Med’s ED. Brie decided to take the position in Intelligence if Hank would allow it. She enjoyed this group of people who seemed to want to help her and let her create her own life while having her back if she needed them. Jay became a familiar face for Brielle and Brie found in him a kind person that she could respect and feel like a man that she would be proud to call a friend.

Hank and Trudy quickly got the paperwork set for her to take the job in Intelligence. Brie quickly had things organized and ready to go and at the Unit’s fingertips any time it was needed thanks to her skills from the Charity office. She also had managed to assist the unit with her accounting skills to track down how a payment had been made during a case. She had an apartment of her own that she was able to rent not far from Jay’s and was beginning to feel like her life was her own.

Only once had Brie heard from Angelo DiLeone. His message told her that Michael’s actions were not approved of and the family would not keep him from serving the sentence he had received. She felt a little more reassured since Angelo had never lied to her and had said more than once that she was someone he respected even if others didn’t.

Michael had yet to find her or even contact her. She still screened her phone calls as well as watched her surroundings for suspicious activity. Jay, Hank, and Hailey taught her skills to help her feel safer. Hailey had actually helped her learn self-defensive techniques that she felt would help in an emergency.

She had rebuilt her relationship with her parents only seeing them in Chicago when they chose to come once she had finished her recovery at Hank’s. They always met out in public and never at her apartment as she knew the time would come when Michael would be out of prison and she feared that he would only want revenge.

[wellthatwasaletdown]

When Camille was on the scene everyone acted as if she was the worst person ever.

//

Can confirm, she was labeled as problematic and a generally terrible person who was flaunting her relationship with Harry on sm, etc. I never thought she was that bad, but I do get why the Sharon Tate thing was offensive. But Harries claimed Charles Manson was her idol and that's a reach. They also said she was homophobic when she joke married her female friend when same sex couples couldn't be married in many places, that she was racist and mocked Asians, and admired Roman Polanski (which is imo genuinely gross, he's the epitome of a repellent famous old white dude). In short Harries will always act like his current gf is the worst of the worst. I think they're seeing now there's a lot worse out there than Camille.

.

[izacore]

and asking people to wait till the end doesn’t work when the last season failed to resolve anything well. people DID trust them and we ended up with weeks of the girls treating Imane like shit, then 1 clip where Imane was the only one to apologise and suddenly everything is fixed. it was the same with the drama with Manon/Charles: she was miserable because of him, could never forgive Imane for bringing him back, then suddenly everything was ok. now it looks like s5 is following the same formula.

i honestly was the person who, before the season started, was saying things like, knowing how aware they were about the backlash s4 got, they would surely take it into consideration, cause they listen to fans and not make the same mistakes twice right? but no, they made it 10 times worse, had arthur cheat on a girl who was always there for him, ignored alexia as if she never existed and divided fandom over that. it’s THEIR CHOICE. the characters are not real, they write them, they didn’t have to write this all in but they did. it’s not really my place to talk about the representation but ugh, where were those sign language classes? showing us arthur engaging in the community more? after episode 4 all his interactions with noee were reduced to her having crush on him and all that, meanwhile camille played their interpreter. 

[chaputs-blog1]

hello guys! i will be playing miss i’ve got a death wish and i’m going to act on it camille, also better known as chaput (bc she’s often wearing a lil cloak to hide her hair and bc of the #aesthetic) between the revolutionaries. 

i loooove french revolution and i am so hyped for this rp you got no idea! you can find camille’s list of important links in here, but i will talk a little about her beneath the cut.

background and personality

tw: misogyny, violence, mentions of rape and physical assault, death, murderous thoughts/intentions

camille was born a twin. she has a brother older by 20 minutes, charles, who remains her best friend and her most trusted companion. when the travere twins were young, they were completely inseparable -- wherever he went, she followed, careless that it was not proper for a young woman to go to the fields and work the crop. her parents, overwhelmed by the duties to the land, the debt, and many children, obliged to that, something that definitely fed camille’s sense of entitlement and rebellion. 

thus, she stood out, in her small village and even in her household. her older sister was very feminine, her little sister was dreamy and gentle, while she was more callous -- physically and mentally. she preferred to partake on physical labor with her brothers, refused to wear corsets and hair laces, and enjoyed whatever piece of reading her hands could get on, on the end of the day. she and charles were exceptionally modern, on their ideas, on their views, on their ambitions. they dreamed of leaving their little corner of the world to go south, to paris, try their hand at what seemed to be a brand new world -- if they dreamed small, they would be working on something other than earth; if they dreamed big, they would be big shot inventors, changing the world in their wake.

however, opportunities are especially precarious when all you are is a dirty poor pauper on the border of germany, very distantly from all the turmoil of change. the revolutionary ideas they heard of was a pretty thing, and camille thoroughly supported a new regime, more opportunities to the people, justice at last! but because she was supposed to have some common sense, she instead opted by just being outspoken about her views (she had always been sincere), while meeting a few like minded individuals. with her livelihood condition, it would be difficult for her to be anything but a farm girls with dreams too big for her world.

that, until there was a riot in her small village. there had been similar uprisings in the region, but those had been major towns, while her village was still too small and too ignorant for anything of the sort to have happened. still, while camille had been at the fields, working, her elder sister had helped her husband break into the town palace, giving room for camille’s brother in law and some dozen blood thirsty so called revolutionaries to storm through the place and kill anyone in their wake.  her younger sister’s husband, a guard, was one of those -- while the young woman, celine, was not killed, she, along with a couple more women caught in the middle, was heavily assaulted.

the event left everyone traumatized, but camille claimed a larger part of the pain. she had always been passionate, and she was left enraged over the injustice and the brutality that had happened, soiling not only her hometown, a place she believed nothing ever happened, but her sister -- celine ending up pregnant by one of the authors of the despicable act was the last drop.

by july, she was already on her way to paris, by herself. she no longer cared about the ideals of revolution -- if those pretty ideas materialized into the bloodshed of innocent, she would be against it, to all degrees, to any cost. while on road, she decided what she was going to do: abandon all she once was. when she arrived on the capital, she was no longer camille travere, the odd little boy-girl who spent too much time dreaming and not enough doing what she should do, who was too sincere for her own good and who stood up for ill in any form. 

instead, she was now camille chaput, who, inspired by the beautiful pamphlets, decided to come south to aid in the cause of the democrats in whatever way possible. apparently an enthusiastic young woman all too willing to help, she was quick to find her place between the revolutionaries -- she worked for one of the leaders, lived with one of its symbols, often dined with like minded people. yet, all she thinks of is their destruction. but unlike the idiotic sadists at her town, she is smarter, and focused. she knows the heads are the ones you ought to watch for, so that is what she does, quietly brooding and plotting each necessary kill.

the main complication to that master plan is that while camille is intelligent enough to keep her mouth shut when she has to and quick witted enough to get out of tricky situations, she is not, well, a psychopath. she has always abhorred violence, and only used it in self defense, but now she is in this strange new city plotting to kill a handful of people she has to see everyday. people with good ideas, ideas she agrees with most days -- she has never even met the king, what has he ever done for her? but every ignorant, violent revolutionary she encounters, every person who remains the same or worse after the riots; these people fuel her. she does not fight for a side or the other, she fights for france, and its people first, before anything or anyone else.

relations and plots:

because camille came from a big family, and she is the only one in the city, she really needs companionship and actively seeks it out. i imagine she is well seen across the revolutionary community as endearing, and may have a lot of friends there -- which is a hassle, because that means she must actively constantly lie her way into a world she had always imagined would be genuine and upbeat. but she also is playing to achieve a goal, so she will reach out for more parties, especially to get more neutral people to take a stand and help her. i’d also love to see people undermining her, being suspicious or even accuse her. let’s get that drama startedddd.

[wtflife01]

I think it was just so she could be with the kids away from the press, the media was already on them since it’s their first day of school and they always make a big deal out of it, and probably so she could be the one to tell them in person their great grandmother passed /

Oh yeah definitely.

It's just, as the next queen now, everything she does is going to be questioned and scrutinised, especially considering Charles and Camille are almost 80. Her not being there is not something people will let slide.

But it makes sense why she would be there for her kids, which is honestly what she should choose, fuck the media.

That's probably why Meghan was asked to stay back, because if she had been there, Kate would be questioned 1000 times worse. Still, though they should've let them make that choice independently.

I saw a very pro Meghan royal fan, say she thinks Meghan wasn’t there because there was no need for it, it seems like only family that joined were her children, Camila, Sophie, and the only grandkids there were William and Harry, and them going there wasn’t really so that the family could say goodbye but a gathering of the firm