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kisses4kaia · 6 months

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MORE BROTHERS BEST FRIEND BILLY THE KID I BEG OF YOU

GIBSON GIRL .ᐟ

pairing— brothersbestfriend!william h. bonney x fem!reader

warnings— smut, forbidden relationship, p in v, oral (m and f receiving) EVERYONE IS LEGAL!!

a/n— this took an absurd amount of time sorry! she’s here now tho so plz reblog if u enjoyed! (also not a part two to the first one 🤍)

“billy, make sure she’s safe while i’m gone, will you?” jesse asks his best friend in reference to you, his innocent, sweet, little sister. and naturally, without any hesitation, billy nods. “of course, always,”

there’s something about his tone when he says it, something that hints that his opinion of you isn’t entirely fraternal, but perhaps something more profound. jesse doesn’t catch onto that, though; never having been the brightest tool in the shed.

almost ignorantly, he just nods at billy in respectful acknowledgment, kisses you on the cheek, all before leaving the house, heading into town for whatever errands needed running, leaving you and billy alone for many unsupervised hours.

god, the tension between the pair of you was palpable—thicker than molasses and sweeter than it, too. to make matters worse for the outlaw, recently, you took up a new hobby—making billy squirm. making innuendos just barely passable as innocent banter, being on your best behavior and letting him know you were like this just for him, then going and turning it around completely, becoming a complete and total brat, not heeding to mind a single word he speaks.

and fuck, it was driving him insane. he felt so ashamed of himself on nights when all his mind could conjure up before bed was images of you—images the lord would frown upon sincerely—and end up with a cum-splotched torso and a still unsatiated cock. he hated you for it.

you, with your too-tight denim shorts in july, and with your ribbons in your pigtail plaits, and your sweet, soft, wickedly tantalizing, eyes and even more venomous voice. everything about you drove him mad, and it was the very nature of your relationship that irked him the most—because, he knew, as desperately as he wanted, he could not have you. you were his best friends little sister, for christ’s sake! it was never bound to end well for him. honestly, he felt like the fates had fucked him.

so now, when you are in your bed, reading a romance novel you’ve already read twice, something outside of your window catches your eye. billy is currently out on the farm with the horses, tending to them. not an uncommon sight, however since it’s august, and this is the midwest, and it is hot—almost naturally—billy has abandoned his linen, button-up, shirt and is wearing nothing but a dirt-stained wifebeater, his trousers, and gun holster—and of course, his cowboy hat. you bite your lip at the display, sure this must be a product of one of your many erotic dreams about your brothers best friend, but all of that is debunked when he looks up at you, his catching the way your bottom lip is folded behind your teeth and your lingering gaze is burning onto his toned arms—probably a result of workin so hard as a farmhand and cowboy his whole life, you reckon—and meeting your piercing gaze.

you decide to push yourself off of your pretty, bowed, sheets and make your way downstairs to the trouble that lies within the man you grew up right next to.

“you know, it’s rude to stare,” billy chimes while you sit on an old, rackety, rocking chair residing on the back porch of your house, watching billy on the ranch. “and you think i’m above being rude?” you cock your head slightly, almost challenging him but not quite. he rolls his eyes, obviously wanting to snap back but can’t find it in him, not when you’re looking at him like that.

soon, he’s done with the work needed to have been done (admittedly, he did make haste so as to keep you waiting on him), and he’s grabbing his shirt off the pole of the wooden fence that is caging the horses in, tying the sleeves around his waist. he doesn’t spare you a single glance as he walks into the home, but you know he’s silently beckoning you to trail after him—after all, you were only out here to ogle at him, weren’t you?

when you enter the threshold of your home, your eyes land upon billy, who is pouring himself a glass of cheap whiskey and plopping down onto your couch.

“c’mon, sit down,” billy offers, sweat on his brow as the brown liquor swirls around the crystal glass, his legs spread wide and his demeanor exuding assertiveness. “well, now don’t be silly, there’s no other seat,” you acknowledge the lack of another sofa in the cozy living room, and the one billy did sit on, was only big enough to seat one. “oh, that’s no problem, doll, just sit on my lap, hm?” he cocks his head at you, daring eyes telling you all you needed to know. your raise your eyebrows and smile. “are you sure that’s what you want me to do?” your voice is a single warning, and billy is clearly throwing all caution to the wind, because he laughs. “c’mon, baby, i’m a big boy, i know what i want,” you knew what his underlying message was and the implication urged you to begin walking towards the couch.

blue eyes bore into yours as you throw a leg on either side of his thighs, skirt splaying over the tops of your thighs. he downs all the liquor in the glass before placing it onto the small coffee table next to him, eyes never leaving yours. carefully, but not fearfully, he drags a finger from your calf all the way to your waist, before both of his large hands take a rest at your love handles. “careful, billy,” you say in a singsong voice, allowing your hips to slowly, very slowly, begin moving downwards unto billy’s crotch. your arms lazily wrap around his neck, forearms resting on his strong, broad, shoulders. he kisses his teeth, bringing his face closer to yours ever so slightly, whiskey breath fanning over your face, chest, décolletage. when his lips finally encase yours, there’s so much built-up tension flowing in the passionate manner in which he kisses you, his palms grip onto your hips possessively before pressing all over your back, grappling desperately to get his calloused hands everywhere on your body all at once. he felt like he was drowning in you, but he would never call for help, for he needed you this instant and there was nothing stopping him from having you right here, right now.

“get on your knees,” he grits through his teeth, lust seething through the low growl that is his voice. you hardly think twice before moving back onto the plywood floor, knees already taking splinters, but you didn’t care, not when billy was unbuckling his denim trousers and letting his cock spring free from the confines of his boxers.

billy revels in the wide-eyed expression on your face as you take in his size. his cock was beautiful—angry, red, and proud, tip leaking with precum, pretty veins running vertically along the length. you swallow your surprise and slowly, you wrap a soft hand around the base of his length, bringing your lips down to his tip and pressing teasing kisses on it. the man above you lets out a soft groan, relaxing his muscles and allowing a strong hand to run through your hair, not quite gathering it yet, but maintaining it out of your face.

after peppering gentle kisses all over his hard cock, you finally flatten your tongue against the underside of him, licking up to the tip. you wrap your lips around his achy head and take as much as you can of him into your mouth, warm throat tightening around him. it takes everything inside billy to not immediately start fucking your fragile face, and when your tear-pricked eyes met his darkened blue ones, he roughly pulls you off of him. he throws you onto your back on the couch, like you weigh no more than a feather, hikes up your skirt and pulls your pale, pink, cotton, panties to the side. as he begins sliding his cock between your puffy folds, his tip brushes against your sensitive bud, and you whine, needing him to quit dangling the carrot and fuck you already. at the pathetic sound, billy just coos, pressing a gentle, loving, kiss to your pouted lips, before slamming his cock into your unprepared, sopping, cunt. you cry out against his lips and as he begins rutting his hips against yours, he’s trying to find restraint. he knows you probably won’t be able to walk properly for a week if he keeps fucking you like this, but the pent up tension finally being released urges him to keep fucking you primally—and plus, you wanted this, didn’t you? with your teasing, and your fucking miniskirts, everything you did was a beg for billy to fuck you into your place, right?

even in his sex-crazed state, billy’s still a gentleman who’s concerned with your pleasure just as much as his, and uses one of the hands he had rested beside your head to draw fast circles on your clit, pulling the most melodic sounds from you. they pushed him closer and closer to the edge and before you both knew it, billy was pulling out of your cunt, making you whine at the empty feeling, stroking himself a few times before painting your abdomen in his seed.

when he came down from his high, billy dropped down to his knees before you, skipping all the teasing he wanted to do (he would, next time) and licked a fat stripe up your slit, stopping at your clit and sucking momentarily. the muscle continued to work at you, dipping and fucking into your achy hole, and within minutes, your orgasm had crashed into you like a powerful ocean tide, struck by poseidon himself. you cried out his name, explicit weaved between your moans. billy just rides you through it, strong hands holding your wildly bucking hips down as you spasmed through your release.

“good girl, such a good girl,” billy cooed, the praise making your face go warm, even after he saw the most intimate parts of you. you brush off the compliment, afraid your own voice would betray you and instead reply “i take it this won’t be the last time we do… this?” and billy just chuckles darkly, picking you up off the couch and sitting himself back down, placing you prettily on his lap. “no, sugar. after this, you’re mine. understand?”

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#kai's got mail <3📑#angelnon 🤍#𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.. ✮⋆˙ !#billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid #billy the kid 2022 #billy antrim #william h bonney smut #william bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy bonney x reader #tom blyth smut #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x you

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mygnolia · 8 days

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just one door down | sjy - psh

message at the door! this series will not be related to each other plot wise and are just similar in themes. therefore, both stories are similar and include details of the other, but the reader is not involved with both! either fic can be read as a standalone :)

want to read the school gossip right away? for a TAGLIST, send an ask or respond to this post to be added!!

“is the a/c even on?” the months of july and august are a solace away from reality as you let yourself breathe before school starts up again, and with the standstill comes a squeak that reverses all the bore of the heat.

sorry to bother! | sjy *ੈ . ✩‧₊˚

synopsis -› the mysterious identity of the honey sweet voice across your fence becomes clear when you meet sim jaeyun. when both of your families agree that a summer trip is much needed, a certain someone refuses to leave his dog, and you think that avoiding a trip with your parents and meeting a boy who throws dog toys over with sheepish smiles may not be so bad.

pair -› sim jaeyun/jake x reader | genre -› fluff ofc | trope -› neighbors to lovers, strangers to lovers

cw -› to be added!

"c'mere layla!" - COMING SOON

“is the heater even on?” as the wind begins to bite, and the temperature settling uncomfortably through your body, perhaps there is more warmth in reassurance and late night calls.

if you insist! | psh ｡ *:･ﾟ★｡

synopsis -› if there is anyone as driven as you, top of the class park sunghoon is the person you go to. with the current problem of your school unwilling to host the annual winter trip to the snowy cabins, you reach out to the apple of every faculty’s eye in hopes of recruiting his help, and pray that together, you two can figure out a solution, and maybe something more.

pair -› park sunghoon x reader | genre -› fluff | trope -› neighbors to lovers, strangers to lovers

cw -› to be added!

"you? at a mailbox?" - COMING SOON

a/n: so basically i have ideas in my huge brain that need to be released into the wild so 1, no one takes them and 2, i can be free of my own thoughts aka jakehoon BRAINROT

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thegeneticopera · 9 months

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after seeing many misconceptions on the ages of the characters and also the general lack of knowledge on relevant key events, I thought I'd create a timeline!

A comprehensive breakdown of important dates in Repo! The Genetic Opera:

1993: Rotti Largo was born (July 14th)

2006: On April 5th, the first ever death for NOS (Neuro-Overstimulation Syndrome) was recorded. GeneCo was then founded later that month in Milan, Italy by Giuseppe Largo and Dr. Michael Whatley who eventually discovered a treatment using an experimental drug called Zydrate and genetic manipulation.

2011: Marni was born (No date)

2016: Nathan was born (No date)

2017: Blind Mag was born (July 5th)

2019: Luigi Largo was born (November 20th)

2024: Pavi Largo was born (September 29th)

2025: By this point, The Genetic Opera, an interactive TV show, was sponsored by GeneCo to promote designer organs and keep the public "status-conscious" in order to continue boosting profits.

2032: Carmela Largo/Amber Sweet was born (August 23rd)

2035: Graverobber was born (No date)

2036: Marni brings Mag to meet Rotti Largo

2039: Shilo Wallace was born (August 27th), Marni Wallace dies, Nathan becomes a repo man

2040: Mag's eye transplants (March 21st)

2048: Blind Mag's Corpus Crusade tour

2053: Tao of Mag, a charity concert event held for blindness

2056: Rotti signs his last will and testament, declaring Shilo as the sole heir of his estate (August 7th). The events of the film take place on November 7th - Nathan, Rotti, and Mag die. Shilo presumably goes missing. Amber takes over GeneCo at a later unspecified date.

Some common misconceptions cleared up by the timeline:

Mag did not receive her eyes at 19, the date listed on her repossession chart says otherwise

Marni and Mag have a relatively large age gap. At the time in which Marni brought Mag to meet Rotti, she was already 25, and Mag was only 19. I personally like to think that Marni was a singing mentor of some sort (since in Chase the Morning we see that Mag has a memory of Marni singing), and perhaps worked with disabled people and this is how they met!

The age difference between Shilo and Graves is only 4 years!

Mag and Luigi only have a two year age difference. Her being under GeneCo's thumb since she was 19 and Luigi was 17 is probably why they have a relationship.

On that topic, Nathan is only 3 years older than Luigi, there's no way him or Mag could have "baby sat" the Largos as children if they're all approximately the same age (excluding Amber, but considering Nathan had his own daughter to raise and was a repoman and Mag was a world class opera singer I still doubt that would be the case)

This one doesn't have a specific date, but I felt it should be added regardless: Pavi's face disfigurement seemingly happened very recent to events of Repo! We see several times within the film that there are posters and billboards of him with his original face, even in the pictures Rotti has he didn't have the scarring yet. The posters say that GeneCo offering face replacements will be happening in 2057. Pavi was the one in charge of that, and he was stealing faces prior to his scarring (as seen in the pictures). We also know from several sources, including Luigi himself, that Pavi's face happened because of a botched surgery. It's safe to assume this was because of the new face replacement campaign that was being offered, and it was within the last year or two before the events in the film.

#repo! the genetic opera #repo the genetic opera #r!tgo #rtgo #mod luigi #blind mag #luigi largo #pavi largo #amber sweet #shilo wallace #repo graverobber #nathan wallace #timeline

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thebestofoneshots · 11 months

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Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist | Previous episode (backstory)

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.7 K Warnings: none Prompt: Of the unopened letters and your first day at Hogwarts. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Rainy days and Mondays

July 10th, 1974

Dear Sirius,

My mom gave me your address. She feels really bad about the whole situation, but that does not justify her actions. She and Dad were awful by keeping their mouths shut, awful, and I’m terribly sorry about it. If only they’d said something, maybe then they would’ve changed the outcome of the situation.

I tried asking her to write a letter to your parents, with the truth behind the trip, you know, that it was MY IDEA, but she refused to do it. I’m sorry I can’t do anything to help you avoid the wrath of your parents. Our families are a bunch of cowards.

Thanks for the necklace, It’s beautiful. I put it on when I got home, it’s got a strange weight to it, but I like it, it reminds me of you. I’m writing a copy of the instructions of you know what on a letter and I’ll send it to you once we’re back in school. I’m really upset our trip was cut short. It would’ve been nice to stay in the moment a bit longer. Anyway, I really wish you’re well. Hope to hear from you soon.

Love,

(Y/N)

July 15th, 1974

Dear Sirius,

I hope my letter finds you alright. I’m writing again since perhaps my last letter got lost in flight, my owl Reese can be very clumsy sometimes.

I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened. I’m sorry for having the idea to go to Xplore (not for what happened inside the park, but yes what happened after), I’m sorry your parents found out, and I’m sorry we trusted Regulus to have our backs. I’m sorry my parents were cowards and didn’t back me up when I said the truth. And I’m really sorry for whatever your parents do to you.

It was really fun spending our break together. I get the chances of it ever happening again are zero, but it’s nice thinking we got to meet.

Also, I wanted to thank you for the necklace. I've been wearing it every day since I returned home, I really enjoy having it around my neck, it reminds me of our adventure.

Hope to hear back from you soon,

(Y/N)

July 25th, 1974

Dear Sirius Black,

I’d like to be able to assume my letter was lost in the mail again, but since the lack of response from the previous two, I can only imagine you have decided to ignore my letters.

Which, to be honest, I don’t understand. YOU were the one that decided to take the blame for yourself. If you HAD backed me up, and told your parents it had been me, then you wouldn’t have gotten in so much trouble.

Last night I received a letter from Regulus, I did not care to read it and threw it straight to the fire. I do not want to hear his apologies, mom told me it was him that spilled the soup. Traitor, like you’d call Slytherins in the past. I guess once a snake, always a snake.

I don’t want to sound like I’m begging, but please talk to me, if anything just tell me you’re alright. I just want to know you’re ok.

(Y/N)

August 3rd, 1974

Sirius,

This is the last letter I write. I’m sorry for bothering you with my insistence, I will not write any more letters. I’m sorry we met, and I’m sorry I caused you so much pain that you decided to completely cut me out of your life, or whatever, I don’t even know what happened.

I really thought we could stay friends, even after everything that happened. But I guess we can’t always get what we hope for. Either way, a promise is a promise, and I will send you the instructions for you know what once we’re back in school. I don’t want your parents to accidentally find them by opening your mail.

I really hope you’re alright.

Goodbye Sirius,

(Y/N)

After writing that letter you cried like a baby and considered burning it instead of sending it several times. But you knew writing more letters was useless –and that it would be worse if you went on without any closure– still waiting for an answer from him that you would never receive. So you tied the letter to Reese and sent him off. Once the school year started, and after you made a copy for yourself, you bent the old piece of parchment and put it inside an envelope alongside a note.

August 14th, 1974

Sirius Black Dear James Potter,

This is something I promised to give Sirius. He is currently very angry at me and will ignore all my attempts to contact him. But this contains something that will be very useful for him, I know he really wanted it. So I appeal to you instead, his best friend, to knock some sense into him.

Please receive this letter and give him the parchment. He’ll recognize it. If you must, lie to him, tell him you found it in a restricted area of the school library or whatever (Hogwarts has one of those too, right?).

Yours truly,

Someone who disappointed your best friend. -and was disappointed by him too.

You closed the envelope, waving your wand with a small spell to make sure it was properly sealed and wrote in thick black ink:

TO: James Potter

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry

2 years later

September 1976

You walked to Kings Cross with your cart in between your hands. Your dad had left you just outside the station. The idea of moving to a new country had been fascinating in theory, but once you arrived there, alone and with no one to talk to, you’d felt incredibly lonely.

Your mom told you about your dad getting the position in the British ministry on your last day of school, you didn’t even have enough time to say goodbye to all of your friends before going back home to find all your stuff had already been neatly packed in boxes.

Just two days after that you were in London, lonely as ever. You spend your entire break exploring the muggle part of the city. The muggle museums were pretty interesting, but you felt alone non the less. You kept in touch with your friends through owl mail but it wasn’t the same as being able to actually hang out with someone.

In the middle of the summer break, your mom took you to Diagon Alley, and nothing made you feel more isolated than Hogwarts students hugging their peers as they saw each other for the first time in a while. The only thing that somewhat cheered you up was the stunning Dark Nimbus your dad had bought as an apology for making the move so sudden. They did care about you, a lot, they just had different priorities than yours.

As you walked through the large corridors of the station you spotted a couple of younger kids walking beside their mother, while carrying trunks similar to your own, one of them had a huge cage with an owl in it, which was a dead giveaway that they were actually wizards, even in their attempts at a muggle outfits.

You discreetly followed behind them and saw them walk in right through a wall in between platforms nine and ten. You imitated them shortly after and found yourself in a very wizarding-looking space. A huge scarlet train with the words “Hogwarts Express” painted gold on its side pumped smoke through its chimney. As you stared at it, someone bumped against you from behind and pushed you forward a bit.

“I’m sorry,” He said, turning towards you apologetically “I didn’t see you there.”

You looked at the boy, he was tall and lean and had a fair share of scars all over his body. Made you think of a pirate from those spicy romance novels your mom had on her bookshelves.

“No problem,” You answered honestly.

He then gave you a strange look, he was wondering whether he’d seen you before and was about to ask you about it when a girl called for him from the far distance “Remus! We’ve got to go, we gotta care for the first years!”.

“Coming!” He shouted back at her and turned to look at you one last time before giving you an apologetic smile and leaving.

You stared at him for a minute, Remus, the girl said. The name was oddly familiar but you couldn’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the name of a book character you read a while ago or something.

Then you continued to push your bags to the baggage administration system, keeping with you only a small trunk with your uniform.

As you walked inside the train you realised most of the carts were full, and sighted when you realised how awkward it would be to invade some already-made friend group by showing up uninvited, even if the curiosity of meeting the new kid was in your favour.

You decided to open one of the doors where you’d seen kids that looked about your age walk in earlier but regretted it the moment the door was fully opened.

Most of them had given you scornful looks. Especially an unhinged-looking boy, but that wasn’t even the worst part. Right there, in the middle of all of them was Regulus Black. The traitor, Regulus Black.

He stood up the moment he saw you, letting some candy fall from his lap as he stared at you in disbelief. “What are you…? How–“

You took a deep breath and decided the world had been a better place when you didn’t even remember his existence. So you simply closed the door and left to find a different place.

As you continued walking through the train you saw many groups of people hanging out in the different sections of it. Laughing students that talked to their friends, a small little brunette girl, who must have been a first year since she was crying about missing his parents while another girl, that looked just like her but older, comforted her. There was no one else in their cart so you gently knocked on the door.

The two girls turned towards you and the smallest quickly wiped the tears from her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” you said as you closed the door behind you “I’m trying to disappear before someone I really don’t want to see finds me.” You sat down in front of them “I cried too when my parents first put me on a carriage to school.”

“I wasn’t crying,” the little girl said defensively.

“A carriage?” Asked the older girl, clearly curious now that she started paying attention to you “You weren’t at Hogwarts,” she said as she took your appearance in.

You denied with your head “I’m a transfer student, this will be my first year here,” you said and then turned to the smaller girl “like yours.”

“Does that mean she doesn’t have a house?” The smallest girl asked as she looked up at her sister “But she’s old.”

“Old?” You asked, diverted.

The little girl covered her mouth “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right, I was just teasing. But I’m not that old either. Only 16.”

“Oh, like Marlene,” she said pointing at her sister “maybe your guys will end up taking classes together.”

“Year 6?” Marlene asked you.

You nodded and held your hand towards her “ (Y/N)(Y/LN).”

“Marlene McKinnon,” she said while shaking your hands, she was strong and had slightly rough palms, which indicated she flew a lot “And this rude little girl is my baby sis, Margo.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a smile.

“I’m not rude,” mumbled Margo as she crossed her arms and started munching on some candy Marlene had handed over to her.

“You fly a lot?” You asked, when she looked puzzled you showed her your palms “I felt the broom marks when we shook hands, I have them too.”

She smiled and nodded, “I’m on my house’s quidditch team, I’m the best beater they have,” she said with a smile and then whispered, “Just don’t let the other guy know.”

At that, the two of you laughed, at that moment you figured perhaps life at Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad, as long as you got to meet more people like Marlene. You talked about quidditch for most of the trip back, she told you about the new broom her parents had bought her last year and you told her about your new Dark Nimbus, which she made you promise you’ll let her take a ride on. Margo seemed rather bored with your conversation and grabbed a book from her backpack, something about care for magical creatures.

Once the train was close to the destination a tall brunette boy knocked on your doors “Are you (Y/N)(Y/LN)?” You nodded to answer and he smiled “Great! My name is Alexander Wood, Head Boy in Hufflepuff, I was asked by Professor McGonagall to escort you to Dumbledore’s office as soon as the train arrived.”

“Oh, all right,” you said as you stood up and grabbed your small trunk, “Hope to see you around,” you said to Marlene with a quick wave before following behind Alexander.

“You can call me Alex,” he said as he continued walking towards the doors “Professor McGonagall said it was immensely important you arrived before everyone else, apparently they want to get you sorted before the feast,” he explained.

“Sorted?” You asked confused.

“Into your Hogwarts house,” he explained “There’s four of them, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor-“

“-and Slytherin.” You concluded.

“Yes! Exactly!” he said without noticing the bitter tone which you had used to say the latter “you’ve done your research.”

“More like I met someone once,” you said as you continued to follow him. “There’s a sorting cap, right?”

“Sorting hat,” he corrected. “Don’t dare call him a cap, or he’ll be offended.”

“The hat?! He’s sentient…”

“Very much so,” he said with a nod “and very touchy too.”

“How do you know in which house he’ll sort you?”

“You don’t,” he said as the two of you stood next to the doors “Sometimes you get sorted the same way as your parents, kind of like a family line sort of thing, other times, like in my case, your family gets sorted into all different kinds of houses, my mom’s a Gryffindor, dad’s a Ravenclaw and my sister was a Slytherin. But then again, your parents didn’t attend Hogwarts, did they?”

You responded by shaking your head “Mom studied in Ilvermorny, Dad in Beauxbatons.”

He nodded, and then the train came to a halt, you grabbed the railing to stop yourself from crashing against him and then the door opened swiftly right in front of you. He quickly got down and motioned for you to follow. On the train, everyone else was starting to grab their things to prepare to get off. You followed behind him towards a couple of carriages without any horses.

You got in and then started to move towards the castle at a relatively fast pace. "Do you normally take new students to the director's office?" You asked Alex.

He shook his head "We don’t get many new students unless they’re first years, and their sorting is public."

"Why won’t mine be?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Haven’t a clue," he said honestly and pulled a transparent bag from his robe "You want some?" He asked as he offered the bag to you.

"Are those Fizzing Whizbees?" You asked as you grabbed one of them, he nodded "They’re my favourites!"

"Mine too!" He said with a smile before popping one into his mouth.

Soon enough the two of you were already entering the huge castle. As you looked around he drove you towards the famous moving staircases. You had heard of them in some of your history classes, but you never expected you’d see them in person, they were as magnificent as the books described.

"Come on, they won’t wait for you to stop admiring them before they change," he said motioning for you to follow, "you’ll have plenty of time to look at them later on."

You nodded and followed right behind him. Soon enough you were just outside of an office, a giant golden eagle stood there. A very elegant-looking lady in a green gown walked from the hall towards you "Thank you very much, Alex, for bringing (Y/N) here, I’ll take it from here, you should go to the banquet, help the first years that get sorted into your house." Alex nodded and left, then the lady turned towards you "My name is Minerva McGonagall," you said, you were surprised, up until then you had thought the professor McGonagall they kept referring to was a man. "Follow me please."

You nodded and followed her, as she stood right in front of the eagle it started twirling and unveiling a set of stairs. The two of you walked up the staircase and you found yourselves in front of a large office, filled with magical gadgets, and astronomy tools. An old wizard with a very large white beard stood in the centre "This must be (Y/N)," he said.

"Nice to meet you, sir," you said to the old man.

He smiled kindly "My name is Albus Dumbledore, you may call me Professor Dumbledore, I am the director of Hogwarts." You nodded in response "We brought you here to sort you, after talking about it we decided it would be a lot easier to sort you here instead of the banquet hall, we thought you could perhaps feel uncomfortable being the only 16-year-old student being sorted along the first years."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," you responded.

"And we also wanted you to have enough time to get your uniforms ready before walking to your classes tomorrow." Then he motioned for you to sit on a chair in the middle of the room. Professor McGonagall picked a hat from a pillow and placed it over your head.

"Interesting…" you heard the hat speak, in a rather low tone. Your breath hitched "You’re old to be sorted… it won’t be easy to decide where you’ll fit in best."

"It’s… speaking to me…" you said as you looked at McGonagall.

"It does that often, just let him ramble."

You took a deep breath and continued to listen "ambitious, clever, brave." He said "Many qualities from many houses in one person…"

"Ambitious no…" you whispered back "Not cunning, not a traitor."

"You’ve got preferences," He responded to your words "You don’t want to be a Slytherin."

"I’m no snake." You responded.

"Slytherin are not all traitors, besides, other houses can harbour them too."

"I… I don’t want to see him every day." You admitted, thinking of Regulus.

"There might be things you don’t know about him… or the other boy."

"I just–" you started.

"–Gryffindor!" The hat roared before you even had time to elaborate.

Professor McGonagall smiled as Dumbledore told her "She’s one of yours."

She walked towards you, took the hat off your head and set it on the pillow again "I had a good feeling about you," she said with a smile.

"Nimbletwist," called the old man, soon enough a house elf appeared, "Please take (Y/N)’s robes to the laundry elves, that way they’ll have her house colours before her classes in the morning." The house elf nodded.

"Please follow us," said McGonagall as they guided you out of the office and towards the great hall. In the middle of the way, the same boy you’d seen on the platform walked towards her.

"I was told you were looking for me or Lily, she stayed with the first years, and sent me here."

She nodded "This is (Y/N), she’s new, the hat just sorted her in Gryffindor, and she’s in your year. I was hoping you could introduce her to your classmates and keep her out of trouble until the end of the day." The last remark seemed to be directed towards him specifically.

Remus, as you remembered, just gave her a flashy smile and nodded "I’m always out of trouble." He responded before turning towards you and offering his hand "Remus Lupin, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you." You shook his hand and smiled back. McGonagall and Dumbledore were gone in an instant, and you were left alone with yet a new Hogwarts student.

"I saw you at the station."

"You ran into me at the station," you corrected teasingly.

"You’re right," he said with an apologetic smile "I wasn’t looking where I was going."

"It’s ok, I can tell you’ve got very many responsibilities around here."

"I’m a prefect, that’s why I’ve been so busy today," He explained and changed the subject "I didn’t see you on the train."

"I stayed in a cart most of the way there, met a girl called Marlene, she’s lovely."

"You met Marlene?" He asked, surprised. "She’s also in Gryffindor."

“Our year too, right?” He nodded in response. “Where are we going?” You asked as you walked alongside him.

“Great hall, I just need to meet with some of my friends first.” You nodded and followed him all the way to a hallway, two boys waited there for him.

“Moony!” Said the tallest of the two as soon as he saw Remus, he was wearing a pair of round spectacles and had relatively long messy hair “Took you long enough.”

“And you brought company,” said the blond boy, he’d been the first one of the two to notice you.

“Yeah, guys this is (Y/N), she just transferred here, McGonagall asked me to take her to the great hall and introduce her to everyone.”

You waved awkwardly from behind Remus and the shorter boy walked towards you “Peter Pettigrew, nice to meet you.”

“(Y/N) (Y/LN),” you responded with a smile as he shook your hand.

“Hold up,” said Remus turning towards you “Your last name’s (Y/LN)? Same (Y/N) (Y/LN) Pads couldn’t shut up about on 5th year?”

Pads? You wondered in your head as the only boy who hadn’t introduced himself spoke “She fits the description,” he said as he looked at you with curiosity “Hair, eyes, complexion, has to be her.”

“Do you by chance speak Spanish and French too?” Peter asked.

Still slightly confused, you nodded. “It is her! Pas will go crazy when we tell him,” said Remus with a smile.

“Right, I was forgetting,” said the boy with messy hair “I’m James Potter, nice to meet you,” he said with a flashy smile as he offered his hand for you to shake.

You took his hand, and that’s when it downed you. These boys, they were all Sirius’ friends. “It’s nice to finally meet you, James,” you told him with a smile.

“Finally?” He asked, confused.

You quickly remembered the letter you sent him hadn’t been signed with your name and decided perhaps it would be better to leave things as they were “Ah… Sirius told me a lot about you.”

“He’ll be thrilled when he sees you,” said Peter excitedly, to that you wondered which kind of thrilled? “That may not be today tho, if he’s in position.”

You shrugged “In position?”

James smiled mischievously and handed you a small umbrella “Can you take care of this for me? Until we see each other again?”

You grabbed the umbrella and nodded. He winked at you and turned to Remus who spoke to them “So, everything’s ready right?”

“Yes, Pads’ll do the heavy magic, we just need to make sure the lasting jinxes are not countered too fast,” responded James.

“Fantastic!”

“Off to your prefect duties then,” Said Peter almost shoo-ing Remus “You have to be in position, too.”

Remus nodded and turned around to walk to the other side, turning back to you shortly “Come on,” he motioned for you to follow “I gotta introduce you to some more people,” he said with a smile.

When you arrived at the great hall it was almost already full of people. You saw Regulus staring at you from a table with kids all wearing green, he looked like he wanted to approach you but when Remus guided you to the Gryffindor table he sat back down “Hey everyone!” He said with a smile “This is (Y/N), she’s new.”

Marlene smiled and waved towards you “Here, sit with us.” She said as she and the red hair girl that had called Remus at the station both opened some space for you.

“Mind taking care of her while I focus on some other prefect duties?” He said looking at the redhead.

“Of course,” she said with a smile and turned towards you “Lily Evans,” she then pointed at a girl, “You’ve met Marlene, yeah?” She asked to which you nodded, “this is Mary,” she said pointing at a girl with the most beautiful curls you’d seen in your life. “That over there is Tom”, she said pointing at a boy with brown hair “And that’s Beth,” she said pointing at another redhead. She continued naming other students and then she started talking to you about the teachers, who all sat on a table right in front of the four tables with students that wore different coloured robes.

“Do we always sit colour coded?” You asked as you stared at the other tables.

“Oh… yeah, we sit at our house’s table at meal times.”

“So houses don’t really mix?”

“On classes we do.”

“But never on meal times?” She shook her head “So you only make friends in your house.”

“Not at all, I used to have a Slytherin friend, but sometimes the values of the people in their houses can become stronger than their original self.”

“I’m sorry,” you said when you noticed that the falling out had clearly hurt her.

“Don’t be,” she said with a smile, slightly forced. “But you can make friends with other houses, it’s just a bit harder to get close to them.” She explained and then her face lit up with an idea, “You know, Remus and I, we started a study group last year, you could join us if you wanted to, that way you could meet more people.”

“That’d be lovely, thank you Lily,” you told her with a smile.

By then the sorting ceremony had ended and Dumbledore stood up from his seat in the centre of the teacher’s table.

“Hogwarts has always been a place of wonder, where magic comes alive and friendships are forged. Whether you are starting your magical journey,” he said glancing towards the first years “or returning to continue your studies, this is a place where dreams are nurtured and knowledge is expanded. We know we’re living in dark ages, the magical community is filled with hate and discrimination at the moment, but the school will not tolerate any instances of said hate or discrimination to be brought inside these walls. We are all witches and wizards, our precedence does not change that fact. We must remember the core values that make Hogwarts shine. Respect, compassion, and loyalty shall be the guiding principles that shape our interactions. We are a community, a single organism, and we must understand that an organism at war with itself is doomed.”

“Embrace the thrill of discovering new spells, uncovering ancient mysteries, and weaving your own story in the tapestry of magic, but remember to be kind, and loving towards your fellow classmates.” He paused and clapped his hands with a smile “May your time at Hogwarts be filled with magical moments, lifelong friendships, and unforgettable experiences. I have no doubt that each and every one of you holds within you great potential, waiting to be unlocked. Welcome to Hogwarts!”

At that moment plates started appearing right in the middle of all the tables and students started to indulge in them. It was truly a feast. “Is Muggle-born prejudice as bad in the UK as the media claims?” You asked Lily who cringed slightly.

“Worse,” responded Mary instead “Some pure-blood kids’ parents are death eaters,” she explained “They follow in their parents' steps and spread hate among the school. Last year a muggle-born boy was tortured so badly he ended up in St. Mungo’s, they never discovered who had done it.” She explained.

“We always make sure to walk in groups,” Marlene explained “That way no one's ever completely alone, you don’t want to become a target of their hate.”

“But she’s a (Y/LN)? Your family’s pure blood right?” Asked Beth from the other side “I read about the history of Pure Blood wizards for a project last year,” she explained when everyone gave her a look.

“Uhh.. yeah.” You said with an awkward smile, remembering how your parents had made such an effort to hide your non-wizarding great-grandmother origins from all the records.

“Still, she’s new, we’re better off if we stick to each other.”

You nodded “You girls know best,” you said with a smile and looked around, you wondered what would happen when you eventually saw Sirius. Would he even want to speak to you? He ignored your letters so I’d seem he wouldn’t, and you had gotten over him, or you hope you had, it’d been over two years.

By then you looked around. Wondering where Remus and the boys he’d introduced you to had gone too, maybe they were going to skip dinner together or something. And then you felt it, a small drop of water falling on top of your right hand as you were taking a bite of mashed potatoes.

You stared at it for a second before looking up and feeling another one fall right on your cheek. On the ceiling, the clouds were quickly turning grey, and more droplets of rain started to fall. Eventually, you heard the rumbling of some far-away thunder and saw some of the clouds shine with lighting. In the span of a minute, rain started pouring. Some students got under the tables, others walked in panic towards the doors of the hall.

You took out the umbrella James had given you and opened it, covering yourself and Lily under it.

“Why do you have an umbrella?” She asked you, suspicion evident on her face.

“I… came from Wales, before taking the Hogwarts Express,” you lied “You know how it’s always pouring there.”

She nodded and huddled closer to you, and the two of you both stood in front of the table as you saw the rest of the chaos ensue. Some teachers were trying to use a spell to avoid getting wet but it did not seem to be working. McGonagall was desperately trying to stop the rain while Dumbledore stood there with somewhat of a diverted smile. He stood up and with a wave of his wand said “Finite Incantatem.” The rain stopped, you pulled the umbrella down and shook it to get rid of the small droplets still coating it, but only minutes later it started pouring again, even stronger this time.

Dumbledore seemed puzzled, but that satisfied smile wasn’t gone, almost as if he was proud of the elaborate spell his students had created.

Lily looked around suspiciously “I knew they were up to something. That’s why James didn’t even try to sit with me on the train!”

“James Potter?” You asked.

“You’ve met him?” She asked, puzzled.

“Remus introduced me to him and Peter before bringing me here,” you explained.

“Did they look suspicious?” She asked.

“I… wouldn’t know.” You responded. While you were pretty sure it had been them who caused the ruckus you were going through at the moment, you didn’t know how close Lily was to them, and you didn’t want to give her more reasons to think it had been them, which she already did. Who knows? She could’ve been the kinda person who would tell a teacher. And you certainly did not need to add any more reasons for Sirius to intensify his animosity towards you any further.

“Witches and Wizards, this marks the end of our feast, please retire to your dorms,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed through the hall when he placed his wand on his throat to amplify it.

Seraphina Nightshade, who Lily had identified as the head of Hufflepuff, walked towards her table "Alex, find the other prefects and take the first years to their dorms."

Alex nodded and went off to tell the rest. "I have to go find the first years,” Lily told you urgently. You nodded and walked alongside her.

Out of nowhere, Remus caught up with the two of you "Hey again," he said with that dashing smile of his. Lily gave him a look and continued calling the first years. Once outside of the great hall, you closed the umbrella, bending it back to its small state while Lily and Remus made sure all the first years were ready. The Gryffindor head boy, Teddy Hawthorn, had given the prefects the new password to enter their house common room and sent them all but Remus and Lily, who would take the first years, to find the rest of the Gryffindors. Lily was at the front, guiding everyone while Remus and you stayed at the back, making sure none of the new kids were left behind.

"I get it this isn’t what normal dinners look like?" You said, motioning to the chaos all around you.

He laughed, "Let’s say it’s a bit of a special one."

As the entire group approached the grand staircases, you spotted Marlene and Mary, who walked along a couple of stairs above you. They were soaked, like most people around you, leaving the stairs very wet behind them.

"Mind your step," Lily told everyone from the top of her stairs "The stairs are quite slippery, we don’t want anyone to trip."

Just as she said that a small girl that walked just in front of you tripped, her ring falling back a couple of steps. Remus quickly held her up, but the moment she realised her ring was gone she panicked. "It’s a family heirloom!” She said distressed.

"It’s ok, I’ll get it," you told her as you walked back to find it.

"(Y/N) wait!” You heard Remus warn but it was too late, the stairs were already moving. Remus jumped before the gap between the stairs was too big but by the time Lily saw what was happening it was too late. It would be impossible for you and Remus to catch up with them unless the stairs aligned themselves again.

"It’s ok," Remus shouted at Lily, who stood a couple of metres away "We’ll catch up with you in the tower.”

She nodded and motioned for the children to follow her, but the little girl was still distressed looking towards you. You finally found the ring between a crevice and showed it to her. She seemed relieved, you then made a small spell and the ring started levitating, sooner than later it was swiftly landing on her palm.

"Thank you," she said before running behind Lily and the rest of the first years.

"That was really nice,” Remus said as he saw the little girl go "and reckless, you could’ve gotten lost"

You turned towards him "and here I thought recklessness was a particular Gryffindor trait."

He laughed lightly as he shook his head "Come on, we should arrive at the dorm room before curfew."

You nodded and followed behind him to another set of stairs, eventually, you found yourselves in front of a dead end. The stairs had also changed on Remus’ planned path “damn it,” he whispered under his breath.

"Plan B is not gonna work, aye?" You asked, leaning against a wall.

He exhaled, "You don’t seem particularly preoccupied by being lost and not getting to the common room on time."

"I’m new, I got lost, they’re not gonna punish me."You shrugged “Besides, it’s not as if I had planned the entire prank that got us here in the first place," you said that last bit with a knowing smile.

"Are you trying to imply something?”

"Me? Whatever could I be implying?" You responded innocently “So… what’s plan C?”

“There’s a way to get there. But you mustn’t tell anyone about it.” You nodded and he guided you through a door a couple of steps behind, then he turned towards you again “Would you allow me to blindfold you?”

You raised your eyebrows at that, with a little smile on your face “Buy me dinner first?”

“Not like that!” He responded, surprised. “We’re gonna take a shortcut, it’s a secret passage.”

“Mm… and if I know where it is, it won’t be so much of a secret…”

“So…?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course you’re not gonna blindfold me Remus!” You retorted “A girl’s gotta know how to sneak around the castle too.” He stared at you for a second, as if trying to decide whether to trust you with the location of his secret passage. “Hey, if it makes you feel better, I solemnly swear I’m telling no one about your passage.” That line convinced him on the spot, but you didn’t know it yet, so you kept talking, presenting your hand in front of him, with your smallest finger raised and an innocent smile “Pinky promise?”

He laughed at that. “This isn’t the Japanese Mafia,” he nodded towards your finger.

“Why? You wouldn’t want to cut it off?” You said as you raised your finger to look at it up close, then swiftly brought it back down and turned to look at him “Anyway… Am I gonna have to excuse myself for getting lost, or are we going to take your secret passage?”

He smiled at that, he kind of started to understand why Sirius was absolutely obsessed with you when he came back from that summer in 5th year. “All right, let’s go.” You smiled at that and followed behind him. He took you all the way to the end of the hallway where a giant painting stood. Besides it, a shield with two swords crossed in the middle, like a coat of arms.

“Sneaking about again, Mr. Lupin?” Asked the old wizard staring at us from the painting “And you bring company,” he added suggestively.

“Not today Oliver,” Remus complained as he pressed a button on the hilt of one of the swords, causing the shield to separate from the wall, opening a relatively small hole.

“That’s the secret passage?” You asked, looking at the dark passageway that seemed to extend from the other side of the window-like hole.

Remus nodded “Is either that or we go wait until the stairs decide to change for us.”

“Fine then,” You said as you climbed through the wall and pulled your wand from your pocket, whispering “Lumos.” Remus was just behind you and once he was inside, the shield closed the hole in the wall.

“So…” you said, scooting out of the way to let him take the lead “Which way to go?”

“It’s easy, we’ll have to go up some stairs tho,” he explained before he started walking, with his wand raised high to show you the way. He took a couple of lefts and then you went up a rather long spiral staircase. “We’re almost there,” he said. “We need to get out of this passage and take another one before we get there.”

“Do I have to swear I won’t tell anyone again?” You teased, he gave you a look and then shook his head with a small smile forming on his lips. “Just wanted to make sure.”

By then you had reached a dead end, he whispered something onto the wall and it moved, letting the two of you out. But just as you got out of the passage and onto the hall, you crashed into something. But there was nothing really there. Until there was. Somehow you had stepped on Jame’s cloak and it had slipped off of him and Peter.

You were very surprised when you saw them appear out of nowhere until you noticed the cloak on the floor. Picking it up, giving it a look and handing it over to the two of them. James took it. “You’ve got an invisibility cloak?! Where did you get it? I’ve been trying to get my hands on one for ages, but the spells on them are rarely any good, I’ve never seen one as good as yours.”

“Uh… it’s a family heirloom…”

“Oh, you’re so lucky!” You said and then, you realised how the rain prank had lasted so long “It all makes sense now! That’s how you managed to counter Dumbledore’s spell. You were close to him! You used your cloak to hide from the people and did a close-range counter spell, Dumbledore’s magic didn’t even reach all the way to your spell caster.”

“You told her it was US?!” Peter asked Remus, looking completely betrayed.

“Remus? No! I assumed it was you when James’ umbrella became useful!” You told them, and then looked at Peter “You confirmed my theory now, tho.”

James punched him lightly on the arm in reproach “Ouch.” Peter complained and rubbed his arm as Remus walked closer to you.

“You cannot tell anyone about it,” he said seriously.

“Why would I? It was a great prank! You could’ve added chaos by having toads raining too but I guess the spell would’ve been a bit more complicated.”

“That would’ve actually been great!” Peter agreed, forgetting all together he had been the one to out them.

Then you heard steps from the end of the hallway “Someone’s coming,” you warned.

“Quick, let’s get out of here.” Said James as he pulled a tapestry from the side and motioned for you to get in.

Once deep in the small aisle, you decided to ask the question you’d been thinking about since Remus guided you through the first passage “So… How do you guys know so many ways to sneak about? Are you in some kind of secret club?”

“We’re making a map, so we explore the castle a lot,” Peter said casually which earned him another punch, this time from Remus.

“Might as well tell the new girl all of our secrets, right mate?” James complained.

“I guess I’m trustworthy like that.” You said with a smile, even if the dark passage wouldn’t really let any of them see “Besides, it was you who gave me the umbrella.”

“Yeah James, you gave the girl the umbrella,” Peter retorted.

“I was trying to be nice,” he explained, “she’s new.”

“It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone, about your prank, or about the fact that I was sneaking about with the… What? Hogwarts gang of pranksters?”

“That’s a terrible name for a gang,” Remus said.

“Says the guy with MOONY as a nickname.”

“I swear she’s been here for like 3 hours and she picked up on half the things we’ve done,” James said, pinching his nose.

“Also Sirius mentioned his friends and he liked making pranks in the school at some point,” you said remembering how he’d told you about a particular prank a few days before you sneaked onto the zip line park “When we were on talking terms.”

“On talking terms?” Asked Peter, but by then you had already arrived at the end of the hallway and Remus got ahead of him, shushing him before looking around and motioning for the three of you to follow behind.

“Mystic whispers,” he said to the portrait of a fat lady who opened up to let the three of you into the Gryffindor common room.

Regulus’ letter,

Burned by (Y/N) without opening.

July 23th, 1974 Dear (Y/N), I know you may not want to hear a word from me, but beseech of you to do so, for it is imperative that you lend me your ear. First and foremost, it was never my intention for my progenitors to discover our clandestine affair. I had resolved to provide a cloak of secrecy to shield you and Sirius from their prying eyes. However, an owl arrived to my father, telling him his offspring had been seen in a witchcraft emporium within the city limits, it enraged him. With righteous indignation, my father directed his scrutiny towards me, inquiring as to your whereabouts. I resorted to our story, how you’d gone to a broomstick race with Sirius, as we had plotted. Yet, to my great chagrin, he had already acquired knowledge of the falsehood, detecting the mendacity inherent in my words. Compelled against my volition, I found myself partaking of a draught, undoubtedly Veritaserum, rendering me incapable of withholding the truth. At that moment, the weight of guilt settled upon my conscience, eclipsing any previous instances of remorse in my life. Providentially, I managed to refrain from implicating your involvement, particularly as the collective assumption posited the culpability of dear Sirius. Despite your impassioned plea, reverberating across the wooden deck, beseeching their cognizance of your agency, I, alas, found myself bereft of the fortitude to voice your pivotal role. The notion of subjecting you, dear (Y/N), to the punitive machinations my progenitors habitually employ proved an insurmountable ordeal. I could not bear the prospect of witnessing my parents inflict their customary retributions upon your personage. I know their punishments. I do not want you to know them too. Perchance I observed my mother consigning some of your letters to Sirius to the scorching fire, ensuring that he refrained from indulging in the forbidden act of writing you back. They harbour an unwavering resolve to preclude him from "exerting undue influence" upon your vulnerable disposition. "For as long as you dwell within this house, the act of inscribing correspondence to her shall be verboten," Mother uttered with resolute conviction. Devoid of alternative recourse, Sirius succumbed, he was forced, a spell was cast on him. Ah, Mother, she can be wicked if you do not abide by her volition. I beseech your clemency, dear (Y/N), for the manifold grievances that have befallen us. I fervently pray that you shall not harbour enmity towards Sirius and myself, for the prospect of such estrangement would be anathema to my very soul. I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and the finest of health. With utmost sincerity, Regulus Arcturus Black

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fullcoffeemoon-nem · 9 months

Text

Timeline Theory

First update: 09-21-23

Second update: 11-14-23

Third update: 05-01-24 (+ S2 Theory link)

Last update: 06-03-24 (+ S2 Theory upload)

——————————————

Hi there!

After another re-watch and the head to pay attention to the small details, perhaps I have reconstructed a possible

Timeline of Helluva Boss

It would be better to define them as hypotheses. First of all, here is an outline of the episodes and their release dates.

I know, I also included the one whose title we know, just for the sake of general overview. The theory for the moment covers 2 seasons out of 4 announced.

Here the synthetic timeline. From the estimate version I have removed the year here, we'll get to the reason.

Here I also report some of my thoughts:

Already from the first episodes there's a strong focus on clocks and time, it is much more striking in Oops, where Asmodeus' clock marks the whole day.

I'm not sure about the year, but also from the analyzes carried out later, 2021 could be the year of the narrative arc that goes from Murder Family to Ozzie's.

(*) The Verosika's tour t-shirt was official and linked to the episode, at the moment I'm undecided on its validity at the year level, althought the date could be very possible.

However, my research started with Seeing Stars because it's the first episode to feature an almost specific date: the 20th of a 30-day month.

In my opinion it could be April chronologically and it's agreed with the information in the subsequent episodes.

The only problem is that the full moon would't coincide with what was marked by Blitz.

Noteworthy:

Blitz's calendar suggests that the full moon that month is the 14th.

Stolas wrote in the Western Energy chat that Blitz was supposed to come that evening and that therefore the full moon was the 20th.

We are certainly either in 2021 or beyond given Moxxie's coin in Seeing Stars.

From the chat we can understand that:

About a month passes between the trio Ozzie's - Queen Bee - The Circus (1 moon)

About 3 months (3 moons) pass between Seeing Stars and Western Energy

Western Energy is placed a week before Oops and among these the week told in Unhappy Campers

From Millie's flyer we know that her and Moxxie's mission ends on Friday July 17th. We know from Blitz that this lasted a week, so it started on Monday 13th July.

According to what Striker says to Crisom, Western Energy should be set around July 11th and Oops around July 18th.

We should be in 2022 though, but in that case July 17th was a Sunday.

In Mammon's magnificent concert Blitz says on the call with Ozzie that it's a weekend.

There are two options:

It could be set on the week parallel (July 21-22th or 28-29th) to the events of Western-Unhappy-Oops.

It could be set on the following month (August).

Here we come to the gap:

(*) The Mammon's official t-shirt is clearly linked to the episode, but the date (2023) and month (October) cause the information to conflict.

So, at this point we have this options:

The official t-shirts are tied exclusively to the release date of the episode.

They are official or at the date level, or at the year level.

They're official and we're actually 2 years removed from Murder Family.

I think it is more canonical to consider a connection with the month of July shown in the episode and maintain the hypothesis.

Seeing Stars -> April

Wester Energy to Oops -> July

Full Moon → September 29th

I'm pretty sure about the Apology Tour

A month of crisis for Blitz seems like the minimum to me and it's also enough for Stolas to enter a phase of rejection.

——————————————

With the LVL UP on April 29th we got a new trailer for the second part of the second season. In addition, we also have a preview of the Stolas and Blitz duet from the next episode.

I dedicated a post for analysis, opinions and spoilers here.

I'm going to integrate the episodes and data into the theory as they come out.

——————————————

In the end, I report here some of the most interesting posts from Blitz and Stolas' Sinstagrams, due to that they're the only two accounts that hide canonical information.

(Thanks @timkontheunsure for the source)

I underlined my opinion, they certainly respect real events but I don't think that in terms of dating they are canonical.

What a mess...

What do you think about it?

Have you noticed any other details that could clarify the mystery? Make me know it and let's solve the mystery together :}

Bye~

#blitzø #helluva boss #helluva #stolas #stolitz #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #spindlehorse #helluva millie #moxxie #moxxie helluva boss #loona helluva boss #striker helluva boss #fizzarolli #helluva boss asmodeus #helluva boss theory #helluva blitzo #helluva boss timeline

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seventies-arcana · 11 months

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PAC: what blessings are coming for you this upcoming august?

welcome! in this pick a card (it's really a pick a pile), you will find out what potential blessings are coming to you this august, 2023. gentle reminder that because this is a pick a pile reading, it is meant for many people, so take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

politely call upon your guides/higher self to guide you to what pile/photo you should pick, then read the corresponding message.

pick a picture to begin ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

pile one (the island): ace of pentacles, four of wands, the empress

there's a sense of new prosperity entering your life, likely with some sort of relationship, whether its romantic or platonic. theres so much happy-go-lucky energy with this pile, meaning that you'll be feeling really good. you've met someone who makes you feel empowered, who respects you and understands your worth, allowing for a great duality between the two of you. theres a lot of fun energy with this relationship, and im seeing imagery of two people enjoying social events. this can be going to amusement parks, town fairs, lunch dates, beach days, overall doing things together in public. your vibing, going with the flow, and most importantly, enjoying yourself. this relationship carries no expectations or stress, something your very thankful for-- perhaps independence is important to you this month.

pile two (the water): ten of swords, five of swords, queen of cups

something happened at the end of july or the beginning of august that left you feeling lost, hurt, and/or saddened. don't be fearful though-- emotional healing is coming. this month is one of selfcare and reflection. your prioritizing yourself and reflecting back on your emotions. im seeing the possibility of you journaling, perhaps this could be a great outlet for yourself to get any unsaid feelings out of your system. once you reflect on what happened that hurt you, you will feel physically lighter and mentally cleansed. overall, your taking time to yourself, resting and relaxing, and of course, no longer beating yourself up for things that happened in the past. im also seeing a lot of water imagery, perhaps your spending time by the poolside, on a boat, or maybe even spending time in the bath. being with water is something that you'll be enjoying this month.

pile three (the table): the emperor, ace of wands, nine of cups

i am feeling a lot of passion with this pile, especially in a creative sense. your set in what you want, possibly something related to a new buisness venture, a spontaneous trip, or even a new relationship with someone (if this is the case, im sensing a lot of physical chemistry and playful enjoyment). either way, this is something you have been wanting that has finally come into fruition, and now its time to go ahead and physically start what you have been wanting to do! you've gained the materials to do so, and a leap of faith is required to get going. trust yourself, remain enthusiastic, and enjoy what has finally come your way. its extremely possible that this is something you have been manifesting, and august is definitely the month of when youre getting the beginnings of it in your physical reality. your going to be having fun and shamelessly indulging yourself (which is totally worth it). the go ahead is present, the green flags are waving, this is the chance you have been waiting for to do whatever your passionate about!

please like, follow, comment, and reblog! i appreciate it a lot ♡

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halfusek · 11 months

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Something inky this way comes! The Ink Demonth emerges once again!

The Ink Demonth is a 31-day event dedicated to the game Bendy and the Ink Machine (and other games associated with the Bendy universe). It’s based on daily themes. As long as your creation involves elements from the game along with any interpretation of the respective day’s theme – it counts!

You don’t have to create something for each day, make as many creations as you’d like. However, if you manage to do all 31 of them, you can submit a form to receive a little gift (drawing request)! In the form, you will have to provide a link to each of your posted event submissions (it doesn’t have to be Tumblr, just a site that’s publically accessible!).

Here is the link to the form (it will be opened from September 1st to September 30th):

Tag your creations with #The Ink Demonth and #Bendy and the Ink Machine. It’s important if you want to have your entry reblogged by me, which I’m going to do to everything I’ll see in this tag. (So don’t @ me, just tag it with the event’s tag and the game’s name. It’s possible that your post may not show up in the tags, if you notice that I’m not reblogging your entries for a longer while, feel free to DM them directly to me on Tumblr. My focus will be mainly on Tumblr, I may interact with posts on other sites but it is going to be with whatever I run into, as this event is Tumblr-focused. Feel free to post on other sites too, though!)

(Due to special circumstances in my life I might be especially slow this August with reblogging stuff, so if you notice that I'm not reblogging anything at all, I might just be having a busy day and will get on it when I'm free! <3)

(And, though I think it goes without saying, if I notice a post containing something I consider harmful content, I will not reblog it and will warn the creator of such content that, depending on the case, they cannot continue to take part in the event with content like this or perhaps even not at all.)

Remember to tag only the finished entries, so the tag isn’t clogged with WIPs!

You can create whatever you’d like! Draw a picture! Write a fic! Do a video edit! Take a cosplay photo! Anything you can come up with that is a creative interpretation of that day’s theme!

(Don’t try to „cheat the system”, though – don’t submit a, let’s say, straight line for each day, I will notice this kind of spam and remember: spamming is a terrible sin. You can make an entry that covers a few themes but as long as you don’t create 31 things, the gift will not be granted to you.)

The event starts on the 1st of August and ends on the 31st. Although, don’t worry if you’re too busy in August, late entries are always welcome! (…for reblogging, as for drawing gifts I’m going to give all of you an extra month, so if you’re aiming for that, the end of September is your deadline.) (I usually also give an extra month before for preparing during July but this year I’ve been too busy to make it for July so apologies!)

Why in August? I figured that since August is the month on Joey’s calendar in his apartment and August is the month during which BatIM takes place, it should be the one!

Please, make sure to tag appropriate trigger/content warnings!

Thank you for taking your time to read this. Reblogs are appreciated in order to get the word out.

Have fun everyone! 💛🖤

You can view the text version of the full month under the cut~

1. Pencil

2. Friendship

3. Creator

4. Choice

5. Benevolent

6. Machine

7. Flow

8. Pen

9. Failure

10. Creation

11. Reason

12. Angel

13. Children

14. Puddles

15. Color

16. Legacy

17. Eye

18. Purpose

19. Ghost

20. Factory

21. City

22. Radio

23. Contraband

24. Keep

25. Cycle

26. Demon

27. Pit

28. Devour

29. Meat

30. Duck

31. Revival

#bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the dark revival #boris and the dark survival #the ink demonth #batim #batdr #batds #bendy fandom #halfpost #halfart

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itsbeesknees · 1 year

Text

Oh Brother of Mine

Cardinal Copia x GN!reader

——0——

Summary: Copia’s seeing someone, and it’s really no one’s business— but his brothers believe otherwise.

Warnings: none, just wacky hijinks and some fluffy crack

Word count: 1.3K

A/N: just wanted to write something silly today,, this is written with the pretense that Copia is related to the Emeritus brothers!

——0——

“He’s late.. again.”

Terzo swivels in his seat, facing his brother with a quizzical brow and a cherry red UNO card twirled between the pads of his gloved fingers.

When Secondo mentioned their youngest sibling's tardiness three weeks prior, the trio did not truly care, as it was none of their business what Copia chose to do in his leisure. But now it was his what? Sixth time being late to their annual family game night. Which was odd, since you could harangue Copia for his flaws left and right— but you could never say he was not punctual.

This behavior was irregular, Terzo supposes, and he had no clue to what it meant in the dictionary that was his brother's mannerisms. Or maybe he did have some sort of inkling, a suspicion of sorts, yet bit his tongue anyways. Because Terzo wasn’t quite ready to air out the idea that Copia might be having some sort of rendezvous or sex-escapade with a member of the congregation, and he needed a fragment of proof at the very least before flinging out the accusation.

Even if Terzo was right, it was none of his concern. Well, perhaps a little teasing would dribble out as it was an older sibling's duty, but regardless he wasn’t ruffled over the possibility of Copia’s secrecy. Terzo loved his brother, really he did, and respected his private life.

Though, if this plays out any longer Terzo’s curiosity would win out and he would get nosy. Confidentiality be damned.

Secondo was already ten paces ahead of him, pinching the arched bridge of his nose as the soles of his leather brogues tapped irritatedly against the floors. Moments away from hunting his younger brother down with a skewer.

Secondo could be patient, as long as there was a glass of bourbon or pack of marlboros on standby. Which was unfortunate for him, as his cup was currently empty and he had forgotten his lighter.

Primo, as it would seem, is precedently unbothered by the whole ordeal. A glossy book rests wedged between his hands, the corners of the cover warbled and frayed, possibly from water damage. Occasionally, he would spare a fleeting glance at the door, before half-heartedly turning another page.

“Don’t be so impaziente, fratello.” Terzo replies coolly, turning back to the poor excuse of a card-tower he had begun meticulously stacking together. “He probably got wrangled into some last minute paperwork. You know, being busy and shit.”

The third Emeritus’s words sounded too much like a bald face lie, even to him. Because, when Copia finally opened that creaky door— looking rather flushed and disheveled— there were no paper cuts, or ink stains, or anything that would indicate a Cardinal who had been engrossed in filing.

There were, however, four fresh hickies on his neck.

—o—

Copia’s love affairs were no one’s business but his own. And it was certainly none of his brother's business. But whoever he’s been seeing isn’t just a fling, a one night stand, a momentary heartthrob. No, it was apparent in his goo-goo eyed gaze they were much more.

The hickies were the first indicator, purplish-red marks seen puckered on his throat in early March, with the spring equinox following only a few days after. Next came May and the coincidental routine of Terzo walking in on Copia fidgeting with bushy bouquets while awkwardly practicing ‘hello’s’ in the vanity mirror. Then, in mid-July, there were the content sighs that would always bubble past the Cardinal’s lips when he’d stare off into the distance for too long, and a constant fragrance of someone else’s perfume or cologne that always lingered on his cassock. Now it is August, so Copia is ‘quite serious’ with this mystery person, whoever they are.

“Satanas aiutami ora, I cannot believe I am doing this.” Secondo groans brusquely. He was way too old to be crouching behind a marbled pillar with Terzo, who tuts at his bemoaning and slides on a pair of sunnies.

“You act all high and mighty when you’re just as much of a snoop as me.” Terzo sneers. “Now stai zitto, I am trying to focus.”

Focus on what exactly? Terzo had no clue. All he knew was that Copia occasionally liked taking walks around the ministry during the early evenings, and there was a betting chance his secret lover may be accompanying him. So hopefully, when the Cardinal comes waltzing down the corridor, his brothers may just catch a glimpse of whoever held his rapidly beating heart.

Primo was strictly against this idea, pointedly absent in their antics. He’d rather spend his evening in his greenhouse, as he put it, before hastily telling them that they were both idiots.

“So, we’re just supposed to wait here like a flock of sitting ducks?” Secondo retorts, glaring holes at the ridiculous shades Terzo had donned.

“No. Sitting geese, actually.” The third Emeritus’s lips curl up into a smirk. Yes, Terzo thought he was quite funny.

Secondo’s gaze hardens into one of caution, warning his brother to stop while he’s ahead.

The sound of shoes tapping against the floors snapped the duo back into the present situation, anchoring their attention back to the matter at hand. Judging by the steady footfall the figures passing by were a pair, and the fiddly Italian lilt that was Copia’s voice confirmed who precisely the pair was.

Terzo motions Secondo to be deathly silent, before poking his head out from behind the column to sneak a slivering peek. Surely enough, there stood Copia, stopping and standing right at a crossway, jovially chatting away with someone.

Unfortunately, another pillar rested just shy of a few meters down, obscuring Terzo’s view of whoever Copia was endearingly talking to. He managed to glimpse at the tips of their shoes and hem of their unholy vestments, until they took a step back and completely vanished from his peripheral.

Terzo squints as Copia leans in and... kisses them? Hugs them? He can’t quite tell, and he’s this close to cussing at a beam of stone.

“Well?” Secondo whispers, impatient and wincing at his now aching knees.

“Aspettare.” Terzo mutters. “This stupido pilastro is blocking my view.”

It is then he deduces, brilliantly, to careen his head out further and try to bypass the pillar. And his plan was going rather swimmingly, until he knocked right into a candelabra and sent a crescendo of crashing and clanging steel right in his direction.

Terzo grimaces as hot wax flicks onto his thighs, the materials of his slacks doing little to shield him from the sweltering heat. Secondo curses, reaching out to grab his brother’s collar and yank him back into the solitude of their relatively lame hiding spot.

But it was already too late. Copia’s mystery partner had parted ways down a separate foyer, gone without a trace, and the Cardinal was stalking straight towards the two.

“Ah, Copia.” Terzo grins coyly up at him when he finally snuffs them out. “What brings you here, on such a fine evening as this?”

Copia stares back at him, blinking. “Were you spying on me, fratello?”

“Spying? No.” Terzo waves in dismissal, scrambling to stand upright besides Secondo. “A little information collecting? Sì.”

Secondo winds back his hand and whacks Terzo upside the head.

“Ok, well, ehm.. maybe don’t spy on me, hm?” Copia presses his mouth into a thin line, irked and slightly amused.

“Yes, of course.” Secondo says, clenching his jaw hard enough that they could hear his teeth grinding behind painted lips.

In the end, the Cardinal gives them one last estranged look, before pivoting down the hall. His partner still remaining a secret kept under lock and key.

Terzo has the good grace to act ashamed, until Copia leaves and he splinters into a much more comical smirk.

“That could’ve gone worse.” He tells his brother good-naturedly, who simply huffs fiercely, shoulders past him, and refuses to speak to Terzo for the rest of the week.

—o—

#this one’s little shorter than my first fic #but I enjoyed writing it all the same #slowly but surely getting used to posting my writing #cardinal copia x reader #Copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #ghost fic #ghost the band fanfic #ghost the band #Cardinal Copia #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv #the band ghost #ghost #copia #papa copia #terzo #peepaw primo #papa secondo

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be-my-ally · 11 months

Text

A Tour of the Penthouse

ugh naming one-shots is the bane of my existence. I'm terrible at coming up with titles.

Hello! I am back! not that I ever left, but I've been on a bit of a writing break the past few weeks - not intentionally I might add, so I am mighty pleased to be *inspired* and writing again. Much more in the pipeline coming soon, but first, a fun little smutty 1973 vegas one night one-shot!

warnings: 18+, p in v, oral (v receiving), mirrors... that's it folks, short and basic but hopefully still hot! this doesn’t feel super elvis-y to me but i think that might be the self-doubt creeping in after it being so long since i last posted (i hope)!

For the prompt: “No. Don’t talk to her like that."

pairing: 1973 Elvis x female reader (note: photos below are from the stax studios sessions in memphis July 22nd about 2 weeks before the vegas dates this fic is set in, but if he was willing to wear velour in tennessee in july, I don't see why not in vegas in august).

wc: 4.4k

You’d had the fantasy, the idea of being plucked out of the audience, the concept of a tap on the shoulder; “Please, miss, come with us.” But you’d known that was purely fantastical. You’d not been handpicked to be here this evening, you’d handily bumped into the brother of your best friend’s husband - a tenuous link if ever there was one who’d happily offered you an evening’s entertainment after you’d embarrassingly admitted you’d come to Vegas alone in the vain hope of scoring an Elvis ticket. The embarrassment waned pretty fast though when he’d apologised for not being able to do better than a back of the balcony seat, but that, perhaps because you’d sounded so embarrassed or pathetic, he knew someone with a standing invite to “not an after-party, just, casual drinks after the show.” Even so, you’d not believed you’d get anywhere near Elvis himself. Yet, somehow here you were, drink in hand, being flirted with (inexplicably terribly) by one of his entourage as you pretended not to be solely focused on his friend and boss, talking mere feet away. He suddenly whirls around to you, talking loudly to the man in front of you,

“No. Don’t talk to her like that, man, c’mon.” Elvis shakes his head, “You gotta do it right if you’re gonna try.” The thin man, his name escaping you as entirely inconsequential now you’re being faced with Elvis himself, takes a step back as Elvis practically pushes him to the side, taking his place directly in front of you, hand brushing your arm in greeting. “ Just ignore him hon.” You nod, a little starstruck at being so close to him, having watched him from the balcony earlier that night it was almost a little jarring to go from such distance to so close. The top of his head and bridge of his nose had been more visible to you than anything else, the novelty of now being able to see up his nose one of the many thoughts rapidly running through your head. Oh God, how did I end up here? And, Lord, is that really Elvis talking to me? Competed to be at the forefront of your mind, although admittedly along with Is he really wearing velvet velour in Vegas?

“Oh, I’ll do my best! If you say so, Sir!” Sir? To be faced with him in all his physical glory - velour and all, was hindering your ability to form thought or words. He chuckles at you, seemingly finding your obviously flustered state endearing, while nudging the other man again,

“Now - before I had ta step-in and save ya, what was he promisin’ ya? A tour?” The other nods sheepishly, as you agree,

“Oh - uh, yes, um your, uh, friend - uhh, sorry, what was it again? Oh uh, Red here, was saying he could take me to have a look around the showroom, while it was empty-like. If uh, if I was interested.” You cringe internally as you feel yourself stumbling over your words. Elvis scoffs, rolling his eyes beneath tinted glasses.

“The showroom? That was the best you could do, huh boy?” He shakes his head in seeming exasperation, turning back to you to ask, “You ever wanted to see a dressing room… or uh, my suite?” Of course you have, who wouldn’t have done?

“Oh. Well, I uh, I can’t say I’ve considered it before.” You wince internally, trying to keep your outer expression neutral, was that seriously your best reply?

“No? Well honey, I’ll have to take you back and show you some time.” You can’t help the giggles escaping, nor the slight snort that preceded them - too utterly flustered to worry about playing it cool.

“C’mon EP, that’s not playin’ fair, you’re practically bribing the poor girl.” Red says it almost without thinking, and you can see the nerves play out on his face, hoping Elvis would react the way he’d intended.

“Bribing?” He scoffs, “With you as the competition,” sneering he turns back to you, “go on then, doll, who’d you pick? Me or this ol’ lug?” He puffs out his chest as if showing off.

“Well, uh, Mr. Uh. Mr West. You’re very nice and all, but -“ Red laughs in response,

“Don’t worry darlin’, I knew I was fighting a losin’ battle soon as he stepped over here.” He nods, “I’ll try my luck over there, you two enjoy your night.” He smiles, although you can tell he’s a little put out. Elvis looks pleased with himself, hip cocked and hand inserted into his bright gold belt, seemingly waiting for you to have something else to say.

“That - that’s not the outfit you were wearing earlier.” If you could smack yourself right now, you would; of course it wasn’t the same outfit, why would he stay in a stage costume all night, you wish you could take the words back but Elvis smiles, a little ruefully, pulling his hand from his belt to run it through his hair.

“Well honey,” He drawls out the endearment, elongating the syllable break, as if debating whether to tell you, or perhaps an attempt at making his voice sound even more appealing. “It’s, a bit embarrassin’ to admit, but… I’ve got a bit of a habit of splitting my pants…” He looks at you, solemnly shaking his head, “Just you know, with all the movin’ and shakin’ on stage, I seem to go through a lot of them. Made it through the show alright tonight, but apparently climbing down them stairs off the stage at the end was too much for ‘em.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen as you take that in for a second, mind gone as you imagine the white crystallised suit of earlier, splitting down the seam and then all the way down his legs, imagining it falling off of him completely, him stood nude and glorious against the spotlight of the stage. You realise he was still talking, “Huh? Sorry - What’d you say?” Elvis rolls his eyes,

“I said, listen, how’s about you come and take a look? Are you any good with a needle?” You’re slow to the uptake when being faced with his southern drawl and seemingly random question and you panic for a second; he’s still looking at you, watching your expressions with unblinking eyes beneath his lavender shades, you can’t think of what to say in response, such an easy question, but what level of skill does he even need? You gape at him until he finally seems to take pity, shrugging a little,

“S’alright if you’re not, it’s just my fingers, I’ve never got the hang of it,” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “My ma tried, but I can never thread it quite right.” He mimes trying to thread a needle, comedically - tongue out, and one eye closed. You burst out laughing, mostly from sheer relief from being able to form thought again. “You must at least know how to hem?”

You nod, a little offended, “Of course! I made this dress!” He looks you up and down, and you feel yourself stand up a little straighter, an almost subconscious reaction to his looking, while smoothing the pockets down as surreptitiously as you can for his inspection.

“Made it fill out just right too.” You squirm on the spot in response, you can’t work out if you should be offended at being reduced to essentially free labour, or that you somehow find it totally acceptable just because he’s made your tummy flip with that one little sentence.

“Well, you know, just thought maybe, maybe I could just get you to take a look and let me know what you think I should do.”

“Oh uh, sure thing - Yes, absolutely, I could do that.” He grins at you, in reward for your compliance, before pressing a hand into the small of your back, directing you to the elevator.

It’s overwhelming, the feel of being with him in such a confined space, focussed on the door in front of you for the mere seconds between floors. It’s all you can do to keep yourself together, the smell of him, the feel of his hot palm still against your back making your thighs clench. Elvis seems to be in a world of his own, fingers gently rubbing your back, humming under his breath. You’re not quite sure why you’re both pretending you really were going to look at a torn jumpsuit. But when you start to follow that line of thought you can feel your heart-rate increasing and panic start to rise - it’s not that you don’t want to do whatever he has in mind, just that you’ve never done this causally before. All you can do is quickly attempt to distract yourself by curiously assessing the decor.

Somehow though, mere minutes later, small talk and short tour over, you find yourself sitting at his dressing table, jumpsuit in hand as you peer at the split straight along the seam of the crotch.

“Well, er, Elvis, here’s the thing - I think it might be beyond repair - or, at least it’s beyond what I can do with a travel kit.” He nods, solemnly, from over your shoulder, his sideburn hair tickling your cheek, and hands starting to span across your ribs.

“Hmm, guess I’ll have to send it to get mended then,” He tugs it out of your grip, balling it up and throwing it off to the side.

“Oh, well - yes, I’m sure someone will be able to - oh!” His hands creep further around your ribcage, until he’s just ever so slightly brushing his fingers further against your breasts. You shiver as his breath gets heavier on your, puff of laughter at your immediate physical reaction sending goosebumps across your exposed skin. He brushes your hair out of the way, gently tucking it behind the other ear, while his other hand remains spanning your ribs, thumb moving in delicate small circles. The small part of your brain not totally preoccupied solely with the sensation of him behind you wonders if you should be doing something yourself, turning around maybe, but before you can move you feel him lean back in to your neck, lips barely two inches from your skin.They brush against your ear and you squirm away, shuddering a little.

“Oh,” Elvis laughs, “That’s a no for that, huh, sweetheart. I’ll have to pull out my special moves for you then.” You nod, rapidly, starting to explain that he definitely should pull out any and all moves just nowhere near your ears, but as you’d swung your head up you’d made thunking contact with his nose.

“Shit! Son-of-a-mother -“ He swears loudly as he takes a sudden step backwards, knocked off balance, and you whirl around apologies tumbling out of your mouth,

“Oh god, oh, god I’m so sorry.” He’s pulling his glasses off of his face, a red mark spreading from the bridge of his nose up to between his eyebrows where your head had knocked them hard against his soft skin. “Oh god! Your face!” He blinks at you for a moment, rubbing at the redness, before his face breaks into a crooked grin.

“Can’t say I’ve bumped noses in a while.” He’s still rubbing the spot even while he’s joking and you can’t bring yourself to laugh with him, the embarrassment rolling down your spine, your cheeks turning red to match his.

“Oh god, maybe I should just go,” You stand from the chair, looking around for your purse, “I don’t know what I was thinking - this is clearly a sign, I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.” He rushes to stop you, hand grabbing your forearm,

“No, no, please, look - I’m fine now,” He gestures to his face, “bet it won’t even bruise.” You shake your head, “No, look, we just needta be face to face.” His hands grip your waist, eyes telling you to stay, and once he’s sure you’ll stay in place, he brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, “See, you can’t headbutt me from here, just needed to look at each-other.” You nod, gently, barely moving your head.

“Well, you might be right,” His thumb brushes over your lips, hand moving to clasp the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You stumble towards him until you’re pressed against his front, so close that you’re practically inside his jacket, resting against his shirt.

Your eyes fall closed as his lips meet yours, he’s hungry for it, capturing your mouth, tugging your lip between his teeth. You feel a little like you’re being devoured, melting against him, his other hand moving to your ribs again clutching you to him and holding you upright. You stumble backwards when he starts to walk forwards, still gripping your body and still pressing his lips against yours.

He pushes you back onto the bed, leaving you to scrabble backwards up towards the pillows, watching him strip his jacket off. He immediately goes for his shirt, rapidly unbuttoning it. He’s slimmer than you thought, all tan lean corded muscle, with just a little layer of fat over his stomach and you find your mouth watering as you take in the soft covering of his chest hair. He seems to assess the situation for a moment, before unbuckling his belt, taking his plush velvet trousers off, unveiling his lack of underwear, half-hard cock flopping out.

You try to swallow your moan, he looks you over, reassuring; “Don’t worry, I got the sound locked darlin’. S’not like the house, but it’s good enough. You can be as loud as you like.” You almost immediately put it to the test when he hikes your dress up to your waist, exposing your panties, yelp escaping. You stare up at the red canopy, breath hitching as you take in the mirrored ceiling - you can’t take your eyes off of it, watching Elvis’ naked back, the small scattering of moles as he moves. His hands curl around, deftly unzipping your dress even from underneath you, loosening it enough to pull it off. Your head rolls back, watching your nakedness be slowly unveiled. You’ve never been body shy but somehow being unable to look anywhere but at yourself makes you a little self-conscious, and you’re glad when Elvis moves himself back up to be covering you.

“What’d ya want honey?” He slides a hand down, pressing a long, masculine finger against the soft cotton of your panties. “You going all shy on me?” You shake your head,

“No, no - I don’t, I don’t know,” He pushes the fabric into you, gathering the wetness already pooling there, wet patch slowly spreading. “Take - take ‘em off, let me, need them off Elvis, please.” He grins, finding your slight desperation amusing,

“Hmm…but they look so pretty doll,” He circles your clit through the fabric, “You sure?” You nod,

“Uh-huh, please -“ He hooks his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down your legs, getting you fully nude. He chucks them onto the floor and you flush at the sound of the wet fabric hitting the floor. Elvis soon distracts you though, resting on his elbow alongside you, pointing out how you look in the mirror.

His hand drifts over your bare stomach, somehow gently but firmly brushing over your skin and up to your chest, large sweeping circles - your breath catching as his hand trails closer and closer to you breast, rings warmed by the heat of his hand rubbing against your skin. Every time you think he’s going to touch you, properly, he returns to circle your stomach and if you could form a thought you’d ask him to speed it up, but as it is his mouth is attaching to your collarbone, gently sucking down, little bruises forming. Finally, your back arches to meet him. He finally brushes his fingers over your nipple, tickling, you gasp as he lightly pinches one, an immediate jolt of heat to your core. His hands brush down your sides, leaving you panting, before he wriggles down, pulling your legs with him, so that you slide down the bed, situating himself between your thighs. He runs his hand through his hair, finger-combing the fluffy hair backward, eyebrow arching,

“You ok with this baby?” You nod, not quite able to believe Elvis Presley is offering to go down on you but there he is, gripping your thighs, placing his head between your legs. “C’mere then.” He kisses the soft skin there, a little line across to the crease of your thigh. His breath tickles and your thighs tense in response. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch before he moves to press a kiss right above your clit. His fingers move from your legs, one hand remaining where it was, the other coming to stroke your labia, spreading your inner folds, feeling where your slick is already sticking your skin together.

“Lawd, hon-ey, you always get this soppin’ wet?”

“Oh god, Elvis, I haven’t - no-one’s ever,” You can feel him chuckle, the vibration making you gasp, but he doesn’t respond, simply wets his lips and dives in. His hands hold you open for him, and he manhandles your legs to keep them open and apart, your burning core on display for him. He flicks between lapping at your inner and outer folds, his fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking onto the sensitive bundle of nerves.He’s clearly skilled, and the wetness, the newness of it - the shock of it all only adds to your growing heat; and the way you feel yourself start to tremble as the sensation grows.

Your hands clutch at the sheets, trying to avoid gripping his head even as your hips thrust up in response to his tongue spearing into you. You can’t look away from the image of his head between your thighs, enjoying the way his back ripples and how when he pulls back the bridge of his nose and eyebrows become visible. Reminding you who it is between your thighs, as if you could forget from the feel of his famed lips. His tongue licks its way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers move back as soon as he moves his tongue away, constantly touching you in some way. Your hips jolt and he moves his mouth up to suck on your clit; everything coming to be too much. He licks you through it, your stomach clenching as the pressure grows out from your core, orgasm starting to fizz through your veins, ringing in your ears.

You shudder as it hits, Elvis leaning back a little, rubbing gently with his fingers, your hips rolling in pure pleasure, until he leans in again to kitten-lick your sticky, wet, skin. Your thighs suddenly slam together of their own accord, and you feel his cheek on your thigh before you hear his “oof” at the sudden impact.

“Oh god, not again.” You try to sit up to apologise but you’re still breathless, and with your core still tensing from your orgasm you struggle to even manage to get onto your elbows. “Oh-no.” Elvis pops his head up, so you can both see each other properly, growling at you. Your head rolls back at the sight of him, sweaty upper lip and a mix of unidentifiable shiny wetness on his chin.

“You are trouble.” He quirks a grin, as if to ensure you know he’s at least half-kidding, shaking his head at you, “‘m starting to think I needta tie you down if I don’t wanna be battered.” You gasp, back arching and he chuckles at your visceral reaction. “Not right now though, huh, gotta - wanna be in you.” You nod frantically, affirmative words spilling out of your mouth. He slides back down to rest his head between your legs, holding your thighs open with a tight grip.

“Now, you be nice to lil Elvie, you hear me?” He whispers right against your sensitive folds, breath tickling, talking directly to your vagina, as if it might behave of its own volition, “I don’t think you have hands… or legs… but just in case. No more hittin’ me. Got it? I ain’t afraid to make you behave.” You burst out laughing when he does a high-pitched voice in response to himself, “Yes, sir, Elvis, sir, I’ll behave.” making it seem as if your vagina had just agreed with him. He’s smiling when he pushes himself back up, pulling himself to flop down on the bed at the same height as you, before rolling over, pushing an elbow onto the other side. He tugs on his cock for a second, before lining himself up, sinking into your hot, soaking, heat.

He groans, pressing into you as you adjust to his length within you, feeling the sweat on his chest rub against your skin. He’s slow at first, building up to forcefully thrusting into you, famous hips moving at speed.

“God, you’re tight, don’t do this often do ya honey?” You shake your head, and then nod, trying to respond, “Not too tight though huh, doll, you’re just - just perfect. Perfect for me.” He punctuates each sentence with a hard thrust, your response catching in your throat - practically choking yourself. He drags you back against him, hands gripping your hips. Jolting your body back and forth as he slams into you, shifting you to fuck into you at just the right angle. You have no idea what noises were coming out of your mouth, only that you were certainly babbling something. He seemed incapable of silence himself, a stream of curses and praises continually falling out of his lips.

He pauses in his thrusts, preoccupying himself with stroking a finger the length of your vulva, feeling where your bodies are joined. Your eyes fall closed, lost in the sensation of him. He moves back again, sliding his hand up to brush his thumb across your already sensitive clit, your back arching in response. He grunts above you, his thumb keeping pace, and his cock thrusting in at the same speed. It doesn’t take long before the way he’s knocking perfectly into your already sensitive core sends you into orgasm again, clenching down on him and shuddering, your mouth agape and your eyes shuttering closed as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

He drags you back from it, hips stuttering at a rapid pace, lasting only a minute before you can feel him jumping inside you, his face screwed up tight, mouth opening as he rapidly pulls out, shooting his cum across your stomach. He groans in pleasure, and you tip your head up to meet him, kissing him as aggressively as you can manage in your post-orgasmic state. By the time he pulls away, rolling off to the side and flopping onto his back, both of your lips are bitten and red-raw. You make eye contact in the mirror, watching both of your chests heave as you try to form coherent thoughts again. He’s covered in sweat, fluffy hair starting to curl at the ends with the exertion of it all, and you stare at your own flushed state for a moment, wondering how on earth you’d ended up here.

“So, don’t needta tie you down then, honey, just gotta tire you out.” Elvis’ voice was gravelly, and you murmured an agreement,

“I don’t normally flail so much.” You admit, somewhat jokingly. He grins, rolling onto his side to rub your stomach, avoiding his cooling ejaculate,

“Oh so I’m just special huh?” You nod,

“You must know that.” He stares at you, and you try to convey with your eyes the depth of feeling by which you mean it, not wanting to scare him by saying it out loud. You think he gets it though, when the next moment he’s smiling a little bashfully before rolling off the bed and stretching beside it. You take the chance to assess him all over again, now that the heat and speed from before is over, taking your opportunity to drink him all in, from the tan line high on his thigh, to the slight swell of his tummy all the way up to his little nipples, and to the slight shadow forming on his chin. He seems to appreciate the attention for a minute, smirking at you, before he wanders off to the ensuite,

“You hanging around for a lil bit, sweetheart? D’you wanna come to the show again tomorrow?” You wonder if it was intentional that he’d ask this where he couldn’t see your expression, calling out from the bathroom as he starts to turn on the water. But, in what world, in what universe could anyone turn down such an offer.

“If you’re inviting me!” He hums back in response and you feel a giggle rise in you at the next thought that pops into your head, “‘sides, got a promise of a tour didn’t I - Red’ll be expecting me.” You hear the faucet suddenly turn off, although the shower stays running and the next thing you know he’s striding out from the ensuite at that, bouncing you on the bed from the force of his jump onto it, growling as he pins your squirming, laughing self down, his knees on either side of you. He’s struggling to maintain a straight face as he manages to capture both of your wrists in one hand, the other tickling your sides as best he can,

“You better not. You want a tour, I’ll give you a tour. You hear me, little girl?” His hands feel like he’s only playing but his face was deadly serious - you nod rapidly in agreement,

“Yes, yes, Elvis - yes, I was only kiddin’ I swear!” You manage to make out through your giggles and he growls again, ceasing the tickling and pressing a kiss to your cheek, still practically smothering you, leaving little teasing nibbles down your neck.

“Fuckin’ Red.” He mutters against your skin,

“I swear I was only messin’ with you.” He huffs, but nonetheless kisses your lips once more, before releasing your hands and clambering off. He holds out a hand,

“C’mon - the shower will be hot now. Get you all clean and tucked up in my bed, somewhere no-one else can try and steal you.” You grin as you allow yourself to be pulled up, happily going with him and excited to see what the next day’ll bring.

#elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis x reader #big daddy elvis #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #writing prompt game #elvis presley fanfiction #be-my-ally

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 7 months

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hi there!! i was wondering you knew anything about the relationship between robespierre and marat? ive been seeing some information that robespierre wasnt fond (or at least less fond??) of marat than marat was of robespierre, but havent found any other information about it unfortunately. thanks :)!

In total, Marat mentions Robespierre around 90 times in his journals from his debut in September 1789 up until his death in July four years later. The first time he does so (which also happens to be the first connection I’ve been able to find between the two) is already in the second number of l’Ami du Peuple(released September 13 1789) where he writes about a certain ”Robertpierre.” Then one day later, in number 4, he instead mentions a ”Robers-Pierre.” In both these instances, Marat does however appear to just give the exact same summary as three other journals, and there’s value put into it whatsoever.

It would appear Marat never got a hold on how to spell Robespierre’s name properly, as he throughout the rest of his career as a journalist inconsistently shifts between calling him ”Robespierre,” ”Roberspierre” and, in some rare instances, ”Robertspierre.” The next time he mentions him is in number 81 (December 29 1789). The following three times Robespierre is brought up in l’Ami du Peuple are the very first instances of Marat showing his own thoughts on him instead of just giving a neutral summary of things he’s said at the National Assembly:

M. de Robespierre and especially Mr. Charles de Lameth energetically fought against the inconsiderate proposal to give praise to officers, whose conduct has harmed the liberty and security of citizens. l’Ami du Peuple, number 101 (January 18 1790)

M. de Robespierre supports the motion of Mr. de la Salcette, with more or less solid arguments. l’Ami du Peuple, number 104 (January 21 1790)

…to remove from the fatherland its most zealous defenders, [the Municipal Research Committee] pushed its audacity to the point of directing its pursuits against Barnavre, Péthion [sic] de Villeneuve, the Lameths, d'Aiguillon, Roberspierre [sic]..., cherished names of the free France, to which it had added those of La Fayette and Mirabeau. l’Ami du Peuple, number 108 (May 20 1790)

This praising of Robespierre is something Marat would consistently keep up throughout the rest of his journalistic career. Only throughout the rest of 1790, we find him calling him ”the wise Robespierre” (number 156 (July 7), ”the loyal Robespierre” (number 210 (September 3), an orator with ”great principles” and ”excellent views […] [that] we have no doubt he will develop in a way that will cause a sensation.” (number 265 (October 29) and ”[a man] who’s heart always appears to be animated with the purest of civism” (number 320 (December 24), listing him among deputies he considers ”patriotic” (number 156 (July 7), number 188 (August 11), number 210 (September 3), number 277 (November 11), number 288 (November 22), number 292 (November 28) and at one point even playing him on a higher level than so, calling him ”the only deputy who is educated in great principles, and perhaps the only true patriot who sits in the Assembly” (number 263, October 27).

February 2 1791 is the first instance where Robespierre in his turn is recorded to have mentioned Marat’s name. He does so defending the journalist at the Jacobins after an arrest warrant has been issued against him for an article recently published in his paper. Desmoulins’ Révolutions de France et de Brabant, the journal giving the most detailed description of the defence, summarizes it in the following way:

At the same session at the Jacobins, Robespierre, the only member of the National Assembly to whom the severe Marat would not have given the black ball, also took up his defense. He made us aware of the absurdity of the crime that the president of research attributed to the Friend of the People, of getting along with the English. Marat had never ceased to deplore the trade treaty of 1786 with the English, and to vociferate against Pitt, and against the intelligence of the cabinet of S. James, with the Austrian committee of the Tuileries. In favor of Marat was also this thing which militates so strongly for all patriotic writers: if the Friend of the People is extreme and angry, at least it is in the direction of the revolution. On what front did the research committee sign this order against him, under the ridiculous pretext of intelligence with the English, while it at the same time leaves Durosoi, as extreme, as bloodthirsty as Marat, in peace, and so many other friends of the king, the nobility and the clergy, who did not even hide their understanding with the Austrians, with all our enemies, and every day invite them with loud cries to come and slaughter the patriots. There is no reply to this reasoning; so Voidel, who saw his condemnation in everyone's eyes, recognized his sin, and promised to withdraw the order and remove the sentence.

In a speech regarding liberty on the press held on May 11 1791, Robespierre also says that ”if it is true that the courage of writers devoted to the cause of justice and humanity is the terror of the intrigue and ambition of men in authority; the laws against the press must become in the hands of the latter a terrible weapon against liberty,” which according to the by publisher inserted footnote is an allusion to the situation of the journalists Desmoulins and, especially, Marat.

Marat in his turn continued his praising of Robespierre throughout the same year. Besides grouping him together with other men considered patriotic (number 342 (January 16), number 371 (February 14), number 382 (February 25), number 392 (March 7), number 455 (May 11), number 519 (July 15), number 526 (August 1), number 562 (September 30) and calling him things such as ”the loyal Robespierre ”(number 367 (February 8), number 478, number 443 (April 29), number 458 (May 14), (June 3), number 488 (June 13), number 520 (July 16), number 521 (July 17) ”the just Robespierre” (number 409 (March 24) and ”the virtuous Robespierre” number 438 (April 21) he also goes further in placing Robespierre on a higher level than his fellow representatives, frequently going so far as to call him ”the only pure member of the Assembly” (number 414 (March 29), number 462 (May 18), number 472 (28 maj), number 475, May 31, number 504 (June 28), number 510 (July 4), number 511 (July 5). He also starts to frequently refer to Robespierre as ”the Incorruptible”number 458 (May 14), (number 462 (May 18), number 504 (June 28), number 514 (July 8), number 513 (July 13), number 545(September 4), number 551 (September 10) In his Robespierre biography (2014), Hervé Leuwers writesthat, if it was Fréron who coined the nickname, Marat nevertheless did a lot to popularize it. Finally, his number 515 (July 9) Marat dedicates entirely to the ”superb speech” held by Robespierre regarding the flight to Varennes two weeks earlier. His admiration did not go unnoticed by other journalists besides Desmoulins, such as those behind Les Sabbats jacobites, who on April 10 1791 called Robespierre ”the hero of Marat” and those behind Journal générale de France who called him ”the god of Marat, Garat, Carra, Corsas and Marte” on June 13 the same year.

Once Robespierre on September 30 ceases to be a member of the National Assembly, the apperences of his name in l’Ami du peuple do however rapidly decrease, only appearing two more times (number 603 (November 19), number 618, December 6) until Marat temporarily puts it down on December 15.

The first actual meeting between Marat and Robespierre didn’t take place until January 1792, as revealed by the latter ten months later. By then, the two almost lived neighbors since about a month back, Marat having gone to live with the Evrard sisters on 243 rue Saint-Honoré in Decenber, not far from the Duplay house on number 366 on the same street.

One of the most terrible reproaches that people have aimed against me, I do not hide it, is the name of Marat. I will therefore begin by telling you frankly what my contacts with him have looked like. I could even make my profession of faith on his behalf, but without saying more good or more bad than I think, because I do not know how to translate my thoughts to appeal to general opinion. In January 1792, Marat came to see me. Until then, I had not had any kind of either direct or indirect relationship with him. The conversation turned to public affairs, about which he spoke to me with despair. I told him everything that the patriots, even the most ardent ones, thought of him; namely that he himself had put up an obstacle to the good that could be produced by the useful truths developed in his writings, by persisting in eternally returning to extraordinary and violent proposals (such as that of making five to six hundred guilty heads fall), which revolted the friends of liberty as much as the supporters of the aristocracy. He defended his opinion; I persisted in mine, and I must admit that he found my political views so narrow that some time later, when he had resumed his journal, which had been abandoned by him for some time, reporting on the conversation of which I have just described speaking, he wrote in full that he had left me, perfectly convinced that I had neither the views nor the audacity of a statesman; and if Marat's criticisms could be titles of favor, I could still place before your eyes some of his sheets, published six weeks before the last revolution, in which he accused me of feuillantism, because I, in a periodical work, did not say out loud that the constitution had to be overthrown. After this first and only visit from Marat, I found him again at the National Assembly.

In number 648 (May 18) of l’Ami du Peuple, Marat gives his own version of this meeting:

I therefore declare that not only does Roberspierre [sic] not have my pen at his disposal, although it has often served to do him justice; but I protest that I have never had any note from him, that I have never had any direct or indirect relationship with him, that I have never even met him but once; also in this instance, our interview served to give rise to ideas and to manifest feelings diametrically opposed to those that Guadet and his clique attribute to me. The first word that Robespierre addressed to me was the reproach of having myself partly destroyed the prodigious influence that my paper had on the revolution by dipping my pen in the blood of the enemies of liberty, by speaking of rope, of daggers, no doubt against my heart, because he liked to convince himself that these were just empty words dictated by circumstances. Learn, I replied to him immediately, that the influence that my paper had on the revolution was not due, as you believe, to these close discussions in which the vices of the fatal decrees prepared by the Constituent Assembly are methodically developed, but to the terrible scandal that it spread among the public, when I unceremoniously tore the veil which covered the eternal plots hatched against public liberty by the enemies of the fatherland, people conspiring with the monarch, the legislators and the main custodians of authority; but to the audacity with which I trampled underfoot every detracting prejudice; but to the outpouring of my soul, to the impulses of my heart; to my violent protests against oppression, to my impetuous outings against the oppressors; to my painful accents; to my cries of indignation, fury and despair against the scoundrels who abused the trust and power of the people to deceive them, rob them, load them with chains and precipitate them into the abyss. Learn that there has never been a decree attacking liberty and that never an official has allowed himself an attack against the weak and the oppressed, without me having hastened to raise the people against these unworthy prevaricators. The cries of alarm and fury that you take for empty words were the naive expression with which my heart was agitated; learn that if I had been able to count on the people of the capital after the horrible decree against the garrison of Nancy, I would have decimated the barbaric deputies who had issued it. Learn that after the investigation of the Châtelet on the events of October 5 and 6, I would have had the unfair judges of this infamous tribunal perished at the stake. Learn that after the massacre on the Champ-de-Mars, had I found two thousand men animated by the feelings which tore me apart, I would have gone at their head to stab the general in the middle of his battalions of brigands, to burn the despot in his palace and impale our atrocious representatives on their seats as I declared to them at the time. Robespierre listened to me with fear, he turned pale, and remained silent for some time. This interview confirmed for me the opinion that I had always had [sic] of him: that he combined with the knowledge of a wise senator the integrity of a truly good man and the zeal of a true patriot, but that he also lacked the views and audacity of a true statesman.

In 1793, Jacques Roux also claimed to have gone home to Marat the year before and there have received ”a letter for Robespierre and for Chabot, the goal of which was to interest the Jacobin club to propagate an edition of your works.” I can however find no letter from Marat to Robespierre in the latter’s correspondence, nor even a letter to or from Robespierre that so much as mentions Marat (and the same thing goes for Marat’s correspondence). So did Robespierre actually receive this letter, we might assume he didn’t think all that much about it.

Despite Robespierre’s frosty attitude, Marat continued to hold admiration for him when he started up his journal again on April 12 1792, dedicating almost all of number 648 (May 3) and number 660 (May 29) with defending him against girondin attacks, a struggle which he describes as existing ”between the traitor Brissot and the Incorruptible Robespierre” (number 643 April 28 1792).

On September 9, Robespierre held a speech which he ended by recommending voting for Marat and Legendre for the National Convention (he did however deny that be had singled out Marat ”any more particularly than the courageous writers who had fought or suffered for the cause of the revolution” two months later). On September 21 1792, the day after the opening of said Convention, the last number of l’Ami du peuple appears, and a few days later Marat starts a new journal — Journal de la République française (it changed name to Le Publiciste de la République française in March 1793) that would run up until his death in July the following year. In total, Robespierre’s name gets mentioned around 35 times in this journal. As far as I can see, Marat does however appear to have cooled down a bit with his praising, mostly mentioning Robespierre in the context of reciting something he’s said or at tops mentioning him alongside other ”patriotic” deputies. In number 239, released the day before his death, Marat inserts a letter to Robespierre from a certain Labenette, ”orator of the people.”

The fact that Robespierre and Marat didn’t have any contacts with one another was not something that was believed by all contemporaries. Already in 1791, the journal Le Défenseur du Peuple had describedthe former as ”the friend of Marat, who he pretends to doesn’t know.” These allegations got a lot more serious in the fall of 1792, with the two plus Danton being accused of wanting to form a triumvirate, or having arranged the September Massacres together. On September 25 Marat openly denied that any of these allegations aligned with reality, that he had discussed the idea if a dictatorship or triumvirate with Danton and Robespierre, but that both had rejected it:

Certain members of the Paris deputation are accused of aspiring to dictatorship, to triumvirate, to tribunate; This absurd indictment can only find supporters because I am part of this deputation: well! monsieurs, I owe it to justice to declare that my colleagues, notably Danton and Robespierre, constantly rejected any idea of dictatorship, triumvirate and tribunate, when I put it forward; I even had to break several lances with them on this subject.

The very same day, Robespierre made allusions to Marat when regretfully declaring ”it was then that the thoughtless phrases of an exaggerated patriot or the signs of confidence he gave to men whose incorruptibility he had experienced for three years were attributed to us as crimes.”

On October 19 appeared the first number of Lettres de Maximilien Robespierre, membre de la Convention nationale de France, à ses commettants. In number 6, when discussing Marat getting interupted when laying out some own theories on the battalions of Mauconseil to the point that the Jacobins have to move with the agenda due to the tumult, Robespierre writes: ”Whatever the deviations of Marat's imagination, good citizens nonetheless groaned to see personal sentiments make the interests of immocence and oppressed patriotism forgotten, and hateful passions banished from the sanctuary of the laws. dignity, calm and love of humanity.” In number 9 he also writes that ”in his wanderings, Marat often encountered the truth.”

Robespierre also mentioned Marat when the Lettres in January 1793 got renewed for a second edition, starting already in number 1, where he for long defended himself against the girondin Gensonné linking him and Marat together:

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 been unable to succeed, you have decided to repeat my name so often with his, that I was at least taken for an 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. I have been ungrateful; and, to punish me, they said: since you don't want to be Pétion, you will be Marat. Well, I declare to you, monsieurs, that I want to be neither. I have the right, I think, to be consulted on this, and you will perhaps not dispose of my being in spite of myself.

It's not that I want to deny Marat the justice that is due to him. In his papers, which are not always models of style or wisdom, he nevertheless stated useful truths, and waged open war against all powerful conspirators, although he may have been wrong about a few individuals. I know that he did not spare you yourselves: but this merit has not erased in my eyes, these extravagant sentences which he sometimes mixed with the healthiest ideas, as if to give to you and to your likes, the pretext of slandering liberty. It was said a long time ago that, in this respect, Marat was the father of the moderates and the feuillans; we could say for the same reason that he is also your boss; and we would be tempted to believe that he only punishes you because he loves you. I bet you love him too, although you pretend to shout very loudly at the slightest correction he gives you. Indeed, what would you be without him? What would become of all your newspapers and all your harangues if he had not written these two or three absurd and bloodthirsty sentences, which you constantly strive to repeat and comment on? You would have perhaps been reduced to becoming patriots, if he had not provided you with the pretext of disguising patriotism as maratism, in order to give to incivism, feuillantism, royalism and rascality, I don't know what air of wisdom and moderation.

It is so convenient for the enemies of liberty to simply appear to be the adversaries of Marat, and to confuse the cause of liberty with the person of an individual, in order to be excused from respecting it. Such was the policy of the first aristocrats, and of the heroes of the intrigue, whose disgraces you will share, after having imitated their exploits. Like them, you want to persuade all of Europe that the Republicans of France, that the partisans of the principles of equality, are only one faction, and that this faction is Marat himself. Thus, thanks to the gift of metamorphoses with which you are eminently endowed, Paris, the Jacobins, the members of the Convention, who do not bend to the views of the intriguers, and Marat are precisely the same thing. All the energetic friends of liberty are, at most, only satellites drawn into the whirlwind of this new star. With this magical name, you claim to overthrow the entire work of our revolution. It is to carry out this great work that you write, that you print, that you speak, that you plot tirelessly: but the revolution will triumph over the name of Marat, as well as over your intrigues; we will do justice to you and to him, by disproving his deviations and by disconcerting your plots. A journalist's sentences have never made a guilty head roll; but the plots of ambition that you seem to forget have caused torrents of human blood to flow. The crimes of tyranny cost humanity more disasters than the most heroic periods of the most atrocious writer. Only you, gentlemen, can give importance to an exaggerated man, much less through your declamations than through your conduct. It would not even be noticed under a wise government. It is only oppression that forces the people to pay less attention to faults that they themselves do not believe, than to the courage of those who unmask their enemies.

He defends himself against the charge of him and Marat being the leaders of a coalition, ”when these deputies, too independent to form a coalition, even with a view to the public good, see every day the coalition of factions.” again in number 3. In number 9, the second to last number, he rhetorically asks whether ”giving ridiculous importance to some inconsistent and bizarre journalist, to charge him with all the iniquities of Israel, and to identify with him all the defenders of freedom?” really is such a good way to ensure tranquility.

Between December 1792 up until the death of Marat, we find him and Robespierre taking part in the same debates at both the Convention and the Jacobin club, sometimes agreeing (December 26, February 21) and sometimes disagreeing (December 16, March 3, June 18) with each another.

On January 4 Robespierre complains that a speech made by Barère regarding the fate of Louis XVI ”contains the most violent diatribes against the patriots” for having stated ”If anything could have made me change my mind [on an appeal to the people], it would be to see the same opinion shared by a man whom I cannot bring myself to name (Marat), but who is known for his bloodthirsty opinions...” A month later, February 11, Marat and Robespierre together calmed down a group of petitioners, disgruntled over not having received a hearing at the Convention. When a representative on February 26 asked ”that Marat be temporarily expelled from the Assembly and be locked up so that it could be examined whether he was crazy” and another one ordered the referral of the denunciation to the ordinary courts, ”Robespierre approaches the president, and there he announces that if the decree passes, Paris will be burning today.”

On 12 April Robespierre spoke against the arrest order issued against Marat the very same day — ”One has requested a decree of accusation be drawn up against the warmest patriots […] Marat spoke with force, precision, and at the same time with moderation. He painted the crimes of our enemies with colors capable of making any man who has any sense of modesty blush.…”

When the indictment against Marat was presented on April 13, Robespierre took to the floor a total of three times to speak against it:

To the question that agitates us, we will not disagree that the man in question excites very strong passions; you are asked if you will decree a representative of the people immediately, or if you will postpone until Wednesday; there is no respect there for the principles, and for what we owe to the character of representative of the people: what, you would send a slanderous report, when nothing is proven, and is it not barbaric to put a representative under accusation without examination; this report is the fruit of passions and liberticidal conspiracies. […]

Yes, it will be proven that this man, whom I have always seen as patriotic, was only attacked to prove that all the Republicans in this Assembly are exaggerated and must suffer the same fate.

…As I see in this whole affair only the developed spirit of the Feuillants, the moderates and all the cowardly assassins of liberty, only a vile intrigue hatched to dishonor patriotism, the departments infested for a long time with the liberticidal writings of royalists, I reject with contempt the proposed decree of accusation.

Marat was acquitted on April 24, and four days later, a motion proposed by him with an amendment from Robespierre was passed at the Jacobin Club.

One day after the murder of Marat, July 14 1793, Robespierre spoke against the idea of granting him a state funeral, arguing that there were much more urgent things that needed to be taken care of before that could happen:

Robespierre: I have little to say to the Society. I would not even have asked to speak had the right to do so not somehow devolved to me at this moment; if I did not foresee that the honors of the dagger are also reserved for me, that priority has only been determined by chance, and that my fall is fast approaching. When a man, deeply sensitive and imbued with a love of the public good, sees his enemies raise their heads with impunity, and already share the spoils of the State, and his friends, on the contrary, frightened by oppression, flee a murderous soil and abandon it to fate, he becomes insensitive to everything, and no longer sees in the tomb anything other than a safe and precious asylum reserved by Providence for virtue. I believed that a session which followed the murder of one of the most zealous defenders of the fatherland, would be entirely occupied with the means of avenging him by serving said fatherland better than before. We haven't talked about it, and what are you occupying yourselves with in this precious time, for the use of which we are accountable? We are dealing with outrageous hyperboles, ridiculous and meaningless figures, which do not provide a remedy to the thing at hand and prevent it from being found. For example, you are seriously asked to discuss the fortune of Marat. Well! What does the fortune of one of its founders matter to the Republic? Is it a memoir that we are going to occupy ourselves with, when it is still a question of fighting for it? One is speaking of the honors of the Pantheon. And what are these honors? Who are those who lie there? With the exception of Le Peletier, I can’t see a single virtuous man there. Is it next to Mirabeau we will place Marat? Next to this intriguing man whose means were always criminal; this man who only earned his reputation through profound villainy? Here we have are the honors requested for the Friend of the People.

Bentabole: Yes, and he will obtain them in spite of those who are jealous of him.

Robespierre: Let us occupy ourselves with the measures which can still save our fatherland; let's make the effect of Pitt's guineas null. Let's bring the Cobourg and the Brunswick back to their territories. It is not today that we must show the people the spectacle of a funeral ceremony, but when finally victorious, the strengthened Republic will allow us to take care of its defenders; all of France will then ask for it and you will undoubtedly grant Marat the honors that his virtue deserves, that his memory demands. Do you know what impression the spectacle of funeral ceremonies attaches to the human heart! They make the people believe that the friends of liberty are thereby compensating themselves for the loss they have caused, and that from then on they are no longer required to avenge it; satisfied with having honored the virtuous man, this desire to avenge him dies in their hearts, and indifference succeeds enthusiasm and his memory runs the risk of oblivion. Let us not stop seeing what can still save us. The assassins of Marat and Peletier must come and atone on the Place de la Révolution for the atrocious crime of which they are guilty. It is necessary that the perpetrators of tyranny, the unfaithful representatives of the people, those who display the banner of revolt, who are convinced that they are sharpening the daggers on their heads every day, of having murdered the fatherland and a few of its members; it is necessary, I say, that the blood of these monsters responds to us and avenges us for that of our brothers which flowed for liberty, and which they shed with such barbarity. We must share the most painful burdens of the State; one must instruct all the people and gently lead them back to their duties; the other must render them exact justice: one must make food flow everywhere; the other deals exclusively with agriculture and the means of multiplying its relations; another must make wise laws; someone else must raise a revolutionary army, exercise and harden it, and know how to guide it in battle. Each of us must, forgetting ourselves at least for a while, embrace the Republic and devote ourselves unreservedly to its interests. The municipality must rule out, for the moment, a funeral celebration, which at first seemed dear to our hearts, but whose effects, as I have demonstrated, can become disastrous.

The following day, July 15, Robespierre asked that Marat’s printing presses be obtained by the Jacobins, a request a different member had already made the day before. A week later, July 22, the club tasked Robespierre, Desmoulins, Dufourny and Le Peletier’s brother with writing an adress to the French people about the murder. Said adress was printed and read aloud at the club four days later, obviously deploring of the event and praising Marat.

On August 5, Robespierre denounced Jacques Roux and Jean Théophile Victor Leclerc as ”two men paid by the enemies of the people, two men that Marat denounced [that] have succedeed, or think they have succeeded this patriot writer.” Three days later, August 8, Simonne Evrard, ”the widow Marat” presented herself before the Convention and held a long speech defending her dead fiancé’s memory, that in her view had gotten hijacked by ”scroundel writers” and in particular the two men already denounced by Robespierre. After her speech was finished, Robespierre again took to the floor to demand that the speech be printed and ”that the Committee of General Security be required to examine the conduct of the two mercenary writers denounced to it; the memory of Marat must be defended by the Convention and by all patriots.” Indeed, Roux and Leclerc would soon thereafter find themselves imprisoned, the former in September 1793, the latter in April 1794. How much of this was Robespierre being genueinly concerned for Marat’s memory and how much it was him using said memory to rid himself of a political rival I will leave unsaid…

On November 23, when Robespierre gives clarifications regarding the CPS changing the general in charge of the taking of Toulon, he says that it was on the recommendation of Marat that the new general had been promoted to rank of brigade leader. ”Marat could have been wrong, but his recommendation was a very favorable presumption in favor of an individual; he has always justified it since.” On 10 January 1794 he exclaims that ”my dictatorship is that of Le Peletier, of Marat. Or I don’t mean that, I don't want to say that I resemble them: I'm neither Marat nor Pelletier; I am not yet a martyr of the Revolution; I have the same dictatorship as them, that is to say the daggers of tyrants.” In an undelivered speech written shortly thereafter he again describes Marat and Le Pelerier as martyrs and Leclerc and Roux as”mercenary writers, daring to usurp the name of Marat, to desecrate it.”

Finally, on 9 thermidor, we find the following two claims made against Robespierre that involves Marat. (1, 2) I will leave them as they are as it’s very hard to know if they’re legit or not:

Dubois-Crancé: I must pay tribute to the sagacity of Marat: at the time of the judgment of the tyrant Capet, he said to me, speaking of Robespierre: ”You see that rascal? That man is more dangerous for liberty than all the allied despots.”

Collot d’Herbois: I am going to cite a fact which will prove that Robespierre, who for some time spoke only of Marat, always hated this constant friend of the people. At Marat's funeral, Robespierre spoke for a long time on the platform that had been set up in front of the Luxembourg, and the name of Marat did not come out of his mouth once; Can the people believe that a person loves Marat when he angrily declares that he doesn’t want to be assimilated to him? No, although these hypocrites talked incessantly about Marat and Challier, they loved neither of the two.

Alphonse Esquiros, who tracked down Marat’s younger sister Albertine for an interview in the 1830s or 1840s, reported that it was ”with bitterness” she spoke of Robespierre. ”There was nothing in common, she added, between him and Marat. Had my brother lived, the heads of Danton and Camille Desmoulins would not have fallen.”

Robespierre’s little sister Charlotte (who Albertine despised) did in her turn write the following regarding the relationship in her memoirs (1834). This anecdote is however suspeciously similar to the meeting Marat and Robespierre describe as having happened in January 1792, in which Charlotte impossibly could have taken part, still not having gone to Paris by then:

I have often heard my brother’s name attached to that of Marat, as if the way of thinking, the sympathies, the acts of those two men were the same, as if they had acted in concert. It is thus that the portraits and busts of Voltaire and Rousseau are placed side by side, as if those two great writers had been the best friends in the world when they were alive, while in truth they found each other insufferable. I do not claim to discount Marat’s merit, nor make an attempt on the purity of his devotion and of his intentions. Some have dared to say that he was in the pay of foreigners; but have they not said that of my brother? The field of the absurd is immense and limitless. Have they not said of Maximilien Robespierre that he had asked the young daughter of Louis XVI in marriage? After such an accusation nothing should be surprising anymore; more burlesque and impossible assertions must be expected; it is the nec plus ultra of inanity. To return to Marat, I will dare to affirm that he was not an agent of foreigners, as it has pleased some to say; Marat had felt the infamies of the Ancien Régime and the poverty of the people strongly; his fiery imagination and his irascible temperament had made him an ardent, and too often even imprudent, revolutionary; but his intentions, I repeat, were good. My brother disapproved of his exaggerations and his rages, and believed, as he said many times to me, that the course adopted by Marat was more detrimental than useful to the revolution. One day Marat came to see my brother. This visit surprised us, for, usually, Marat and Robespierre had no rapport. They spoke first of affairs in general, then of the turn the revolution was taking; finally, Marat opened the chapter on revolutionary rigors, and complained of the mildness and the excessive indulgence of the government. “You are the man whom I esteem perhaps the most in the world,” Marat said to my brother, “but I would esteem you more if you were less moderate in regard to the aristocrats.” “I will reproach you with the contrary,” my brother replied; “you are compromising the revolution, you make it hated in ceaselessly calling for heads. The scaffold is a terrible means, and always a grievous one; it must be used soberly and only in the grave cases where the fatherland is leaning toward its ruin.” “I pity you,” said Marat then, “you are not at my level.” “I would be quite grieved to be at your level,” replied Robespierre. “You misunderstand me,” returned Marat, “we will never be able to work together.” “That’s possible,” said Robespierre, “and things will only go the better for it.” ”I regret that we could not come to an understanding,” added Marat, “for you are the purest man in the Convention.”

#robespierre #marat #jean paul marat #maximilen robespierre #frev #frev friendships #ask #unrelated but the relationship between marat’s little sister and fiancée really was the polar opposite to robespierre’s counter parts…

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