#Napoleon liked throwing books into the fire

[microcosme11]

The Emperor might pick up the book you're reading and throw it in the fire

[Translation by google and me]

At the Tuileries, in each room of the apartments there were valets and waiters. Among the latter were young people who had been at school. These young men, to pass the time and distract themselves from the boredom of hanging around the salon, amused themselves by reading. It sometimes happened that, when they least expected it, the Emperor appeared. The book was immediately put aside, but sometimes it was forgotten on an armchair or another piece of furniture. If the book fell under the eyes of the Emperor, he would take it and leaf through it. If it was a good book, he would put it back on the piece of furniture where he had found it, but if it was bad, he would show strong dissatisfaction that someone had permitted himself to read such books in his domicile. I don't know whether he didn't throw them into the fire. He didn't want to see anything in his apartments that would hurt anyone's eyes. So these young people were careful not to leave their books lying around, especially those that were contrary to good morals.

Souvenirs du mameluck Ali (Louise-Étienne Saint Denis) sur l'empereur Napoléon by Louis-Etienne Saint-Denis

[runawrites-blog]

Shipping (Charles Xavier x Reader)

Summary: You're a teacher at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters and you're quite close to Charles -- so close that a few of the students have started speculating whether or not you two are actually a couple. (Female Reader) Word Count: 3,646 Warnings: Very Minor Suggestive Themes. Light Angst. No Y/N. Reader has a last name that goes with her powers but it's only mentioned once or twice. A/N: As mentioned, the reader has a last name that correlates with her powers/mutation. Her name is Brandt (inspired by the German word Brand for fire) since she has pyrokinetic powers. But it's only mentioned once or twice by the students.

“You two are being ridiculous.”

“We’re not being ridiculous!” Jubilee defended herself, leaning over the back of the couch to throw Jean a joking glare. “Look at how cute they’re being!”

Jean gave Jubilee one more annoyed look before turning to where the other girl was pointing, her eyes falling on you and Charles at the other side of the large sitting room. She took the two of you in for a second; how Charles was looking back at you periodically with a bright smile on his face and how you were leaning over the back of his chair, a hand firmly planted on his shoulder as you looked at the files he was currently going over. She turned turned back to Jubilee and Ororo.

“See?” Ororo grinned a little and leaned back in the armchair. “Miss Brandt and the Professor are totally banging.”

“Ororo!” Jubilee exclaimed in disgust. “I wanted to prove to Jean that Miss Brandt and Professor Xavier are in love, not that they are sleeping with each other. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to hear anything about that!”

That’s when Scott piped up, raising an eyebrow at Jubilee. “To be fair, if they were dating, don’t you think they’d be sleeping with each other?”

“You two don’t have to make this gross.”

Jean quickly nodded at that. “I agree with Jubilee.”

“Really?”

“Not about the dating, but about Scott and Ororo being gross.” Jean leaned back on the couch, closing her book in her lap. “Just because they’re friendly doesn’t mean they’re dating, Jubilee. They’re probably just good friends.”

That’s when Kurt spoke up, a smile on his lips. “I think the idea of them being a couple is sweet. They seem like they would make a nice couple.”

“You too, Kurt?”

“I’m not entirely sure, though!” He quickly defended himself. “I just said it would be cute if they were together.”

Scott nodded. “I agree with that. They’d be a good couple but I agree with Jean on this one, I think. Just because they’re nice to each other, doesn’t mean they’re a couple.”

Jean nodded quickly and picked her book back up. “Now can you let me do my reading for Miss Brandt’s class? I don’t want to mess up on the test.”

“What test?”

“The test we’re traking next week about the Napoleonic Wars.” Jean explained off-handedly. “I’m currently reading the chapter in my History book and I would love for all of you to let me study.”

Kurt nodded at that. “I read the chapter yesterday and trust me, you should all start soon, as well. It’s a pretty long chapter. I could help you study if you want me to.”

“Thanks. I can’t really start now because lunch break is almost over, but I’ll take you up on that offer another time.” Scott said to Kurt before rising to his feet. “What class do we have now? Literature or Physics?”

“Literature.” Jubilee commented and grabbed her bag from the couch. “With none other than Miss Brandt, so maybe we can get some clues on her relationship with the Professor now!”

“You just want to find it out to prove you’re right, don’t you?”

“Exactly!”

All of them stopped when the clock struck two and everyone started to slowly leave the sitting room to get to class. Jubilee grinned a little as she watched Charles turn to you with a soft smile before placing his hand on top of yours for a few seconds. He gave it a short squeeze before he wheeled himself out from behind the desk and toward the door. Most days, the desks were used by students but Hank had asked Charles to review a file he had typed up and the telepath had asked you to look over it with him during lunch break.

You gave him one last smile before slinging your bag over your shoulder and grabbing the two boxes of books you were going to use for your class. Jean watched from the doors, waiting for her friends to get her belongings, as you struggled to carry both of the boxes. But before she could offer her help Charles called out your name, making you look up from the boxes to face him. He was looking back at you with his arms outstretched, smiling softly.

“Let me help you, Darling.”

“Thank you.” You smiled and handed one of the boxes to him, watching as he placed it on his lap before he made his way to the door. “We’re starting with a new book today.”

“I can see that.” Charles laughed and leaned his head back to look at you. “Didn’t you once mention that you loved Mary Shelley’s writing? What a lovely concidence that one of her books is on the curriculum, isn’t it?”

A smile appeared on your face as you stopped in your tracks. “Did you put it on there? You get to decide between three books for each new chapter of the curriculum, don’t you? I think you’ve mentioned that once.”

“I might have.”

“You’re the sweetest, Charles.”

“For you, always.”

Not wanting to intrude, Jean quickly followed her friends out the sitting room and to her class, though now she was actually contemplating on how much truth there was to Jubilee’s suspiciouns about your relationship with Charles.

---

As the days passed, Jean started to believe in Jubilee’s suspicions more and more as she watched how you and Charles interacted. She had never really paid much attention to it but now she was questioning how she’d never before noticed your gentle smiles, sweet nicknames, casual touches and quiet conversations. But what really got Jean hooked on the idea of finding out about whether or not the rumours were true, was what happened one rainy Friday evening.

It was late and some of the younger students were already asleep while Jean was studying with Jubilee and Ororo. There was a slight drizzle going outside as they hunched over their History books and notes from class. They were pretty engulfed in their studying when the earthquake started, making everything in the room rattle and shake. Jubilee nearly fell off the bed but Jean caught her and Ororo clung to the headboard.

But fortunately, the earthquake quickly stopped and the three of them got off the bed to venture to the hallway to see what had happened -- though Jean was pretty sure it was the new student with geokenesis that must have accidentally started the erathquake. Just as they stepped into the hallway, along with a few others students, you and Charles did the same. And the three girls froze when they realised that both of you had come from his room.

Jubilee turned to give Jean a grin but she wasn’t even looking at her, too caught up in watching you hurry after Charles, smoothing out your hair while you made your way to the young boy’s room. Before you could even knock he opened the door and upon seeing Charles, grabbed onto the armrests of his chair, beginning to apologise profusely. Charles reacted in his usual gentle and comforting manner, calming the boy down and checking whether or not he was injured.

It took a few minutes to calm him down but eventually Charles had convinced him that everyone was fine and there was no need for him to feel guilty. And after a few checkups on the other students, Charles proclaimed that they should all get back to their rooms. Jean ushered Ororo and Jubilee back into her room. But once inside Ororo stopped her from closing the door, pointing at you and Charles in the hallway. Jubilee and Jean looked at each other for a second before leaning over to see what their friend was talking about.

“Are you alright?” Charles asked once the last door had closed, giving you a worried once over and reaching out to take your hand into his. “I saw you hit your head on the nigthstand when you fell off my bed. Are you hurt, Darling?”

“I’m fine.” You gave him a reassuring smile before gently cradling his hand in both of yours. “Shall we get back to your room?”

Charles shook his head, bringing his other hand up to cup yours. “May I check? I promise you I will only check if you’re alright. I wouldn’t want to overlook a possible concussion. You did hit the nightstand pretty hard.”

With a relenting smile you nodded and gave his hand a small squeeze. “If it makes you feel better you can.”

While Charles placed his fingers on his temple and you held his hand tightly, Jubilee gave Jean one more triumpanth smirk. Ororo was still staring at you and Charles, completely amazed by the fact that her and Jubilee had apparently been right. And Jean crossed her arms over her chest, still not fully convinced.

“I mean, I worry about my friends, too.” The rehead reasoned softly. “That time you got hurt during dodgeball, I checked you for a concussion, too.”

“They’re literally holding hands.”

Ororo turned and placed a finger over her lips as you and Charles began to move down the hallway back to his room, now that he had confirmed you were uninjured. The three girls watched as you two arrived at Charles’ door and you glanced down the hallway once more, checking if everyone was in their rooms. Then Charles used the controls of his wheelchair to back into his room while grabbing your hand and pulling you along. You gave a surprised laugh at that and Charles smirked charmingly. And then the two of you were gone and the door to his room once more closed.

“How is that not obviously them going to do something nasty now? He literally pulled her into his room.”

“You really overuse that word.”

“What word?”

“’Literally’.” Jean answered. “Maybe they’re going over something from class.”

“You just don’t want to be in the wrong.” Ororo laughed quietly as she looked up at Jean. “They both came from the Professor’s room, looking disheveled and in their nightwear. Just now he said she’d been on his bed with him when the quake started. And she went back to his room.”

“You’re right. That kind of proves you two right.”

“Kind of?”

---

Now that Jean agreed with Ororo and Jubilee, the girls had made it their mission to find out whether or not they were right. Scott was still not convinced and Kurt kept telling them that while you and Charles would make a sweet couple it was invasive to talk about their teachers like that. His complaints did not stop his friends.

As the next few days days went on, they kept looking for clues. Jubilee kept going on about how much you and Charles were casually touching while Ororo’s main focus was the fact that he kept calling you petnames to which Scott shut her down by telling her that their professor called everyone petnames – they had to agree with him on that one.

Then Thanksgiving break rolled along and most of the students left to visit home. That year Jean, Jubilee, Ororo, Kurt and Scott had all decided to stay behind at the mansion along with a handful of other students. And due to this decreased amount of students at the school, most teachers were leaving over the holidays, as well – safe for Hank, Charles and you. It was really the perfect time for the friends to find out if they were right with their suspicions.

It was on a cold autumn day that Ororo had decided they needed to keep an eye on you and Charles, mostly because she had noticed that you were most definitely wearing one of his favourite cardigans to ward off the chill. That gave them enough incentive to use the rest of the day to try to decide which of them was right once and for all. Eventually, evening rolled along and you and Charles hadn’t acted any different around each other than usual, so the friends gave up and headed back to their rooms. That was until a storm rolled in only an hour later, bringing with it cold winds and chilly rain, prompting the friends to go to the sitting room and warm up by the fire.

“I can’t believe you still don’t believe us.” Jean commented as she walked down the hallway toward the stairs so they could go down to the sitting area. “And would you hurry up so we can warm up by the fire? It’s so cold today.”

Scott shrugged at that. “I can’t believe they managed to convince you.”

“You didn’t see the way they interacted after the earthquake.” Ororo scoffed as she hurried after them. “She was literally coming out of his room, looking dishevelled and he talked about how she’d been in his bed. And then he kept calling her ‘darling’ and fussing over her before literally pulling her back into his room.”

“You use the word ‘literally’ too much.”

Jean chuckled at Scott’s comment. “I told her that, too.”

Jubilee shrugged a little. “That doesn’t mean she’s not right. She’s been wearing his cardian all day.”

“It’s cold.”

Kurt perked up at that. “Actually, I’m pretty sure Miss Brandt has been wearing the Professor’s cardigans for the whole week now.”

“You too, Kurt?”

“As I said, I think they might make a sweet couple.” Kurt commented before frowning a little. “But should we really be this invasive?”

“We should if it proves us right.” Ororo smirked.

“I just worry that this much snooping around will make them angry at us.” Kurt mumbled before looking at his telekenetic friend. “Also, Jean, why are we going to the sitting room? I’m pretty sure the fire went out hours ago.”

“I can fire it back up.”

Scott was the first to start and decent the stairs. But as soon as he got halfay down – and with that in eyesight of the sitting room – he stopped dead in his tracks, making Ororo collide with his back. She reared up to confront him about stopping but Scott put a finger to his lips and pointed at the open doors. Kurt leaned past Scott and quieted down immediately while Jubilee smacked her hand in front of her mouth to keep from making any sounds. Jean leaned forward and her mouth fell open.

At the end of the sitting room, by the fireplace sat none other than you and Charles, cuddled up on the sofa under a blanket. And the two of you were kissing. He was cupping your face, his fingers gently and lovingly stroking your face while yours were buried in his hair, tenderly raking over his scalp. Ororo turned to Scott and pointed a victorious finger at him but he was too busy watching as you leaned back against the arm of the sofa and Charles followed quickly to deepen the kiss, not wanting to part from it just yet.

Eventually, the two of you parted and Charles leaned his forehead against yours, earning himself a small smile and a chaste peck on his lips as you looked back at him. Your hands wandered down to the side of his face where you began to stroke his skin, making a smile appear on his face. He leaned into your touch, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand.

“Feeling a bit warmer now, my love?” Charles said softly, a bright smile appearing on his lips as you nodded in agreement. “I did promise to warm you up.”

“And you did a wonderful job at that, sweetheart.” You said in amusement, hand sliding down his neck to rest on his shoulder. “I feel very warm and very loved thanks to you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Charles whispered, his smile faltering a little. “I do hate to see you cold and anxious about your memories, my darling. I know you’ve told me about your past many times but the thought of you being left out in the snow in an attempt to cure your pyrokinesis still upsets me terribly and makes me angry.”

“Don’t be, please.” You replied, leaning your forhead against his. “I’m here now and I’m safe. You make me feel safe, Sweetheart. Safe and warm.”

“That’s good.”

“You’re not cold either, are you?” You inquired in concern. “I know that you get cold easily and I also want to help you stay warm, especially since I pretty much stole all your cardigans.”

Charles laughed softly, obviously touched by your concern before pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “I’m fine, my love. It’s very warm in here and besides, I have you next to me to warm me up.”

“We could go upstairs and I could properly warm you up.”

“Later.” Charles promised before sitting back and stretching out his arm in invitation. “Stay by the fire with me a little longer, would you?”

“I’d love nothing more than that.”

With that, you leaned up to capture his lips in a kiss again but this time Charles didn’t reciprocate, instead pulling back and furrowing his brows. That got you to look up at him in concern, the hand you had placed on his shoulder tightening as you frowned.

“What’s wrong, Charles? Did I do something wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, love.” Charles said softly before his voice took on an amused tone. “But we’re not alone anymore.”

With that, he turned toward the door and subsequently the staircase, making you follow his gaze. The students froze where they were standing. While Kurt worried about you two being angry, Jean flushed at being spotted and Ororo gave a small wave. Scott looked away awkwardly and a wide grin spread across Jubilee’s face. But regardless of their reactions, all of them slowly made their way into the sitting room. By the time they were close by, you and Charles were sitting up straight again, turned so you could properly face the students. Charles looked pretty amused and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at the situation.

“Now, my dears, how long have you been watching us?”

“We haven’t been watching you!” Kurt defended himself but quickly faltered as he realised that that wasn’t entirely true. “I mean, we sort of did but only for a few minutes.”

“We wanted to come into the sitting room to warm up and you two were sort of smooching on the sofa.” Ororo explained, waving at you and Charles on the couch.

“Smooching.” Scott snorted before shaking his head. “But they’re right. We’ve only been standing there for a minute or two.”

You shook your head in amusement, unable to keep a small laugh from escaping you as she watched their concerned faces. “Don’t worry now. You’re not in any trouble if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s a relief.” Jean said with a small smile. “We worried about that.”

“You two are such a sweet couple, Miss Brandt!” Jubilee suddenly exclaimed, smiling brightly at you and Charles. “And you look really happy together. It’s so good you’re finally together.”

“We are happy.” Charles confirmed, reaching out to take your hand into his. “But we have been in a relationship for a long time. Honestly, I was under the impression that it was fairly obvious.”

“At least we haven’t been keeping it a secret.” You threw in before shrugging. “But then again, we aren’t overly affectionate in the presence of our students. That would hardly be professional.”

“So you’ve been dating for a while now?”

“Yes, we’ve kept it professional but we haven’t been trying to keep it a secret.” Charles explained before nodding toward the fire. “Now, if you still want to warm up, you can find yourself a place to sit. The fire is shrinking now but I’m sure my lovely darling can stoke the flames a bit.”

At his words, you stood from the couch before walking over to the huge fireplace and using your powers to stoke the flames. Then you returned to your place next to Charles and leaned back against his side.

“So tell me, what have you kids been up to all day? I barely saw any students out and about today.” You mused as you looked around. “Where you in town or in your rooms?”

“We were in our rooms.” Scott explained, pulling his legs up onto the armchair. “We thought of going into town but--”

“But we got distracted arguing about whether or not you two were dating.” Jubilee joked, looking up at you from her spot on the carpet. “We were about to start a betting pool at this point.”

“A betting pool?” Charles laughed and shook his head. “Were you really that interested in whether or not we were a couple?”

“A lot of the other students were speculating, too.” Jean defended herself but relaxed when she saw you and Charles laughing at the situation. “The pool was Jubilee’s idea.”

Jubilee nodded in agreement before her eyes widened and she laughed. “You’re like the school’s parents now. X-Mom and X-Dad.”

“Interesting superhero names, for sure.” You chuckled and looked at Charles. “You can bet I will call you X-Dad from now on whenever you act parental.”

“Thank you for that, Jubilee.” Charles said in amusement, his arm pulling you closer as he looked back at you. “But while I don’t think you were being too invasive, I’d like to ask you all to respect our privacy. We want to keep everything professional.”

“Of course.” Jean nodded. “I’m sorry that we were so nosy and invasive.”

“There is no harm done, Jean. Everything’s alright.”

“I can’t believe you were right.” Scott joked. “I guess I was just oblivious.”

Ororo nodded and looked at Jean. “And you called us ridiculous.”

“I guess I got proven wrong.”

[love-little-lotte]

The Characters From Poldark: An Overview

After making that last Poldark post a month ago, I started reading Winston Graham's books. Needless to say, I got obsessed. I've just finished The Angry Tide a few days ago and started reading The Stranger from the Sea immediately right after. I'm still in the middle, but I'm kind of missing the vibe of the first seven books. Maybe it's because I'm already familiar with the story, thanks to the TV show. But I'm loving Jeremy and Clowance so far!

The Poldark books are like a drug to me; even if I'm dead tired after work, I try to find the time to read even a chapter or two before going to sleep. It's that addicting! Graham's writing was too good. I love his prose and how he gets the time period and characters. In more ways than one, the characters are much more lovable in the novel than in the TV show (don't get me wrong, I still like the BBC show!) The Poldark books can be fairytale-like, but so much grittier and darker. As the books progress, the story gets more political, which can be confusing, especially if you're not familiar with the history. Sometimes, I have to research a little bit to understand the background (especially in The Stranger from the Sea where they talk a lot about King George's madness, as well as Napoleon).

In this post, I share some of my thoughts about some of the Poldark characters (both in the TV show and books). This is not exactly like a review or in-depth analysis, just some rambles that came to me while reading the books or watching the show. If you haven't finished the books or show, be aware that I'll be talking about spoilers!

Ross Poldark

The most problematic man ever. Okay, maybe not, but there are so many times I want to throw my Kindle out the window every time he says or does something stupid (almost always at the expense of Demelza). Ross is not as annoying in the books as he was in the TV show, thankfully. Imagine my surprise when I realized he didn't say that crappy line about "playing the scullery maid" to Elizabeth at that Christmas party in Season 2. His apology to Demelza after spending that night with Elizabeth in the books was also much more sincere. And I love that he actually said, "I'm sorry" because (remind me if I'm wrong) he never said so in the show. Yes, we know he regretted it but I never felt he was sorry because he never really expressed it.

Nevertheless, Ross is still a pretty good character, albeit flawed. I like the way he fights for what he believes in and goes above and beyond for those less fortunate. His passion for his people—not only restricted to his miners or employees—is something to be admired at. He's not a good husband, but he's a decent person. He tries to be the hero all the time, but alas, he can't have it all.

And yes, I admit that maybe I can't truly hate Ross because I love Aidan Turner and his portrayal of the character. After reading the books, I've really come to appreciate Turner's performance even more. He just gets the brooding, tortured side of Ross.

My Favorite Ross Moment: Is there? Just kidding; he did have some good moments. You might think my favorite moment is a Ross/Demelza scene (I still honestly think about the stocking scene at random times of the day), but it's actually his impassioned speech during his trial in Season 2. Turner was on fire in this episode and really brought out the best of Ross.

Demelza Poldark

A ray of sunshine. The heart and soul of Nampara (hell, the rest of Cornwall). My favorite character. Demelza gets a lot of bad luck in the course of the series, but she always perseveres. She never fails to look at the bright things in life, and I admire her so much for that. Demelza and Ross's marriage suffers a lot in the show and books, but I've never once doubted their relationship. They're the perfect match for each other. Beyond the romance, she's also an understanding friend, a kind sister, and a warm mother.

Her personality in the show didn't wasn't really that different in the books, in my opinion, so I love both interpretations. Maybe the only change that ticked me off was her affair with Hugh Armitage. The show implied that she only slept with Hugh because Prudie told her that she saw Ross kiss Elizabeth at the church, but in the books, I feel like she didn't mind the kiss that much. Instead, she has an affair with Hugh because she wants to and has true affection for Hugh. I hated the fact that the show had to resort to a petty love triangle or jealousy for that to happen. Maybe it draws in more viewers, but honestly, it's a little shallow.

Eleanor Tomlinson was wonderful as Demelza. I've said before that they mixed up the hair color of the women in Poldark (in the books, Demelza is dark-haired, Elizabeth is blonde, and Caroline is a redhead), and I tried to imagine Tomlinson playing Caroline, but I simply couldn't. She's ingrained in my brain as Demelza now.

My Favorite Demelza Moment: Where to begin?! When she helped Verity and Andrew find each other again? When she tried to help Pascoe's bank when they were having problems? Or perhaps when she punched Ross after spending the night with Elizabeth. All these are great, but my personal favorite Demelza moment is when she sang "I'd Pluck a Fair Rose" at the Christmas dinner in Season 1. I know, this seems a bit minor, but I thought this was the beginning of Demelza's transformation as the Mistress of Nampara, gaining her confidence, as well as Ross's love. (And yes, I have this song on repeat on Spotify.)

George Warleggan

Debbie Horsfield gets a lot of flack for this adaptation (or so I've read in comments, from Reddit to Tumblr), but one of the changes she made that I liked was George's character. In the books, he's a scheming villain who will stop at nothing to destroy Ross and everything he holds dear. You know, the average bad guy. But I loved him in the show, though. Maybe it's because of Horsfield's writing, which humanized George, or Jack Farthing's nuanced performance. Farthing is actually one of my favorite actors in the show, all because he gave George so much heart, despite him being ruthless.

Also, I never really thought he loved Elizabeth in the books; instead, he only sees her as a prized possession, another trophy he gets for his status. But in the show, I can actually see his love for her. This is more apparent in Season 5 (which is not adapted from the books), but we can actually see his real feelings for Elizabeth in the earlier seasons as well! I've read that Books 8-12 focus more on the kids, but I do hope I get to see more of George and Ross's rivalry. It's a bit rundown, but I really love it when they have a little showdown.

My Favorite George Moment: His beef with Aunt Agatha is one of my favorite things in the show and books. So yes, my fave George moment was when he told Aunt Agatha that she's not 99, but 97. It's so petty and cruel of him—and Agatha was so right at retaliating by implying Valentine's not his son.

Elizabeth Warleggan

I've come to realize that many fans don't like Elizabeth. Yes, she's a thorn in Ross and Demelza's relationship, marries the villain George, leads on Ross while still being married to Francis, forces her cousin Morwenna to marry someone she doesn't love, and so on and on. But in the end, I can never really hate Elizabeth. She doesn't have a lot of scenes in the books, but in the show, Heida Reed played her as sympathetic and kind albeit weak. I never really questioned Elizabeth's actions because I always remind myself that this is probably what women in her status would do in the past. If you were widowed and broke, wouldn't you marry the first rich guy who proposes to you for your family's own good? Even if it's the guy who your first love hates the most.

After marrying George, she resented Ross and Demelza a lot... but, in her perspective, she was jilted by Ross. After they slept together, she postponed the wedding, (stupidly) hoping for Ross to come after her, but of course, he didn't. I can't blame her for waiting for him, though; that was Ross's fault for ignoring her. I do admit it was wrong of her to tell Ross about her feelings while married to Francis, though. And for forcing Morwenna to marry someone she doesn't love.

My Favorite Elizabeth Moment: In Season 3, when she swore in the Bible that Valentine is George's son (and in turn, making him swear that he won't suspect her anymore). Reed (and Farthing!) were incredible in that scene, but I just like how Elizabeth controlled the narrative in that moment. She's passive on most occasions, but she is determined to make George believe that Valentine is his son).

Francis Poldark

I was debating whether I should include Francis in this or not... After all, he's been dead for a long time, and I don't remember much what happened to him. And frankly, I don't really care much about his character (although his death is an important event for the other characters). I didn't hate Francis; however, he was just meh for the most part. In the first season, he suffered much with the responsibilities he earned after the death of his father, as well as losing his sister to a man whom he thought was a menace. Thankfully, his character had a change of heart in the second season.

I've got to say, though, that Kyle Soller is a terrific actor, and I missed him a lot in the later seasons.

My Favorite Francis Moment: When he came clean to Demelza about revealing the shareholders to George in Season 2... right before he died. I'm glad that he was able to redeem himself in the end.

Dwight Enys

Another one of my favorite characters! Just like Ross, Dwight cares so much for people and treats everyone fairly, no matter their station in life. He even tried to stay behind a prison camp because he wanted to take care of the people. But unlike Ross, Dwight is much more level-headed, gentler, and doesn't act on impulse... which makes me like him a bit more.

Luke Norris is also a very strong actor. He gets to show off his acting chops when he gets back from Paris and when his daughter Sarah dies (which is one of the saddest things that ever happened in this show). He also shared wonderful chemistry with Gabriella Wilde, who played Caroline. I like that their relationship was explored a lot in the series; they weren't just side characters that the writers put in random moments of the show, they were truly part of the show.

My Favorite Dwight Moment: Definitely not when he slept with a married woman. But he still gets a lot of good moments in the show, from being the voice of reason when Ross (stupidly) duels Adderley to helping George when mourning for Elizabeth. But my favorite one was when he stayed behind to warn Ross about the ambush, jeopardizing his elopement with Caroline. It's just one of the moments when we get to see Dwight being selfless.

Caroline Enys

I get that some people do not like Caroline; she's very brash, sarcastic, and, at times, spoiled. But she's one of my favorite characters in the show. Perhaps because she's the most modern one and I relate to her very much (although I am not an heiress... unfortunately). She doesn't show it a lot, but she cares so much for her family and friends. That's what makes her the best match for Dwight. They're somewhat like a reverse Ross and Demelza. And speaking of Ross, the book surprised me with how flirty they got with each other! She kisses him twice—and although there was no romance meant in that (if I remember correctly, that was when he went to save Dwight in Paris and she kissed him for luck and gratitude), she did once suggest that they sleep together. I'm sure that was one of her normal tactless quips, but even so, I was taken aback!

Still, I like Caroline more in the show because Gabriella Wilde was incredible in the role. She played the spoiled heiress so well, yes, but she gave her so much empathy and compassion in the show. Her heartbreaking scene when Sarah died destroyed me to bits, as well as the events after that. I'm so happy when she and Dwight reconciled. Also, I love that she became one of Demelza's most treasured friends. Their friendship is one of my favorite things in the show because they seem to just get each other, despite being two different people.

My Favorite Caroline Moment: When she paid off Ross's debts in secret. That was such a boss move and made me love her even more. There was absolutely no reason for her to do that, but only because she cared for Dwight and, as a result, Ross as well.

Drake Carne

The best man in the show? Well, yes! He's not perfect (he did run out of his own wedding, leaving poor Rosina heartbroken... yet again). Despite that, I like Drake, especially in the show. He's a bit annoying and more forward in the books, but in the show, he is gentler and kinder. And his hopeless devotion and unconditional love for Morwenna is so sweet. Their relationship is the only thing that makes Season 5 salvageable. Morwenna was damaged after her horrifying marriage to Osborne, and I liked that Drake didn't rush her into consummating their marriage. So far, they're still not in The Stranger from the Sea (will they make an appearance?! No, don't answer that; I hate spoilers), only that it was mentioned that they have a daughter. Beyond his romance with Morwenna, I love his brotherly relationship with Geoffrey Charles. He badly needed a good man in his life, and while his uncle is there (though I wouldn't say Ross is a good role model), I think Drake is the best guy for Geoffrey Charles.

Harry Richardson was also good as Drake; he's so charming in the role and easy to love. There are so many cases when I don't like new characters and actors that appear in the middle of the show, but he (and the rest of the new cast) effortlessly fit in with the rest.

My Favorite Drake Moment: Most of Season 5 Drake. Yes, that's not in the books, but I liked that the show explored the early days of their marriage. He was so gentle with Morwenna, it made my heart ache. The toad bit was stupid, to be honest, but it made me laugh with how it left George in a huff, so points to Drake for that anyway.

Sam Carne

Ah, Sam. He can be annoying at times, especially when he starts including his religious beliefs in literally every conversation, but... he grows on you. He's not one of my favorite characters, but I like his sibling relationship with Demelza and Drake. And his short-lived romance with Emma was pretty sad. It humanizes him in a way, making him see that he can't save everyone. Sam eventually marries Rosina. Which, to me, feels a bit weird. Sure, they do get along, but it just feels like they settled for each other because they were left by their respective partners.

Along with Harry Richardson, Tom York is also a fantastic addition to the cast. He doesn't get a lot of strong acting moments, but he's still a good actor and I enjoyed watching him.

My Favorite Sam Moment: Like I said, he doesn't get a lot of scenes, but I like Sam the best when he's being a Good Brother™ to Drake, especially in Seasons 3 and 4 when Morwenna is married to Osborne.

Morwenna Carne

I love Morwenna so much that it reminds me of that Stephanie Beatriz meme from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Morwenna's been through a lot—more than maybe most of the characters in the show. She married one of the sickest, horrifying characters I've ever come across (against her will, might I add), but nevertheless, she endured. She's a strong character, despite her demure tendencies. As I mentioned before, Season 5 is still worth watching for Morwenna and Drake. How she overcame her trauma from Osborne's abuse was very compelling to watch; it's realistic and makes me like her more. I also liked how she got to have a closure with John Conan, her first son. I'm sure she doesn't want anything from her Osborne's family, but you can't convince me that she doesn't care for John Conan.

In the books, Morwenna's always described in the book as "plain-looking," which irks me to no end because Ellise Chappell is literally one of the prettiest actresses I've ever seen. She's also a pretty good actress, and she was able to show off her range in Seasons 4 and 5.

My Favorite Morwenna Moment: When she stood up for herself against Osborne, even threatening to hurt John Conan if he tried to touch her again. I remember watching that scene for the first time and just howling and clapping for Morwenna.

*****

I would've loved to write more about the other characters like Verity and Prudie (especially Prudie in the show), but... I don't have a lot of feelings about them. Plus, they don't really move the story along, unlike the characters mentioned.

So, there you have it! Excuse me while I start watching the show again. Bye!

[tblsomedoodles]

Oh no Dee and Leo would be sparky as all he'll to each other!!! What I think would change tho is the context! Leo would stoll tease and make fun fo Donnie but he would never joke about things like getting rid of Donnie, kicking him from the team, or running away form him unlike his canon counterpart because he did lose his twin once and once was more than enough in Leo's book.

So like in the episode where Raph superglue everyone together with some sort of foam adhesive and Dee begins ranking about science stuff Leo won't make a joke and might even be listening intently because by then Dee would still be new and the fact that his voice can even be heard is a novelty. Or he'd still take that Crack at Donnie in the library and throw a book at Dee or in Smart Lair he's still tease hin about making screw-ups and grab st his remote but he would alps check in on Dee afterwards to make sure he knows he's jsut joking.

I think Leo would be jsut as scared of losing Dee again as Dee is of not fitting in with his brothers.

Yes exactly this! They pick on each other a bit b/c they're both snarky brats and that's how siblings are sometimes (trust me, i still tease my sibling about how they can apparently set oven mitts on fire and they pick on me about how i keep a life size plastic skeleton in my closet (his name is Napoleon and is the perfect boyfriend-question deterrent lol).) Like yeah, there's some things you just don't pick on them about, but Leo and Dee would have learned fast what those things were.

and i definitely agree. Leo would probably be terrified of loosing Dee again since he knows how that feels and does not want to feel that again.

Thank you!

Not really? I mean he's pretty close with Leo, but the only thing connecting Leo with Dee's twin was the fact Leo wore Blue's color. (the boys hadn't been given names beyond their colors at the time he disappeared so there really wasn't much to compare.)

He's mostly close with Leo b/c Leo is his primary sensei for ninjutsu and b/c they like watching sci-fi movies together.

Thank yoU!

Pretty much, though it is a little different. Where Angie acts more like a big brother to them (being protective and the 'responsible one'), Dee would just join in on the chaos those two are causing.

I think i mentioned it before, but b/c Marie would have grown up with another techy person around that uses said tech in direct combat, she would be a lot less 'meh' over learning tech stuff. Dee and Marie would geek out over possible ideas, often brainstorming together and resulting in the weirdest weapon ideas known to man ( some of them terrify the adults sometimes.) it became a rule that they weren't allowed to actually build these ideas unless Uncle Don approved it after they almost blew up the garage while trying to modify a paintball gun to shoot firecrackers. Basically Dee and Marie are the ultimate techy murder duo, even as kids.

Jackie just likes to hit things with sticks (preferably hockey stick but she's willing to compromise) and Dee also likes hitting things with stick (high grade titanium sticks.) so those two do spend a lot of time together hitting things with sticks. She sometimes joins in on the brainstorming sessions, but her contributions are more akin to 'you should paint it yellow,' or 'make it shoot hockey pucks.'

thank you!

[tstimacstumblinfuntime]

February Book Roundup

The Yellow Admiral (”Aubrey & Maturin”, book 18) by Patrick O’Brian, 1996  ★★★☆☆

I am so, so close to the end of this series and I still can’t figure them out. The characters are incredibly textured and the setting meticulously researched. I will say, one of my favorite things about any book set in this time and place is how the research leaves the authors with very... robust opinions about politics that are now settled by a hundred years or more. In this case that subject is the enclosure of village commons. Also in this book: A look at what boxing used to be like, Stephen is poor again, Jack is in trouble with his superiors again, and the Aubreys’ marriage is on the rocks again. This one wasn’t a winner, gang, but at this point I’m in much too deep to back out. Especially since I’m still having a not inconsiderable amount of fun. No recommendation on this one, even for people who want to read the books episodically. This isn’t any kind of a place to start.

Nine Liars (”Truly Devious), book 5) by Maureen Johnson, 2022 ★★★★★

I love Johnson’s Stevie Bell mysteries and that hasn’t changed with this book. This one finds the gang venturing to London for the dual purposes of Doing A Culture and giving Stevie a chance to make out with her boyfriend. But because this is a series of detective stories, they soon find themselves involved in a stately country house double ax murder cold case from the 1990s (the time period apparently chosen to make my bones specifically crumble to dust) and a mysterious disappearance in the current day. This book contains, in no particular order: A parlor scene on a Ferris wheel, a sex-hoody, a Jack the Ripper tour that fails to impress, and a big orange cat who is stupid. I love these books and recommend them highly to any fans of Weird Little Guy detective fiction. After the first three books the cases become episodic, but the teen drama is very serialized; so this is another one where I wouldn’t advise jumping in at the middle. Go back and read them from the start, because the earlier books are also very much worth your time. As a final note: Johnson is, like, really good at writing kissing. 

The Protector’s War (”A Novel of the Change”, book 2) by S. M. Stirling, 2006   ★★★★☆

The first book in this series left me rather cold, so this one was facing an uphill battle. The general idea of the setting is something changed (or even Changed, if you’re nasty) the laws of physics on Earth to make gunpowder, internal combustion, and electricity not work anymore. This causes a moderate apocalypse and people are forced to revert to preindustrial agriculturalism to survive, which everyone just assumes means FUDALISM. The first book was set right as that crisis gets rolling and my reaction probably wasn’t completely fair. It is hard to enjoy a fictional apocalypse while in the midst of a nonfiction one, I suppose. But now we’re almost a decade after the end of the world and we’re settling into something that wouldn’t be inaccurately described as Game of Thrones in the Pacific Northwest, but the works of Tolkien are textual instead of sub/meta-textual. Protector’s War convinced me to stick out the series for at least one more book, but hasn’t pushed me to the point that I’d recommend it quite yet. If you do decide to pick up the first book, Dies the Fire, I do need to throw up a content warning for some pretty rough sexual violence, though it is very well signposted in the text. There’s also a not inconsiderable amount of cannibalism, but that’s the end of the world for you.

The Hundred Days (”Aubrey & Maturin”, book 19) by Patrick O’Brian 1998  ★★★☆☆

First, let me say, nobody is more upset than me by the fact that fully half the books on this list are Napoleonic naval adventures. That’s just the way things go when books are coming from the library, more or less at random. In any case, this one is set during the Emperor’s escape from Elba and sees Jack and Stephen in the Mediterranean on a mission to keep a force of Muslim mercenaries from throwing in on the side of Napoleon and preventing the allies from joining forces by disrupting a shipment of gold needed to pay the mercenaries. (That run-on sentence is almost exactly what it feels like to read the book.) A bit contrived, but after 19 of these books, I’ll welcome anything with an honest to god plot with an act structure and everything. You can feel the series winding down in this one. Death is a highly present theme, with Stephen’s wife and Jack’s mother-in-law already in the ground when the book opens and with Algiers going through something like four leaders in fewer chapters. I don’t know if O’Brian knew how little time he had left, but this is the last of these Napoleonic naval adventures to actually take place during the Napoleonic wars. After this, there’s just one complete novel left in the series. By now, you know the drill: A book this deep in a series isn’t getting a recommendation. But if you absolutely insist, there’s worse places to start this series.

By the Numbers:

Total Books: 4

Genre: Historical Fiction (2), Science Fiction (1), Detective Fiction (1)

Decades: 1990s (2), 2000s (1), 2020s (1)

Author Stats: Women (1, 25%), POC: 0 (0%), Queer Authors: 0 (0%), Living Authors (2, 50%)

Another four book month. I was really hoping to finish The World We Make this month, but couldn’t wrap it up before the library needed it back, so that’s another month with no POC authors. Looking at the books on deck for March, that probably won’t change anytime soon. 

At least most of next month’s books should be by women. I do enjoy books by men from time to time, but the constant barrage of lads, lads, lads is becoming a bit tedious. 

Have you read any of these? I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences. But please don’t tell me what to read next. I have so may books to read, gang. Please don’t stack that tower any higher, I’m begging you.

[suburbanbeatnik]

The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART TWO

Although the beatings had ceased, Franz’s life continued in refined isolation until his fifteenth year, when his cousin Franz Karl married the beautiful and charming Sophie of Bavaria.

She was only six years older than he, a fine, pretty girl of sweet features and merry lips, with light chestnut brown hair arranged in great loops on her temples. She had done away with the stiff sumptuousness of her apartment at the Burg, and refurnished it in a more intimate atmosphere. In her salon, with its mahogany furniture covered in yellow velours and minus the usual gilding. Reichstadt would often come and sit beside her, looking through the pictures in her albums while she would paint, or play graceful Italian airs on her piano. And they would talk. She sided with him when things went wrong, pitied him, loved him. She was the only one to whom he could talk to with an open heart. Thanks to Sophie, in those troubled years of adolescence when the child is disappearing and the man is trying to find himself, he had at last found what had been refused him for so long: a friend.  [Aubry pg 140]

Franz was growing into a handsome young man, with his mother’s blue eyes and blond curls, but his father’s striking bone structure and deep-set eyes, and the emotional Bonaparte temperament. Though he was robust and “glowing with health” as a baby, by the time he was an adolescent he became more frail. Doctors said he had a “scrofulous tendency,” which was 19th century medical gobbledygook for some sort of disorder connected with the lymphatic glands. It seems to me that this kid was isolated and beaten for years, and suffered from pretty severe depression— on top of that, he didn’t eat (Aubry records that he had “a poor appetite”). Throw in an inherited tendency from his mother to have lung trouble, I’m not surprised he struggled with illness going forwards.

Apart from Sophie, there was no one to really look out after him. She encouraged him, his interests, his passions, his keen desire to be a soldier, his love for his father and of France, helping undo all the years of Habsburg brainwashing. As the years passed, he even learned how his father’s executors were continually frustrated in trying to pass on the legacy his father had tried to leave to him. “They had been kept away, or driven away: or else the relics they had brought had been politely taken from them and stuffed away into strongboxes, thus cheating the son of the only material inheritance his father had left him. Who had so ordained? Metternich, none other!” [Aubry pg 154]

Metternich, the true ruler of this not-so-holy and not-so-Roman empire, was the one man who had schemed and plotted to keep Franz so isolated and alone. Metternich, and this is no exaggeration, hated every atom of Franz since he was a baby, and he never let Franz forget it. Franz was under police surveillance at all times: the Chancellor had the Corsican’s son in his grasp, and would not lose him. He wouldn’t even allow the young man contact with his own grandmother, Letizia, Madame Mère, now eighty years old and blind from cataracts. He wouldn’t even allow a single letter— a single sentence.

That statesman, who had a government for a soul, had made Austria a prison for him instead of the home it should have been! Metternich had been his father’s enemy; he was his enemy too, and always had been! The young man felt the hostility underneath the Chancellor’s icy courtesy, and he hated him. Altogether without basis in fact are those accounts of numerous conversations between Metternich and the Duke of Reichstadt during this period. Prokesch maintains that the Minister talked to the Prince just five times in seventeen years. Far from seeking to influence the Duke of Reichstadt during this period, Metternich avoided all contact with him. He hated him as he hated his father. The likeness to the Corsican which he found again in the young man’s features offended him like an insult. He could not bear the sight of that forehead, the sound of that voice. At a Court reception on the evening of the Duke’s eighteenth birthday, the Chancellor paid the obligatory compliments and turned away hastily. Those who spoke to him immediately afterwards found him more distant than usual. As soon as he could do so without attracting attention, he left the palace. [Aubry pg 162]

After years of being force-fed Austrian propaganda, Franz had started reading as much as he could about the greatness of Napoleon— obsessively reading Las Cases’ Memorial of St Helena, which he found on one of the top shelves of the library. Imagine his feelings when he read his father’s will for the first time, discovering what affects and relics were left to him, but which he would never see, thanks to Metternich’s machinations (and Louise’s clumsy attempts to lay claim to Napoleon’s inheritance, which had sabotaged the work of the executors in the first place, did not cease until 1837). Franz, fascinated with his father’s campaigns and personal history, threw himself into his studies. Through books, he vicariously experienced Lodi, Arcole, Marengo, the Pyramids, Jena, Austerlitz… He became drunk with the glory of the past. A spell had been cast, and Franz became determined to make his father proud of him. When one of his tutors began to lecture him on his father’s shortcomings, Franz replied impatiently:

“The actions of great men are not to be weighed with ordinary scales.” [Aubry pg 156]

Franz was slowly shedding the relationships of his childhood. When, upon Neipperg’s death in 1829, he had discovered his mother had contracted a morganatic marriage with the one-eyed Neipperg, he “felt deeply insulted and humiliated.” He was enraged enough to discover just that: of course, keep in mind he had no idea that she was sleeping with Neipperg and had given Franz two illegitimate half-siblings while his father was living with the rats on St. Helena. I doubt he would have ever talked to her again if that was the case. Even without knowing that, he withdrew, “his letters were less affectionate and he mentioned her name more rarely. She had been expected at Schoenbrunn for the summer. Her son learned with relief that she preferred to take a cure in Switzerland.” [Aubry pg 160]

Of course, Louise kept doing her thing, weeping for Neipperg over “gay dinner tables and at the opera,” being annoyed whenever the name of Napoleon reached her ears, and then finding “a substitute for the one-eyed general in the person of the Count de Bombelles, at first Grand Master of her Household, then her lover, and then finally her third husband.” [Aubry pg 161]

Meanwhile, for years Franz had struggled with depression. The July Revolution had happened, with the kind and comfortable Louis-Philippe installed on the throne, and even though the King of Rome was still a popular figure in France, with perhaps a chance to ascend the throne, Franz was still, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. And the older he got, the more obvious this became. Suggestions to become a monarch in Poland or Greece were pushed asides by Metternich. Attempts by his uncles Lucien and Joseph to discuss Franz’s future with Metternich were completely blocked. All he wanted to do was to start his military career, and make himself useful, but he couldn’t even join his regiment, or even visit his mother in Italy. His health was floated as the reason why he should stay inactive, but Franz doubted this was the only reason. Bouts of rage alternated with deep sloughs of “sadness and tedium,” and he could barely summon the interest to hold a conversation. Not surprisingly, his mother lacked sympathy. In 1830, when Louise was summering in Baden, taking the waters, she “rebuked him for his apathy. She could not understand why her son could be ‘so little like other young people.’” [Aubry pg 181]

It grew worse a year later. Italy was on fire with the revolutionary activities of the Carbonari, and Louise had fled Parma in fear of her life. Franz pleaded with his grandfather to let him go rescue her, but Metternich intervened. Let the son of Napoleon, the King of Rome, go to Italy, where his father won his own fame? Of course not! Emperor Francis gave into Metternich, and poor Franz was left feeling torn between misery, fury and desperation. Even Prokesch, his best friend apart from Sophie—a major in the Viennese army, a loyal soldier, scholar and diplomat who had worked for Metternich, but had defied him on a few occasions-- couldn’t calm him.  

His despair was palpable. He knew he would spend his entire life bound and trapped, with Metternich as his jailer.

The young man had sealed himself up in a silence that was almost complete, venting his feelings at the most in talks with Sophie and Prokesch, during which he expressed many severe judgments on members of the Imperial family. He loved Sophie and he had an affection for his grandfather, but he did not like the Empress, fond as she was of him. He thought the Archduke Ferdinand, heir-apparent and King of Hungary, was a ninny. [Editor’s note: Ferdinand was actually a brain-damaged hydrocephalic epileptic who couldn’t even consummate his own marriage with his wife Maria Anna, married in 1835.] He hated the Archduke Franz Karl, Sophie’s husband, calling him deceitful, mean and vulgar. Table conversations at the Hofburg were stupid, the Court life was cheap and in bad taste. Comparing himself with those pious, submissive and conceited Archudukes and those ugly, insipid Archduchesses, he felt himself of a superior race. He even said one day— and Prokesch recorded the words in his secret notes:

“If Josephine had been my mother, my father would not have gone to St. Helena, and I would not be languishing in Vienna. My mother certainly has a kind heart, but no backbone! She was not the wife my father deserved!”

And he added, burying his face in Prokesch’s hands:

“You do not respect her, do you?”

And Prokesch replied:

“She was what she could be. The woman your father deserved for a wife did not exist. But he chose her, and she is your mother…”

Reichstadt was now weeping, and a long silence followed. [Aubry pg 207]

And that was when he seriously began to think about escaping.

While the two began to consider exactly what they could do, Franz decided that he had had quite enough of the chaperonage of Count Dietrichstein, his head tutor. This was the man who whipped him when he was five, who thrashed him when he was ten, who drilled him for countless hours on his German and his Italian translations and all the minutiae of court etiquette. He claimed to be utterly devoted to the young prince. Maybe he was, in his own weird way. But Franz was spreading his wings (or at least attempting to— even when he was 20, his imperial grandpa was still prone to treating him like a child, forcing him to dine with him in austerity if his own personal dinner parties became, in Francis’s opinion, too extravagant). In addition to the sensible and devoted Prokesch, Franz had befriended a few other young men, rakes and dandies all, like Neipperg’s eldest son and the young Esterhazy. Franz was gorgeous, brooding, romantic, and with perfect manners, and the women were obsessed with him (a Polish nun who had never met him but only saw him from a distance once swore undying love, even writing letters to this effect).

There was one woman that Franz danced with at a masquerade ball, a certain Naudine Karolyi, black-haired, handsome and bold, and not only did they manage to dodge Metternich’s spies, but they exchanged a lot of letters. This was 1831, and he was 20. But Dietrichstein soon found out about the correspondence.

At any rate, he strode into the Duke’s room, began rummaging through his desk, and finding a drawer locked, commanded him to open it. Reichstadt did not dare refuse— he obeyed, and his governor saw before him a pile of letters from Esterhazy. He opened a few, ran through them, and turned around livid with anger:

“What?” he cried. “You have a love affair?”

“Yes,” replied the prince coolly. “You can see with whom.”

“Do you write to her directly?”

“No, sir.”

“Then through an intermediary? Someone I know?”

He was besides himself with rage and almost shouting. Other persons had just entered the room and stood looking on in surprise at the strange scene. Reichstadt begged the Count to calm himself.

“Come downstairs with me,” he whispered. “You shall have all the letters afterwards, I promise you.”

The Count mastered his anger and went down with him to the Emperor. On the return, the Duke scrupulously handed him the entire correspondence, and it was forthwith consigned to the flames. [Aubry, pg 212]

But this didn’t stop Dietrichstein from trying to intercept Franz’s personal letters. At one point he saw that Esterhazy called him “the old woman,” and Dietrichstein was “extremely hurt.” He tried everything he could to break up the friendship from that day on, but didn’t succeed, as Franz could be extremely stubborn and loyal to a fault.

The affair with Naudine didn’t go anywhere, but there were others— there was even a reputed bastard daughter who later called herself the Comtesse de la Pommiere— but no matter what happened, his heart belonged to Sophie.

* * *

I’m cutting this off here, because LONG POST IS LONG, but more angst and drama will be coming with the next post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[maggiec70]

The Tabor Bridge Tale

I might have said something a while ago about posting bits and pieces from the Western World’s longest-running Napoleonic HistFic in progress.  So to counter some gloom and doom, here’s my silly fictional version of getting to Vienna in one piece. Do hope you enjoy it.

>>>>>

Jean had improved by the second week of November. He’d set up a temporary camp south of Vienna for V Corps and waited for the rest of the army to arrive. Mariana didn’t watch him so closely now, hoping he’d learned his lesson, although he probably hadn’t learned anything. Meanwhile, the camp was pleasant, and she wondered how long they would be able to enjoy themselves. 

The answer arrived two days later after breakfast when Prince Murat galloped up in all his finery. “You’ve heard about the Tabor bridges?” he called out as he dismounted, tossing his reins to an aide. Mariana still marveled at the cavalry commander’s appearance. Neither a plume nor a curl out of place—however did he manage it? Perhaps the prince had four valets instead of the usual two. On the other hand, Jean looked like he’d been marching in the wake of the baggage trains for days.

“Can’t say I have,” Jean answered. “We arrived the day before yesterday. It takes a hell of a lot longer for my infantry divisions to march over these damn roads than it does for your circus riders on their fancy ponies.

”Murat ignored the jibe. “The Tabor bridges are the only way into Vienna. My scouts say the enemy has already mined the longest span. Hungarians hold the near end, and Austrians have the far end. Both are bristling with artillery.” He shrugged. “If we advance across the bridge, assuming we can outwit the Hungarians, the Austrians will blow the long span at the first glimpse of a French uniform and then shell us. The emperor wants the bridges intact, and he’s ordered us to take them.”

“Who did Napoleon mean by us?”

Murat grinned, looking almost as piratical as André Masséna. “You and me, mon ami. Who better?” Another grin and Murat threw an arm around Jean’s shoulders for emphasis.

Mariana nudged Joseph in the ribs. “The marshal’s going to say no,” she whispered. “Watch.”

“Let him take the damn things himself. I hate bridges—I still get headaches from being shot on the Arcola bridge.” Jean unbuckled the canteen from his saddle and took a long drink before turning back to Murat. “How long are the bridges?”

“The scouts said a couple of miles. They’re nothing more than a series of cobbled-together wooden sections, the longest one an arched span, with marshes beneath.”

“And the Austrian artillery is at the farthest end?”

“Right at the bridgehead.”

“So they can see us coming?”

“From the time we reach the arched span. And that’s if the Hungarians don’t send an alert. I’ve already decided a sneak attack won’t work.”

Jean said nothing for a few minutes, staring in Vienna’s direction and the unseen bridges. After a moment or two of silence disturbed by a flock of birds and the horses’ restless stamping, Jean looked at Murat, a slow smile spreading across his face. Beata Santa Caterina, Mariana thought. He’s not going to refuse.

“It’s a bit long for a Sunday stroll, Joachim, but it might work.”

“I’m not following you.”

“You’ve gone at this backward. We’ll walk out there and bluff the enemy right off the bridge before they know what’s happened.”

“I enjoy a challenge as much as you do, but strolling across a mined bridge with artillery aimed at both my arse and my hard-won medals doesn’t inspire me with confidence.”

“Where’s your imagination, Joachim? We’re dressed in our finest, with decorations, plumes, cloaks, sashes, and so are our staff—yours in particular. Throw in four or five senior officers, and off we go in splendor, dazzling the enemy. Just a group of officers out for a pleasant walk. They’ll be paying so much attention to us that they’ll never see Oudinot’s grenadiers slogging through the marshes and dismantling the mines. By the time they realize what’s happened, we’ll have spiked their guns. Tell them there’s been a truce or a cease-fire. Nom de Dieu, they’re only Austrians.”

Mariana stared first at Joseph, then at Jacques, but they seemed amused and worse, willing to participate in the improbable charade. “Boys!” she muttered, her hands balled into fists. “They will never grow up, certainly not with him setting such an example.”

“Excellent idea, my dear D’Artagnan. I wish I’d thought of it. Well, brush yourself off so you’ll glitter like me, and let’s go.” Murat had turned toward his staff of waiting peacocks as he asked, “See you in half an hour?”

It took less than that for Jean to find Oudinot and explain what he needed. With a sinking feeling, Mariana saw that Oudinot seemed delighted with the idea and just as eager to rush into danger as the rest of them.

Jean interrupted her misgivings by shouting, “Saint-Denis, you have anything to get rid of this dust?”

She rummaged through her saddlebag for the tack rag she kept rolled in the bottom. Pulling it out, she swatted at the dust on his coat, decided his breeches were a lost cause, and gave his boots a hasty swipe. “Give me your cloak. It’s covered with horsehair. Where’s your hat?”

“Damned if I know—find it, will you?”

They met Murat and his staff two hundred yards before the first bridgehead. Mariana had never seen so much military finery, blinding gold lace and braid, or so many waving, bobbing white plumes in one place. She was also confident that the plumes and those who wore them would be blown up, one way or another, in the next little while. They might receive a mention in history books later, perhaps in the same vein as Thermopylae.

“This is like a Sunday promenade, so talk, tell jokes, laugh, and occasionally stop to admire the scenery,” Jean reminded them and set off, his arm hooked through Murat’s.

“What scenery? There’s nothing but marshes,” Mariana said.

“Pretend, Saint-Denis,” Jean called back to her. “That’s all this is—a big game of pretending.”

“Except for the Hungarians and Austrians, whose guns and mines are real enough,” she mumbled to Joseph and walked faster to keep up.

The Hungarians at the near bridgehead were disarmed almost immediately in the face of Murat’s smooth talk of a truce, Jean’s friendliness, and the staff��s easy camaraderie. Most of all, they welcomed the bottles of brandy appearing by some sleight of hand from half-a-dozen senior officers. Mariana had stopped between Joseph and Jacques, her mouth agape. “Who told them to bring brandy?”

Jacques laughed as he tried to peer over Joseph’s shoulder to see what was happening. “The marshal did. Who else?”

Although only two Hungarian officers understood French, the rest seemed to appreciate the sudden largesse, oblivious to the grenadiers creeping forward and disappearing beneath the bridge.

The charade held together as they advanced. Mariana moved forward when Joseph and Jacques linked their arms through hers. Without them, she would have collapsed onto the rough planks. With them, she felt like a marionette, being jerked along, her heart hammering against her ribs, mouth as dry and wooly as a blanket. When they had reached within a hundred feet of the last bridgehead and the enemy guns, an Austrian officer yelled at them to halt. Jean and Murat didn’t stop, but slowed their pace until Murat made himself heard without too much shouting.

“Who’s in charge here?” Murat demanded when he was less than twenty feet from the officer.

“Prince Auersperg is our commander. Who are you?”

“Prince Murat, His Imperial Majesty’s envoy. I won’t discuss armistice terms with anyone but your commander. Go get him,” Murat said, every inch of him drawn up, shoulders squared. The epitome of a peacock in full plumage strutting before a peahen. Mariana tried not to laugh.

Jean strolled over to the nearest gun and, with admirable aplomb, used the caisson for leverage and sat on the barrel, one gloved hand casually covering the fuse. “Damn long walk. Any of you have anything to drink?”

Mariana desperately wanted something to drink to ease the terrible dryness in her throat. She’d cheerfully drink the strong, sharp brandy, or even scoop some of the brown Danube water up in her shako and drink that. But the brandy might give her ten or fifteen minutes of false courage, enough to get her through to the end of this charade, whatever the end might be. The brandy was no closer to her than the river was, and she swallowed, the effort making her throat sore. With a stoic sigh, she followed the rest of Jean’s aides and staff officers as they moved among the guns or leaned against the bridge railings as if they had all the time in the world. If she stood beside the nearest howitzer, it couldn’t possibly hurt her. She rested her hand on the barrel, warm from the sun, and then leaned against it. When nothing happened, she relaxed as the warmth of the metal penetrated her coat and chased away the last of her chills. On another day and in another place, she might even feel secure enough to rest her cheek against the smooth bronze and doze off.

She raised her head as four Austrian officers helped an old man in a uniform that hung on his bony, stooped frame onto the bridge. “Look at him, Joseph—he’s ancient,” Mariana said, not bothering to lower her voice. “How can he command anything?”

Murat directed a barrage of Gascon-accented charm at the old prince, explaining the terms of the non-existent armistice. Auersperg’s rheumy yellow eyes widened, and he trembled visibly. Two of his aides gripped his elbows and held him upright. Mariana began to feel sorry for him, even though she knew he would have ordered his men in a thin, wavering voice to blow them all into the next world, had the circumstances been different.

Jean removed his hat and waved it in the direction of the advancing grenadiers. They rose from the marshes at his signal, clambered over the railings, and swarmed across the bridge. It was finally over. Not one cannon or musket had fired at them. No explosives had exploded. No casualties at all other than one confused, elderly Austrian prince who didn’t understand how completely his enemy had tricked him.

Mariana was glad she had something substantial to hold her up. Weak-kneed with relief, she tightened her grasp around her howitzer and blew out a long pent-up breath as Jean and Murat left the bridge, congratulating themselves on their superb chicanery and laughing at the risks they had taken.

“They’ll never understand how dangerous this was.” Mariana stepped onto the bare, packed earth of the riverbank, Jacques beside her. “We could have been blown to our heavenly rewards, and they’re laughing like schoolboys. I thought I had steadier nerves, but I was as faint-hearted as a recruit.”

“I never believed danger was imminent, Gabriel, nor do I think the marshal, or the prince for that matter, would have exposed us all to certain annihilation.” He draped his arm across her shoulders, the weight almost making her slip on the river mud. “Come on. I’ll get you a drink, or several if you need them.” 

[ikevamp-shrine]

The Ikevamp boys with a suicidal s/o

Hi! So, this is going to be super angsty and I 100 percent get if you don't want to write this, but...This year is the worst year of my life, so would it be alright if I request the vamps with a suicidal s/o? I don't care who you choose or how many (I love them all and I would request for all, but I'm sure that's too much...) I hope you're freling well and again, I completely understand if you don't want to do this. Take care 

Author: @ikevamp-shrine

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire 

Character(s): Le Comte, Sebastian, Napoleon, Jean

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, actions, and words, depressive content

So this is obliviously a very touchy subject, and I wanted to write this with more of the boys, but I needed to know how those who read this reacted. So practically this is just a “tester” writing. If y’all are okay with me writing more of this then please say so, but if this is too... hard (I don’t know what else to call it) then also please say so. If everyone is too uncomfortable with this then to the one who requested this- I will write this with the rest of the boys and will send it to you, and you alone, if you would like that.

1-800-273-8255 Suicide Hotline Number

 Le Comte

“What am I doing here Comte?”

The question that his s/o whispered had took him off guard. Putting down his book on the side table next to him, Comte looked at the human sitting in front of him in a recliner. Their eyes were filled with so much pain, and just... emptiness, Comte felt as if he was suffocating while staring into those colored orbs. 

“____? What is it? What is wrong?” Comte said speaking evenly as his eyebrows furrowed and a frown placed itself on the panels of his face. 

His s/o slowly glanced over to the roaring fire place emitting a soft glow that caressed the blank expression on their face before rasping out, “what am I doing here? What is my purpose in this life? Why am I here living, breathing, existing,” they paused their speech to sigh deeply, running a shaking hand through their hair, and shifting slightly to stare at Comte with tear filled eyes, “I just feel as if my life is passing by while I watch from the outside. I do nothing other than clean and get baguettes… I have no purpose.”

Comte felt as if he had been thrown in cold water at the sudden chill slivering down his spine when his lover continued by say, “I just feel that no one would notice if I was... gone.” 

The fear that flittered through his system forced him off his feet only to throw himself on his knees, at the feet of his lover, while wrapping viper like arms around their waist.

“Never... never think those thoughts again. Do you understand me? You have single handedly changed not only myself, but every other man in this mansion.” God, how stupid he felt. Centuries of living, and he still had no idea what to say at this very moment. Comte could feel the burning in his eyes as he almost choked with emotion. My how long has it been since he cried? 

He had always been one to seem emotionless, but that still didn’t mean he didn’t feel them.

“We were all broken before you came, all shells of what we once were... please my love, my life, my everything... don’t disappear from my arms, I don’t think I could take it,” Comte whispered, emotion thick in his voice, as he raised his head from his s/o’s lap to stare into their wavering eyes. A tear slipping down his cheek. 

Napoleon 

It was the middle of the night when Napoleon woke up to sniffling beside him. His eyes blurry and mind foggy, but Napoleon could still make out the slight trembling of his lover partially covered by the comforter he had taken the majority of. Unbenoced to himself Napoleon wrapped an arm around their waist and lightly kissed the back of their head and shoulder, causing the human to noticeably tense under his touch. 

That woke him up completely.

Lifting himself with one arm, Napoleon rested his elbow on the bed to take his weight and with his other arm he reached over and slowly rolled his lover onto their back to face the ceiling. Napoleon’s eyes harden when he saw the empty look in their eyes and the tears staining their cheeks. The sight felt so familiar to Napoleon, but from where he didn’t know.

“Nunuche…,” Napoleon whispered as he brushed a few tears off their paler than normal cheeks.

“...I had a dream that... I was gone and you were happy, happier than what you are now,” his s/o continued to stare at the ceiling, their expression showing nothing of what they were thinking. 

“Would you be happier, Napoleon? If I was gone from this world?” 

Napoleon thought his heart had stopped for a moment when he figured out what his s/o’s facial expression reminded him of. It was the same expression that was plastered on the faces of his soldiers who only a few hours later were pronounced dead after taking their own lives. Becoming overcome with panic, an emotion he had felt in a very long time, Napoleon wrapped around his s/o trying to touch them as much as possible to let them know he was there, with them. This time he would not be holding his tongue on what he really thought. He would be selfish.

“____ I could never again live without you in my life. Never. If you leave me I would not be able to go on. You are now my only reason for living... so please don’t leave me, or this world. So please Nunuche, live for me,” Napoleon rasped out grasping the clothing adoring his s/o’s body tightly between his fingers as if that would chain them to Napoleon, to this world.

“How selfish you have become Napoleon to ask me to live for you.”

Jean

“____? What are you doing?” 

Jean had been searching for his s/o for what felt like hours, only to find them curled up in the corner of his room bathing in the moonlight that shone through the single, small window.

The human didn’t move other than to breath in a shaky breath. 

“___?” 

Jean gracefully glided over to his lover, stopping just off to the side of them, and gently gripped their chin between his fingers only to gasp aloud when he saw the dark bags under their usually vibrant eyes and tear marks over their cheeks. Jean could see his own reflection in their teary, red eyes. 

“Jean... I don’t want to be alive anymore,” his s/o’s whispers shocked him immensely. They didn’t want to be alive anymore? He was confused at the declaration, angry at himself for not noticing the deep sadness in their eyes, and sad that the only person he had ever fallen in love with didn’t want to be by his side anymore, alive- with him. Jean knew he needed to do something, his body was screaming at him to move, react, and say something. The look he saw on their face was not new for Jean himself had it every time he thought about taking his own life. 

“______ I... I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to say anything, I know I must be burdening you with my words,” his s/o moved their chin out from Jean’s hold only to go back to staring at the night sky through the window.

“Did I do something to hurt you, ____?”

“No,” they whispered, their voice cracking with raw emotion, “just leave please.”

Jean moved quickly, the quickest he thinks he had ever moved before to wrap his arms around his cold to the touch lover, pull them towards him, and shield them from the prying eyes of the night with his warm body. 

“Even if you leave this Earth I shall follow you to the very end if it meant I was gifted another second to be in your radiant presence. So what ever you shall decide to do, just know I will be there to hold you in my arms my love.”

Sebastian

The wind bit Sebastian as he threw open the doors that led to the roof of the mansion, serval stories above the hard ground below. It was dark, very dark, as dark as the emotions he felt swirling through himself at the moment, but even that didn’t stop Sebastian from seeing his fellow human, worker, and lover standing atop the roof, teetering on the edge as if they were playing with death.

“_____! Get down please! Please my love, let’s just talk about this!” Shouted Sebastian, the wind almost drowning out his terrified words as it shot up and through his clothes, sending his hair flying out of the normally perfect styling. 

“I can’t do this anymore Sebastian!” His lover shouted as they spun around quickly to stare at the butler standing before them causing Sebastian’s heart to drop even lower than it was already. There was so much fear in their eyes, so much suffocating sadness. 

Slowly creeping his way towards them, Sebastian shifted on his feet, holding a hand out, praying his lover would grasp his digit between theirs. 

“I understand what you're feeling ____. But this is no way to deal with it. Just come down, come to me, and we can talk.” 

It all happened so fast.

There was another strong gust of wind, seemingly to carrying it’s mocking laughter, causing Sebastian's s/o to lose balance, swing their arms wildly as they tried to regain it only to fail and start leaning backward towards their death. 

“____!” Screeched Sebastian once more as he sprinted towards his falling lover, arm still outstretched, and fingers grasping wildly at the unforgiving wind.

“SEBASTAIN!” 

The panicking man grabbed a hold of their lithe fingers just in enough time to pull them into his arms, falling back onto the roof behind them. Sebastian’s chest heaved frantically as he held his sobbing s/o tightly in his arms as if they would disappear from his sight suddenly if he didn’t. Their scent calm him immensely. They were there in his arms. They were alive. 

“I don’t want to die... I don’t want to die,” they repeated over and over again as they broke down completely in Sebastian’s arms. 

“I know my love, I know... You’re going to be okay. We’ll be okay.”

MASTERLIST

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.4.1, “A Group that Almost Became Historic,” Part 1 of ??

We’re taking two and a half weeks for the six chapters of 3.4, “The Friends of the ABC”; I don’t know how many posts I’m going to spend on 3.4.1, but probably at least 10--this introductory one, and at least one for each Ami.

This post is going to be a lot of digging into translation choices--as, in fact, they all are; there is simply no translation that does not fail hard somewhere in this chapter. Accordingly I’m going to be jumping pretty randomly between FMA and Donougher and occasionally Wilbour.

So, to start out with Donougher, at the beginning of the chapter:

In those days, a period of apparent passivity, a certain vague sense of revolutionary excitement prevailed. Murmurs rising from the depths of of ‘89 and ‘93 were in the air.* Callow youth, if we may be forgiven the expression, was spreading its wings.** People were changing, almost unawares, just by virtue of the progress of time. The hand that advances around the clock-face advances, too, in people’s souls. Each individual was taking whatever step forward was his to take.*** Royalists were becoming liberals, liberals were becoming democrats.

*The French text on Gutenberg says “‘89 and ‘92,” as does FMA; I’m assuming that’s one of the errors from the original printing that was reproduced in later translations.

**This totally fails to get at the sense of FMA: “Young Paris was, excuse the expression, in the process of molting.” 

***Here, though--and the reason I went with Donougher for this passage--FMA fails to capture the sense; it has “Each individual took the next step forward.” The French is “Chacun faisait en avant le pas qu'il avait à faire.”

The bolded lines start us off in agreement with Combeferre: “inclined to let progress take its course,” “a fire can certainly create a glow, but why not wait for daybreak,” etc. Combeferre’s ideas of progress as an inexorable natural force are, according to the narrator, working already--the passage of time itself is pushing people towards more advanced ideas.

But if “each individual is taking whatever step forward is his to take”--Combeferre’s next step is going to be to revolution, violent rebellion. It’s not his first choice, but it’s where Progress is going to drive him.

I think this is the book’s usual twofold view of history again, Providence vs Fatalité: Progress--Providence--might be inevitable and unstoppable, but how we get there is undetermined--and relying on Progress on its own is, in the end, intolerable even to the most progressive and utopian mind we’re going to meet.

This argument continues in paragraph 3:

Other schools of thought were more serious. This one sought to establish first principles. That one set great store by rights. There was enthusiasm for the absolute, with infinite materializations of it envisaged. The absolute by its very rigor turns minds skyward and sets them loose in the limitless blue. There is nothing like dogma for giving birth to dreams. Today’s Utopia is tomorrow’s flesh and blood.

Utopias are good because they can be realized. We are not in the realm of self-improvement here--we’re not in Marius’s modality of dreaming without engaging with the world. This group is going to get its hands dirty, and that is correct.

In between these two paragraphs, we have this:

It was like a rising tide, complicated by countless undertows. It is in the nature of undertows to create turbulence, hence some very peculiar combinations of ideas. People adored Napoleon and liberty. We are writing history here. These were the mirages of that period. Opinions go through phases. Voltairian monarchism, a peculiar variety, had in Bonapartist liberalism a no less strange counterpart.

Hugo tells us twice, just in case we missed it the first time, that Marius’s politics is fucking incoherent.

I also commented on @everyonewasabird’s post here with notes on the translations of the bits about the Carbonari and the relationship between insurrection and coup d’etat; I’m not going to repeat that here.

The list of puns that have a serious bearing on politics is our instruction to read all of the wordplay in the coming chapters very closely. :D 

ISTR @pilferingapples​ had a good post detailing why it matters that the Amis save Lesgle are all from the Midi, but tl;dr, they are from the part of France where the Revolution first took hold deepest (it’s called the Marseillaise for a reason), and where the counterrevolutionary backlash at every stage was the strongest. They would have grown up during the White Terror of the Restoration. They’re no strangers to political violence.

And finally, Donougher really falls down on the translation of the last line before we get to the individual intros:

At the point we have now reached in this drama it is perhaps worth casting a ray of light on these young individuals before the reader sees them swallowed up into the darkness of a tragic episode.

Wilbour gets it right:

At the point of this drama which we have now reached, it may not be useless to throw a ray of light upon these young heads before the reader sees them sink into the shadow of a tragic fate.

In the original, “n'est pas inutile”--the same description applied to the entire book in the preface. We are spending time with the Amis de l’ABC for the same reason we are reading this book: its purposes are their purposes.

[alit0my]

if you're still taking prompts: while in exile Booker dies some death that fucks his brain a bit and makes him lose his memories in a weird way. The team steps in to take care of him in order to prevent the secret from coming out and just care for him bc they still love him. And Booker doesn't remember them but still has FEELINGS from before. And one day he tells them all "I don't remember who any of you are, but I do know that I love you all SO MUCH" and the team is stunned and like "OH GOD"

im always taking prompts anon ;-) i hope you like this!

~

Andy’s cell phone rang in the middle of the night, waking the others as the ringtone blared through the small sleeping quarters. Quickly, she picked up the phone and murmured her apology to the team. 

“Copley? It’s four am, what’s going on?” Andy spoke, knowing the man was on the other end. He was the only person who had the number after all.

“Andy. I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait until morning. It’s Booker,” Copley said with an urgent tone. “He’s been injured.” 

Andy sat up a bit straighter in her bed, resting against the headboard. “He’s not healing?” 

The others became more awake at her words, glancing at each other in alarm. Booker was still young, there was no way he wasn’t healing.

“Somewhat. I sent him on a simple job to get intel and it went to shit,” Copley sighed. “It’s his memories, they seem to not have returned to him when he woke, and I’m worried that will cause unwanted trouble.” 

Andy’s breath hitched in her throat, her grip on the burner phone tightening. “How far back does he recall?” 

“He thinks he’s back in Marseille, 1800’s. Unsure of the exact year I’m afraid” 

“He’s looking for his family,” Andy cursed quietly, nodding at the others to get ready to leave. “Where is he now? Do you have an address?” 

“I’ll send it through. I’m also not sure if he remembers you, so I’d be weary about busting the door down and putting him on the defensive foot straight away.” 

Andy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright, thanks Copley.” 

“What’s happened?” Nicky asked, zipping up his duffel bag. Andy stood and swung her own duffel bag over her shoulder, grabbing the car keys off the bedside table. 

“I’ll explain on the way.”

~

Sebastien stood in front of the land that once held his family home. Finding it an empty field of tall grass made him furrow his brows in confusion. Where was Claire? Louis? Michel? Jean-Pierre? Had they moved and not told him? Surely he hadn’t been away for too long to have the house pulled down and grass to grow. 

He watched as groups of people walked past him, not paying him any mind. Frowning, he tried to find something he could identify in his surroundings, but came up short. 

“Excuse me, can you tell me what happened to my home?” He asked a group that walked by, earning him strange looks. 

“Sir, that has been a vacant block for as long as I can remember. There hasn’t been a property there for years,” One of them replied, smiling even though they were confused. Their answer only made Sebastien just as bewildered. 

“What do you mean? What is the date today?” 

“Um,” the stranger pulled a flat object out of their pocket and then put it back just as quickly. “27th of October, 2036.” 

“20- No, that’s not-” 

Something buzzed in his pocket which cut him off. He reached in, pulling out a contraption that looked familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was called. He gave the stranger his thanks as they walked off, and the thing still buzzed in his hand, so he flipped it open and brought it to his ear. It seemed like the right thing to do with the object. 

“Booker?” A man’s voice came through, shocking Sebastien. How was this possible? 

“Who are you? Who is Booker?” He spoke in French. “Where is my family?” 

He waited impatiently before the other man replied in shaky but understandable French. “Sebastien, my apologies. I understand you might be feeling lost, but I have people on the way to help you.” 

“Who? I don’t want help! I want my wife and children!” He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. 

“I understand, but right now you need to get to the address I’m going to send you. Can you manage that?” 

Sebastien pulled the phone away from his ear as the object buzzed once more. The address that appeared on the screen wasn’t too far from where he was. 

“Sebastien?” 

Bringing the phone to his ear once more, he nodded. “I-I will be there.” 

~

Sebastien walked up to the door of the address the man had sent him, finding the key under the course mat outside. Walking into the house, he was greeted with four strangers. Halting at the entrance, fingers still gripping the doorknob tightly, he chuckled awkwardly. 

“I think- I might be in the wrong place,” he stammered, the French slurring together as he rushed the words. “So sorry.” 

“Nonsense,” the older woman spoke in perfect French. “Come in. We are here to help you.” 

Sebastien hesitantly closed the door behind him as he stared at the group. The two men sat together on the couch, a little too close for what was normal with their knees touching. The younger woman had dark skin and tight braids falling over her shoulders, and the other woman had short hair, like his own. Sebastien blinked and shoved his shaky hands into his pockets. These people seemed familiar to him, but he didn’t know how. 

“You can’t help me unless you know what happened to my family,” he whispered and cast his eyes to the floor, missing the knowing looks shared between the strangers. 

“Book- Sebastien, your family is standing right in front of you.”

He looked up and scoffed. “Non, unless I gained two daughters and my wife cheated on me with darker men, you are not my family.” 

He saw the man with curly hair clench his fists and the young woman clench her jaw. He had hit a nerve, but he was unaware of why. 

“Okay, let’s start with our names, no? I’m Andromache,” the fair woman spoke again, gaining his attention once more. “Everyone calls me Andy.” 

“Nile,” the dark woman said.

“Nicolo,” he said with a strong Italian accent.

“Yusuf,” was said with a curt nod. 

None of the names brought Sebastien any closer to figuring out what the hell was happening. At his blank face, Andromache spoke once more. 

“Can I ask what year you think it is?” 

“1807,” he replied, and he gauged their reactions. 

“Alright,” Andromache nodded, chewing at her bottom lip. “Well, we’re here to help you remember. But I think we should start with dinner?” 

’Remember what?’ Sebastien thought, but nodded, which set everything into motion. 

~

He had learned that they called him Booker. He was unsure as to why, and they refused to tell him, so he paid it no mind. They shared stories of their time together, leaving out his betrayal all those years ago, but Sebastien couldn’t remember any of it, and nothing was flashing in his mind as a reminder. 

Months passed and Winter settled over France, sending chills through Sebastien’s bones even when he was seated in front of the woodfire with a woolen jumper wrapped around him. His fingers shook as he flipped the pages of the novel he was reading and he grunted in frustration, placing the book down by his side and sticking his hands out in front of him, closer to the fire to warm them. 

Sebastien frowned as he absently stared at his hands in front of the flames. He remembered that he loved the cold, playing in the snow and building snowmen with his siblings, all of them returning home with noses and ears flushed red, so he couldn’t understand why he felt so cold now. 

Yusuf -Joe- sat down next to him and silently offered to share the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. Only hesitating for a moment, Sebastien scooted closer to Joe and leant into the warmth that radiated off him, feeling the blanket wrap around his shoulders and Joe’s hand squeeze his arm. 

It felt familiar, friendly, loving. 

“Did we ever tell you about Russia?” Joe asked quietly, keeping his eyes on the flames. At the shake of Booker’s head, he continued. “It’s where you first died in 1812, fighting for Napoleon.” 

Booker closed his eyes and tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. He felt frustrated, surely memories would have started to seep through back into his mind, but nothing ever did. Instead, he rested his head on Joe’s shoulder and snuggled closer to him. 

“You.. You were hung for desertion, and you hung for three days before the Grande Armee left camp. We didn’t find you until you were nearly back to France,” Joe spoke softly, and Sebastien could listen to his voice forever. “A Russian winter can be so utterly cruel, and your immortality made you suffer over and over while your comrades succumbed to death. It is why you feel the phantom cold as you are, and a few years ago we discovered that they stop when you are cuddling with one of us as we are now.” 

Sebastien thought over the new information. Fighting for Napoleon in Russia? Surely not.

He didn’t mind the cuddles though. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember any of you,” Sebastien spoke, voice breaking through it’s lack of use. He found himself not speaking much, preferring to listen to the stories his friends told him and asking questions when he got lost. 

“Nonsense, Bastien.” Joe ran his hand through Sebastien’s hair softly. “We’re here to help you remember, no matter how long it takes.” 

~

The pair had moved to the couch by the time the others had returned home from their shopping, Nile being adamant about having a big dinner for Christmas in a few days. Sebastien was curled into Joe’s side with the blanket still wrapped around them both, and he felt himself flush at the looks they got from the others. 

Nicolo -Nicky, now, remember?- smiled and walked over, kissing both Joe and Sebastien on the cheek in greeting, before crouching down in front of them. “How are you doing, Bas?” 

“Better. Joe is rather warm,” Sebastien replied, curling further into said man’s warmth. 

“He is, isn’t he,” Nicky chuckled softly, grabbing Sebastien’s hands and rubbing his thumbs over the cool palms. “Nile is cooking dinner tonight. Don’t tell her, but I don’t have much faith in her.” 

Sebastien laughed loudly before burying his face in Joe’s neck as Nile rounded the corner with a faux annoyed look on her face. “Hey! I’m a good cook!” 

Nicky moved to sit on Sebastien’s other side, and rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m sure you are, Nile. That soup you made a few weeks ago was seriously under seasoned.” 

“How dare you! Never in my life would I have imagined a white man telling me I’ve under seasoned my food!” Nile scoffed, but it had become their thing to tease the other about their dinners, so Sebastien didn’t intervene. He had each and every dynamic sorted out by now, and he knew this was playful. 

He felt warmth blossom from his chest as he watched them interact, playfully jabbing at the use of spices and ingredients in Nile’s failed soup attempt, and a grin spread across his lips. Sebastien truly felt at home with these people, they made him feel safe and happy and were always there for him.

He didn’t let himself think that maybe it was because of his memories no longer being with him. He didn’t want to tarnish the few months they’ve had together by believing they didn’t want to be around him. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by a dishtowel hitting him flush in the face. “Hey!” 

“Sorry Book! I was aiming for Nicky!” Nile laughed as the towel fell short when he threw it back to her. Andy had joined them in the room, opting to sit on the armrest of the single recliner with a glass of water in her hands. Sebastien didn’t know what it was about the woman that drew these deep feelings out of him, but he didn’t shy away from them. He didn’t shy away from anything he was feeling towards this little group he found himself in. 

“You good?” Andy asked across the room, making eye contact with the Frenchman. Sebastien thought for a moment, going back to how he fit into this little family, and he nodded, smiling as Nile entered the room with a tray of biscuits. 

“I may not remember who any of you are, but I do know that I love you all, so very much.” 

~ 

Weeks passed and Sebastien -non, Booker- still remembered the looks on his family’s faces as he told them he loves them. The amount of tears spilled that night would have filled the Seine, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. They had ended up in a dogpile on the couch, holding each other close and whispering words of affirmation to each other, promises were made and love was shared. 

Waking up the next morning with a stiff neck but surrounded by the four most important people in his life was worth it. 

Booker woke with a jolt, breathing heavy as he orientated himself. Still surrounded by four bodies, all still and silent, he closed his eyes again and took a few deep breaths. His dream was strange to say the least, with all five of them shooting their way out of an extremely white building, with flashes of being strapped to a plinth in a lab fighting to stay in Booker’s recollection. What on earth had happened?

“Book? Are you okay?” Nicky whispered as he shifted by his side. “Hey, you’re safe.” 

“I know, I know, I just.. I had a weird dream,” Booker whispered back, shimmying a hand out from the blanket that was still wrapped around himself and Joe, to rub at his face. 

“Tell me?” 

Booker paused. “We were fighting in a building. It was really white and there were a lot of corridors, and so many bodies. I’m getting flashes of us strapped down to tables also,” he stopped as he gauged Nicky’s face, which had turned sour. “W-What did I do?” 

He heard a soft curse from his other side which drew his attention to Andy. “Of course the one thing you remember is the worst possible,” she mumbled and sat up. 

“What did I do?” Booker repeated. If he had caused them pain, then that changed everything. 

“Something that you have already paid for,” Nicky grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It was a painful yet brief moment in our lives, but you need not worry about it anymore.” 

Booker frowned but nodded. He didn’t want to argue so he kept his mouth shut, but that didn’t stop him from searching his brain for answers. 

~

The team had taken up a job from Copley, who Booker discovered was the man who had called him that day in Marseille, and were infiltrating a small terrorist hideout. It was meant to be easy; a stakeout had meant that no resistance should have been present when they attacked, but alas, nothing is ever that easy.

Upon extraction, they had been ambushed by a few terrorists who had returned, and all hell broke loose. Bullets flew through the air and swords hacked away at bodies, and they almost made it out without a casualty. 

Almost.

Booker was shot in the chest and went down. He felt the warmth spread under his clothes and he dropped to his knees, feeling dizzy and the world went black. 

Joe cursed and pulled Booker’s body into an alcove, hiding them from the gunfire. Joe had his gun in his hands, half watching Booker and half looking for any threats coming their way. Andy had reached their location and stood guard as Nile and Nicky joined them, guns still raised in case they had to use them. 

Joe grabbed Booker’s hand and squeezed it, praying silently for his friend’s return to life. He waited anxiously and glanced at Nicky, who had the same look of despair on his face. Joe counted the minutes, praying harder as it went over five. 

“C’mon, Booker,” Andy whispered, nudging the man’s arm with her boot gently. “You’re still in this game with me, remember?” 

A moment passes, and with a gasp the Frenchman sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, frantically searching for his family. Not needing to look far, he immediately calmed at the sight of them altogether. 

“Hey,” he grinned, looking at them all. “Hey Boss.” 

Andy let out a strangled sound and knelt down beside him, encasing him in the tightest hug he thinks he’s ever received from her. 

“You asshole. It’s not your fault but you’re an asshole,” she mumbled as they pulled away. “Is everything back? Do you remember everything?” 

Booker nodded as he quickly ran through his brain, picking out key moments in his life that shaped him for the better and for the worse. “I’m all here, Boss.” 

Booker had the breath knocked out of him as Joe hugged him tight, and he laughed softly, returning it in earnest. 

“If all you had to do was die to get your memories back I would have shot you myself!” Joe huffed as he pulled away, smiling as he picked up his gun that was dropped by his feet. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Nile interrupted. “But we’re in the middle of a terrorist camp. Can we have a happy reunion when we are, I don’t know, safe?”

Booker laughed and stood with the help of Joe and Nicky and he raised his rifle, fighting with the team seamlessly as they escaped the compound. 

Back at the safehouse, they showered each other in tight hugs and shared memories and alcohol, toasting to their love for one another as they drank the night away.

~

Available on AO3 also: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527225 

[is-it-mungojerry-or-rumpelteazer]

Random Mafia AU headcanons masterpost

So, I’ve been sitting on these for a while, because I felt like I could get the one-shot out relatively fast, and I didn’t want to spoil any of it... So now that it is out, I can finally get them out of my chest!! :D

- Tugger is a master manipulator. He can read the energy of the room and act in consequence, and he will adapt his behaviour or his discourse in consequence to get what he wants. For that reason, he’s the Hidden Paw’s spokesperson. He does know how to fire a pistol if need be, but he much prefers to get out of sticky situations by wits alone, and most of the time he can. (Yes, I know he is literally a Bard archetype from D&D, I love that archetype, sue me).

- Munkustrap is Macavity and Tugger’s brother; but he is a policeman. I have gone back and forth a lot on whether he’s corrupted or not, but I think I’m going to take a page out of @storyweaverofgondor‘s book and say he isn’t, because it allows for some much more angst. He’s one of the only cops in town who isn’t in Macavity’s pocket, and it drives him crazy. His work partners are Alonzo and, lately, a young cop in training, Plato. What he doesn’t know is that Plato has an enormous crush on Tugger, and that his brother has no qualms on using it to extract information from the poor tom. That’s the reason the Hidden Paw’s gang always seems to be two steps ahead from him... Munkustrap’s relationship with his brothers is complicated: he loves them because of all the times they’ve spent together as children, but he wouldn’t hesitate to send them to prison if he could. ...Or would he? On the other hand, their shared history is probably the reason why he’s still alive.

- Tumblebrutus and Pouncival are bouncers at the Blimp’s, and they are Victoria’s friends. Pouncival actually will throw drunk patrons out if they start making a fuss about having mysteriously lost money... The day after that happens, Victoria always magically has the time and money to invite him to an ice-cream at his favourite place.

- Jennyanydots is a respectable middle-class woman who makes cookies for Sunday church, a model wife and mother, an organizer of Girl Scout activities. What very few people know is that her house is a front for smuggling alcohol. Her husband, who works on trains, will do the actual smuggling, but everyone who is aware of the scheme knows that she’s the brains behind the operation, and she’s the one who does all the in-town business. Tugger may have found in her someone he can’t charm nor threaten: you can only negotiate with her.

- Misto is a croupier in one of Macavity’s casinos. He’s so good with the cards that it is almost never that a costumer notices something fishy is going on. He could probably be a white-collar thief like the Chaos Twins, but he says he likes his job better.

- Bombalurina is a singer at the Blimp’s. She does the ‘sultry and sexy chick’ shtick very well, and she does honestly like flirting, but try to get too close and she will turn you down (I headcanon her as ace, even though she doesn’t know the term, this being the 20s and everything). It does help her case that she’s very good friends with the Napoleon of Crime’s little brother...

[snow--blanket]

good morning kisses

pairing: isaac/napoleon fandom: ikemen vampire word count: 2405 ***

“God’s breath—”

“I don’t—” Napoleon ‘the terror of France’ Bonaparte started, but cut his sentence short. “How?”

“I don’t…. know. Sodium bicarbonate was supposed to—um, make the…” Isaac struggled to word it in a way Napoleon could understand. When faced with panic and distress, his brain immediately resorted to scientific lingo like a liar did with high pitched intonations. “The black thing float.”

“I was out for an hour—”

“I know, I’m sorry—”

Napoleon walked to the fridge and tapped the sign kissed to it, as if asking for an explanation. It read: NO SCIENCE EXPERIMENTS IN THE KITCHEN.  He tapped the sign, once, twice, three times, all with increasing tempo, until the paper slid off the magnet and fell to the floor, much like Isaac’s heart did. He hated disappointing Napoleon. “What happened to our friends with benefits contract?”

Benefit was a loose term used in between them—namely, Isaac would help him with his calculus homework (trig too, if Napoleon was particularly loathsome that day) and Napoleon would help Isaac to not get bullied by Arthur and Dazai. It worked, but he really should talk to Napoleon about toning down his manly hero voice when he came to his rescue. He felt too much like a damsel in distress then. Isaac did not have a lot of pride, but he did have some of it, and he would like to keep that portion for future use, like when he corrects the barista’s spelling of his name. But he had made more trouble than benefit to Napoleon, and his face flushed as he berated himself. “I’m sorry,” Isaac said in a panic. He would play his trump card, what he called the Coward’s Calling: just beg for forgiveness until Napoleon got irritated and shoved it under the rug. It had a limited use though. If he were to use it now, he couldn’t use it for the next two or so weeks as it had a cooldown period and he needed time to gather his pride again so he could throw it away and grovel for mercy. 

“You already said that.” Drat. Napoleon often let it pass, but he supposed today’s… grievances were too big to let it slide. They both looked at the foaming pot of yesterday’s burnt curry. In Napoleon’s words, Isaac was to clean up his own mess, and he had to clean out the pot with the charred bottom without scratching it silly. You’re a genius, Napoleon told him. Figure it out.

Contrary to his expectations, Napoleon broke out in a laugh. Isaac hated it when people laughed at him—Leo’s was a condescending, older brother laugh, and he hated that. He was not a child. Arthur and Dazai’s were teasing, and he hated that too. They weren’t close friends. Strangely, his flaming cheeks were not caused by anger at Napoleon’s laughter, but rather embarrassment, for he knew that Napoleon always laughed at him like he was an idiot. Isaac truly felt like he should retreat into the cupboards as Harry did. “Are you done laughing yet?” 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just…” Napoleon wiped a tear from his eye. “Y’know, this is why people with theoretical physics degrees still don’t have jobs. You’ve used up so much of your brain thinking about—black holes, or something—”

“The fabric of time and space,” Isaac mumbled.

“—That, yes! Proved my point! You’ve used up so much of your faculties thinking about whatever that is that you don’t know that Arthur probably mixed in citric acid into your baking powder solution to…” Napoleon gestured to the foaming pot, and it looked like a witch’s cauldron. “...cause this. This is a textbook prank, ma cher.”

He might not hate Napoleon, but he sure hated the way that epithet rolled off his tongue. It made his chest feel scratchy, for some reason. “You’ll see,” he said instead. “When this physicist figures out how to make planets habitable, I’ll give you the opportunity to eat gourmet space dust when I leave this place.” Like he said, he didn’t have a lot of pride, but he did have some of it, and he wouldn’t let Napoleon drag the name of science through the mud. Physicists weren’t largely responsible for making a planet habitable, but he hoped Napoleon wouldn’t catch on. Isaac wasn’t very good at this comeback thing. Arthur and Dazai forced him to use his wits for driving them away instead of focusing on lectures. And he couldn’t even do it well!

“Ha! I’d love to taste it.” Ugh, he hated the way Napoleon smiled when he said that, too. The itch on his chest doubled. Now he had to figure out a way to phrase the symptoms to Arthur and let himself play patient for a while. The last time he went to Arthur for a consultation, he couldn’t forget the face he made when he said “it feels like my whole skin is being flipped inside out”. Even a savant doctor can’t figure out what’s wrong with you if you don’t know how to express it.

“Step aside, genius.” Napoleon bumped Isaac out of the way with his hip, looking much like a mother who had her work cut out for her. 

“Don’t come crying when calc comes up in class,” Isaac said bitterly, and then tested the word on his tongue. “...Jock.”

Napoleon chuckled at that, and then shooed Isaac away. He felt embarrassed that he wasn’t able to clean up such a simple mess, but being called a genius—even if it was said mockingly—made his chest inflate in pride. At the very least, he would be of use when it came to academia.

***

It was raining—storming, even. Isaac’s bleary gaze wandered to the glaring neon numbers on the alarm clock. 5:34 AM. Maybe Vincent would be up at this time. He got up from his bed, rubbed his eyes awake, and walked to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. He vaguely recalled Vincent saying he wanted to paint the sunrise, and knowing the kind of person he was, he was probably staying up until sunrise. Unlike his reputation as a “bad boy”, Theo was the earliest to sleep in, and earliest to wake. He could use more hours, but he liked to spend the early mornings to make pancakes for Vincent, especially if he was feeling anxious the night prior. 

As Isaac passed Napoleon’s door, he stopped, clasping his hands together in a prayer. May whoever who wakes him up be blessed with questions with graphs in their exam. Then he remembered Arthur, and he changed his prayer. May whoever wakes him up gets his face punched. It doesn’t even have to be by Napoleon. Anyone will do. After that, he wished some more, hoping that he was his British counterpart, and that all his coffee was third-grade and cold. When he finished praying, he headed to the communal kitchen, where he found Arthur fiddling with an empty tin of coffee. They were fresh out, it seemed. Isaac held the physical and psychological urge to fist pump the air. “Finished?” he asked, even though he knew they were, indeed, no more. God was by his side.

Arthur rattled the coffee tin, offended. The smart, clever, golden-tongued part-time mystery author and full-time medicine major was reduced to a witless man when he was caffeine deprived. It felt like the sun had died to let the moon breathe a little, except the sun was Arthur’s dreadful tongue, and Isaac wished it was eternal night. There was something that bothered him, though. “Working on a new manuscript?”

“Not today, though, shame.”

Isaac hummed, moving past Arthur to reach for the powdered chocolate malt stashed in the cabinet. “I actually read some of your novels, you know. They’re not bad.”

Arthur cocked a brow at this, leaning on one side of his body as if he was a seesaw. “Oh?”

Isaac did not have a lot of pride, but he wouldn’t lie. “Yeah. I can see why you’d want to be a doctor.” Hm. Vincent wants it with milk, if I remember correctly...

“Pray tell,” There was a Cheshire grin playing on his lips, and try as he might, he couldn’t truly wish for Napoleon to kiss those lips of him to shut him up. The thought made him feel itchy again. 

“The line of reasoning you use to explain things for your mystery novels,” he started, putting in three spoonfuls of the chocolatey goodness into the mug. Vincent’s had some dabs of yellow and blue paint on them, so it was hard to mix them up. “They’re a bit similar in how you would diagnose a patient. You take a glance at them, try to infer their history and habits, and then you would investigate further for a diagnosis. I think it’s quite…” Isaac hesitated—not because Arthur was undeserving, but it was the first time he recalled ever talking to him in this manner. “...Brilliant. You are, that is,” Isaac finished, pouring some hot water into Vincent’s mug as he stirred it. Saucer, saucer...

Was it the trick of the light? As Isaac reached for the saucers behind Arthur, he swore it  looked as if he was blushing, the light dusting of embers on his cheeks as if the light above them both were a fire. Isaac took a sip of his own mug of chocolate, peering at Arthur all the while. He breathed in, steeled himself. “As I am a scientist, allow me to hypothesize, instead of deduct.”

His flustered British counterpart seemed all too accepting of the offer. Strange. It wasn’t normal for Isaac to be the one in this position. Isaac stifled a sigh. How he wished the night would last indeed… “You usually stay up late writing for your books, but I haven’t heard you write anything for the past week when I walked by your room.”

When Arthur was silent, Isaac continued. “You only use about two spoonfuls of coffee beans when you make coffee, but even factoring the fact that Theodorus and Mozart drink coffee, the amount seems to be decreasing exponentially, instead of it’s usual rate.”

Isaac eyed the ticking clock on the wall. 5:40 AM. It was nearly sunrise, and he was sure Vincent was painting without a care in the world. “Thirdly, your clothes smell like paint sometimes.” This final proof put the fire in Arthur’s face again. Isaac offered his hand that held Vincent’s mug and saucer. “It’s almost sunrise. Go bring this to him.” 

Arthur took the mug and saucer with a dumbfounded look, and Isaac savored that look for a while, knowing it was as rare as a blue moon. Feeling awkward, Isaac took his mug of hot chocolate, and walked away. He stopped at the entrance of the kitchen and glanced at the witless, silent mystery writer. Take that. Maybe he was good at this comeback thing after all. “Well… just pretend you didn’t see me, I guess.” He wasn’t good at lying, so feigning ignorance was the best he could do. 

When he turned, Arthur’s voice stopped him. “I have a deduction.”

Isaac turned his heel, looking at Arthur, and took a sip of his hot chocolate. It had gotten slightly cold. “Yeah?”

“You’re in love with Napoleon.”

“Wha—” He choked, searching for the right words. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He didn’t even allow him the slightest shred of decency or subtlety! After he was so gracious in merely insinuating his crush towards Vincent! “You—”

Arthur grinned his cocksure smile, and Isaac truly wished Theodorus was here to punch him in the face. This blathering, insensitive, witless, shameless, atrocious man! “Your face tells it all. You should never become a detective.”

“I don’t—” Isaac said, and then sighed when Arthur kept a level stare, his blue eyes like discerning glass looking through him. Isaac put down the mug of hot chocolate on the counter and then sank his face into his hands in embarrassment, bracing himself for the teasing laugh from Arthur. He hated that. “Was it that obvious?”

As if to apologise for his sudden declaration (which may or may not be truth), Arthur hummed, taking his time. “Not really. It shows on your face, though.” He put down Vincent’s mug, leaning his elbow on the counter.

He lowered his hands—eyes still averted from Arthur’s gaze, and chuckled bitterly. “What? Do I look like I’m researching him or something?” That was usually the case with whatever held his interest, whether it be astrology, chemical compounds, physics problems that seemed impossible at  first, and then revealed themselves to him, like a magician that made a one second mistake in the sleight of his hand, and Isaac began to understand. He wasn’t that self-aware of his own expressions, only the things he’s said. And he’s positively sure he’s never spoken of Napoleon in an intimate manner, much less romantic.

“No, not at all. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

Isaac scrunched his brows. “The opposite of love is hatred.” 

Arthur laughed, and Isaac just tried to be patient with that. “Not at all, chap. I’m saying—when you’re with him, you don’t try to… dissect him, and whatnot. Your love for him makes you human. There’s no glaze in your eyes when you understand something, no foaming at the mouth when you don’t. You’re just…” Arthur stretched his arms wide. “Here. With us, on the ground.” The mystical way Arthur said it made it sound like the kitchen was the entirety of the world. It might as well could’ve been. Arthur was quiet, and his gaze returned to Vincent’s paint blotched mug. “He makes you feel alive, doesn’t he? Like you’re here.”

Isaac stared into the small waves the water made when he nudged his own mug. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

“Then that’s that,” Arthur said, grabbing Vincent’s mug as he patted Isaac on the shoulder. For once in his life, Isaac didn’t shudder when Arthur winked at him. “Good luck,” he said, and left the kitchen. Probably to Vincent’s room. 

Isaac sighed. Right then. If Arthur could do it, then he could at least try. He brought the cup of hot chocolate with him and knocked at Napoleon’s door, knowing full well that he would be asleep, and that he would try to kiss him again.

His chest itched, but he didn’t bother to question it this time.

[chocolate-parfait]

(1) Hello, I saw you were accepting match ups and I jumped in your ask box :) So I am a Gemini INTJ, creative, ambitious, honest and thoughtful. I can come off as cold as I am mostly neutral in my expression, but I am very loyal and caring towards my friends and generally compassionate. My passions are writing, reading, ballet and learning new things (criminology, literature, history, sociology, psychology, sciences, philosophy), I am kind of a master of all trades. I also stand up for feminism

Here ya go, luv!

(+you didnt specify pronouns so i hope you're okay with she/her! If not please let me know and I will change them~)

I match you up with... Napoleon!

When you first meet (a proper meeting, not him trying to get you out of a mansion full of vampires), he is not fazed in the slightest by your neutral expression. If being in a such important position has taught him anything, that'd be not judging a book by its cover; you never know what people are hiding just beneath the surface. The same way, you want to witness and judge with your own two eyes the man's qualities and faults before running after him because "omg napoleon bonaparte-senpai!! >\\\<", and this is something that doesn't go unnoticed

Despite the fact that you don't throw yourself in his arms at the sight of his interest in you, one could say that your relationship started off on the right foot. You are straightforward and honest, and on multiple occasions you directly tell him that you want to see who he is for yourself instead of blindly believing rumors and legends

By now Cupid has already hit him with his arrow, and it's clear as day that his feelings will only grow from then onwards. All he can do is show you his true colors and hope that you'll like the view

Though he won't tell you so at the beginning of your friendship, he feels immense pleasure whenever you turn down Arthur's (or any man's) advances. And when, as your feelings develop into something stronger, he sees you walking to him with indescribable and genuine love in your eyes, he feels his heart bursting in his chest. Seeing how the most important person to him gifts him with unwavering loyalty, something that he had learned not to take for granted, it really makes him realize how much of an amazing person you are

Though on the overall you're pretty independent and can hold your own on most occasions, he'd like it if you relied on him more. From morning to dusk you're like a train running at full speed on neverending rails, so sometimes he has to run after you and snatch you away to force you take a break. Overtime he has learned to read every sign your body has to offer, no matter how subtle. He knows when you can still keep going and when you're a inch away from snapping, in which case he'll gently hold your hands and press a solemn yet soft kiss to your cheek, whispering words of encouragement in your ears

He particularly loves seeing the fire in your eyes whenever you talk to him about all the causes you support so firmly. He carefully listens everything you have to say, posing insightful questions as the will to share your ideals burns deep in his resolve. It's one of the reasons he realized he became so utterly whipped. You both share strong convictions that are able to fire you up fiercely in mere seconds, and to share such passion and conception with someone else makes him feel like he came back for an actual reason

Second choice: Leonardo

The moment he lays his eyes upon you, he already knows that there's much more about you than you let on, great minds (or storms in Leo's case) think alike and are bound to recognize each other. He's immediately drawn to you and being as curious as he can be, he immediately takes a liking to you and starts trailing behind you like a lost puppy, though unfortunately for you he plans on endlessly teasing you until he's satisfied with the results of his newfound research

It doesn't take much time for his interest to be rewarded with the first fruits of knowledge as you show him both your passion and skills. The vast variety of topics you cover with your knowledge make you an extremely great partner for all kinds of conversations, especially for someone as cultured as him. Your creativity matches perfectly with his spontaneous personality and oftentimes you find yourselves lost in deep and long conversations, considering and discussing all kinds of ideas and projects

You're also caring and considerate, and it's one of the aspect of your personality he finds liking a lot pretty quickly. You don't overstep boundaries nor ask him questions he'd rather not answer to, and you're genuinely concerned for whatever may bring him harm despite his inhuman resistance. While there isn't anything strong enough to physically bring him down forever, it feels nice having someone fussing over your bruises, tending to your wounds and checking your temperature; it's a completely new feeling for someone without a real family like him, and knowing he can completely trust you with anything is what ultimately wins his heart over

As the days pass by he gets to know you better, and just when he thinks you couldn't surprise him more than what you had done already, he discovers a new side of you, passionate and vigorous. You were out on a date walk in the city, going around and giving a hand to whoever needed it, when suddenly a couple started arguing in the street. It was a man harshly gripping a woman, probably his lover, by her wrist while yelling all types of misogynist insults as she tried to break free. The argument was rather one sided, and Leonardo could clearly see how hard you were staring at the scene in front of you, fists tight with rage and repugnance. As you went to tell him off, the pureblood followed you ready to back you up any moment. In the end everything was solved with just a punch in the face of the man and comforting words to the woman. As the two of you started walking away, Leo asked you about how you were feeling about the whole situation, interested and worried at the same time; that's when you finally explained about how you were an activist and fought against injustices, describing how situation was back in your time and how things developed through the years. Seeing your eyes light up with fire and finally understanding how deeply you cared about equality, he feels his heart flutter in adoration against his chest. You're truly one of a kind, and he can't help but want to support with everything he has.

Your relationship developed pretty fast as he found falling for you almost immediately, and being the flirty little tease he is, nothing changes much even after you start being a thing. He becomes more openly affectionate, that's true, but it comes so naturally to him that it's as if you've always been a couple

Most of your dates involve either philosophical conversations or happen in the library. You take naps together, or he gives you books he read that he knows you'll like. It kinda became your favorite meeting spot, and everyone in the mansion prefers keeping a certain distance from the room whenever you're in it, not wanting to be the third wheel or walk in on something embarassing

[daughterofanarcissistwoman]

So how do you know if your mom was a narcissist?

Here are the some of the signs.

She’s the center of the universe and everything in your family revolves around what she wants. My mom decided everything— what clothes we would wear, who we could be friends with, what activities we would participate in, what we should enjoy doing, eating, reading, watching on TV, and on and on. She controlled the purse strings despite not earning any money or working outside the home, and she was a real tight wad.

You felt invisible. In my family, both of my narcissistic parents saw their children as clones of themselves or their spouse. Our dreams, wants and needs were not recognized or validated. In order to be loved, we had to do and like everything that our same gender parent did or liked or recommended, because their narrative was that we were exactly like them. To this day, the stories that our parents tell about our childhood doesn’t sound at all familiar. For example, for years my mother told a story about how I wanted a horse when I was a girl. I never wanted a horse. I was afraid of horses and I was allergic. In fact, it was my mother who proposed that I should get a little pony several times. I wasn’t interested. I wanted an aquarium with seahorses like a friend of mine had. I even researched the care of seahorses and picked out their names—Napoleon and Josephine. After months of talking about an aquarium, my dad got me a small aquarium with goldfish— which was fine! Because I never wanted horses. And of all the stories she could have told about my childhood, I never understood why my mom was so fixated on my wanting horses, but she told this story at least once a year — always with me in the room. I denied it every time— and every time she insisted it was true. When she was in her 80s, and dying, she even told her hospice nurses that I always wanted a horse. I felt erased, for lack of a better word, as if I never existed, and this imaginary child who always wanted a horse existed in my place.

She doesn’t listen to you. I am quiet. I didn’t notice until I was an adult that my parents dominated conversations. I began to realize that was probably why I am so quiet. They talked for hours, without letting anyone get a word in, and I am not exaggerating. I timed it once -- over three hours with my husband and me just nodding our heads. It would have gone on longer if I hadn’t cut them off. This was at a time when I had some major things going on in my life, and they were the kinds of things family talked about. It was this that led me on a quest to find out why my parents weren’t interested in anything that happened to me—good or bad. We couldn’t talk about things that mattered, because if it didn’t involve them, it didn’t matter. I was used to this as a child, but when I became a parent, their lack of interest in my life hurt. I realized just how dysfunctional and devastatingly empty my relationship with my parents actually was, compared to my relationship with my children and my husband’s relationship with his parents.

She didn’t respect boundaries. My mom went through my stuff, used my things, kept them, ruined them, and gave my things away to other people without asking me. She also volunteered me for things I didn’t want to do. For example, she gave my beloved collection of Dr. Seuss books to my cousin when I was a little girl. When I was twelve, she volunteered me to take care of a neighbor boy for the summer without asking me. Worse, she arranged it so that this boy’s mother would pay her, and I never saw a cent of the money I made babysitting. This was a forty hour a week commitment! When I got married, my husband and I left our wedding gifts at my parent’s house while we were on our honeymoon. When we got back, I learned that she had unwrapped everything, looked, then rewrapped our gifts so I wouldn’t know. But she just couldn’t contain herself and had to brag about her cleverness in rewrapping the gifts afterwards. It was a big joke to her. To this day, I don’t know if she kept some of our gifts for herself or not— but I assume she did. My parents moved out of state after we had been married several years. When they moved away, they expected to be able to visit and stay at our house indefinitely— which ended up being months sometimes. Often my mother took objects from our home when she left. I would only realize later that she had taken these items when I went to visit her in her home, and saw my bowl, windchimes, books, family pictures, etc. Occasionally, she took my things and gave them to my brother.

Gaslighting. Though she admitted to opening my wedding gifts at the time, years later she totally denied it and said I was making it up. I must have imagined it, she said. She would never do such a thing. She also never admitted to taking things from me. She insisted I told her she could borrow these things. I probably would have let her borrow them if she had asked, but she didn’t. Much of my childhood has been misremembered or imagined according to both of my parents. I have brought up some of the events on this list over the years, but they only denied everything. In most cases. I’ve let it go, because it’s a waste of time. They won’t admit anything. They get offended and accuse me of imagining it.

She couldn’t control her temper. My mother took offense easily and you never knew what might set her off. Her temper tantrums were monumental and legendary within our family. When she flew into a rage, it was scary. She would scream, swear, slam doors, mock you, and call you names. There are too many to recount here, but one of my earliest memories is of her throwing food at my dad and him ducking to avoid being hit. She also had total meltdowns in public with onlookers.

She criticized you constantly. My mom often told me that I was ugly, sassy and whiney, and that I was stupid. If I cried during the verbal abuse, she would mimic my crying and tell me how ugly I was when I cried, or she threatened to really give me something to cry about. When I was little, I didn’t get regular baths—because it is a parent’s job to bathe their children or to teach them that bathing is required—which didn’t happen in my case. She often told me that I stunk. She said she wished she never had me. She wished I was a boy. She compared me to my brother, my cousins and her friend’s children, and I always came up short in some way. Even after I became an adult, the criticism continued. She would notice that I was getting wrinkles or that I had put on a few pounds, or that the color I was wearing made my skin sallow. When I was an adult, her criticism was always couched in what she thought of as helpful advice, but it was meant to hurt.

You were neglected. In my case, the neglect was subtle. We usually had clean clothes to wear and were fed—not nutritious foods, but we weren’t starving. We weren’t poor, but I remember eating crackers for breakfast because there was nothing else to eat. It wasn’t unusual to run out of food and toothpaste. I often went to school hungry. My dad made a good income, so it wasn’t because they couldn’t afford food. It was because buying food wasn’t as much of a priority as buying alcohol and cigarettes. Where we lived you could only buy alcohol at the liquor store and it closed early on Fridays. My parents made a weekly trip to the liquor store to stock up on the booze on Fridays because that was my dad’s payday—and it was always a rush to get there before 5pm. A grocery store was in that same strip mall. As an adult it is hard for me to understand why we often ran out of cereal midweek, or toothpaste, but never gin or vodka. We had a second car and Mom didn’t work outside the home. The grocery store was within walking distance. Also, our parents left my brother and me home alone as young as eight and three while they went out drinking. Three is the earliest I remember, but they might have left us home alone younger if we were asleep, for all I know.

You felt unsafe or responsible for your own safety. Something I will never forget is watching my mother vacuum the carpet, moving a chair and finding a burn hole in the carpet about the size of a dinner plate underneath the chair, with a cigarette butt in the middle of it. Why the chair didn’t catch on fire and burn the house down was a mystery, but it apparently burnt itself out. My dad was a three pack a day chain smoker and it was clear that he fell asleep while drinking with a cigarette in his hand at some point during the previous week. Beyond that, there were too numerous to count times that my dad drove us while drunk and times he abandoned the family to go drinking. One time in particular, I remember being with a friend at a fair at closing time. We were about ten, and too young to be left alone at a fair at night. Dad had dropped us off and was supposed to pick us up. A security guard tried to kick us out and finally tracked Dad down at a nearby bar after I suggested he might be there. This isn’t a “mom” story, but it could have been, because moms who are narcissists can be equally neglectful, putting their children in danger, which begs the question --- Since my mother knew my dad was an alcoholic, why did she allow him to take two little girls to the fair, knowing that he would disappear into a bar somewhere while we hit the tilt-o-whirl? Remember SHE was the one who decided everything that happened in our family. If it was that obvious to me where he went when I was only ten, shouldn’t it have been obvious to my mom that he would spend hours in a bar, and then drive us home while intoxicated?

You felt unloved. My mom never told me she loved me until I was an adult and she overheard my mother-in-law telling me she loved me. Then— if my parents happened to be around when my in-laws were around, she would say she loved me in front of my in-laws, as we said good-bye. But she never said it when we were alone— and not ever when I was a child. She didn’t hug me, read to me, play with me, or cuddle with me when I was little. Her “loving” was conditional on having an audience.

You received no encouragement of any kind. My behavior was largely ignored—good or bad. I don’t recall ever being noticed for a job well done, good grades, winning a spelling bee, doing well at a piano recital, or anything positive. Mostly, I was left unsupervised. By the time I was a teenager, I started becoming promiscuous, drinking alcohol and taking drugs. I began stealing from stores. I gave up trying to please my parents, because none of the good things I ever did got any recognition. Not that I could have articulated it that way as a child, but looking back, I know that’s how I felt. Unfortunately, none of the bad things I did were noticed either.

You were made to feel like a burden. Everything I ever wanted was too expensive. My clothes and school supplies were too expensive; my shoes were too expensive; going anywhere was too expensive. My glasses were too expensive. Medical and dental care was too expensive. Because I heard this so often, one time I commented to my mother, that if she and Dad didn’t buy alcohol and cigarettes all the time, they could probably afford some of these other necessities our family needed. I was nine, and I was truly trying to be helpful, thinking that maybe they had not thought of this. She slapped my face.

You witnessed cruelty. We had a little dog, a mutt, and when we moved away, we had to leave our dog with my uncle. A few weeks later, after we got settled in our new home, my uncle sent our dog to us by train— which took about a week. But the entire time the dog was away from us was about six weeks beginning to end. Within the first week of the dog coming to us in our new home, she peed on the carpet. To be sure, it is frustrating when an animal pees on your carpet, but this dog was really stressed after spending so much time in a different home with my uncle, and then traveling across the country alone by train to a new home. I watched my mother literally throw our dog about ten feet outside onto a cement patio while screaming, “Your days are numbered, little bitch!” The dog limped around the rest of that night. The next day, our dog was put down. Mom told us the dog had become sick and the vet recommended putting her down. I never believed my mom, because of what I saw. We had several cats disappear over the years too. They always “ran off” while we were in school. The one cat my mother “loved” was left to fend off raccoons and wild animals outside during the winter, while my parents traveled for months at a time after retirement. They basically abandoned it. If I could have caught the cat, I would have taken it in. I tried but it was scared and hiding somewhere.

She lied. To make herself (and the rest of the family) look good, she told her friends lies about us. For example, she told them I was a concert pianist. She told them I had a good career and was management level. She told them my son was gifted and that he got a scholarship to a competitive university— “a full ride!” She used to keep this piece of pottery that she bought on her windowsill, and she told them that I made it. There was always just enough truth to whatever lie she told that it could seem plausible to others— if they didn’t think too hard or look too closely. For example, I did play the piano as a child but wasn’t a concert pianist. My son did go to college but didn’t get a scholarship and he wasn’t a genius. I did take an art class and learned how to use a kiln, but not how to throw pots. I worked part-time. I wasn’t in management. The lies were endless. I didn’t even know about some of these lies until after she died.

More lies. She told a bunch of weird little lies that had no point, such as the horse story, but also being able to get from point A to point B in record time—which was impossible unless she took a helicopter. When presented with facts, she would become enraged. The only reason I used this lie as an example was because it was so easy to prove wrong, and it was so ridiculous and pointless. Showing her the facts in black and white led to a three-hour tirade and meltdown.

Everyone loves her. One of the more frustrating things about having narcissistic parents is that they are the most charming people— in public. Most everyone loved my parents, especially my mother. They had many friends and threw many parties. But the friendships were all mostly superficial. A normal friendship, for them, would begin with them being impressed with someone who had more money, more success, more status, intelligence, humor and creativity. . . than they, and that person could do no wrong. This was Mom’s infatuation phase. Eventually the bubble burst. Then the ugly phase began, which entailed vicious gossip and complaints behind their backs, while Dad continued to enjoy their company and drinking with them. This second phase sometimes lasted decades. A few of their friends “ghosted” them over the years. They just disappeared never to be heard from again. Mom would imagine all these wild, elaborate stories about what might have happened to them. More than once, she was certain different friends must have died in plane crashes. But that wasn’t the case, because I Googled them and it turned out they were still around. Knowing how my parents were, I am sure that some people caught on that she was a pathological liar, and a gossip with with a really bad temper, and that he had a drinking problem, or that they were both the most self-absorbed people anyone could ever meet. The bigger surprise to me is that most of their friends remained true to the end, and never knew how much my mother couldn’t stand them.

https://www.quora.com/How-do-you-know-if-your-mother-is-a-narcissist/answers/174878844?ch=10&share=c2fb4810&srid=C7yPi

[tanakavox]

Sequal to the post I posted yesterday.

What the hell are you doing here?!" Oscar and the pretty brown-haired girl, Velvet covered their ears as Jaune shouted. The young boy looked up to Jaune a bit scared.

"I followed you to school?" He said uncertainty.

Jaune growled at Oscar. "I can see that!"

At that moment, Velvet decided to speak up. "Is this your little brother Jaune? He's cute." She said with a smile as she ruffled Oscar's hair a bit.

Jaune picked up Oscar and tucked him under his arm. "No, he's a pain in the ass and it's time to say goodbye to him. Before Velvet could respond, he walked away with Oscar in tow without a word.

"Bye Velvet! I'll make sure Jaune comes to school more!" Oscar shouted to her.

Velvet smiled sadly as she watches Jaune's form leaves her sight. xoxoxoxo

"How did you even sneak into the school! Jaune said furiously.

I disguise myself as a school bag! Oscar said proudly, puffing his chest out.

Jaune slaps his forehead and groans."And everyone fell for that?!"

Oscar pulls on Jaune's pants leg to get him to pay attention."Jaune we have to start your training!

Jaune looked down at the cloaked child in suspicion. "Training for what.

Oscar smiled widely and pulled out a sheet of paper that Jaune read as, MAKE JAUNE POPULAR!

"What?" He deadpan.

"Right now, you have no friends, not counting Miss Velvet, but if we follow this we make you a ton of friends by the end.

Jaune stares blankly at Oscar as he continued. "The first step is simple, Go find a bully, and beat him up! Perfect right?"

"Wrong," Jaune replied with a shake of his head. "I don't know if you can tell, but I'm not exactly John Wick, you know?

"Who's John Wick?" Oscar asked with a tilled of his head. Jaune sighed.

"You know what, Go find a bully and beat him up. Okay?"

Oscar fist-pumped and began to run off.

"I won't let you down Jaune! I'll find the nasty guy, pick a fight with him, and then you can make a ton of friends! He called out to him.

Jaune smirk. "He'll be looking for awhile."He thought to himself. "Even if he does find someone, the kid will be fine. He can shoot lightning. What could possibly go wrong?. XoXoXo

Velvet sighed as she watched Jaune leave with the little boy tucked between his arm.

Velvet decided to walk to the vending machine. As she walked she remember the time she spent with Jaune back in elementary school up to high school. She had moved from Australia back as a kid because of her parent's jobs. Not a lot of kids would talk to Velvet because of her bad french. No one but Jaune.

"At least he didn't leave school yet." She muttered to herself.

He even helped improve her french. Because of him, she made friends outside of the two of them. But when they got to high school, something changed. People had started to hate Jaune. Started to avoid him because they thought he was looking down on them for being smarter. Jaune Arc is, or at least was her best friend. And it hurts to see such a dear friend push her away after being friends for so long.

But she wasn't gonna let it happen again, she was going to help Jaune the best she could. She snapped out of her thoughts as she bumped into something.

"Ah Velvet." She heard a thuggish voice say to her. " Just the girl I was looking for.

Velvet looked up to see the school's bully and all-around Jackass. Cardin Winchester. XoXoXoXo

Oscar ran around the school grounds, his cloak flapping behind him with a huge grin on his face as he looked look for bullies for Jaune to beat and become popular.

He heard a scream and he sees a huge orange hair boy drag that pretty lady that was Jaune's friend somewhere.

"Ah-ha! A bully!" Oscar grinned and ran after them. XoXoXo

Jaune walked down the hallway. He didn't know why but he had a bad feeling and his mother wouldn't be happy to hear that he had just let an eight-year-old go and pick a fight with some teenagers. So Jaune went looking for Oscar. It took him until near the end of the lunch period when he heard Velvet's voice scream out near the door to the roof.

"What's wrong with you?! He's just a kid leave him alone!"

Jaune rushes up to the door to the roof and looked out the window to see the school's biggest dickhead Cardin. He wonders where Velvet was when he look to where Cardin was looking.

He saw that Oscar beat up and bruised as Velvet being in a similar way, her standing in front of the young boy like a shield. Tears Streamed down Velvet face as she pulls out her wallet.

"Listen just take my money and leave okay! I don't wanna cause any more problems.

Oscar grabbed Velvet hand and managed to smile despite the blood dripping down his freckled face.

"You don't do that. Jaune will be here to kick this guy ass!"

Cardin laughs at the young boy words. "Arc? You think Arc gonna come to your rescue?" The ginger clutches his stomach as he laughs even harder.

"That aggronce ass doesn't give a shit about anything! All he does is look down on people. Nobody cares if Arc is here or not!"

Jaune lowered his head and smiles bitterly. Cardin wasn't wrong in a sense. No one really cared if he was here or not. He wonders why he came here in the first place. To get away from Oscar? Who was he kidding?

If he wanted to get away from him he could have gone anywhere but school. He came hoping that he would be accepted by his peer. But what was the point? No one wants him here.

"Shut up!" Oscar shouted surprising Jaune and Cardin. "Do you know about Jaune?! I know he's a good person deep down! Everyone else is mean to him! You jerks just can't handle that might be smarter than you! And when he gets here, he gonna beat you into the ground!"

Jaune chuckled a bit.

"You don't know me that well either kid." Jaune thought to himself with a slight smile.

"Well…. I guess I better not make the kid liar. Jaune kick opens the door with a grin. "Never fear! Jaune Arc is here!"

"Jaune!" Velvet said as Oscar grinned. Cardin cracks his knuckles as he walks up to Jaune.

"Well, Well Well. Cardin chuckled. "So that little pipsqueak said you came to beat me up Arc." Cardin grinned, trying to hold in his laughter.

Jaune smiled boldly wasn't as confident as Cardin. The bully was taller than him granted not by much but it was enough. To Jaune's credit managed to keep his voice from cracking as he spoke.

"That's right. Unless you leave these people alone." Jaune peak over Cardin's shoulder to look at the bruised up Oscar and glared at Cardin."Seriously, who the hell beat up an eight-year-old?"

"I do. And after I kick your ass I'll take his money along with your and Velvet money as payment for wasting my time with this bullshit."

"Bold of you to assume you're going to-" Jaune was cut off as the wind was knocked out of as Cardin slammed his fist into his stomach. At the moment Jaune was full of regret. He shouldn't have tried to fight this guy, what was he thinking? Cardin was a monster compared to him he didn't have a chance. As Cardin throw a punch to the side of Jaune head, he felt his vision dim a bit. But an idea came into his head.

If he read that book he had taken from Oscar he could get out of his mess. After Cardin wailed on Jaune for awhile he throws him toward Velvet and Oscar, to Jaune's luck.

"Jaune!" Velvet cried out as she saw her friend on his back. She helped him to his stand to his feet. "Just let me give him the money and we can end this.

Jaune winched as he stood on his feet. "Nah. No need. I got a plan Vel."

Oscar grin at Jaune. "I knew you were a hero Jaune!" He turns back to glare at Cardin. "How are we taking this jerk?

Jaune pulls out Oscar book and opens it to the first page.

"Like this: Ozkeiru!" He bellowed out.

Oscar's eyes went blank and he opened his mouth, lighting gets fired out of his mouth.

Shard of the roof went flying as the bolt went fly toward Cardin, narrowing missing the ginger.

Cardin looks at the trio in horror before fainting on the spot.

XoXoXo

Oscar sat in front of the tv in Jaune's room laughing at old Looney tunes cartoons. He was still wearing the cloak that he came with. Jaune seems to notice that Oscar didn't really take it off, even when he sleeps. The blonde shook his head and went back to the book Oscar came with. He needs to learn how Oscar power work. There is no telling if he'll need it again or not.

"Okay… let's go down the list of things that I know about. Jaune mutter to himself quietly enough so the tyke in his room couldn't hear him.

One: Oscar has no idea that he can fire lighting out of his mouth. The truth was after what happened on the roof Oscar said that he could only remember blacking out and when he came to he say the butthead(His words, not Jaune unconscious on the roof. Along with some parts of the roof being gone. Jaune didn't tell, Oscar the truth about what happened, he didn't know why and he was grateful that Velvet came to her own conclusion that lighting that came from the sky and destroys the roof instead of lighting coming out of Oscar's mouth. It saves him explaining from not only her but the teachers that had come up to the roof. But back, on track. Number two is that based off the two times Jaune had the book in his hand Oscar could only use his powers then. It seems that Oscar couldn't do it own. 3. Jaune could only read one word off the book. Which frustrated him to no end! He read every old text he could find but nothing could match what language that was in the book. He was going to go to the book again with a hand covering his eyes.

"Guess who Jauney!" A voice sang out, one Jaune recognizes quickly causing him to groan.

"Hmm. Either it's Napoleon or Saprhon. I'd rather have Napoleon."

Saphron took her hand up a Jaune's face allowing him to see her smiling at him, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. Jaune turned around the face Saphron and then noticed that his elder sister was holding Oscar in her tucked arm, looking quite confused to why this stranger was holding him. But Saphron oddly went on like Oscar wasn't in her arms.

"It's been a while Jaune! Mom said you've been going back to school again! That's great!" Saphron smile again.

Jaune decided to roll with Saphron and wait for her to notice she was holding Oscar.

"Yeah. I deduce that it was time to rejoin society and all that jazz. Anyway, how was your trip to that College?" Saphron walked over to Jaune's bed and sat on it with Oscar trying to squirm out of her arm.

"It was alright. Don't think I'm going to go to that college. I rather stay here in France near you and mom." Saphron looked around the room.

" Mom told me that there was a little boy that dad spend to live with is but I don't see him anywhere. Where is the Jaune?"

Oscar during is squirming decided to speak up finally.

"I'm here! My name is Oscar pine!"

Saphron looks down to smiled sheepishly at the little boy.

"Hello, Oscar. I'm Saphron. When did I pick you up?"

"When you entered the room."He said, not trying to escape anymore. It was futile Saphron's grip was too tight.

"I'm so sorry. How old are you Oscar?"

"8!"

Saph couldn't stop smiling for some reason, Oscar reminds her of Jaune when he was the same age.

"I use to pick up Jaune without noticing when he was around your age!" Jaune let off a little cough to let them know he was still there.

" I'm actually glad you're back Saph." He said opening the green book and showing his sister a page. "I was hoping you can help read this, Dad and I can't do it so far."

Saph seat Oscar in her lap and squinted her eyes to read the book.

"Sorry, bro I can't read this. It's all a bunch of gibberish to me."

"Can you read the word in red at least?"

Saphron looked at him confused.

"What red line?"

Jaune paused. Only he could read the book?

[alicedrawslesmis]

Marius' indecision and inaction during the attack are clearly reflections of his political conformism AND his inability to choose from Thénardier and Valjean are also reflections of that same political indecision

Thénardier represents a promisse from his past, his father and Napoleon, AKA his bonapartism, but he is an evil man with selfish interests, while Valjean is this misterious stranger he knows little about, but that stranger to Marius represents his love and future happiness (with Cosette) and a nobility of character. Valjean is love, love is the infinite, the infinite is god is the revolution is the ideal. Also the infinite, let's not forget, is the fucking main character of this book according to the author man himself.

And it's significant that to choose Valjean Marius would need to fire a gun. That same gun he will later fire at the barricade, killing a guard. Marius has not yet reached his final turning point when he'll be able to join the insurgents. So again he takes the route that doesn't demand he take sides: he throws Éponine's note through the hole, so the bandits would escape. He avoids firing the gun, be avoids a fight.

And it's 2am when I realised Marius wasn't just looking at two men from his dark room through a small crack in the wall, he is looking at the very ideas he was struggling with come to life! So now y'all have to think about it too. (oh my god! he's looking through a small hole like truth looking up to the sky from her well! like Hugo has mentioned before! Marius only has a limited view of the world from his daydreaming, so his room and his bureau, where he is standing on, are kind of metaphors for his intelectual reveries! simple and focused only inwards, noble yeah but ultimately secluded from the world. Now the world came bursting through his door when Éponine came in) (that's a whole essay I could write but unfortunately, again, it's 2am.)