#anyways this is about the scene in In Any Life where they all have dinner lol

[shivunin]

An Afternoon's Meeting

(276 Words | No Warnings)

A series of items in the Warden-Commander’s pockets, hung on a coat rack inside the hall at Vigil’s Keep:

Two vials containing a red liquid. One similar vial that is empty. 

A small notebook containing no words, only a series of columns with check marks and blanks

A tuft of what appears to be brown fur

A piece of white chalk

Five knives of varying sizes, the smallest of which is flat for throwing. 

Two yellow flowers, slightly wilted

Finally, crumpled at the bottom, there is a very rough drawing of what appears to be a stick figure with springs emerging from its head. It is holding a staff with lines shooting from the top. A note beside the drawing in sharp handwriting says, You will know when you see the hair, and an arrow points to the figure’s head.

The page below reads:

Do not scare her. Your Warden says she is his sister and I have watched her fight with my own eyes. She will have you frozen before you can blink—yes, even you. 

She is two or so inches taller than I. Her hair is dark and curly—I have drawn you an apt picture. As long as you have enough time to show her the insignia, we should have no problems. She will have a hound with her, but I do not think you will have any trouble with that fellow. Mabari do seem to favor you.

Be careful, mi vida. She is not called the Champion for idle enjoyment—though of course I would not put coin against you in any fight.

I still think I should be the one doing this. I, at least, have met her before.

For the prompt "a note in your OC's pocket from @idolsgf c: Art by the fantastic and delightful @greypetrel 💗

[sailorrhansol]

You. Always. | ksy (m)

❀ Pairing: Soonyoung x f. Reader 

❀ Summary: Soonyoung isn’t a jealous guy - he’s not. But sometimes it gets to him, the way other people look at you and fall a little in love with you. Don’t they know you have him? 

❀ Word Count: 5055

❀ Genre: Established Relationship, pwp

❀ Type: Smut, a little fluff

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Almost jealous Soonyoung, a little hint of insecurity but nothing crazy, recreational drinking, Mingyu and Wonwoo lowkey being a little annoying and drunk, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), praise kink, pet names like baby and good boy, reader on top, spit and other bodily fluids, not explicit dom/sub dynamics but Soonyoung is very soft in this and reader is guiding him in parts, biting, both reader and Soonyoung are a little dazed and kinda spacy but it’s not explicitly subspace or described in the same way. 

❀ A/N: This is straight up from a dream I had, no joke. Woke up and was like I just had the weirdest dream about Soonyoung but it was in the Bahamas and a cruise ship was involved at some point but this is almost scene for scene from my dream. I feel blessed. 

❀ A/N 2: This was written entirely for @daechwitatamic and also thank you Jo for beta reading because I don’t know how to edit anything ever I’m baby

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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“Try this one,” Mingyu insists, laughing. He shoves a drink in your hand, all smiles and glittering eyes. You take the cup from him, the music of the club pulsing around you. A soft buzz ripples through you, a little drunk from the long day out in the sun followed by drinks at sunset, dinner and the afterparty. “It’s soooo good.” 

You trust Mingyu’s judgment - about drinks, anyway. Wonwoo cheers for you, clapping to the beat of the music as you bring the cup to your lips and knock it back. The soda mixed in the drink bubbles in the back of your throat but the taste of something strong burns and you cough, pulling the cup from your mouth with a grimace and squinted eyes.

Both of them begin laughing hysterically, throwing back their hands and clapping their hands. You laugh too, setting the cup down as you try and clear your throat from the liquid fire, tongue stuck out as you reach for a sweating glass of water. 

Wonwoo orders more drinks as you suck down water, freeing your mouth of the bitter taste of whatever it is they gave you. You turn on the stool, looking around the beachside club for Soonyoung. You catch him on the far side leaning against a wall, waiting for the bathroom. Sensing your gaze, he cranes his neck to look toward you, eyes pinning you to the spot immediately. 

Even from across the room, his gaze makes your stomach flip. You grin shyly, waving your hand a little. His lips twitch but his gaze shifts toward Mingyu and Wonwoo. His mouth tilts down a little before the bathroom door opens and he turns away entirely, vanishing down the hall. 

A server appears with a round of clear shots, setting them down on the table. Mingyu leans forward, picking one up with the intention of handing it to you, but you wave him off. “I’ll wait for Soonyoung.” 

Mingyu cranes his head. “Yeah, where the fuck did he go? I kind of forgot he was here.”

It isn’t Mingyu’s fault - he hasn’t known you for very long. Soonyoung has a habit of making friends anywhere the two of you go on vacation, though, and through the last week, you’ve managed to make Wonwoo and Mingyu regular friends while enjoying the summer off the coast of Greece. It had started with a volleyball game and now it has escalated to lunches, dinners and nightly escapades. 

Ever the talker - much like your boyfriend - Mingyu turns to the table next to yours and strikes up a conversation with the group of people there. Within a few minutes, he’s pulling their table to yours and shouting their names at you. You shake unfamiliar hands and grin, just happy to feel the balmy air on your skin and feel the heat of summer. 

Another round of drinks appears in clear, plastic cups, obeying the no glass on the beach rule. The beach club is lowkey and tucked away into the side of the mountain at the very end of the beach, requiring a trek through the sand to get there.

The area is open to the elements with wooden pavilions housing a few tables and benches. In the middle of the club is a long, illuminated shallow pool with tables for guests who are willing to take off their shoes and wade through the cool water to get there. 

You look down at the red drink in your hand, raising a brow as you watch everyone else throw the drink back, chugging as quickly as they can. When they put their cups down and realize you haven’t had yours, they immediately start yelling at you, Mingyu grabbing your forearm to shake you back and forth as he pouts and yells at you to chug.

“I’m gonna get too drunk,” you whine, holding onto the cup and trying not to spill the liquid as Mingyu complains. He pouts and gives you puppy eyes, clasping his hands together as he begs. Wonwoo and your new friends immediately join him, all of them peering up at you. 

“Please,” Wonwoo pleads from across the table, clasped hands tucked under his chin. “Please please please please.”

Before you can tip the cup back, it’s being pulled upward and out of your grip. You look up in surprise, mouth falling open as Soonyoung frees it from your grasp and tilts the cup to his lips. You watch as he drains it, head tilted back to expose the tan softness of his throat. Some of the red spills over the side, running down his chin and throat. 

You watch the beads of liquid, suddenly unable to focus on anything else but the way he looks in that moment. When you blink, Soonyoung’s head is no longer tilted as he leans forward to place the empty cup on the table. He doesn’t bother to wipe the red on his neck and you instinctively grab napkins as he throws himself in the booth across from you. 

He notices you holding them out and he takes them wordlessly, his energy shifted suddenly as he wipes the sticky red from his skin. If your new friends notice, they don’t say anything, cheering for him and then ordering more drinks as they shout over the music. 

When he left to use the restroom, your boyfriend had been in high spirits and a rowdy mood. Now, he’s subdued, eyes flickering between Wonwoo and Mingyu, a little darker than before. You frown, finishing the rest of your water as you drink in Soonyoung’s posture: slouched, mouth pouted, eyes narrowed.

Mingyu asks if you want another drink and you watch as Soonyoung’s mouth turns down. Ah. You decline and immediately Mingyu makes Soonyoung the same offer, but he shakes his head, suddenly interested in his phone. You think Mingyu notices this time that one of your party is clearly no longer in the drinking mood and disengages, turning easily to the others.

You nudge Soonyoung’s foot under the table. He looks up at you, a little dejected and shrugs his shoulders as if to say what? You nod your head toward the exit, raising your brows. He follows your meaning  and pauses for a moment, as though he’s torn between ending the night far earlier than usual or trying to endure his mood. 

Eventually, he nods, turning off his phone and shoving it in his pocket. You stand and announce that you’re feeling a little tired, but thank your friends for the drinks. They all immediately complain, begging you to stay for at least one more round.

“It’s always one more round with you all,” you shoot back. “We can catch up another day. I’m tired and honestly I really just want to lay in bed with my boyfriend.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu huffs, waving you off. “Do whatever it is couples do on vacation.”

Without a word, you hold your hand out to Soonyoung to leave. He stares at it for a moment before his mouth twitches upward and he takes it, lacing his fingers with yours. You give him a gentle squeeze as you lead toward the exit of the club, waving to the manager who is used to your group’s presence by now. 

Outside, the world is only lit by the moon. It sits high up in the sky, turning the world a dark blue as you and Soonyoung walk the beach. The quiet tension follows him outside of the club and down a few meters. You wait for him to say something, peeking at him from the corner of your eye.

In the years you’ve been dating, you’ve learned to read him pretty well. You know something about your interaction with Mingyu and Wonwoo bothers him, but you’re unsure of the specifics. Soonyoung isn’t a jealous boyfriend, but every once in a while there is something that bothers him. An old wound that peels open at the edge and stings him. 

You tug on his hand. He’s surprised, stumbling a little as you yank him off balance and into you. His cologne is laced with his own natural scent, making your head spin as your chests press together and you bring a hand up to his face, stroking a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. 

Soonyoung is beautiful. You’ve always thought so. Eyes that can go from intense to gentle, a round face that is somehow also sharp, a cute mouth prone to laughing. You’ve traced the lines of his face over and over again and still, every time you’re this close to him, you feel your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re not jealous, right?” 

He shakes his head imperceptibly. He looks down at you, bottom lip jutting out a bit. You fight a smile, trying to focus on making sure he’s okay instead of the way his face has melted from contemplative to pouting. 

“You can tell me if I did something that made you uncomfortable, you know that right?” 

He nods in tiny. His hands hang at his sides, like he’s hesitant to touch you. To do anything. You take his face in both of your hands, cocking your head to the side as you study him. “What’s the matter, baby? What’s bothering you?”

“I’m not jealous,” he starts and stops. You wait for him to continue. You’ve always been better at putting your thoughts to words than he has, and you know he just needs the time to organize them. “And you never do things that make me jealous. I just…” 

Ocean water surges behind you, the gentle push and pull of the swells the only sound as Soonyoung strings his thoughts together. You continue to cradle his face in your hands, thumb stroking back and forth on his cheek. You feel him lean into your touch, going a little weak under your attention. 

“I just know how easy it is to love you,” he finally says. He chews his bottom lip a little and you catch it with your thumb, keeping him from breaking the skin. “You are beautiful and charming, and I can always tell when other people realize it too. It isn’t that… I think you’d like them back or anything. I just feel possessive and then silly for feeling that way.” 

“It isn’t silly.”

“It isn’t?” 

You shake your head and his voice gets small and soft. “I don’t want it to seem insecure or annoying, and I don’t know why I suddenly felt that way. I usually don't.”

“It’s not silly,” you assure him again. “It’s okay to feel that way sometimes. You’re a human being and you’re allowed to feel things, even if you don’t necessarily know why or how you feel them.” 

“I’m sorry I made us leave early.”

“You didn’t make us do anything, and there is nothing to apologize for. I like going home and just spending time with you. I came here with you. We can make vacation friends all we want, but I have the most fun when you’re involved.”

His mouth twitches in a smile and he nods a little, affirmed by your words. “Can we go home?” 

“Mhmm.”

You lean up on your toes and press a quick kiss to his mouth. Immediately he wants more, chasing your lips but you skip away from him, tugging him along by his hand. He frowns, a little put out. You try not to giggle, feeling your stomach flip a little. 

Soonyoung is so rare like this. He loves being soft, but this is something even gentler. Something delicate and wonderful and endearing. You can’t help but keep him trailing after you, feeling the way his eyes linger on you. Hungry. Wanting. Needing. 

You keep him waiting. 

Catching a taxi up the mountain to the house you’re staying at is easy. The driver rolls the window down, letting the salty air drift in as he goes up and up. You lean against Soonyoung’s shoulder, putting your entwined hands in your lap. He melts into you, head atop yours and eyes fluttering shut as the breeze lifts his hair. 

You love him like this. He looks so young, so capable of love. It’s your favorite thing about him, his ability to love freely, deeply and often. There is so much affection and kindness in him, a well so deep that you have yet to hit the bottom. 

Soonyoung is a little drowsy when the taxi pulls up to the village square. He rouses with a mumbled thank you and clambours out the car behind you, eager to follow your lead up the winding steps that lead through the village houses.

It’s mostly quiet, with the echoes of voices drifting up from open windows and patios, the din of voices from restaurants in the main square hanging on the wind. You manage not to get lost this time as you navigate the winding pathways to the correct house, the blue fence blending in with the dozen other blue fences. 

The cicadas are quiet as you walk down the steps to the front of the home. You tap Soonyoung’s pockets and he blushes, forgetting he has the keys. He’s quick to produce them and pass them over, watching you expectantly as you unlock it and step into the darkness. 

Cool air drifts in from the open windows. There’s no air conditioning in the rented house, but the ocean wind that comes in at night through open shutters is enough to cool you off. 

Soonyoung is quiet. He follows your lead up the stairs to the second floor where the bedroom is, lingering in the doorway when you drop his hand and turn to face him as you walk backward into the room. He’s hypnotized as you unbutton the top of your shirt slowly, staring at him. 

The way he looks at you ignites a fire inside of you. No one else could look at you like this, equal parts reverence and hunger. No one else could make your hands shake as you stare at him staring at you, his lips parted a little, tongue darting out to wet them as he swallows. 

Your blouse falls open and you shuck it off, letting it hit the floor. Moonlight paints your side profile. Soonyoung doesn’t dare move from the door until you hold out a hand, palm upward. “Come here,” you whisper. He obeys immediately, nearly tripping over his feet to get to you. 

His hands go around your waist, warm against your skin. You wind your arms around his neck, pulling him in close, fingers threading in his hair and pulling a little. He lets out a soft sound as you tilt his face toward yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. His pupils are blown and you can feel his heart thundering against yours. 

“You know I love you more than anything else, right?” For a second, he just stares at you, eyes fixated on your mouth. You pull his hair a little more and he sucks in a sharp breath before nodding a little. He seems too dazed to do more than the barest acknowledgement. “Do you want me to show you?” 

You lean up to brush your nose against his. Soonyoung’s eyes fall shut and you feel a shiver go through him. His breath is unsteady when you brush your mouth against his in an almost kiss. “Do you want me to show you how much I love you, Soonyoung?” 

He nods again, unable to find words. Your nails scratch at his scalp gently and he lets out a breathy moan, melting in your hands. “Okay,” you whisper, pressty a soft kiss to his mouth. He tries to chase your lips again but you step back and tug at him. “Come lay down.” 

Soonyoung obeys. He’s always been a good boy, but having him like this isn’t common. You like to think that you’re both equal parts in charge in the bedroom, flowing with whatever the other needs. Having him like this, sitting down on the bed and looking up at you like you cradle his world in your hands though… it lights you up. 

“Lay back for me,” you instruct gently. He does immediately, bouncing a little on the mattress. You climb onto the mattress, knees on either side of his waist as you crawl up toward him, settling your weight on his hips. Immediately his hands reach toward your hips and stop, hovering as he gets stuck between doing what he wants and waiting for you to tell him. “Go ahead,” you whisper, leaning toward him. “Take whatever you want. You can have whatever.” 

Warm hands grip your waist. Your fingers expertly undo the buttons of his shirt and you make sure to brush them against his stomach as you move upward. You feel the muscles jump and he lets out another breathy sound. His hands just remain on your sides, not ready to explore more as he fixates on the way you pull his shirt off of his shoulders.

He’s a little clumsy when he leans up to help you shuck it off. You don’t care, surging forward to capture his mouth in a full kiss as he does. He forgets all about taking the shirt off, sleeves halfway down his arms as he leans forward to lick into your mouth, hungry and desperate for whatever you’ll give him.

You don’t hold back, letting him consume you. His mouth is warm and wet, tasting faintly of cherry from one of the drinks he had earlier. You love it, humming delightly as your hands brush from his shoulders to where his shirt is stuck near the elbows. You tug but the material is restricted, making you break away from the kiss with a laugh. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, letting your hips go to take the shirt all the way off. 

Immediately your hands seek the heat of his skin, brushing from his shoulders to his chest and down his stomach and back up, fingers loving every groove and plane. He shivers under your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re so pretty,” you whisper, pushing him back gently so that he’s laying down again. He lets you trace him, though you can feel his hips twitch under you, turned on by your exploration. “So pretty, Soonyoung. Do you know that?” 

Again, he gives the tiniest nod. You smile and lean forward, holding yourself up by planting a hand on either side of his head. You catch his mouth again and he lifts his head up, eager to taste you. A hum of appreciation escapes you as you kiss him slowly, pressing your hips down into his. 

Soonyoung moans and it’s so delicate that it makes you dizzy. You feel fucked out from this version of him already, the room spinning as you rut gently into him. You grab his hands that rest on your ass and pull them up your sides to your bra, a command. 

He understands immediately, pulling at the clasps to undo the back. You break the kiss again, mouth feeling bruised, to lean up and toss the garment. His hands find your chest immediately and you feel goosebumps burst on your skin at his touch, large hand squeezing. 

You let him rub his thumb over your pert nipples, spiking the pleasure in your stomach. You let out a light sound and shiver in his hands, ducking back down to press your mouth to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his chin - anywhere you can kiss. 

His skin is salty and sweet, your tongue darting out to soothe his flesh after a sharp bite. He’s putty beneath you, completely at your mercy as your mouth maps out the way you love him. Every kiss, bite and lick is another declaration: I love you. I love you. I love you. 

Light moans drip from his lips as you pepper him with kisses. Dragging your teeth across his chest lightly, you watch as he shivers and squeezes his eyes shut. Grinning, you move your mouth over his nipple, tongue flicking out lightly. A sharp hiss escapes through his gritted teeth, his head digging backward into the bed as he arches under you. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. 

A hum escapes you as you close your mouth over his nipple, sucking gently. He’s so sensitive, whining and squeezing your sides. You trail your mouth across his chest, leaving a wet trail as you do before dragging your teeth across his other nipple. 

“Pretty,” you mumble again, moving your mouth lower. You teeth at his skin as you go, feeling him twitch beneath you. His hands drop to the sheet, twisting them in a vice grip as he lets you scoot down his lap until you’re off the bed and on the carpet, undoing his pants as you go. 

Getting him out of his pants is hard - Soonyoung is loose-limbed and clumsy, hands shaking as he helps you pull the fabric down followed by his briefs. You let out an appreciative moan when you take his cock in your hand, heavy, warm and leaking at the tip. 

He can barely keep it together when you stroke him, hand firm, thumb brushing over the sticky tip. You watch every reaction, eyes focused on the flush in his cheeks, the way he chews on his bottom lip to try and keep from whimpering, the way his fingers twist in the blankets. 

“So perfect,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his inner thighs as you continue to work him with your hand. His hips twitch upward and you let him, continuing to run your tongue along his thigh. “You’re the perfect boyfriend.” 

“Hnnn,” is the mumbled answer. 

Leaning up high on your knees, you tilt his cock toward your mouth, licking leisurely around the tip. He keens and you smirk, feeling your cunt clench as you take him in your mouth properly, spurred on by the way he falls apart instantly. 

This is another thing you love. It doesn’t matter the dynamic, Soonyoung always crumbles at your touch - craves it, needs it, wants it more than anything. It’s hard not to feel like a god as you hear him pant your name, watch the way the breath catches in his throat as you take him deep into your throat, the flat of your tongue scraping the underside of his cock as you go. 

You’re not clean with it. You let spit drip out the corner of your mouth, let yourself gag a little. Work what you can’t fit past your lips with the rest of your hand, getting carried away. His hand shoots to your head - he doesn’t push or pull, just leaves it there, like it can ground him.

Pulling off with a loud pop, you give his shaft a squeeze, kissing the inside of his thigh again. A mix of cum and spit shine in the moonlight when you pull your mouth away. 

“I love seeing you like this,” you rasp. “Love watching you fall apart.”

“Please,” he gasps, managing to lift his head up and look down at you. His hair is damp with sweat and his eyes are fucked out, gaze unfocused. “Don’t wanna come in your mouth.”

“I’ve got you.” You give a single, long lick up his shaft for good measure, feeling him tremble before you stand up to take your pants off. He makes a pitiful sound, hand shooting toward you, hating being away from you. “One second, baby. Sorry.” 

“S’okay.” 

Naked, you crawl up the bed again. His hands shoot to your thighs, kneading the flesh and rubbing his palms up and down, warming you up. You feel the wetness drip down your thighs, worked up from working him up. From the way he moans when you press your pussy to his cock, you know he can feel it. 

“All good?” you ask gently, pressing your forehead against his. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing hard, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You hold yourself over him with one hand and bring the other up to brush the hair off his forehead. “Too much?”

He shakes his head. “No, just. Sensitive.”

“Mhmm. You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”He nods in tiny, opening his eyes to look up at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and all of his stars. “Good boy,” you breathe and he moans, hips canting upward to rub his cock against your folds. “I love you.”

He nods again, eager and desperate. “Love you.”

Sitting up on your knees, you reach a hand under you, gripping him firmly. Soonyoung opens his eyes, making sure to watch your every move with swollen, parted lips and half-lidded eyes. You feel drunk from the way he looks at you, as hypnotized by him as he is of you.

You press the tip of his cock against your entrance, both of you groaning. Carefully, you sink down on him, your breath getting stuck in your throat. The stretch punches the breath from your lungs but it’s good, the ache replaced with something stronger, better. He fills up every part of you - you feel him deep in your stomach as you fully seat yourself on him, ass pressed to his pelvis as you fight for air. 

“Fuck, Soonyoung,” you mutter, falling forward to plant a hand on his chest. You lean your weight forward, pushing him into the mattress and holding yourself up. You can feel his thundering heart under your palm, beat matching your own pounding pulse. “Feel so good.”

“Wanna be. Wanna be for you.”

“You are. You always are. I could never want anything else, you know that right?” A tiny, barely there nod. “You make me feel so good. Always do.” 

“Please.”

You know what he’s asking. You give it to him, slowly lifting yourself until you’ve almost pulled off him entirely. You drop back down hard, knocking the breath from your lungs as you spear yourself on him. It is intoxicatingly good, pleasure rippling outward like a stone dropped in a lake. You chase the feel, repeating the motion until you’re nearly mindless and out of breath. 

“Shit,” you swear, laughing a little as your head drops down. You can’t focus on anything but rolling your hips, fucking yourself onto him as his hands grab your ass, not controlling you but gripping fiercely. “God damn fuck.”

Soonyoung laughs, deep and gravely as the cockiness you’re used to bleeds back in for a moment. “Yeah?”

You clench your cunt as you sink down on him, making him let out a high-pitched noise at the move and you grin. “Yeah,” you shoot back. “Thought so.” 

A knot twists in your stomach as you set a smooth pace, thighs burning. Pleasure ribbons through you, twisting and turning, his hands dimpling your flesh. He lets you keep your pace at first, taking everything you give him, his feet planted flat on the mattress as he tries to contain himself, curses escaping between clenched teeth.

Your legs tremble. Your nails dig into the hard muscle of his chest. He senses your movements get a little strained, the pleasure making it harder to focus on lifting yourself. You feel his grip on your ass change, Soonyoung putting power behind it to help lift you up and pull you back down. He thrusts up to meet you, the wet squelch of his harder thrusts intoxicating. 

“Fuck yeah,” you gasp, giving up the pretense of riding him and letting him take over. “Fuck me just like that.” 

It’s all he needs before his grip turns iron and he’s fucking up into you with abandon. Your hand slips on his chest as the power of his thrusts knock you off balance. You let yourself crash together, chest against chest. Soonyoung wraps his arms around your back, holding you to him. 

Your mouth finds his neck, burying your face in there as you try to steady your breathing. It feels like your heart might explode, his name falling from your lips as you press them against his neck. He mumbles something unintelligible, pace picking up. 

“Shit,” you pant. “Shit shit shit shit - Soonyoung - shit.” 

He huffs, something like laughter before his pace is brutal. He fucks you fast and deep, your mind blanking as you crest upward. All you can do is hold on to him, mouth panting against his throat, your muscles squeeze squeeze squeezing until you’re coming hard. 

Everything goes blank. Your ears ring and you’re vaguely aware of his wild thrusts as he chases his orgasm. You melt in his grip, letting him use you, completely boneless. 

Soonyoung growls your name as he comes, pace slowing as he fucks you deep until he stills. You feel the stickiness between you and the way he’s still shaking. You rise and fall with his heavy breathing, both of your heartbeats erratic and thoughts staticky. 

You lay there like that for a while, a pile of exhausted limbs and few thoughts. His arms loosen their grip around you and he starts rubbing his hands up and down your back. It draws you back into the moment more and you open your eyes to look up at him. 

Soonyoung’s eyes are closed and his breathing is deep. You can tell he isn’t asleep, but rather enjoying the moment, his face tilted toward the window where the moon floats over the mountains. He looks so pretty like this, face soft and serene. 

“You’re staring at me,” he murmurs, his voice low and spent. “You could at least tell me I’m pretty.”

“I just did. Several times.”

His mouth tilts upward but he doesn’t open his eyes. “I like hearing it.”

“Fine. You’re the prettiest boy.” 

“Hmm. Yeah?”

“Yes. And I love you.”

“Say it again.” Soonyoung opens his eyes and they meet yours. They’re clearer now, and crinkled at the sides when he gives you a smile that feels far too innocent for the fluids running down your thighs and the way your cunt still clenches around him. “I like when you say it.”

“I love you.” 

He smirks. “Just me?”

You lean up and nip his neck. He giggles, leaning away from you. “You. Always.” 

He sighs. “Me,” he agrees. “Always.” 

-

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[starlostseungmin]

whispers ─── lee felix.

✰ notes : first of all i'd like to announce that i reached 3k friends here! thank you so much for that and i appreciate every single one of you! <33 anyway if you watched ABOUT TIME movie, you are already familiar with this scene because it's inspired by it. i just made a bit of changes and with felix in it so i hope you guys like it (this is not proofread btw) also, please DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS after reading! thank you <33

✰ tags : @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly , @sleepyleeji

masterlist | taglist.

felix went home a bit late that one saturday night after work. he had to see the movie he promised to watch with jeongin at the cinema. you bailed out after he invited you when he mentioned he got tickets and made a reason to sleep on a day off. he parted ways with jeongin around the block and walked home, alone. 

it was cold, he could see the smoke coming out from his mouth as his hands shoved inside the pockets of his jacketーthe stars were illuminating the dark sky with a few clouds in sight but his eyes wandered around the streets. he was supposed to take the train back to your shared apartment but didn’t want to be disrupted by noisy passengers with loud music banging their ears from their earphones and he tried to take some time to think. 

you’ve been dating for the past three years and it has been amazing. he never felt so happy and contented. the joy cannot be compared to any other things. it was that time when the two of you met at a diner just outside the office where you were working. the purpose was to grab dinner and go home then, this wonderful man showed up who had gotten the love at first sight experience. an opportunity came in and a conversation. he invited you to dates every weekend until the feelings got deeper after getting to know each other for weeks, made the relationship official with labels, and decided to live together. 

for the past three years, it was magical as it made tons of memories that you and felix couldn’t write every single one of them in your journal. the polaroids that were taken are hanging on the walls of your room with dates written on each one of them. those plushies he won for you sat on the shelves, the books being piled up being read or untouched, the albums from your favorite artists being displayed on the table along with the music player and vinyl, the flowers on the vases, the letters and other gifts you’ve exchangedーit was sweet. 

having this amazing relationship with felix is like reading a book without a synopsis or a summary from the covers or even the first pages. you don’t know what’s going to happen. it’s like living every day and there are things you cannot control. it’s either you read and go on with the story with curiosity and braveness or do not read the book at all and miss a series of events that could change your life. yet, you chose to read the book and the author created a love story you could ask for. it did change your life as well as felix’s but one thing’s for sure, there are a lot of trials on the way but it would start by holding your hands together to make a stronger bond, just like how chemical bonds create structures. 

he went inside as quietly as possible as he didn’t want to ruin your slumber. the lights were switched off in the living room and only the entrance’s light censor made him see through the dark as he removed his shoes. 

felix has thought of all the possibilities and the impossible, the rights and wrongs, the obstacles and smooth ways while walking. the consistency of this relationship must remain and be locked. he knew it wouldn’t be fancy but he promised himself that he’ll do it in a way that the two of you would prefer. and now, he’s here, looking at your sleeping figure being wrapped around that white duvet. 

“baby,” he called softly as he shook your shoulder lightlyーkneeling down on the carpeted floor of your room. 

“hmm?” you hummed in response. “five more minutes.” you muttered making him let out a soft chuckle. 

“no, baby, wake up,” he said. “i have something important to ask,” 

your eyes flutter open, from a blurry vision to a clear frame directed at his face. a smiley felix welcomed you as he caressed your hair when you were about to sit up. 

“no, just lay down,” he said. 

“okay,” you smiled. “what is it?” you asked, feeling relaxed on your soft mattress and the coziness of your pillow. 

“you know that we’re happy, right?” he paused as you nodded in response. “i don’t know if it’s the movie i watched with jeongin that made me feel this way, it's always the romance genre that would hit me to reality and the thought that i always have you by my side—” he added when you put your index finger on his lips, hearing a piece of romantic music playing gently from the living room as it echoes through the open door of your room. 

“is that romantic music?” you asked. “and you’re on your knees while saying something that i doubt is not just a love confession,” you added while fighting to stay awake which felix laughed shyly. 

“yeah,” he said, licking his lower lip in embarrassment. “i am,” 

“go on,” you smiled. 

“will you marry me?” he asked which made your smile bigger and now you’re fully awake. 

“i think,” you paused, clearing your throat. “i’m going to say, yes to that,” you added, looking at him in awe, saying; “and thank you for doing this that does not involve a lot of people and other crowds. i don’t like many people,” 

felix smiled gently and placed a soft kiss on your lips before tracing his fingers on your cheeks, “i also don’t like people,” he said. “thank you for saying yes,” he whispered before leaning forward to kiss you again. 

“i love you, darling,” you said in between. 

“i love you more,” he answered. “get back to sleep, alright? i’ll join you in 10,” 

“okay,” you said softly as he smiled, leaving a kiss on your forehead before exiting the room shushing han and seungmin for playing the instruments he asked for support outside. 

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[dcxdpdabbles]

The ballad of Jane doe has me in a choke hold. The lyrics really feel to me and I had an idea of an alternative universe where Jason as Robin and beheaded by Joker as a way to avoid irl identification? Idk he’s insane. 

But the lyrics that really spoke to me were: Oh Saint Peter, let me in!

You must know where I've been

Won't you tell me at last who I am? 

(This can be either Jason revived and never getting his memories back and asking maybe maybe Danny someone who is kinda his minder who he is but Danny never knew him so he can’t say or Batman in a desperate but frustrated way when he’s all vigilante and stuff while fight and takes off his helmet for dramatic effect and maybe Jason never aged and still 15 or he just doesn’t have a head so Danny made one of ecto that is supposed to look like him) 

And I'm asking "why, lord?"

If this is how I die, lord

Why be left with no family

And no friends? 

(Jason never having his memories cries out for any information but maybe someone is blocking his search or some other factor, Jason not having any memories mourns the thought of family and maybe in a fight he’s yelling angrily about the unfairness of his situation and having no one, maybe even a vent to Danny if slimmed him spinned right) 

I’ve got no celebration

Just this consolation

Time eats all his children

In the end 

(Jason not remembering his funeral and his only consolation is his missing head or a scar on his neck from the beheading and this can also relate to clockwork and you know the Kronos correlation, how time has no favorites and everyone will be forgotten just like him in the end of their days wether it be their death or the last time their name is said) 

A melody floats through the air

When silence falls, does no one care? 

(frustration of no one telling him who he is and and maybe there will be a fight scene where he takes off his helmet and asks if anyone- anything cares about his existence in front of Bruce or the batfam) 

how Danny plays into his either this is alternate Jason and Danny being one person and Danny being in an accident which kills him half not and half did or Danny is dead Jason’s minder and they get teleported to another universe where canon is idk :)

I'm not going to lie. This song goes hard for Headless Jason.

I like what you wrote about this being Danny as his alt! Jason, but I also like the idea that Jason's family are descendants of the original Dullahan. He just didn't know it since he didn't know his bio mom.

Anyway, the family gets one extra life, which his bio-mom used up before, and that's why she died in the explosion that took Jason's first life. He wanders Gotham the first year as a zombie because he doesn't have his head until Danny finds it and helps reunite him.

But that year, Jason forgot who he was, and he was filled with nothing but questions and anger. Danny decided to be the bridge between worlds and stuck around to help him. Instead of Jason ending up with the League of Shadows, he is in Ghost King Phantom's court and is living in a small house on the outskirts of Gotham, trying to learn his new ghost powers.

Danny is super excited since this is the closest he's gotten to another Halfa since Vlad, and yeah, it's a little scary that they can't get his head to stick on his body since they've been apart for too long, but Danny is working on it.

In the meantime, they have Jason wear a red Biker helmet that he never takes off. Nothing can go wrong with that! The fact that Joker used to do the same thing as Red Hood meant nothing to Danny and his roommate, who enjoyed gardening, cooking dinner, and sitting together to watch a movie!

The occasional cuddle here and there! Slight domestic bliss sprinkled in!

No, Jazz, that isn't his undead boyfriend. That's just his roommate! So what if they are the same age? Danny is technically hiding from his parents, so he never ventures too far from his property!

Jason likes being in the boonies with him just fine.

[writingstoraes]

sparks 🎇

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine (fluff)

word count: 1.7k, no warnings hehe

notes: once again this is a new idea even though i have a ton of drafts like my mind is a mess so i am not surprised ANYWAY . trying to get out of a writing slump so lmk what u guys think! ALSO apologies for any typos or grammatical errors this is not proofread at all 😆

about:  The few of the many times Charles’ heart skipped a beat because of you.

Movies have always portrayed “real” sparks so well. Sometimes it’s a scene where a guy sees the girl for the very first time during a first date and he freezes for a moment, the apparent electricity between two people when their hands almost touch and they panic for a little while, or the moment of suspense before a first kiss and the exhilaration after.

But Charles taught that was exactly what they were - movie scenes. He lingered on the thought that the moments where sparks flew and one’s heart skips a beat, those moments cannot be manufactured in real life. They stay in movies, books, in the arts; where they belong, somewhere where they were fiction.

Not until he experiences it first-hand, not until he meets you, the woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand.

He felt it the first time your hands ever touched. 

At first, he thought he was going crazy. There was no way he felt a current run through his skin the moment it came in contact with yours, but to this day, it’s a testament he swears on very seriously. 

You had been going out for a few weeks, several dates here and there. It was the exact point where you felt comfortable with each other, but only starting to be, hence why there were still evident boundaries present. The two of you were careful to not cross any, especially Charles. He’s cautious on establishing any physical touch, sure, he’s held your waist to guide you through bustling crowds and had slung his arm over your shoulder, but he hasn’t held your hand. At least, not yet. 

He had invited you to have dinner on his yacht, set at the perfect time where you can be of witness to the beautiful sunset over the sea. He says the food was nearly done, so he set up two comfortable chairs that gave you just the perfect view of the Monaco skies. The sun was setting and the golden sky formed a beautiful gradient with the blue hue that painted it beforehand. 

He turns his head to you, your arm resting on the chair’s handles, a tad bit preoccupied with the view in front of you. He keeps a smile to himself, enjoying the personalized view he had. For some reason, he feels the urge to hold your hand, or at least rest his on top of yours. He was hesitating and second-guessing, lifting his finger once in a while and then putting it back down when he decides not to push through. It didn’t help that there were minimal distance between your chair and his, and so he was fighting the urge to initiate contact and have you flee off. 

But his hesitant hand that kept on moving was something you grew to notice, and thanks to your knowledge of many, many romance movies, you assumed it meant he wanted to hold your hand but was too afraid to do it. You shove the thought of doing it first in the back of your head, overthinking that you might be wrong and he in fact did not want to hold your hand. 

Maybe it was something in the air, the quiet waves of the ocean, or just the fact that he really really liked you. 

He finally lifts his hand so he can reach yours, resting it softly on top of your hand. He lets out a relieved and contented sigh when he feels you ease into his touch. His heart raced faster, like it was screaming for help and begging to be let out of his chest.

As if that was not enough, he feels a current run through his arm and out of his fingertips the moment you grasp his hand and decide to interlock your fingers with his then setting it on top of the chair’s handle.  He swears he saw fireworks when he closed his eyes and his heart finally exploded out of his chest. He vows he can stand up and jump around out of joy, but he chooses to indulge in the moment and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze instead.

He had met you earlier in the season and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want you to see him in his element, doing what truly made him happy. That is, if his team does not proceed to ruin the entire weekend for him and his dedicated fans.

He invited you to watch a grand prix, in a track that he felt most comfortable. He was the perfect gentleman whe he extended the invite, letting you know you could always decline if you didn’t feel like going. You were together, in all terms to be considered, but he didn’t want to pressure you into finally making your appearance only because he knew how harsh it could get. He assures you that he will take care of everything and all you needed to do was come.

You were committed to attend the entire weekend, from free practice until the race itself. Even if Charles was quick to reassure you that you didn’t have to be there for everything, you only return a smile and tell him you wanted to be, which not surprisingly calmed his nerves. 

You knew people were going to stare, fans will take pictures, even the possibility of you making headlines. This was your first paddock appearance as his girlfriend, after all. It was inevitable, so you try to take your mind off of the pressure. Much to your nerves bothering you before you even got on the plane, you had been racking your brain on what to wear. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard or too little. 

You finally settle on an outfit and your lips form a small smile as you looked in the mirror. It was nothing extravagant, only a black one-shoulder top and a black high-waisted pants that you paired with a red leather jacket. It’s not like you wanted what you wore to scream Ferrari, but you wanted to add a little touch, at least for Charles. 

“What do you think? I chose the red jacket for you,” you turn around to see Charles, seeing as you heard his footsteps earlier and knew he entered the room.

If he was being honest, he had seen you put on the outfit. He witnessed how you cocked your head to the side trying to see if it looks good. He sees the outfits laid on the bed, all with a touch of red, and he could feel butterflies swarm his stomach at the thought of you carefully planning out your outfits to include his team’s colors.

There it was again, the stupid sparks that he’s been getting ever since he met you. He curses himself for being a little non-functional when feels them, but he figures he has to get used to being blown away by everything you did. It feels magnetic, like he’s feeling actual static. You make him feel so much by just doing so little. 

He sees you twirling around in front of the mirror, smiling when you finally put on the red leather jacket, looking satisfied. 

He stops at his tracks, at least internally, and fails to respond for at least 10 seconds. 

“Do you not like it? I can always go change-”

“No,” he says, almost out of voice. “You look absolutely beautiful.” 

Where he was standing, he swears he sees fireworks erupt behind you.

Charles stands on the podium, feeling victorious and ecstatic he had clinched another win for his Formula 1 career. He looks fondly at the sea of crowd cheering for him, waving flags of his own country, Ferrari, and Italy. From where he stood he could see Fred’s big smile and the engineers celebrating, jumping up and down. 

The trophies had been awarded and the Monaco national anthem had finally played. He was wearing his Pirelli cap and completely drenched in champagne. He scans the crowd down the podium, hoping to get a glance of you. Earlier, he did tell you you didn’t have to witness the awarding personally should he win, because he didn’t want you to get in between many people and possibly get shoved or pushed. He assumes that you were in the garage, waiting for him, probably with a kiss and a hug. 

He leans over the makeshift railing of the stage, eyes still set on possibly sighting you. When he fails to find you, he finally comes down and there he sees you, just near the stairs going up to the podium with teary eyes and a wide smile. There you stood with hands clasped together, in awe of Charles who was standing in front of you. 

He feels his heart race yet again, having experienced the first time you ever greeted him after he claims P1 in a race. Even just by looking at you he feels his world shift, like its only goal was to pull him towards you, like the fireworks that took the skies earlier weren’t enough and he was having his own show. 

He jogs towards you, exhilirated and filled with adrenaline and pulls you into a tight embrace. His entire body twitches when you plant a soft kiss on his cheek, as if every fiber of his being had turned into putty at your touch. Everytime you engulf him in an embrace, kiss his cheek, or run your hands through his hair, he feels as if he’s inside his car going at least 320 kilometers per hour. He has no clue how you do it, how you possibly make him feel like he’s won a race every time he was with you;  as if you and his heart had a binding agreement. 

“Congratulations, mon champion du monde,” you say slowly and close to Charles so only he could hear, hoping you didn’t mess up the pronunciation, after having practiced it several times on the plane. 

Something tugs at his heartstrings, having been greeted by the knowledge that you sent out his well wishes in French, even though you didn’t speak the language and mentioned you were always scared you were going to say something wrong. But mostly because you called him your world champion, and that just sends him down a spiral.

“Thanks for being here, amour.” he replies, pulling you in again for another hug. 

------------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: thanks for reading everyone <3 will try to post a 1.4k special soon but firstly thank u so much for all the love hehehe hope u guys r having the nicest day!

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Christmas Family Swap

Christmas is supposed to be the time of year where you celebrate joy with your family and loved ones. But everyone has that one family member no one looks forward to seeing, and I’m no different. For me that person would be my grandpa. He'd always been a really cranky guy who, I swear, could find something to complain about on literally any topic. I don't know why he even comes over for the holidays in the first place. Maybe he's just lonely? At least my siblings are coming home. They're all older than me and left for college years ago. Sometimes I felt like I was behind everyone just because I was the youngest, but they always tell me to enjoy being young while it lasted. At least I still had my dog, Lucy, to keep me company. 

“Shoot. Ferris, we forgot to buy your grandpa a present,” my mom mentioned while preparing dinner for Christmas Eve.

“Does it matter? He's not gonna like anything anyway.”

“Yes I know. But it's Christmas. The time of year where you need to treat even those you dislike well. Could you quickly go to that gift shop and buy some cheap ornament?”

“Mom, it's Christmas Eve! Half these places are closed or closing soon.” She looked up a store on her phone and showed me that it closed at 5. It was 4:38.

“There's that one hallmark store within walking distance still open. You can make it in time! I just don't want to cause a scene.” I wanted to take the car, but it would take too long to shovel all the snow, so I walked. The store wasn't that far by foot, but it was still an awful time in the freezing cold. When I arrived, there was a single employee at the counter - an old lady with a messy bun. She greeted me and asked what I needed.

“I have just the thing.” She walked over to the shelf and showed me a little Santa ornament that was wearing a galaxy pattern suit instead of the regular red. It was actually a pretty good gift because my grandpa loved outer space, not to mention he kinda looked like Santa anyway, just without the beard.

“This is perfect.”

“Then why do you look sad?” Her response caught me by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I can tell something’s wrong. It's Christmas Eve. You should be happy!”

“That's probably easy for others. But for me, Christmas means family time and I don't exactly like someone in my family.

“That's a shame. You're lucky to have a family at least.” She looked down at the floor sadly. It was clear what she meant by that.

“But since you still have people in your life I'd like to help you with your problem. Could I have that ornament back please?” I assumed she was about to check me out so I started reaching for my wallet, when she walked into the backroom with the present instead. As soon as the door closed, the power suddenly went out and I was in pure darkness until there was a weird purple glow coming from the door. All of this only lasted about 10 seconds and the power came back on as if nothing happened. Did I just imagine that whole thing? It was weird. The woman walked back out with a big smile on her face.

“Did the power go out or something? And what happened in there?”

“Oh nothing,” she said with a grin. “Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I guess.” She checked me out and I was on my way back home.

When I arrived, my siblings were already there, as well as my grandpa.

“Hey! It's Ferris!” said my oldest brother Calvin. He had definitely gained a lot of weight since I last saw him, even though he was an athlete in college. Looks like he still refused to shave the messy beard he started last year. My older sibling Sam grinned at me. They looked exactly as they always did - expressing their love of anime with a nerdy t-shirt and wearing ear gauges that have gotten bigger since the last time I saw them. My sister Em walked up to hug me. She was always the one I was closest with, since she was only 2 years older than me.

“I got a present for Grandpa.” He suddenly looked at me, and then to the bag I was holding.

“It's about time you buy me something! Lemme see.”

“Well not until Christmas.” Despite living to see many Christmases, Grandpa was still an extremely impatient person. He'd actually opened up his Christmas presents early before because he just couldn't stand the wait. This was my first time buying one myself for him (even though it was really just my mom sending me) so I guess he was beyond curious.

“Come on. It's basically Christmas anyway.” He got his large ass out of the seat and approached me. He was wearing a tucked in blue plaid shirt that covered the gut hanging over his pants. He stumbled over to me until we were face to face. I could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath, almost making my eyes water.

“Boy, give me the gift.”

“Dad, just wait until Christmas. You're gonna spoil the surprise.” My mom thankfully defended me and started walking over.

“Fine, but I-” He faked content and snatched the bag from me.

“Dad! Enough!” My mom shouted but it was too late. He had taken the ornament out of the bag, but clumsily dropped it. It shattered all over the floor before he even had a chance to react.

“Oh man.” Sam gulped.

“Now look at what you've done! You ruined my present!” Grandpa yelled in my face.

“Dad! Dad! Calm down. I think you need to go to bed now.”

“Fine! But only because your idiot son ruined my Christmas!” My mom escorted him to the guest room and Em picked up a broom. We both swept together as my mom walked back into the kitchen.

“Could he possibly be more…you know…” I started.

“Horrible? Pathetic?” Calvin added.

“Gross? Nasty?” Sam added.

“Your grandfather is just lonely really. His parents - my grandparents - let him do whatever he wanted. He's a real spoiled man. But I don't think there's any changing him now so let's just endure the day tomorrow and you won't have to see him for a while. Got it?”

“Fine.” The rest of the night was much better and I had a great time with my family. Calvin scarfed down the food so fast he almost choked, Em told me all about what college was like, Sam bragged about his new gauges, and Lucy practically flew under the table as soon as my mom dropped a piece of ham.

When it was time for bed, my siblings got settled into their rooms - Calvin and Sam sharing the same bedroom they did growing up, and Em sleeping in the basement because her old room was turned into an office. I looked at the Christmas tree glimmering with lights and decorations, excited to see what the presents underneath it would look like in the morning. It's a shame that Grandpa's present broke and we had to throw it away, but I guess he got what he deserved for being such a dick. I headed into my bed, where Lucy was already snuggled up in, and nestled up under the covers.

The next morning I woke up to the sounds of shouting, which was unfitting for what was supposed to be a peaceful Christmas morning. It was coming from the room next to me and sounded like my brothers, which was weird because my room was across the hall from them. But it sounded so close. I started getting up, to see what was going on, but when I looked around, I realized I actually was in the guest room

How did I get in here? I gazed down to find my stomach seemed swollen in my white tank top. I lifted it up and to my horror, I realized my slim chest was replaced with a flabby belly! How did I get so fat? I know I ate alot last night but this was ridiculous! The gut flopped out, to a bit over my waist. It felt weird knowing a part of my body was just hanging there. I noticed a bit of chest hair, which was foreign to me, but when I noticed they were gray hairs, it finally hit me. I was a fat old guy in the guest room. I somehow switched bodies with my grandpa!

I heard the voices leave the room so I stumbled over to the door, not quite used to the shift in weight compared to my old twink body, and was about to put my hand on the doorknob when I saw someone looking at me in the mirror. I turned my head to find that it was my grandpa…I mean me…staring back.

I really did look disgusting, not just because of my looks, but because I now had the face of an impatient jerk. I tried doing different facial expressions; it looked weird because I rarely had ever seen my grandpa smile at all. I noticed that I couldn't see my own dick past the belly, not that I would want to. It was probably all wrinkly and gross! What was I going to do? I opened the door to find Calvin walking to the living room. He looked pretty concerned, which was unusual for the carefree personality he usually had.

“Hey uh..Grandpa?” Fuck. Looks like I'm not imagining it after all. I hated this. “Sorry for the noise, it's just that…”

“I'm not even gonna try to pretend.” I spoke, but my voice came out gravelly and deep. It scared me a little bit. “I'm Ferris, not Grandpa. I don't know how it happened! I just-”

“Shit! That's great! I mean not because you're Grandpa now. But because I'm not alone! I'm actually Sam.”

“Sam?” It was actually kinda funny, Sam and Calvin switching bodies. They were close but still completely different people. I couldn't contain my laughter and started giggling, even though it came out as my Grandpa's gruff wheezes.

“Oh sure. I'M the funny one when Mister-wheeze-a-lot can't laugh without sounding like he's dying.”

“Hey! Well Mister-” I stopped myself trying to continue the joke. “Wait, how does that work?”

“The gender is all up to the person. Sure the…” they stared down at the new extra pounds they now carried and shook their belly. “...expression might be different, at least at the moment, but I'm still me. BUT the idiot who looks like me doesn't seem to understand.” As if on cue, Calvin in Sam's body appeared, walking in a macho way, something that Sam would never do.

“Check it out Grandpa! I'm an enby!” Sam gave a huge facepalm.

“Calvin my sweet brother, We. Have. Been. Over. This.”

“Hey whatever. I think it's cool. My face feels so empty though. Maybe I'll start growing a bea-” Sam cut him off right there.

“If you go out there without a clean shaven face, I'm shaving YOUR beard.”

“God no please. It took me like a year to grow that!” Calvin pleaded.

“Hey hey, what about me?!” I interrupted their arguing.

“Oh yeah,” Sam started. “That's not Grandpa. It's Ferris.”

“Oh man Ferris. You're a fucking old dude now!” exclaimed Calvin. He then poked my new belly. “Welcome to the chub club! Well…” He glaced down at Sam's slim figure. “My membership is on hold for now.”

Just then we heard a scream coming from my mom's room. We quickly opened the door, already knowing what happened. We found my mom staring at the mirror with a look of pure horror on her face.

“It's ok Em, we're all body swapped too.” She seemed to calm down when she realized that she wasn't alone in all this.

“Weird case of Freaky Friday here. Especially with Em….and Mom,” added Calvin. Just then my mom, in Em's body, walked in to join in the confusion.

“Well this is awkward. Two of my kids in each other's bodies, my own son in my dad's and I'm in my own daughter's body. Could this Christmas get any crazier?”

“Where's Grandpa?”

“Probably still sleeping.”

We headed over to my room, expecting him to still be asleep, only to find him flexing in the mirror - in my body. I didn't actually have any real muscles, being a skinny twink, so he didn't really have anything to flex. That didn't stop him from admiring himself. When he noticed us, he walked over smiling. It was a creepy sight, not only to see my body move on its own, but also knowing it's my grandpa inside there smiling.

“Hello everyone. It's good to be young again!”

“Uh hey Grandpa.” He looked right at me. “No, no! Call me Boris! YOU'RE the grandpa now!”

I felt so humiliated. He was actually…cool…in my body! And I was just the fat old guy that nobody liked!

“Dad, we need to figure out what happened so you can become your old self again. Ok?”

“Hell no! I'm young again for the first time in years. No way I'm giving away this opportunity!”

“I got it!” Em suddenly exclaimed. We all turned around wondering what she meant. She showed us her phone - or rather my mom's phone.

“What?”

“How we all swapped bodies! That ornament that Ferris got! There's an ancient artifact that can take on different appearances. It says it's been known to cause mischief when broken.”

“What kind of ancient thing is meant to be broken? How has it lasted this long then?”

“That's the thing. Everytime it breaks, it finds a new place and takes on a new appearance. But it always takes on the appearance of an object that its next victim will need.”

“Shit. And that's why the present seemed perfect for Grandpa.”

“Hey! I got a much better gift than any of you!” cheered my grandpa as he flexed his arms once agaih.

“But…how do we find it again?”

“Y-you don't. Unless you want to search the whole world for something you don't even know what it looks like.”

There was a deafening silence after she spoke those words. We all realized the truth was that we would never return to our old bodies. I was stuck as an old man forever!

“Hey, it's not so bad,” my grandpa started, seemingly reading my mind. He leaned over and lifted up my shirt, exposing my gut, and slapped it. “The belly is pretty comfy after all. You'll love it.” Maybe he was right. I'm sure I could make the silver bear look work. As I thought about that, I noticed a bulge starting to form. Grandpa turned to look at everyone with a huge smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas everyone!”

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Frev friendships — the Robespierres and the Duplays

(Shout-out to @sieclesetcieux whose thesis on Élisabeth Duplay Lebas is the origin of the majority of the primary sources gathered here.)

People will be curious to know how my brother Maximilien met the Duplay family. The day when the red flag was deployed and martial law proclaimed on the Champ-de-Mars by Lafayette and Bailly, my brother, who had seen the fusillades ordered by the hero of two worlds, and who returned, heartbroken with all these scenes of horror, following the rue Saint-Honoré. A considerable crowd pressed about him; he had been recognized, and the people cried vive Robespierre! M. Duplay, cabinet-maker, left his house, came before my brother, and engaged him to come into his house to rest. Maximilien accepted his invitation. After an hour or two he wanted to return home, but he was kept for dinner, and not even that evening did they want to let him leave; he slept in M. Duplay’s house, and remained there for several days. Madame Duplay and her daughters showed him the liveliest interest, surrounded him with a thousand delicate cares. He was extremely sensitive to all those sorts of things. My aunts and I had spoiled him by a crowd of those little attentions of which women alone are capable. All at once transported from the bosom of his family, where he was the object of the sweetest solicitudes, into his household on the rue Saintonge, where he was alone, let the change he had had to submit to be judged! The Duplay family’s provenances in his regard recalled to him those that we had had for him, and made him feel still more vividly the emptiness and solitude of the apartment he occupied in the Marais. M. Duplay proposed to him that he should come live with him, and be his host’s lodger. Maximilien, to whom this proposition was quite agreeable, and who anyway had never known how to refuse in fear of disobliging, accepted and came to live among the Duplay family. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1835) page 84-85

On the day of the massacre on the Champ-de-Mars, [Robespierre] came to the session at the Jacobins. The friends of liberty gathered there in very small numbers. The courtyard was soon filled with gunners and hunters from the barriers, blind instruments of the furies of Lafayette and his supporters. Robespierre was trembling with fear as he crossed this courtyard to return home after the session, and hearing these soldiers vomit imprecations and threats against the Jacobins, he was obliged, in order to support himself, to take the arm of Lecoitre [sic] of Versailles, in uniform of commander of the national guard of Versailles, and of Lapoype, since division general, then member of the club. He did not dare go to sleep on rue Saintonge au Marais, where he lived with Humbert. He asked Lecointe [sic] if he did not know any patriot in the vicinity of the Tuileries who could give him shelter for the night. Lecointe [sic] suggested Duplay’s house to him, and took him there. From that day on, he never exited. It is perhaps to this change of domicile that we must attribute the development of his ambition. As long as he remained with Humbert, he was accessible to his friends and patriots. Once at Duplay, he gradually became invisible. They sequestered him from society, they adored him, they entranced him, they destroyed him by exalting his pride. It should be noted that from his arrival in Paris until the time of Champ-de-Mars, he had been housed, fed, maintained, heated, served at Humbert's house. He never spoke to the latter about compensating him; he thought he was too honored to have had such a great man as himself as a companion. He never did him the slightest service, and during the last six months of her life, he had his door barred from him: the presence of a benefactor bothered him. Stanislas Fréron’s ”Notes on Robespierre,” published for the first time within volume 1 of Papiers inédits trouvés chez Robespierre, Saint-Just, Payan, etc., supprimés ou omis par Courtois; précédés du rapport de ce député à la Convention nationale (1828) but most likely dating back to right after thermidor.

My grandfather (Maurice Duplay) was not Robespierre’s compatriot; he was from Forez. It was not in Artois, where he never set foot, that he met Maximilien. Their reports had an equally honorable origin for both: they date from the day when martial law was proclaimed on the Champ-de-Mars. That day, the rumor having spread that the most influential members of the democratic party, and in particular Robespierre, were going to be arrested, my grandfather offered the latter, whose character and talent he admired, asylum at his home. His proposal was accepted, and, from then until his last moment, Maximilien did not cease to be the companion of my family. Undated letter from Philippe Lebas Jr. to Alphonse Lamartine. On August 9 1791, around three weeks after the massacre on Champ-de-Mars, Robespierre still gave his adress as ”n. 8 rue de Saintonge” when appearing as witness before the court of the 6th arrondissement. A month later, September 14 1791, the journalist François Suleau, who had gotten arrested shortly after the massacre, was asked who he wanted to represent him in court and answered ”M. Robespierre, residing on rue Saintonge,” whereupon he got the answer that Robespierre no longer lived there. Formally, Robespierre must therefore have moved to rue Saint-Honoré 398 somewhere between these two dates.

One evening, the carpenter brought back a stranger from the Jacobin club, whom he led by the hand into his apartment. It was a person of about thirty years old, dressed, according to the fashion of the time, in a waistcoat with a large lapel, a brown coat and silk breeches. “You are at home here,” he said to him as he entered: ”you shall be my son, and I shall be your father.” Then, showing him a group of young girls who were discreetly standing aside in a corner of the living room, he added: “My friend, here are your sisters.” He called his children with a gesture of authority: “Come here, Éléonore, Sophie, Victoire, Élisabeth; come, my children, come my daughters. I have brought you a brave citizen whom the counter-revolutionaries want to have arrested. This house will serve as his asylum. You already know him by name: it’s Maximilien [Robespierre].” The young girls, who had read that name in the public papers and who had heard it often pronounced by their father with enthusiasm, surrounded the stranger. From that day on, the house had one more child. The carpenter, his wife, his daughters, everyone hurried to show a smiling face to him. He was asked to choose his own room: he designated one at the end of the courtyard under the roof, a simple and modest room which was lined, according to his tastes, with a hanging of blue damask with white flowers on it. [Maximilien's] habits were soon known; although not sumptuous in his attire, he was very clean: he liked white linen and put elegance into his clothes. Every morning, a hairdresser ran the detangler through her long, powdered hair. Having finished washing, he gathered with the carpenter's family for the morning meal. Maximilien had a sobriety worthy of the golden age: his breakfast consisted of bread and dairy products. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). At the end of this article, Esquiros claimed to have obtained the information contained in it from Élisabeth Duplay Lebas herself. Shortly thereafter, said Élisabeth did however write a letter to the paper in order to ”protest loudly against the use that, without consulting me, you have made of my name, and to declare that this article, on many points in contradiction with my recollections, also contains a large number of inaccuracies.” She does unfortunately not indicate exactly which parts of the article are inaccurate and which ones are not, and certain details contained in it match up too well with what Élisabeth writes in her memoirs for me not to believe Esquiros hadn’t actually interviewed her prior to writing the article. In spite of her complaint, all the information in article was republished, almost entirely word for word, in volume 2 of Ésquiros’ Histoire des Montagnards (1847).

My dear friend, I arrived safely in Bapaume this Friday. The national guards of Paris, earlier camped out at Verberies, those of the department of Oise who had just arrived in the city the same day, joined by the patriots of Bapaume, presented me with a civic crown together with the testimonies of the most fraternal affection. The district and municipal directories, although aristocrats, did not disdain to come and visit my body. I was delighted by the patriotism of the National Guards, who seemed very well composed. Those of Paris found no preparation to receive them in Bapaume; those of Oise were forced to leave without weapons, and still do not have any.  From Bapaume, several officers of the two corps, joined by a part of the national guard of Arras, who had come to meet me, took me back to Arras, where the people received me with demonstrations of an attachment that I cannot express, and which I cannot think of without emotion; a multitude of citizens came out of the city to meet me; to the civic crown that they offered me they added one for Petion; in their acclamations they often mingled with my name that of my comrade in arms and friend. I was surprised to see the houses of my enemies and of the aristocrats (who only appear here in ministerial or feuillantine form; the others have emigrated), illuminated as I passed, which I attributed only to their respect for the wish of the people. Eight days earlier one had made the same preparations because I was expected at that time.  On both occasions, the municipality, which is of the order of the Feuillants, had spared nothing to oppose these steps taken by the people and the patriots: “If it were the king, it said ingeniously, we would not do the same; when we were installed, were we given honors?  So no sooner had I entered my house when it sent out the alguazils of the police with the order to put out the lanterns, which was not always punctually carried out. The next day, another disorder broke out in the city: the national guards of Oise arrived in Arras through which they had to pass in order to get to their destination. They danced in the public square singing patriotic tunes and came to my house resounding with cheers that were extremely unpleasant for the ear of a feuillant. No other misfortune happened.  The national guards stationed in this country are viewed very negatively by the ministerial aristocracy, which is very numerous; they spread to the surrounding villages to protect the inhabitants of the countryside against the dangerous insinuations of refractory priests who do incalculable harm; they revive languishing patriotism everywhere. I have no doubt that we will continue to do everything we can to disgust them and get rid of them.  On our way we found inns full of emigrants. The innkeepers told us that they were astonished at the multitude of those they had been lodging for some time.

A miracle has just taken place here, which is not surprising, since it is due to the Gallvaire of Arras, who, as we know, has already done so many others: an unsworn priest said mass in the chapolle which contains the precious monument; truly devout people understood this. In the middle of the mass a man throws away two crutches that he had brought, stretches his legs, walks; shows the scar that remains on his leg, displays papers which prove that he had a serious injury; right after the miracle this man's wife arrives; she asks for her husband; is told that he walks without crutches; falls unconscious; regains her senses to thank heaven and cry out for a miracle.  However, it was resolved, in the devout sauhedrin, that it would not be in the city that much noise would be made about this adventure, but that it would instead be spread throughout the countryside: since this moment several peasants have, in fact, come to burn small candles in the Calvary chapel. I still intend to not stay long in this holy land; I am not worthy of it. I shall however not leave it without regrets; because my fellow citizens have so far only given me the sweetest of pleasures: I will console myself by embracing you (vous). Please present the testimonies of my tender friendship to Madame Duplay, to your young ladies, and to my little friend. Also, please do not forget to remind me of La Coste and Couthon. Robespierre to Maurice Duplay, October 16 1791

Brother and friend,  I received with gratitude the new mark of interest and friendship that you (vous) gave me in your last letter. I am seriously proposing, this time, to return to Paris in a few days. The pleasure of seeing you again will not be the least advantage I shall find there. I think with sweet satisfaction about the fact that my dear Pétion may have been appointed mayor of Paris as I write. I will feel more keenly than anyone the joy that this triumph of patriotism and frank probity over intrigue and tyranny must give to every citizen. Present the testimonies of my tender and unalterable attachment to your ladies, whom I very much desire to embrace, as well as our little patriot. Robespierre to Maurice Duplay, November 17 1791

My mother saw our attachment to Robespierre and his family with pleasure. For us, we loved him like a good brother! He was so good! He was our defender when my mother scolded us. That happened to me sometimes: I was quite young, a bit scatterbrained; he gave me such good advice that, as young as I was, I listened to it with pleasure. When I felt some unhappiness, I told him everything. He was not a severe judge: he was a friend, a good brother indeed; he was so virtuous! He venerated my father and mother. We all loved him tenderly. […] At that time (summer 1793) we often went walking as a family in the Champs-Élysées; ordinarily we chose the most retired paths. Robespierre often accompanied us in these walks. We passed happy moments together thus. We were always surrounded by poor little Savoyards, whose dancing it pleased Robespierre to watch; he gave them money: he was so good! For him it was a joy to do good: he was never happier than in those moments. He had a dog, named Brount, that he loved a lot; the poor animal was very attached to him. In the evening, after returning from the walk, Robespierre read us the works of Corneille, Voltaire, Rousseau; we listened to him as a family with great pleasure; he knew so well how to make what he was reading felt! After an hour or two of reading, he retired to his room, saying good evening to all. He had a profound respect for my father and mother; they too regarded him as a son, and we as a brother. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas Duplay, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 104 and 107-108

The days, the months, the years followed one another. Maximilien had become so well acquainted with this family that it had, in a way, become his own. He had another in Artois to whom he sent part of his salary as deputy, but he was nonetheless the adopted son of his hosts. The carpenter's four daughters loved him like a brother; they confided to him their sorrows, their feelings, their reveries. When one of those light clouds, which pass over the most united families, obscured the pure forehead of one of his young sisters, he gently drew her onto his knees and asked her in a low voice the secret of her sadness. If it was the trace of a discord or of some small domestic debates, he acted as conciliator between the offended parties. It was especially through him that Sophie, Élisabeth and Victoire had recourse after a falling out with their mother, to spare themselves the trouble of asking for pardon from their mother. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

[Maximilien] constantly went out in the middle of the day: where did he go? One didn't know. The carpenter told his daughters that Maximilien was going working for the public good; they had no idea in what way. […] Maximilien returned at six o'clock for supper. After leaving the table, he followed the carpenter and his daughters into the salon; these were charming family gatherings, full of grace and severity: the young girls, grouped in a circle around their mother, were working, with downcast eyes, on various needleworks. They separated at nine o'clock and said goodnight. On Thursdays only, these evenings took on a ceremonial character, a few guests, all friends of the house, gathered that day: it was David, the painter; Buonarotti, descendant of Michelangelo; Lebas, deputy; the brother of Maximilien, and some other close friends. Large mahogany armchairs covered in cherry velvet formed as they approached, a narrow but pleasant circle. They sometimes talked about literature: Maximilien read his favorite author, the tender Racine; as he said the verses well, he was asked to recite a few tirades from Bérénice or Audromanque; he carried it out with so much soul that he brought tears to all eyes. The carpenter's daughters, seated around their mother, listened to the reading while working; with modestly bowed eyelashes and feet on their stool, they contained their emotion within themselves. Then Buonarotti, who was a great musician, sat down at the piano: he was a dreamy and ardent soul, he played pathetic airs whose effect was inevitable: it seemed as if life was escaping beneath his fingers touching the quivering keys of the the instrument; they approached the windows to look at the sky, as this music lifted their hearts. However, the sky was full of stars, and hearts were full of love. One believed in family, in humanity, in the future. Seeing this interior so serious and so united, this sweet religion of the home, this cult of bare gray hair among old men and of modesty among young girls, one understood that the ancients had raised altars to the lare gods. These meetings did not last very far into the night: Maximilien retired at eleven o'clock to his room in order to work; often, until the whiteness of the morning, a little light could be seen shining in his window. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

Maximilien had brought back from a trip to Artois a large dog named Brount, whom he loved. This dog brought joy to the carpenter's daughters. He was another ally in the house. The animal, serious and thoughtful with its master, was playful with Victoire or Éléonore. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). 

Patriot Dupleix [sic], I learned indirectly that my brother is indisposed; I am worried; let me know about his situation as soon as possible. Send me also the cartridge that I asked my brother's friend to look for in his papers. Tell my brother that my sister is convalescing, and that I will send back Mme Witty's book in a few days. Don't waste a moment, send answers right away. My worry is at its peak. If neccesary I’ll come to Paris. Also send me some copies of the speech on the war that your friend gave and the observations of Pethion [sic] and Robespierre. I embrace you and your family. Augustin to Maurice Duplay, March 19 1792

In my second excursion to Paris, I experienced a surprise, which gave me anxiety for the future, and here you see the occasion. A rich carpenter by the name of Duplay, his wife, his three or four daughters and his son, a boy of fifteen or sixteen years old, all good people at heart, but very passionate and very narrow-minded, had become passionate about the Revolution. Towards the end of the Constituent Assembly, Duplay came in the name of patriotism to invite me to dinner and to spend the day in a house of his, on the Champ-Élysées, with my wife and children. I accepted, so as not to let them believe that I disdained their thoughtfulness, and also because our departure being very imminent, this connection could not last long. Among the guests were Pétion, Robespierre and Giraud de Pouzol, deputy of Puy-de-Dôme, a good and honest man, and a man of merit. The Duplay family was, moreover, all kinds of accommodating to our children. In this last trip of which I speak, I thought it necessary, therefore, to go and see them. I went there one morning. I was received very warmly, and ushered into the salon, to which was adjoined a small cabinet whose door remained open. What do I see when I enter? Robespierre, who had impatronized himself in the house, where he received homage such as those paid to a divinity. The small cabinet was particularly dedicated to him. His bust was enshrined there with various ornaments, verses, mottos, etc. The living room itself was furnished with small busts in red and gray terracotta, and lined with portraits of the great man, in pencil, blur, bistre, and watercolor. He himself, well combed and powdered, dressed in the cleanest dressing gown, was spread out in a large armchair, before a table laden with the finest fruits, fresh butter, pure milk and aromatic coffee. The whole family, father, mother and children, tried to guess in his eyes all his desires, in order to instantly please them. Mémoires de La Révellière-Lépeaux (1895), volume 1, page 114-115. The second meeting described took place somewhere in the summer of 1792, before the Insurrection of August 10.

The next day I (Barbaroux) was invited to another conference at Robespierre’s house. I was struck by the ornaments at his cabinet: it was a pretty boudoir where his image was repeated in all forms and by all the arts. His painted portrait was on the wall on the right, his engraved one on the left, his bust was at the back and his bas-relief opposite; there were also half a dozen small engravings of Robespierre on the tables.  Mémoires inédits de Pétion, et Mémoires de Buzot et de Barbaroux (1866) page 358-359. This meeting took place shortly after the Insurrection of August 10 1792. Given the fact Barbaroux was executed in 1794 and his memoirs published 1866, 42 years after Révellière-Lépeaux’ death (his memoirs were in their turn published 1895) their claims that the Duplays had several busts and portraits of Robespierre were most likely independent from one another.

I should tell the whole truth. I have nothing but praise for the demoiselles Duplay; but I would not say the same for their mother, who did me much wrong; she looked constantly to put me in bad standing with my older brother and to monopolize him. Maximilien’s character took very will to Madame Duplay’s views; he let himself be led as she wished, and this man so energetic at the head of the government had no other will in his interior than that which was suggested to him, as it were. When I arrived from Arras, in 1792, I came to live with the Duplay family, and I saw at once the ascendancy they exercised on him; an ascendancy which was founded neither on wit, since Maximilien certainly had more of it than Madame Duplay, nor on great services rendered, since the family among whom my brother lived had not for some time been in a position to render them. But, I repeat, this ascendancy took its source, on one side, from my brother’s debonair attitude, if I may express it thus, and on the other from Madame Duplay’s incessant and often importune caresses. I resolved to take my brother out of her hands, and, to succeed at this, I looked to make him understand that, in his position, and occupying such a high rank in politics, he should have a home of his own. Maximilien recognized the fairness of my reasons, but long fought my proposition that he should separate from the Duplay family, fearing to distress them. In the end, I succeeded, not without effort, to make him take an apartment in the rue Saint-Florentin. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre… (1835) page 85-87

Robespierre only moved away from my father’s house a single time, in order to go live with his sister, whose imperious character rendered him really unhappy… Note written by Élisabeth Lebas, cited in Histoire de Robespierre (1867) by Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 286.

Madame Duplay was very angry with me [for making Maximilien move away]; I believe she remained bitter towards me her entire life. We had lived thus alone for some time, my brother and I, when Maximilien fell ill. His indisposition was in no way dangerous. He needed much mare, and certainly, I did not let him lack for it; I did not quit him for an instant, I watched over him constantly. When he was better, Madame Duplay came to see him; she had not been informed of his indisposition, and made a great fuss because she had not been warned of it. She said some very disobliging things to me; she told me that my brother had not had all necessary care, that he would have been better cared for with her family, that he would lack for nothing; and that is what pressed Maximilien to return to her house; my brother at first refused weakly; she redoubled her insistences, I should say, her obsessions. Robespierre, despite my protests, decided finally to follow her. “They love me so,” he said to me, “they have such regard, such goodwill toward me, that it would be ingratitude on my part to repulse them.” This fact alone gives an idea of my brother Maximilien. He cedes to Madame Duplay, he resolves himself to leave his home, to become again a lodger in a foreign house, whale he has his house, his household, because he does not want to pain a person for whom he has friendship. I do not want to recriminate against him; far from me the thought of addressing reproaches to his memory; but in the end should he not have considered that his preference for Madame Duplay distressed me as much at least as his refusal could have afflicted this lady? Between Madame Duplay and me should he have hesitated? Should he have sacrificed me to her? After the disobliging words she had said, after having reproached me for having let my brother lack care, he who knew so well the contrary, should he not have reflected that leaving me to deliver himself to Madame Duplay’s care was to corroborate what she had said? And yet my brother loved me tenderly; his friendship for me was a thousand times stronger than that which he could have felt for a stranger; how then to explain the contradiction? Here it is: Maximilien was all devotion, he did not belong to himself, his life was a continual sacrifice, with great heart he hurt himself to please others; he did not hesitate thus, he who regarded me as a part of himself, to sacrifice me, as he sacrificed himself, so as not to affect a family who, by their caresses and kindnesses without number, had taken from him all methods of resistance. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre… (1835) page 87-89. We have no date for when Maximilien moved out, and then back in, with the Duplays. Hamel places it in September of 1793, when he claims Robespierre was ”slightly indisposed.” Mary Young, biographer of Augustin, places it in early 1793, in time for Rosalie Jullien to report about a dinner with the three siblings where Charlotte would have told her their domestic morals consisted of ”simplicity and candor.” In his memoirs (seen below), Maurice Gaillard claims Charlotte in May 1794 told him that ”when my younger brother passed through Melun (that is to say, December 1793) the three of us were living together.” Élisabeth’s memoirs imply Charlotte still lived with the family in April 1793.

I said before that I had much to complain about regarding Madame Duplay, and certainly, if I were to report everything she did to me I would fill a fat volume. When my brother, in fear of disobliging her, once again became once a lodger in her house, I went to see him quite assiduously. One cannot have any idea of the disgraceful manner in which she received me. I would have pardoned her dishonesties, her impertinences; but I what I will never pardon her is a word, a dreadful word, that she pronounced on my account. I often sent my brother jams or fruit comfits, which he liked a lot, or other sweets; Madame Duplay always let her bad humor show every time she saw my domestic arrive. One day when I had charged her with bringing a few jars of jam to my brother, Madame Duplay said angrily to her: “Bring that back, I don’t want her to poison Robespierre.” My domestic returned in tears to tell me of Madame Duplay’s dreadful blasphemy. I remained stupefied and could not speak. How to believe it? In place of going to ask an explanation, in place of going to complain to my brother of the horrible words she had said, the fear of causing him pain, and of provoking a scene which could only be very disagreeable restrained me, and I swallowed in sadness my grief and indignation. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre (1835) page 89-90

Robespierre the younger [was] nicknamed Bonbon, a repetition of his firstname Bon. Note written by the elderly Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901). An indicator Augustin was called by his nickname within the Duplay family.

[Robespierre’s] host's daughter passed for his wife and exercised a sort of empire over him.  Causes secrètes de la révolution du 9 au 10 thermidor (1794) by Joachim Vilate, page 16

It has been rumored that this daughter [Éléonore] had been Robespierre's mistress. I think I can affirm she was his wife; according to the testimony of one of my colleagues, Saint-Just had been informed of this secret marriage, which he had attended. Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337-338

Madame Lebreton, a sweet and sensitive young woman, said, blushing: “Everyone assures that Eugénie [sic] Duplay was Robespierre’s mistress.” “Ah! My God! Is it possible that that good and generous creature should have so degraded herself?” I was aghast. “Listen,” cried Henriette, “don’t judge on appearances. The unhappy Eugénie was not the mistress, but the wife of the monster, whom her pure soul decorated with every virtue; they were united by a secret marriage of which Saint-Just was the witness.”  Souvernirs de 1793 et 1794 par madame Clément, Née Hémery (1832) by Albertine Clément-Hémery

The eldest of the Duplay daughters, who Robespierre wanted to marry, was called Éléonore. Robespierre allowed himself to be cared for, but he was not in love. […] The Duplay family formed a kind of cult around Robespierre. It was claimed that this new Jupiter did not need to take the metamorphoses of the god of Olympus to become human with the eldest daughter of his host, called Éléonore. This is completely false. Like her entire family, this young girl was a fanatic of the god Robespierre, she was even more exalted because of her age. But Robespierre did not like women, he was absorbed in his political enlightenment; his abstract dreams, his metaphysical discourses, his guards, his personal security, all things incompatible with love, gave him no hold on this passion. He loved neither women nor money and cared no more about his private interests than if all the merchants had been free, obligatory suppliers to him, and the inn houses paid in advance for his use. And that’s what he acted like this with his hosts. Notes historiques sur la Convention nationale, le Directoire, l’Empire et l’exil des votants (1895) by Marc Antoine Baudot, page 41 and 242.

All the historians assert that [Robespierre] carried out an intrigue with the daughter of Duplay, but as the family physician and constant guest of that house I am in a position to deny this on oath. They were devoted to each other, and their marriage was arranged; but nothing of the kind alleged ever sullied their love.   Testimony from Robespierre’s doctor Joseph Souberbielle, cited in Recollections of a Parisian (docteur Poumiès de La Siboutie) under six sovereigns, two revolutions, and a republic (1789-1863) (1911) page 26.

Madame Duplay had three [sic] daughters: one married the conventionnel Le Bas; another married, I believe, an ex-constituent; the third, Éléonore, who preferred to be called Cornélie, and who was the eldest, was, according to what people pleased themselves to say, on the point of marrying my brother Maximilien when 9 Thermidor came. There are in regard to Éléonore Duplay two opinions: one, that that she was the mistress of Robespierre the elder; the other that she was his fiancée. I believe that these opinions are equally false; but what is certain is that Madame Duplay would have strongly desired to have my brother Maximilien for a son-in-law, and that she forget neither caresses nor seductions to make him marry her daughter. Éléonore too was very ambitious to call herself the Citoyenne Robespierre, and she put into effect all that could touch Maximilien’s heart. But, overwhelmed with work and affairs as he was, entirely absorbed by his functions as a member of the Committee of Public Safety, could my older brother occupy himself with love and marriage? Was there a place in his heart for such futilities, when his heart was entirely filled with love for the patrie, when all his sentiments, all his thoughts were concentrated in a sole sentiment, in a sole thought, the happiness of the people; when, without cease fighting against the revolution’s enemies, without cease assailed by his personal enemies, his life was a perpetual combat? No, my older brother should not have, could not have amused himself to be a Celadon with Éléonore Duplay, and, I should add, such a role would not enter into his character. Besides, I can attest it, he told me twenty times that he felt nothing for Éléonore; her family’s obsessions, their importunities were more suited to make feel disgust for her than to make him love her. The Duplays could say what they wanted, but there is the exact truth. One can judge if he was disposed to unite himself to Madame Duplay’s eldest daughter by something I heard him say to Augustin:  “You should marry Éléonore.”  “My faith, no,” replied my younger brother.   Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 90-91.

We were five children: four daughters, Éléonore, Sophie, Victoire, Élisabeth; one brother named Maurice: he was the youngest of the family. My eldest sister was promised to Robespierre; my sister Sophie married M. Auzat, lawyer in Issoire, in Auvergne, under the Constituent; my sister Victoire never married. I married Philippe Le Bas. Note written by Élisabeth Duplay, cited on page 150 of Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

Duplay's eldest daughter, Éléonore, shared her father's patriotic sentiments. She was one of those serious and just minds, one of those firm and upright characters, one of those generous and devoted hearts, the model of which must be sought in the good times of the ancient republics. Maximilien could not fail to pay homage to such virtues; a mutual esteem brought their two hearts together; they loved each other without ever having said so to each other, there is no doubt that if he had succeeded in bringing order and calm to the State, and if his existence had ceased to be so agitated, he would have become his friend's son-in-law. The slander, which spared none of those loved by the victim of the Thermidorians, did not fail to attack the woman he wanted to make his wife, and we were not afraid to write that a guilty bond united them. We, who knew Éléonore Duplay for nearly fifty years, we who know to what extent she carried the feeling of duty, to what extent she rose above the weaknesses and fragility of her sex, we strongly protest against such an odious imputation. Our testimony deserves all confidence. France: Dictionnaire Encyclopédique (1840-1845) by Philippe Lebas jr, volume 6, page 821.

A virile soul, said Robespierre of his friend [Éléonore], she would know how to die as she knows how to love... The destitution of her fortune and the uncertainty of the next day prevented him from uniting with her before the destiny of France was clarified; but he only aspired, he said, to the moment when, the Revolution finished and strengthened, he could withdraw from the fray, marry the one he loved and go live in Artois, on one of the farms that he kept from his family's property, to there confuse his obscure well-being in common happiness. (Extract from a part of l’Histoire des Girondins looked over by Philippe Le Bas). Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 78.

[Robespierre’s] relationship with Éléonore, the carpenter's eldest daughter, had a less protective and more tender character than with her other sisters. One day, Maximilien, in the presence of his hosts, took Éléonore's hand in his: it was, in accordance with the customs of his province, a sign of engagement. From that moment on he was seen more than ever as a member of the family. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

I have nothing but praise for Madame Duplay’s second [youngest] daughter, the one who married Lebas; she was not, like her mother and older sister, stirred up against me; many times she came to wipe away my tears, when Madame Duplay’s indignities made me cry. Her younger [sic, she means elder] sister was good like her. Both of them would have made me forget their mother and Éléonore’s lack of courtesy, if it had not been that these things once engraved in such an indelible manner in one’s heart, are not thereafter effaced. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre (1835), page 91-92

[Charlotte] occupied an apartment in the front, in my father’s house on the Rue Saint-Honoré. I was also good friends with her, and it was a pleasure to go see her often; sometimes I even pleased myself to help her with her hair and her toilette. She too seemed to have much affection for me.  Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 104. The friendship between Élisabeth and Charlotte is confirmed here.

Robespierre rarely dined outside of his house — six times at most during his stay on rue Saint-Honoré, said Buonarotti. Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 98. I was unable to discover the place where Buonarotti says this.

[Robespierre] rarely went out in the evening. Two or three times a year he took Madame Duplay and her daughters to the theater. It was always to the Théâtre-Français and to classical performances. He only liked tragic declamations which reminded him of the tribune, of tyranny, of the people, of great crimes, of great virtues; theatrical even in his dreams and in his relaxations. Histoire des Girondins (1847) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 4, page 132. Lamartine claimed to have interviewed Élisabeth Lebas Duplay (see below) and it therefore seems likely for this detail to come from her.

One day Camille familiarly enters the Duplay house; Robespierre was absent. He starts a conversation with the youngest of the carpenter's daughters; as he retires, Camille hands her a book he had under his arm. ”Elizabeth,” he said to her, ”do me the service of holding onto this work; I will come back for it.” No sooner had Desmoulins left than the young girl curiously half-opened the book entrusted to her custody: what was her confusion, seeing paintings of revolting obscenity pass under her fingers. She blushes: the book falls. All the rest of the day Elizabeth was silent and troubled; Maximilian noticed it; drawing her aside. "What's the matter with you," he asked her, "you look so worried to me?" The young girl lowered her head, and as an answer went to fetch the book with the odious engravings which had offended her sight. Maximilien opened the volume and turned pale. "Who gave you this?" he asked in a voice shaking with anger. The girl frankly told him what had happened. "It’s fine," Robespierre went on, "don't talk about what you've just told me to anyone: I'll make it my business. Don't be sad anymore. I'll let Camille know. It is not what enters involuntarily through the eyes that defiles chastity: it is the evil thoughts that one has in the heart.” He admonished his friend severely, and from that day on, visits from Camille Desmoulins became very rare.  Histoire des Montagnards (1847) by Alphonse Esquiros, volume 2, page 417-418. In his Histoire de la Révolution Française (1858) volume 10, page 345, Louis Blanc, who claimed to have had the story told to him by Esquiros, who in his turn had obtained it from Élisabeth, writes that the book Élisabeth was given was l’Arétin. Given the fact that Élisabeth in a list written in her old days still places Desmoulins among the revolutionaries who frequented the Duplay house ”often,” I imagiene this incident happened in 1793.

It was the day when Marat was borne in triumph to the Assembly (April 24 1793) that I saw my beloved Philippe Le Bas for the first time. I found myself, that day, at the National Convention with Charlotte Robespierre. Le Bas came to greet her; he stayed with us for a long time and asked who I was. Charlotte told him that I was one of her elder brother’s host’s daughters. He asked her a few questions about my family; he asked Charlotte if we came to the Assembly often, and said that on a particular day there would be a rather interesting session. He urged her to come to it. Charlotte asked my good mother for permission to take me there with her. At that time, my mother liked her a lot; she still had nothing to complain of. My mother was so good that she never refused her anything that could please her. She allowed me to accompany her many times. Therefore, I was with her at the Convention.  Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 102-104.

At last, Charlotte came to get me to be present at a [Convention] session which was to be quite noisy. Le Bas came up to me; for the first time, he addressed me to tell me quite good things. He told Charlotte that there would be a night session, that it should be quite interesting, that she should ask permission for me to come with her. Charlotte had no difficulty obtaining it. She was Robespierre’s sister, and my mother regarded her as her daughter. Poor mother! She believed Charlotte as pure and sincere as her brothers. Great God! This was not so!  We went therefore to that session. We had brought oranges and some sweets. Charlotte offered some to Le Bas and to her younger brother. These messieurs, after having stayed with us for some time, left us to go vote. I asked Charlotte if I could offer Le Bas an orange; she said yes. I was happy to be able to show him some attention. He accepted with pleasure. How good and respectful he seemed to me! As I said already, Mademoiselle Robespierre seemed pleased with me.  At another session of the Assembly, where we once again found ourselves together, she took a ring from me that I had on my finger. Le Bas saw and asked her to let him see it, which she did. He looked at the figure that was engraved on it, and he was obliged, at that moment, to go away to give his vote, without having the time to return the ring, which caused me great torment; for he could not return it to me, and I no longer had it on my finger. Our good mother was dear to all of us and we trembled to cause her pain. At that same session, Le Bas had lent us, Charlotte and I, a lorgnette. He returned, for a moment, to speak to Mlle Robespierre of what had just happened in the session; I wanted to return his lorgnette to him; he did not want to take it back and said that we were going to have need of it again. He begged me keep it. He went away again, and, at that moment I pleaded with Charlotte to ask him for my ring back; she promised me to do so, but we didn’t see Le Bas again. He had charged Robespierre the Younger with making his excuses and telling us that he had found himself indisposed and had been obliged to leave, quite to his regret. And myself too, I regretted no longer having my ring and not being able to return his lorgnette to him. I feared to displease my mother and be scolded; this was a great torment to me. My mother was good, but very severe. Charlotte said, to console me: “If your mother asks you for your ring, I will tell her how it happened.” All this made me quite unhappy: it was the first time such a thing had happened to me. From that time, we did not have occasion to return to the Convention again. Charlotte told me to be calm about what tormented me so. She also told me that M. Le Bas was quite sick and could no longer return to the Assembly. I admit that this news made a great impression on me. I could not take account of it: I, so young and so gay, I became sad and pensive; everyone observed my sadness, even Robespierre, who asked me if I had some sorrow; I assured him that nothing was wrong, that my mother had not scolded me, that I could not take account of what I was feeling. He said kindly: “Little Élisabeth, think of me as your best friend, as a good brother; I’ll give you all the advice one needs at your age.” Later, he saw how much confidence I had in him. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas Duplay, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 102-207

For some time, my health had been less good; my parents observed this and resolved to send me to stay a month in the country, with Mme Panis (in Chaville). She had all a mother’s cares for me; she took me walking in very beautiful gardens. One day, among others, she took me to Sèvres, to a country house inhabited by Danton. I had never seen him; but great God! How ugly he was! We found him with a lot of people, walking in a very beautiful garden. He came to us and asked Mme Panis who I was; she replied that I was one of Robespierre’s host’s daughters. He told her I appeared to be suffering, that I needed a good [boy]friend, that this would return me to health. He had the sort of repulsive features that frighten one. He came up to me, wanted to take my waist and kiss me. I repulsed him forcefully, though I was still quite weak. I was very young; but his face scared me so much that I pleaded insistently with Mme Panis not to bring me back to that house; I told her that this man had said horrible things to me, such as I had never heard. He had no respect for women, and still less for young people. […] I did not even want to stay in the country anymore; but my brother came to see me, and we passed a few more days there; and we departed once more for Paris. God! How happy I was to see my parents again! I had such a need to recount everything to my mother! The horrid mien of that man followed me everywhere. My mother did not find my health much better; she asked me several questions, asked what I had done in Chaville and if I had had fun there, if I had gone on many walks and where we had been. Poor mother! I could hide nothing from her; she seemed very perturbed by what I told her and asked me if I would like to return to Sèvres again; but I said no with such emphasis that she no longer spoke to me on the subject. I was still quite sad; our good friend Robespierre tried every means of finding out what was wrong with me, told me that this sadness was not natural at my age, and so much the more since I had always been cheerful until then. What could I say to him? I could not resolve myself to explain the reasons for my sadness to him! Upon my return I went to see Charlotte; I feared to speak to her about Le Bas; I was afraid she would think it was only about the ring. She seemed happy to see me and also found me changed. I asked her then if it had been a long time since she had gone to the Convention; she said yes and I could learn no more from her. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas, cited in Ibid, page 108-110

It was after these two months of absence that I saw my beloved again (that would be July-August 1793). My mother, having gone one day to dine in the countryside with Robespierre, had left us, my sister Victoire and I, at the house, recommending that we should go reserve seats at the Jacobins for the evening session, at which it was thought that Robespierre would speak (the days when he was to be heard there was always so large a crowd that one was forced to reserve seats in advance). I went alone and arrived early so as not to miss out. What was my surprise and joy when I saw my beloved! […] ”Robespierre [said Lebas] came one day; he was the only man from whom I could have gotten news of you; but how unhappy I was! I did not know I how to ask him. Finally, it occurred to me to speak to him of his hosts; he praised the entire family most highly, spoke to me of the happiness he felt to be among people so pure, so devoted to liberty. I already knew this from several of my friends; but, my Élisabeth, he did not speak to me of you. My God! How I suffered for many days. This time was so long… Robespierre the younger came at last to see me. What joy for me! I was more familiar with him: we were of the same age. We spoke of his brother. Finally, I could no longer restrain myself; I spoke to him of your family, of your sisters; I spoke to him of you, my Élisabeth. He praised you, told me that he had the friendship of a brother for you, that you were cheerful and good and that it was you who he loved the most, that your good mother was excellent, that she had raised you well, as housewives, that your household was perfect and recalled the golden age, that everything there breathed virtue and a pure patriotism, that your good father was the most worthy and generous of men, that his whole life had passed in goodness. He told me that his brother was very happy to be among you, that you were a family to him, that he loved you like sisters and regarded your father and mother as his own parents. If you could have known, my Elisabeth, how happy I was to hear him speak thus of a family I already honored, and whose conduct toward Robespierre, toward the friend of liberty, had made me recognize and esteem! I wished for the return of my health in order to be able to meet you like in the past with Charlotte…” Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 110, 114-115.

[After Lebas had asked my mother for my hand] I passed a very agitated night; my mother, returning to the house, had spoken to my father of the conversation she had just had with M. Le Bas; I admit to my shame that, from a room next to theirs, I heard their conversation. My father seemed happy; but my mother still wanted to marry off my sisters before me. Finally, I heard my father call our good friend: he was so good that we loved him better than a brother. My father informed him of the subject of the conversation and told him: “My friend, it’s our Élisabeth, our scatterbrain, that M. Le Bas is asking us in marriage.”  “I congratulate you on it,” he replied, “so much the better. Élisabeth will be happy; my dear friend, don’t hesitate for a moment: Le Bas is the worthiest of men by all accounts; he is a good son, a good friend, a good citizen, a man of talent; he’s a distinguished lawyer.” That good Maximilien seemed happy to see me asked in marriage by his compatriot and pleaded in our favor with my parents; he added: “This union will, I believe, make for Élisabeth’s happiness; they are in love; they will be happy together.” He praised me and my good friend; my mother made a few more objections on my distractedness; but our friend assured her that I would be a good wife and a good housekeeper. It was almost one in the morning when he retired to his room, wishing my father and mother a good night. I then heard my father say: “There is no reason to hesitate after the way Robespierre has just praised his friend.” […] [The following day] the good Robespierre came to share our happiness [of Françoise and Maurice giving Lebas Élisabeth’s hand]; that good friend said to me: “Be happy, Babet, you deserve it; you are made for each other.” Then my father, Robespierre, Le Bas and my mother took chocolate together while I returned to my work; the conversation lasted until after eleven o’clock. I was still in the dining room when Le Bas crossed it to go out; he took my hand and said: “Goodbye, my beloved, I’m dining with you, your worthy family, and our friend Robespierre.” Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 117-118, 120.

M. Le Bas continued to come assiduously to my parents’ home. One evening, he appeared sad to me, he who, until then, had always showed himself to be so cheerful and so happy with me. He was worried and a bit cold. I wanted to know the cause of this change and asked him whether he was still ill; he replied that he was not but that something he had learned recently had much afflicted him; he hesitated to confide it to me; however I insisted and I then learned from him that a man of his acquaintance had abused me to him, and had strongly discouraged him from marrying me, seeking to make him believe that I had had lovers and that one of them ought to marry me, adding that my father had no fortune, that moreover I was uneducated, that finally, as a compatriot, he owed him the whole truth, and that, in his interest, he strongly advised him not to make a fool of himself by marrying me, and that if would be easy for him to do better than me, insisting that I had had affairs, and telling him that he would do well not to rely on me. I could see that these calumnies had made an impression on my friend’s thoughts. I was profoundly afflicted my this, and I told him: “As far as education goes, if mine has not been very broad, nature has gifted me with a pure heart, and good and tender parents, who have raised us wisely and given us an education capable of making us virtuous women.” As to the infamies that had been produced to him on my account, I told him that I was quite pained to see that my Philippe could have believed them, and I cried much in speaking to him. He then sought every means to console me, told me that he did not believe those calumnies, but that, despite himself, he had felt great sorrow in thinking that she whom he had chosen for a wife could be suspected of being capable of deceiving him. “You do me much wrong,” I told him; “I will tell everything to our good friend Robespierre. He will be very cross to learn that you could have believed the ill that had been said of me. He knows how good and yet how strict our parents are, and how they raised us.” He saw my distress and finally named Guffroy [as the calumniator]; he was a printer and bookseller. He left me that evening in assuring me that he wanted to believe only me, and promised me that he would come the next morning early, in order to pray my parents to marry as early as possible. […] My good mother, who was working with my sisters in a room next to the little chamber in which we had been talking, had heard a few words of our long conversation and seen that I had been crying. She had great confidence in Philippe after what Robespierre had said of him, and we were engaged. That good mother told me to go speak to her in her room before going to bed. I went therefore to find her and recounted everything Philippe had told me to her. She proposed that I should speak to our friend about it and told me: “You must hid nothing from him; he knows Philippe, and he will tell us if he knows the villain who spoke so odiously; we must get to the bottom of this; it is a question of your honor.” I could see that this afflicted my mother greatly and I feared too to cause Robespierre pain. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 121-123, 120. In his Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) page 116, Guffroy admitted that he had attempted to stop the marriage between Lebas and Élisabeth, writing: ”This young man (Lebas) for whom I had held esteem, and whom I had sometimes kept company during an illness, stopped seeing me when I saw him assiduously frequenting Hébert and David; and when I told him the truth about Duplay's daughter whom he married despite the truthful stories I told him.”

[The day after he had told me about the Guffroy incident], during dinner, Philippe spoke to Robespierre of everything that had happened. Our good brother scolded Philippe and told him that he was very wrong of him not to have spoken to him about it first, because it would have spared much chagrin to both us. “Poor little one,” he said to me, “be cheerful again, this is nothing. Philippe does indeed love you; he is happy to have his Élisabeth.” He took our hands and pressed them together; he seemed to give us his blessing. Poor friend! You had for our parents the tenderness of a good son and for us the tender friendship of a good brother; which we returned, for we loved you sincerely! After dinner, I heard my Philippe ask my parents to fix the date of our wedding, saying that he would be happiest with the earliest possible date. Robespierre supported his request and said: “He’s right; we must get this marriage over with.” My parents asked that it take place in two décades, in order to have time to prepare my trousseau and our lodging. My father, the owner at that time of several houses, had a vacant one at that moment in the Rue de l’Arcade; he gave us lodging there and everything was promptly settled for the agreed-upon date. But, great God! What chagrin came to strike us again! At the moment of being united, we were separated. My friend was obliged to go promptly to the army. The Committee of Public Safety had just named him [representative on mission] and enjoined him to depart the same day; he barely had time to pack his trunk and have something to eat; he came in haste to bid us adieu; the post-chaise was at our door. He departed with his cousin Duquesnoy, a pure man of integrity, a devoted patriot. Judge of the sorrow of my beloved and of mine! To see ourselves separated on the eve of being united! I could not prevent myself from saying to Robespierre that he was doing us much ill.  “My good Élisabeth,” he replied, “the homeland above all else when it is in danger; this departure is indispensable, my friend; you must have courage; he will return soon; his presence his necessary where he is being sent. You will be much happier, as patriotic as you are, to see him return after having rendered a great service to his country.” I was so distressed that I did not want to be a patriot any longer. I reproached him for having made my Philippe leave; he replied that having to fulfill such a mission spoke very highly of him, especially in a moment such as the one where we then found ourselves; that men like him were necessary in a moment like this. He sought, as well as my good parents, to console me, but it was useless; I was inconsolable. My health suffered greatly for it; this alarmed my family and our friend, who indeed promised me to seize upon a favorable moment to have him return. It would still be quite a long time, but we had to wait: I had confidence in our friend; I knew that he would do all in his power to have Le Bas return to Paris and have him replaced by one of his colleagues. Philippe wrote to me often and charged me to tell Robespierre that if he did not find a means of having him return, he would see himself as forced to absent himself for a few days to come to Paris, get married, and bring me back with him, for it was impossible for him to bear our separation any longer; that he could not live as he was and would fall ill. I insisted so energetically to Robespierre, I obsessed over it so often, that that good friend found a way to have my Philippe return; [this last] wrote me to pray our parents to have everything ready for the moment of his return. He arrived, and everything being ready, we were married at the [Hôtel de] Ville, by Lebert; it was 10 Fructidor (26 August 1793). What joy for us, and how happy I was! I believed that I would never again be separated from my husband; but alas! It had to be otherwise. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 126-128. 

The (Lebas) marriage certificate states that it was celebrated at the Commune on August 26 1793, in the presence of Jacques-Louis David, 43, deputy, residing at the Louvre; Jacques-René Hébert, Deputy Public Prosecutor of the Commune, rue Neuve de l'Égalité. Witnesses of the spouses: Maximilien Robespierre, deputy rue Saint-Honoré, section des Piques; J.-Pierre Vaugeois, 61 years old, carpenter, uncle of the wife. The document is signed: Le Bas, Élisabeth Duplay, Hébert, David, Vaugeois. Ibid (1901) page 164.

Duplay has rented to Robespierre the older and the younger for the term and from the first of October 1793, old style, the small apartment at the back where we are, fully furnished, as well as an unfurnished apartment in the main building on the Rüe, all for the sum of one thousand pounds per year and without a lease, all for the sum of thousand pounds per year and this without a lease. The lease decided between Augustin, Maximilien and Maurice, cited in Notes et Glanes (1908).

Robespierre was choked with bile. His yellow eyes and complexion announced it. So Duplay was careful to serve him for dessert (in all seasons of the year) a pyramid of oranges, which Robespierre ate with avidity. He was insatiable; no one dared touch this sacred fruit. No doubt its acidity divided Robespierre's bilious humor and facilitated circulation. It was easy to distinguish the place that Robespierre had occupied at the table, by the mounds of orange peels which covered his plate. One noticed that he became more relaxed as he ate it. Stanislas Fréron’s ”Notes on Robespierre,” published in Papiers inédits trouvés chez Robespierre, Saint-Just, Payan, etc., supprimés ou omis par Courtois; précédés du rapport de ce député à la Convention nationale (1828) volume 1, page 157. 

At that time, Daillet had acquired the trust of Robespierre the older, so much so that he was the only one who had the talent to tie his cravat the way he wished: because he was so difficult, that he had it untied and tied several times. In the absence of Daillet, the Duplay girls rendered him this service. It is a rather singular thing that Robespierre the elder was able to make people believe in his sobriety; he was not greedy, it is true, when it came to common dishes, such as boiled meat, of which he hardly ate: but he needed some refinement and delicacies. At Pétion’s house, the only time Robespierre took me there; I saw the latter eating a pot of fine jams, which were very expensive at the time. The Duplays went leagues away to get him the dishes he wanted; they stuffed him with fine oranges, and when he had to speak to the Jacobins, father Duplay knew to give him a few shots of old wine. So he hardly liked to dine in town, because he knew how people dined there. Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) by Armand-Joseph Guffroy, page 417. The claim in particular that the Duplays fed Robespierre oranges reappears here. It can be noted that Élisabeth too mentions she and Charlotte brought oranges to the Convention in her memoirs.

…This carpenter, a member of the Society of Jacobins, had met Robespierre at its meetings; with the whole of his household he had become an enthusiastic worshipper at the shrine of the popular orator, and had obtained for himself the honor of securing him both as boarder and lodger. In his leisure moments Robespierre was wont to comment on Emile of Jean Jacques Rousseau, and explain it to the children of the carpenter, just as a good village parish priest expounds the Gospel to his flock. Touched and grateful for this evangelistic solicitude, the children and apprentices of the worthy artisan would not suffer his guest, the object of their hero-worship, to go into the street without escorting him to the door of the National Convention, for the purpose of watching over his precious life, which his innate cowardice and the flattery of his courtiers were beginning to make him believe threatened in every possible way by the aristocracy, who were seeking to destroy the incorruptible tribune of the people. It was necessary, in order to reach the eminent guest deigning to inhabit this humble little hole of a place, to pass through a long alley flanked with planks stacked there, the owner's stock-in-trade. This alley led to a little yard from seven to eight feet square, likewise full of planks. A little wooden staircase led to a room on the first floor. Prior to ascending it we perceived in the yard the daughter of the carpenter Duplay, the owner of the house. This girl allowed no one to take her place in ministering to Robespierre's needs. As women of this class in those days freely espoused the political ideas then prevalent, and as in her case they were of a most pronounced nature, Danton had surnamed Cornelie Copeau "the Cornelia who is not the mother of the Gracchi." Cornelie seemed to be finishing spreading linen to dry in the yard; in her hand were a pair of striped cotton stockings, in fashion at the time, and which were certainly similar to those we daily saw encasing the legs of Robespierre on his visits to the Convention. Opposite her sat Mother Duplay between a pail and a saladbasket, busily engaged in picking salad herbs. Two men in military garb, standing close to her in a respectful attitude, seemed to be taking part in the duties of the household, obligingly picking herbs, in order to be free to chat more unrestrainedly under the shelter of this familiar occupation. These two men, since famous in their respective positions, were, the one General Danican, who since then, on the 13th Vendemiaire, became impressed with the idea that he was a Royalist, and who perhaps still retains the belief because he is one of England's pensioners; the other was General, later on Marshal, Brune. Freron and I told Cornelie Copeau that we had called to see Robespierre. She began by informing us that he was not in the house, then asked whether he was expecting our visit. Freron, who was familiar with the premises, advanced towards the staircase, while Mother Duplay shook her head in a negative fashion at her daughter. Both generals, smilingly enjoying what was passing through the two women's minds, told us plainly by their looks that he was at home, and to the women that he was not. Cornelie Copeau, on seeing that Freron, persisting in his purpose, had his foot on the third step, placed herself in front of him, exclaiming: ”Well, then, I will apprise him of your presence," and, tripping upstairs, she again called out, "It’s Fréron and his friend, whose name I do not know." Fréron thereupon said, "It’s Barras and Freron," as if announcing himself, entering the while Robespierre's room, the door of which had been opened by Cornelie Copeau, we following her closely. Memoirs of Barras: member of the Directorate (1899) page 167-169, regarding a meeting he and Fréron tried to have with Robespierre following their return from Marseilles in March 1794.

Those whom fate did not lead to the Duplay family presume that it was enough to be introduced to them to see Robespierre: they are wrong; I appeal to the testimony of all his former friends; not one could reach him: the entrance to his residence, similar to Tartarus, was constantly guarded by Cerberians who overshadowed everything... You, whom terror has compressed for so long, have you understood it well? No: to feel its full weight, compelling circumstances would often have had to drag you into its temple, where the sinister look of a Chalabre was sometimes equivalent to a death sentence; where once suspected your loss was sworn, which you accelerated even by no longer going there. À Maximilien Robespierre aux Enfers (1794) by Paul-Auguste Taschereau-Fargues, page 11.

Duplay was a poor carpenter, who had little idea that he was destined to play a sort of role in the revolution, and that his name would become almost historic. When the constituent assembly was transferred to Paris after the October days, Robespierre came to stay in the house of Duplay, located on rue Saint-Honoré, opposite the convent of Assomption, and wasted no time in becoming a zealous devotee. The father, the mother, the sons, the daughters, the cousins, etc, swore only by Robespierre, who deigned to raise the eldest of the two [sic] daughters to the honors of his bed, without however marrying her other than with the left hand. At the time of the organization of the revolutionary tribunal, Robespierre had father Duplay appointed as juror; the two sons had a distinguished rank among Maximilien I’s bodyguards, whose leader was Brigadier General Boulanger. Mother Duplay became superior of the devotees of Robespierre; and her daughters, as well as her nieces and several of her neighbors, obtained high ranks in this respectable body. Souvenirs thermidoriens (1844) by Georges Duval, volume 1, page 247.

I must not, moreover, pass over in silence the picture that you (Lamartine) give us of the private space where Robespierre lived with admirable simplicity of morals. Never has your imagination shown itself more poetic or more creative than in this painting of an interior life where all the virtues of the golden age reigned. The chaste loves of Robespierre for the eldest daughter of this house, the patriarchal habits of this family, the innocent pleasure she took in hearing Maximilien read to her the verses of the tender Racine, inspire the sweetest interest. But monsieur, is this really how one is allowed to write history, and contemporary history? The excellent father of the family of whom you speak in such touching terms, this brave craftsman, who should have remained a carpenter, was nothing less than a member of this revolutionary tribunal whose servile barbarity you yourself have so eloquently condemned. His wife, fanaticized by Robespierre, appeared every day in the stands of the Convention or the Jacobins, which were certainly not a school of gentle philosophy. Finally, no one is unaware that this unfortunate woman hanged herself in the prison where the revolution of 9 Thermidor had brought her. Would she have met such a cruel end had she had the housekeeping virtues, the pure and modest qualities that your gallant imagination likes to attribute to her? You say, I do not know thanks to what information, that she was put to death by furious women; but you provide no proof to support this assertion, contrary to all the reports published in 1794. It is fair, moreover, to say that the young family of the carpenter was in good faith in their enthusiasm for Robespierre; and that once it had recovered from its illusions, it did not take long for it to be esteemed by good people through the gentleness of its morals and character. I like to recognize this truth! Le Robespierre de M. de Lamartine : lettre d’un septuagénaire à l’auteur de l’Histoire des Girondins, (1848) by Fabien Pillet, page 7-8.

A young and pretty person aged 17 to 18, accompanied by her aunt, arrives one morning, by carriage, at Robespierre's door, to ask for her father's liberation. These two women speak to Mother Duplay, who they ask if Robespierre is avaliable. “No,” this she-cat replies abruptly. This initial reception intimidated the young person so much that, without daring to open her mouth, she sadly returned to her carriage. As she was about to climb into it, she said to herself that the way in which she had been received was perhaps the result of a lack of formality towards this woman whom, due to her dirty and disgusting attire, she took for the servant of the house. She therefore returns, the 25 livres assignat in hand, to try to make the female dragon yield. Femme Duplay eagerly runs to meet her, and, grabbing her by the arm, says to her: “Now that you are alone, you can go up. Citizen Robespierre really likes young people your age.” This innocent girl got so disturbed that she immediately went back to her aunt, whom she told, completely frightened, about her adventure. I have from the mouths of irrefutable witnesses the following anecdote: One of the pleasures of this tyrant was to provoke with harsh words the sensitivity of young people who came to ask for some grace, and at the moment when they shed tears in abundance, he would take out his handkerchief and hasten, with a sort of interest, to wipe away the tears of his victims. Racine put this verse into Nero's mouth, about Junie: I loved even the tears which I made her flow. Notes et souvenirs de Courtois de l’Aube, député à la Convention nationale, cited in La Révolution française: revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine (1887), volume 12, page 929-930.

Simon Duplay, nephew of Duplay the carpenter, with whom Robespierre lived, served as Robespierre's secretary. He had collected many facts about this famous character and he was the only one capable of giving true memoirs on Robespierre. He died two or three years ago without having published anything. Moreover, Simon Duplay could only have done it from memory, because all his papers were seized as well as those of his patron. He was thrown into prison with the entire Duplay family. It is remarkable in the imprisonment of this family that one of the young ladies Duplay (Sophie), married to a husband strongly opposed to the Revolution, was found after much research and imprisoned for having borne the name Duplay. Simon Duplay was an ardent young man, full of spirit, who had enlisted voluntarily at the start of the Revolution, and he had been wounded and amputated: at the time of 9 Thermidor he was using a wooden leg. He wrote under Robespierre's dictation, and if necessary served as his secretary. There is no need to say that he was poorly paid. In those days, zeal did everything. Notes historiques sur la Convention nationale, le Directoire, l’Empire et l’exil des votants, (1893) by Marc-Antoine Baudot, page 40. Note written 12 July 1829.

One evening, at table, Robespierre vaguely inquired about what [Maurice] had done at the revolutionary tribunal, where he had sat during the day: “Maximilien,” Duplay replied, “I never ask you (vous) what you do at the Committee of Public Safety.” Robespierre understood the discretion of his old friend, and, without saying a word, he shook his hand affectionately. Histoire de Robespierre (1867) by Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 289. In a footnote, Hamel claims to have had this anecdote told to him by Philippe Lebas jr.

Did your uncle lodge the Robespierre brothers? Yes, but Robespierre the younger left it after his return from the army of Italy, to instead go and live on rue Florentin. Interrogation of Simon Duplay, held January 1 1795, cited in Les divisions dans les comités de gouvernement à la veille du 9 thermidor d’après quelques documents inédits (1915) by Albert Mathiez. It is unknown if Simon is referring to Augustin’s first return from the army of Italy (December 1793) or his second one (June 1794) here. In her memoirs, Charlotte writes Augustin went to live with a colleague by the name of Record during the first leave in Paris, while a letterfrom her to him dated July 6 1794 indicates he planned to settle in the apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin the three siblings briefly moved into after his second return.

”When my younger brother passed through Melun,” said Mlle Robespierre, ”all three of us were living together; I still hoped to be able to bring back the older, to snatch him from the wretches who obsess over him and lead him to the scaffold. They felt that my brother would eventually escape them if I regained his confidence, they destroyed me entirely in his mind; today he hates the sister who served as his mother… For several months he has been living alone, and although lodged in the same house, I no longer have the power to approach him… I loved him tenderly, I still do… His excesses are the consequence of the domination under which he groans, I am sure of it, but knowing no way to break the yoke he has allowed himself to be placed under, and no longer able to bear the pain and the shame of to see my brother devote his name to general execration, I ardently desire his death as well as mine. Judge of my unhappiness!… But let’s return to what interests you. The addresses to the king on the events of 1792 are already far from us; it seems to me that the signatures of these addresses are persecuted less than those who protested against the day of May 31. Try to see Maximilien, you will be content; he was very glad that our younger brother saw you at Melun. On this occasion he spoke with interest of the exercises of your pupils and of the attention you had in entrusting him with presiding over them. I won’t introduce you to him, I would not succeed; I even advise you not to speak to him about me. You will be told he is out, don't believe it, insist on your visit.”

The Robespierre family was housed on rue Saint-Honoré, near the Assomption chapel, the sister and younger brother at the front, the older brother at the back of the courtyard. Gaillard went to Maximilien’s apartment; a young man, looking at him with the most insolent air, said to him, barely having opened the door: “The representative isn’t home…”

“He may not be there for those who come to talk to him about business, but that is not my doing; I will talk to him about his family that I know a lot, you have seen me come out of his sister's apartment who is involved in state affairs no more than I am... Bring my name to the representative, he will receive me, I’m sure of it.”

The fellow did not dare refuse to carry a paper on which Gaillard had taken care to indicate himself in such a way as to be recognized, he immediately came back and gave the visitor his paper saying: “The representative does not know you,” and the door was violently slammed shut!…

The insolence of this brazen man whom Gaillard knew to be the secretary of Robespierre, son of Duplay, to whom the sister attributed the excesses of his brother, the sorrow he felt at losing the hope of saving the judges of Melun and to ensure his personal rest, all these thoughts made him very angry; he calls the young man a liar, insolent, he accuses him of deceiving Robespierre and of increasing the number of his enemies every day, all this in the loudest voice with the intention of being heard by Maximilien and lure him to one of the windows where, surely, he would have recognized him. New disappointment, no one appears and Gaillard goes back to tell Mlle Robespierre about his misadventure.

“I prepared you for it, she told him. ”No one can approach my brother unless he is a friend of those Duplays, with whom we are lodging; these wretches have neither intelligence nor education, explain to me their ascendancy over Maximilien. However, I do not despair of breaking the spell that holds him under their yoke; for that I am awaiting the return of my other brother, who has the right to see Maximilien. If the discovery I just made doesn't rid us of this race of vipers forever, my family is forever lost. You know what a miserable state we found ourselves in, reduced to alms, my brothers and I, if the sister of our father hadn’t taken us in. It’s strange that you didn’t often notice how much her husband’s brusqueness and formality made us pay dearly for the bread he gave us; but you must also have noticed that if indigence saddened us, it never degraded us and you always judged us incapable of containing money through a dubious action. Maximilien, who makes me so unhappy, has never given a hold, as you know, in terms of delicacy. Imagiene his fury when he learns that these miserable Duplays are using his name and his credit to get themselves the rarest goods at a low price from the merchants. So while all of Paris is forced to line up at the baker's shop every morning to get a few ounces of black, disgusting bread, the Duplays eat very good bread because the Incorruptible sits at their table: the same pretext provides them with sugar, oil, soap of the best quality, which the inhabitant of Paris would seek in vain in the best shops... How my brother's pride would be humiliated if he knew the abuse that these wretches make of his name! What would become of his popularity, even among his most ardent supporters? Certainly my brother is very proud, it is in him a capital fault; you must remember, you and I have often lamented the ridicule he made for himself by his vanity, the great number of enemies he made for himself by his disdainful and contemptuous tone, but he is not bloodthirsty. Certainly he believes he can overthrow his adversaries and his enemies by the superiority of his talent.” La Révolution, la Terreur, le Directoire 1791-1799: d’après les mémoires de Gaillard (1908) page 263-266. This anecdote implies Charlotte had moved back in with the Duplays somewhere before May 1794, when it is described as taking place.

On Floréal 18 (May 7 1794), I wrote to Robespierre, having been unable to meet him both at the Committee of Public Safety and at his house. This man, to whom many people ran, was never able to get hold of me, nor lure me into his home. The Duplays, his hosts, had extended invitations to me; but my wife told them: Robespierre is younger than my husband; let him come to us if he wants to see him. To be useful, at that time, I wanted to see him; but I could not obtain it. I only met him once, on my way from the Convention to the Committee of Public Safety: it was then that he told me that Sains-Just [sic] and Lebas were going to leave. Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) by Armand-Joseph Guffroy, page 72-73. Does this imply the Duplays were willing to invite Guffroy to their place even after he had slandered Élisabeth?

Robespierre believed in the Supreme Being and in the immortality of the soul. How many times he scolded me when I did not seem to believe with the same fervor as he! He said to me: “You are greatly mistaken! You will be unhappy not to believe; you are still quite young, Élisabeth! Consider that it is the only consolation on earth!” Note written by Élisabeth Duplay, cited on page 150 of Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

In the morning, the daughters of the carpenter with whom Robespierre lived dressed in white and gathered flowers in their hands to attend the feast [of the Supreme Being]. Éléonore herself composed the bouquet for the president of the Convention. The sun had risen without a cloud, everything in nature was laughing, and the four young sisters were touched in advance by the solemn character of the ceremony which was being prepared: the spring of the year was getting married for them in the spring of the age and innocence. They had heard Maximilien speak more than once about the existence of God. He had read to them, in the winter evenings, beautiful pages from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, his master, on the Author of nature and on the immortality of the soul. The time having come to go to the Tuileries garden, the head of the house, Duplay, delighted to see his daughters so pious and so charming, placed a kiss on the forehead of each of them to bring them good luck. They left with joy in their souls. The craftsman's family only returned to their father's house at nightfall. How the faces had changed! It was no longer this joy of the morning, this enthusiasm of young girls who, fresh and naive, advanced, like the virgins of Judea, to meet the Lord; Murmurs and sinister warnings had been heard in the crowd. A cloud was on all fronts. Robespierre seemed sad and resigned: “I know well,” he said, looking at his hosts, “the fate reserved for me; you won't see me for much longer; I will not have the consolation of witnessing the reign of my ideas; I leave you my memory to defend; the death that I will soon suffer is not an evil: death is the beginning of immortality.” He was silent. A gloomy presentiment froze hearts. They separated for the night. Histoire des Montagnards (1847) by Alphonse Esquiros, volume 2, page 447-449. In a footnote inserted on page 28 of Thermidor, d’après les sources originalets er les documents authentiques (1891), Ernest Hamel writes that Esquiros obtained this description from Élisabeth herself.

This letter will be delivered to you under the address of my wife, because I do not have the greatest confidence in your secretary and in many other people that surround you. It is still friendship that makes me speak like this. Letter from Antoine Buissart to Maximilien, June 28 1794. Could it be Charlotte, who reached Arras on May 17 and left it around the time this letter was written, who inspired this mistrust of the Duplays in Buissart?

…Éléonore, Victoire, Sophie, Élisabeth, raised in the peaceful interior of the home, in the oasis of the family, sincerely imagined that the same happiness extended to the whole city; they blessed in their hearts the God of the revolution who had given such rest to the French nation. Only one circumstance worried them, it was that for some time the porte-cochère of the house had been strictly closed night and day on orders from the carpenter. Éléonore timidly asked Maximilien the reason for it in front of her other sisters. He blushed “Your father is right,” he said; ”Everyday right now something passes along this street that you must not see.” In fact, around two o'clock in the afternoon, a tumbril was rolling heavily on the pavement of Rue Saint-Honoré; the sound of horses and the cries of people could be heard even in the courtyard. It was the thing that passed by. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). The incident is portayed as happening during the time of the ”great terror” of June-July 1794. When republishing the anecdote in his Histoire des Montagnards (1847), Esquiros instead has Robespierre say this on January 21 1793, the day of the king’s execution.

The day before he had planned to deliver [the speech of 8 thermidor] before the National Convention, [Robespierre] went out with his secretary, Simon Duplay, the soldier from Valmy, the one they called Duplay with the wooden leg, and took him to the Chaillot promenade at the top of the Champ-Elysées. He appeared cheerful and playful, even going after the very abundant cockchafers this year. Nevertheless, at times, a cloud seemed to veil his countenance, and he felt himself gripped by some sort of wave. Thermidor: d'après les sources originales et les documents authentiques avec un portrait de Robespierre gravé sur acier (1897) by Ernest Hamel, page 241-242. In a footnote, Hamel claims this information was provided to him by ”Doctor Duplay, son of Duplay.”

It was the first days of Thermidor: Maximilien continued his evening walks at the Champ-Élysées with his adoptive family. The sun, at the end of the sky, buried its globe behind the clumps of trees, or swam softly here and there in a dark gold fluid. The sounds of the city died away in the agitated branches; everything was rest, silence and meditation: no more tribunes, no more people; nothing but the peaceful and solemn teaching of nature. Maximilien walked with the carpenter's eldest daughter at his arm: Brount followed them. What were they saying to each other? Only the breeze heard and forgot everything. Éléonore had a melancholy brow and downcast eyes: her hand carelessly stroked the head of Brount who seemed very proud of such beautiful caresses; Maximilien showed his fiancée how red the sunset was. Here ends the story of intimate life; here Mme L(ebas) movedly wiped her eyes. This walk was the last. The next day, Maximilien disappeared in a storm. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). When republishing the anecdote in Histoire des Montagnards (1847), volume 2, page 460, Esquiros adds the following part right after reprinting the anecdote word by word: “It will be good weather tomorrow,” said [Éléonore]. Maximilien lowered his head as if struck by an image and a terrible presentiment.

Toulognon, volume 11. p. 502—, writes that Robespierre upon returning to the house where he lodged spoke quietly about the morning debates (8 Thermidor); and said: “I no longer expect anything from the Mountain; they want to get rid of me like a tyrant; but the mass of the assembly will hear me.”These expressions, which Toulongeon clearly indicates to have been repeated by some member of the Duplay family, are in conformity with what Robespierre declared on the morning of the 9th before going to the Convention. As Duplay spoke to him with great concern about the dangers that awaited him, as he insisted on the need to take precautions, Robespierre replied: “The mass of the Convention is pure; do not worry; I have nothing to fear.” We obtained details from Buonarotti, who collected them while in prison, from the mouth of Duplay. Histoire parlementaire de la Révolution française: ou Journal des Assemblées Nationales…(1837) by Philippe-Joseph-Benjamin Buchez, Roux-Lavergne, volume 34, page 3-4.

Legendre: At the time of 9 Thermidor, I was secretary as well as Dumont: I said to him: “There’s going to be some noise. Do you see in this rostrum the whole Duplay family? Do you see Gerard? Do you see Dechamps?” At the same moment Saint-Just began his speech; Tallien interrupted him and tore the veil. Louis Legendre at the Convention March 26 1795

One of those who had witnessed the outcome of this catastrophe (the execution on 10 thermidor) told me that he recognized in the crowd Duplay's eldest daughter, who had wanted to see for one last time the man whom her whole family had looked upon as a god. Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337.

…A moment later the whole Duplay family was brought in[to prison]. One of the prisoners cried out: ”I announce to you the ganimede of Robespierre, and his prime minister.” It was then learned, from several questions asked to them, all the circumstances surrounding the fall of the tyrant. The next morning, as soon as the women saw these two individuals [Maurice and Jacques-Maurice] among the prisoners; they cried out: ”You are with your slaughtermen, you should knock these beggars out!” One contented oneself with molesting them a little, because one needed them to learn all the details of the insurrection. On 11 Thermidor, around nine o'clock, the rumor spread that femme Duplay had hanged herself in the night; a citizen announced this news by saying: ”Citizens, I announce to you that the dowager queen has just fared a somewhat unfortunate excess.” ”What? What happened? cried the two Duplays, who did not understand what it was he meant.  ”Citizens, he added, it is a great day of mourning for France; we no longer have a princess.” What amused us the most in all of this was that the same evening, Duplay’s son gave ten francs to a jailer to go and gather information about his mother’s situation, whom he believed to be free; and that the same man came to tell her that she enjoyed perfect health! He remained in this belief for a very long time; which earned the unscrupulous teller at least fifty ecus for supposed commissions. Almanach des prisons, ou Anecdotes sur le régime intérieur de la Conciergerie, du Luxembourg, ect., et sur différens prisonniers qui ont habité ces maisons, sous la tyrannie de Robespierre, avec les chansons, lettres et couplets qui y ont été faits (1794) by Philippe-Edme Coittant, page 165-167. Maurice, Françoise and Jacques-Maurice were all ordered arrested on 10 thermidor. Françoise death could be both a murder and a suicide, though the fact that the arrest orderstates all three were to be kept isolated, while the report made after her death underlines that there’s no sign of any fight, would point towards the latter.

13 thermidor, year two of the Republic, one and indivisible

There was brought before us citoyenne Carraut, found on rue du Four, section du Contrat Social n. 482, at the house of citoyenne Béguin.

She was asked her name, age and residence.

Marie-Marguerite-Charlotte Robespierre, 28 years old, living on her income, residing with citoyenne Laporte, rue de la Réunion n. 200, and this since about a month back.

She was invited to tell us why she didn’t live with the Duplays on rue Honoré where the conspirator Robespierre lived and what motivated her to leave this residence.

To which she answered that she used to live there, but that her brothers and femme Duplay had told her to leave her apartment, and that femme Duplay reproached her for seeing counter-revolutionaries, among which was Guffroy, representative of the people; that her older brother resented her because she had the courage of letting him know the danger he ran by being sourrunded so badly, and that the Duplays had taken up the case to lose him, and that this was what motivated her to go live with citoyenne Laporte.

[…]

She was invited to declare if she had been aware of the infamous conspiracy that her older brother had been hatching and if she knew which were the men who frequently visited him.

She responded that she loved her country so much that she had the courage to lament this diabolical conspiracy, that every time she had met him she had found the occasion to tell him that the men around him were trying to deceive him, that if she had suspected the infamous plot that was being hatched, she would have denounced it rather than seeing her country lost.

She read her interrogation and said it contained the truth and signed while observing that she sometimes saw at the Duplays a man named Didier, who for a period of time served as secretary to her older brother, that through that position, he had been appointed juror to the Revolutionary Tribunal. 

Robespierre.  Interrogation of Charlotte Robespierre, held on July 31 1794. Can Charlotte’s denounciation of the Duplays here have played a role in the decision to arrest Élisabeth, Simon (order given July 31) Victoire, Sophie (order given August 1) and Éléonore (order given August 4)? The Guffroy Charlotte namedrops is the same man who tried to stop the marriage between Élisabeth and Lebas. Charlotte’s connections to him are furthered comfirmed by the work Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices (1794) and an undated decree, both in Guffroy’s hand, as well as a letter to him from Antoine Buissart, dated May 7 1794. Charlotte’s claim here to have been forced to move out from the Duplay house line up rather well with Gaillard’s story, where’s she’s portrayed to have moved back in by May 1794.

The same 13 thermidor there then appeared before us citoyenne Béguin, wife of citizen Béguin, employed as secretary at the Commission of Representatives of the People at the Army of Italy, rue du Four-Honoré, n. 482.

[…]

She was asked if she had visited the infamous Robespierre the older, which were the people who frequented him and if she had known about his infamous conspiracy.

To which she answered that she had never visited Robespierre the older, that the infamous Duplays didn’t leave his side… Interrogation of citoyenne Béguin, at whose house Charlotte was arrested, held July 31 1794

Citizens, When giving orders for the arrest of the Duplays, where Robespierre was lodging, you forgot their nephew, the wooden leg, who, after their arrest, went to the Jacobins, where he denounced the commissioner of the Revolutionary Committee charged by your Committee to carry out said arrest. This individual took the liberty of saying that he should not recognize orders given against patriots so well known and worthy of Robespierre. Commissioner Labarre was consequently kept in custody in the hall of the Jacobins and a motion was made to send him to the Commune. His Jacobin card was taken away from him and he was searched, at the request of said nephew Duplay, to see if he was carrying orders to arrest the mentioned patriots. Not having seen nephew Duplay yesterday, and having heard that he was outlawed, I thought myself excused from making this denunciation, but I learned that he was seen this morning entering the house of Duplay. I think I have to denounce him. We can question Citizen Labarre about these facts. Letter from an anonymous police agent to the Committee of Public Safety, July 29 1794, cited in the article L'arrestation de Simon Duplay (1919) by Albert Mathiez.

Citizen representatives, I was arrested on 12 Thermidor by order of the Committee of General Security and the order read: Robespierre’s secretary. I don't know who could have given me a title that I never had, and you yourselves are aware, representative citizens, that Robespierre did not have a secretary, that he did not even give away his speeches to copy. I lost a thigh in the service of the homeland. The pain caused by this injury is too serious for me to remain in this state for a long time, and unfortunately at this moment, for lack of air, I am attacked by a very considerable fever, which, combined with my injury, puts me in a very sad state. If this reason can speed up the examination of my case, I ask you, representative citizens, to take it into consideration. I had the misfortune to be taken in, on my return from the army, by my uncle with whom Robespierre was staying. He deceived me like so many others, those are all my crimes. I beg you, representative citizens, to have regard for my unfortunate position, to give me the justice I deserve and the freedom for which I lost a limb.  Salut and fraternity, Simon Duplay, disabled soldier, detained at Magdelonnettes. Letter from Simon Duplay to the Committee of Public Safety, August 19 1794. Cited in Ibid.

To citizens representatives members of the Committee of General Security, We have been arrested for a year, because our father lodged Robespierre, we have not exercised any public function, no denunciation has been raised against us. Prevention alone was therefore able to prolong our detention. We hope that the solemn judgment which returned our father to society will have dissipated him, and we expect from the justice of the Committee the end of our misfortunes and our long detention. We observe that we cannot produce exculpatory documents, since no accusation weighs against us and we cannot destroy what does not exist. As for proof of good citizenship, one of us [Simon] gave unequivocal proof in the plains of Champagne. The pension certificate that the Republic granted him to compensate him for the loss of a leg is proof of this. The other two could only make wishes for public liberty, since one had barely reached his sixteenth year and the other is a woman. Salut et fraternité. Undated petition from the imprisoned Simon, Jacques Maurice and Éléonore Duplay. Cited in Ibid.

…I managed to get introduced to Madame Lebas, this naive and passionate witness of the intimate life of Robespierre, this living and ardent protest against the slander (because even the crime gets slandered) of the historians of the Revolution. I found in Madame Lebas a woman from the Bible after the dispersion of the tribes in Babylon, withdrawn from the commerce of the living in the upper floor of a modest apartment, conversing about her memories, surrounded by portraits of her family decimated on the 18th Fructidor [sic], of her sisters, of whom Robespierre had wanted to marry the most beautiful, of Robespierre himself in all these elegant costumes in which he took pride in presenting the contrast on his person with the vest, the red cap, the clogs, sordid signs, ignoble flatteries of the Jacobins to the equality and misery of the populace. Histoire de Robespierre : d’après des papiers de famille, les sources originales et des documents entièrement inédits, (1865) by Ernest Hamel, volume 1, page 365.

…It was through an academic that I was truly introduced to the republican world. M. Philippe Le Bas, my history teacher at the École Normale, welcomed me into his home, brought me into a few families who remained faithful to the memories of 1793. 

He was the son of the deputy Le Bas, friend and disciple of Robespierre. He was proud of his father's fame. It is even said that before becoming a member of the Institute, he presented himself in salons under this title: “M. Philippe Le Bas, son of the deputy”. I had wanted to see survivors of the Revolution up close: my success exceeded my expectations, since I immediately found myself in the world of Robespierre. I was like a young beginner who wanted to taste a generous wine, and who had been poured abundantly with alcohol. I had had enough firmness to more or less put up with the Girondins, but I was on the verge of losing my mind when I found myself among Robespierre's friends. 

The widow of the deputy Le Bas, who gave birth to the man who was to be my teacher, was one of the daughters of the carpenter Duplay. This Duplay family had become Robespierre’s family. He lived with them, and when he died, he was engaged to Mademoiselle Éléonore, the sister of Madame Le Bas. The fiancée mourned Robespierre up until her death. This whole family was closely united, and the memory of the deceased contributed not a little to this union. The Committee of Public Safety, universally condemned and cursed, still had a few friends in this corner of the world; and for these survivors, for these persisters, the Le Bas family was the object of particular respect.

Moreover, the carpenter Duplay had given his daughters an excellent education. This carpenter was a carpentry contractor; for some time he had served as judge at the Revolutionary Tribunal. His grandson, the one who was my teacher at l’École normale, was the gentlest and most benevolent man in the world. When he no longer had to explain himself about his father and his father's terrible friends, he spoke and acted like a cultured man, a friend of peace, and preoccupied, above all, with his scholarly research. He had been tutor to a prince. It is true that this prince was Prince Louis-Napoleon, the same one who, against all expectations, became Emperor of the French. The advent of his student to the supreme rank changed nothing either in the ideas, conduct, language or life of Philippe Le Bas. He remained until the end as I had known him in 1834, M. Philippe Le Bas, son of the deputy. 

It was known among those familiar with M. Le Bas that I knew no one in Paris; and that was a reason for them to invite me to dinner or super on Sunday. I was invited once with solemn and mysterious forms which gave me reason to think that I was going to attend some important event. I arrived at the appointed time. There were a few guests, all avowed republicans and editors of party newspapers. Nearly an hour passed; the person who had initiated the meeting was kept waiting. I think everyone except me was in on the secret; but I was too shy to ask a question. Finally a great movement occurred, the whole family went into the antechamber to make the reception more solemn, and we lined up around the door. 

There was no advertising in this modest house. I saw an elderly woman enter, walking with difficulty and giving her arm to the lady of the house. She had come alone. They saluted her very profoundly; she responded to this greeting like a queen who wants to be amiable to her subjects. She was a very thin woman, very upright in her small frame, dressed in the antique style with very puritanical cleanliness. She wore the costume of the Directory, but without lace or ornaments. I immediately had, as it were, an intuition that I was seeing Robespierre’s sister. She sat down at the table, where she naturally took the place of honor. I kept looking at her throughout the meal. She seemed serious, sad to me, without austerity however, a little haughty although polite, particularly kind to M. Le Bas, who showered her with consideration or, to put it better, with respect. When the conversation started revolving around general things, she took little part in it; but listened to everything with politeness and attention. If she happened to say a word, everyone would immediately shut up. I thought to myself that one couldn’t have treated a sovereign better. 

Robespierre's name was not even mentioned. Essentially, it was him that everyone thought of, and it was him that they talked about without naming him. That was the habit in these devoted families. I wasn’t planning on compromising myself by pronouncing this name which was revered there, and execrated everywhere else. It was not pronounced, because it was implied in every word spoken. 

There are two Robespierres: the fierce Robespierre and the reasoning and sentimental Robespierre. The cult of his fanatics was equally aimed at the dictator and the humanitarian orator. The ghosts with which I was seated did not belong to 1834. They were from, and wanted to be from, 1793. The great killings were for them only necessary acts of government. The Thermidorians had barely overthrown the Committee of Public Safety when they began copying it. On 18 Fructidor, La Réveillère-Lépeaux, the toughest of men, deported Directors, representatives and journalists to Sinnamari. For a quarter of a century, proscription was the custom. I believe that the killings of 1793 were excused by those around me, that perhaps they were even glorified. But one thought above all about the disciple of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, of the speeches against the death penalty and on the Supreme Being, of the author of so many touching homilies on fraternity and virtue. I am sure that Charlotte saw him again in her dreams, preceding the Convention at the altar, on the day of the religious festival, in a light blue habit and white tie, carrying a wreath of flowers in his hand. 

Mlle Robespierre was seventy-four years old when I saw her. I knew that she had passionately loved her two brothers and that, when Maximilien had moved in with the Duplays, she had been irritated and jealous. She made a crime out of the friendship these new friends had for him. She went so far as to claim that Éléonore had used cunning to get herself married. She lived far from them after the catastrophe. The First Consul gave her a pension of 3,600 livres, which was later reduced by more than half, but which she received almost without interruption until her death. She lived on this meager resource in absolute isolation. She published Memoirs which focused on known events, and did not pique curiosity. I suppose she agreed to allow this publication in a moment of distress. No doubt, as death approached, she had wanted to forget her old grudge. She had remembered with tenderness a venerable woman who had almost been her brother's sister. She had wanted to get closer for a moment to this already famous man, whose father had been Maximilien's most faithful friend. She finally felt that those who had met in those dismal days should be reunited in memory as they had been in life.

I thought I was dreaming and that was in fact the case. The two women who were there, whatever their name, had lived in the intimacy of Robespierre, listened to his words as if they were those of a pontiff, admired his life like that of a hero and a sage. Questions crowded in the tumult in my mind, and I wondered with terror if I would dare to question my master or if I would allow myself to be oppressed once again by my accursed timidity. He led me to the door and said triumphantly, “What did you think of her?” I fled and as I ran through the streets of Paris I told myself that I was out of place in that world. Everything in this temple was respectable, except the God.  Premières années, (1901) by Jules Simon, p. 181-187.

Madame Lebas must have been pretty in her youth. She had dark eyes, distinguished manners and a very reliable memory. It is from her that two or three historians of the French Revolution learned interesting details about the Duplay family and the private life of Robespierre. Her memories hardly went beyond the circle of intimate relationships; but as from 93 the house of Duplay became the center towards which all political life around Robespierre converged, she had spent her youth at the very heart of the Revolution. She had loved her husband, as she herself said, with a patriotic love; but through a reserve and a delicacy of heart that women will understand, it was the one she talked about the least. From Saint-Just, from Couthon, from Robespierre the younger, she cited beautiful and good deeds that had touched her. Her great admiration was for Maximilien. The interior of the Duplay family was a Jean-Jacques Rousseau-style house, an ark of domestic virtues risked on a flood of blood. When she spoke of the 9th of Thermidor, her brow darkened, her eyes filled with tears. Unfortunately her son was present for all our conversations and watched closely, doubtless fearing indiscretions which could hurt his self-esteem as the son of a member of the Convention and as a member of the Institute. I will never forget the dismayed expression on his face one day when this respectable widow confided to me the state of distress and misery to which she had been reduced after the death of her husband. She became a laundress and went to wash on the boats of the Seine. This time it was too strong, and the academician turned pale. Telling such things is permitted, but to write them down (and he knew well that I would do so later), according to him, was to deviate from the classical dignity of history. Histoire des Montagnards (1875) by Alphonse Esquiros, page 2-3. Section titled ”my witnesses.”

…Naturally, Madame Le Bas talks to me about Thiers, the Revolution, Robespierre; and, as she sees me as a little lukewarm towards her hero, she does not miss this opportunity to say that he was “well slandered by his enemies!” I quote word for word…I still hear her: ”And I certainly would have loved him!… He was so good and affectionate towards young people!” Victorien Sardou recounts a meeting he had with the elderly Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in the preface of Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve(1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

[Edgar Degas] told me that, when he was a child, his mother one day took him to rue de Tournon to visit Madame Lebas, widow of the famous Convention deputy who, on 9 thermidor, killed himself with a pistol. When the visit was over, they withdrew with small steps, accompanied to the door by the old lady, when Madame Degas suddenly stopped, deeply overwhelmed. Letting go of her son's hand, she pointed at the portraits of Robespierre, of Couthon, of Saint-Just, that she had just noticed were hanging on the walls of the antechambre, and she couldn’t keep herself from crying out with horror: ”What! You still keep the faces of these monsters here!”  ”Be quiet, Célestine!” Madame Lebas cried out ardently, ”be quiet… They were saints!”  Discours de l’Histoire prononcé à la distribution solennelle des prix du Lycée Jeanson-de-Sailly held by Paul Valéry on July 13 1932, cited in Robespierre ou les contradictions du jacobinisme (1978) by Albert Soboul.

I was able to converse, between 1838 and 1839, with a famous parrot who had been the friend of Robespierre. He belonged to Mme the widow Lebas, the wife of the famous Convention deputy who chose to die with Robespierre, and the mother of M. Lebas, Hellenist scholar, who died a few years ago. Mme widow Lebas, a very respectable woman, whom I had the honour of seeing often in her little house in Fontenay-aux-Roses, where she would make the sign of the cross when she pronounced the name Robespierre, adding these words: Saint Maximilien. As for her parrot, when one said "Robespierre", it replied Hats off! Hats off! It sang the Marseillaise with perfect diction and Ça ira like a Jacobin. It was — and perhaps, thanks to its diet of grain, still is — a sans-culotte parrot, the like of which can no longer be found. Mme Lebas recounted with great emotion how she had managed to save this precious psittacus  after Thermidor.  It had been seriously compromised.  After the arrest of Robespierre and Lebas, in the course of a long domiciliary inspection,  every time the name of Robespierre was pronouned the parrot would repeat its refrain, Hats off! Hats off! The government agents had grown impatient and were about to wring its neck, when Mme Lebas, as quick as lightning,  grabbed the bird, opened the window and set it free. The poor parrot flew from window to window, until it found a charitable person to open up for it; a few days later Madame Lebas was able to regain possession of this last friend left to her by Robespierre, the only one perhaps, besides his elderly mistress, who has remained faithful to his memory.   L’Union médicale: journal des intérêts scientifiques et pratiques, moraux et professionnels du corps médical (1861) volume 12, page 258-259. A somewhat dubious anecdote given the fact Élisabeth hardly would have been able to go and fetch the parrot ”a few days” after the arrest of Robespierre, having already been arrested herself.

[My husband] knew how to die for the patrie; he could only have died with the martyrs of liberty! He left me a mother and a widow at twenty-one and a half years. I bless heaven for having taken him from me that day; he is the dearer to me for it. […] Yes, I preferred to go take in wash on a boat rather than ask assistance of our poor friends’ assassins. I feared neither death nor persecution. I was not the one who repudiated my name; it pains me to say it, but Mlle Robespierre was the one who took her mother’s name, Charlotte Carreau [sic]. If you had been informed of my residence, I would have been eager to tell you the truth. The good that you say of our martyrs is not too charged: they were the true friends of liberty; they lived only for the people, for their fatherland; but some monsters, in one day, destroyed everything; in one day they assassinated liberty. Yes, monsieur, a republican like you would have been happy to know those men, so virtuous on all accounts; they all died poor.  Note written by Élisabeth a few years before her death in 1859, regarding ”a work treating the revolution” (l’Histoire des Girondins?). Cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve, page 145-147.

[whinlatter]

Hello!! First of all I wanted to say I’m obsessed with your writing ❤️ Your hinny feels so real and nuanced, and I really appreciate how well you address their trauma and struggles they might have in their relationship while also showing their deep love for each other. Because of this, I would LOVE to hear any thoughts you have on what Harry and Ginny would be like as parents, such as what their biggest challenges would be/how they'd get through it, etc (and if you have hcs about the kids that would be the icing on the cake 😁)

you are a true angel for this! although i do (of course, always) have takes on harry and ginny as parents, i'm going to save them for another day while i still have other writing bits to do. BUT what i do have is a WIP fragment of a dad!harry and james scene that i originally wrote for the orchards sequel and that i'll probably never do anything with but that i sort of like anyway, because james is my favourite potter child for no reason other than i love the idea of harry potter and ginny weasley having accidentally given birth to someone easygoing/ronald weasley 2.0. i really hope you enjoy!

In the kitchen, four o’clock, sunny day, warm. He takes the potatoes out of the oven, gives them a good shake in the tray.

‘It’s nice, our house.’ 

When he looks up, James is at the kitchen island, going to town on an enormous bag of crisps. It’s a source of professional anxiety how easy it is for his children to sneak up on him. ‘Glad you think so,’ he says to James, as he puts the potatoes back in the oven. ‘You’ve only lived in it your whole life.’

‘Yeah, but I never really thought about it before.’ Big bite, raspy crunch. When he turns back, James is looking out of the kitchen window, peering into the garden, like it's his first time seeing it. ‘When you’re little, you just think it’s your house, don’t you. You don’t think, hey, this house is nice. You just think, this is our house.’ 

‘I suppose not. Don't fill up on crisps, you'll not want dinner.'

His son scoffs at that - as well he might, the appetite on him these days. Gin says it's a Weasley birthright. With another munch, James starts examining the ceiling beams. 'I like it,' he says decisively. ‘It’s a good house. Big, loads of light. Homely. Good garden, plenty of bedrooms. Gets sunshine from all sides. Not far from Granny and Grandpa Weasley’s. Near the sea.’ 

‘Is this you telling me you’re considering a career as an estate agent?’

‘Nope. Just saying.’ James considers his next crisp clutched between his forefinger and thumb. ‘Reckon I’ll raise my kids here, too. Leave it to me in the will, won’t you?’

‘Not sure about that one. What about Al and Lil?’

Dismissive wave of a hand. ‘Easy. I’ll pay them off. There’ve got to be some perks to being the eldest son. First-come, first-served, that’s the rule.’

'And Teddy?'

'Easier still. He still owes me for running over my foot in that driving lesson. I've been limping whenever I see him, laying the groundwork.'

He looks at James, black birdnest of hair, bright brown eyes, scrum of freckles. He’s got quaffle blisters on the base of his palms. 

‘You’re doing it again.’

‘What thing?’

‘What thing, he says. Staring at me. That sentimental thing you do.'

‘I don’t do a sentimental thing.’

‘Yeah, you do. Al and I take bets on how many times you'll do it at family events. Your eyes get that spaced-out look. You’re about to tell me you love me, aren’t you?’

‘I do love you.’

'Yeah, yeah.' Eye-roll from James, though he's grinning. Tosses the crisp packet in the bin with a Chaser's precision. They take love in their stride, his children: receiving it, giving it out in spades. 'Listen,' he says, 'about those roast potatoes - very important - '

‘Crispy. I’m on it.’ 

'Good man,' says his son, and heads for the door. 'Back in a bit. I'm going to go map out where I'm going to put my swimming pool.'

[jmvore]

Jokes on You ➻ Prologue

» RATING › 18+ [M I N O R S D O N O T I N T E R A C T] » GENRE(S) › smut, angst, fluff » AU › infidelity, polyamorous, married!au » PAIRING(S) › jimin x reader, yoongi x reader, & jungkook x reader » WORD(S) › 700(w) » SYNOPSIS › It was supposed to be your annual Christmas date that you have every year. A chance to talk and to try to get an understanding of where you are within your arranged marriage but... He didn't show, leaving you sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant and embarrassed about being stood up by your spouse. It’s okay though at least you have three other men who want to spend time with you. » WARNING(S) › no warning(s) to account for aside from your husband being an absolute shit-head. » SMUT WARNING(S) › none here. will put on each chapter. » ORIGINAL POST DATE › 12/26/2001 » RE-POSTED DATE › 9/9/23 » A/N › Thank you @/saradika for the divider(s)! they’re so cute. Anyway thanks for reading lovelies.

[11:23pm] dickhead: I won’t be able to make it, baby but I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’m so sorry.

You’ve been staring at his text message for damn near an hour in utter disbelief. What pisses you off more is the fact that he waited until he knew you would be there to tell you. You would have been fine. There are other places you could have been spending your time. Other (deserving) people you could be spending your time on.

However, leaving you here with nothing to go on but this text message he sent an hour ago?

Frustrated doesn’t even begin to describe your mood. You’re trying your hardest not to break your phone or make a scene because what the hell? If this was any other type of dinner, you wouldn’t have cared.

But…

It’s Christmas Eve (soon to be Christmas) and it was his idea to spend the night celebrating. He was the one who made the reservation for the night. He was the one who said he had planned a night in the town. He was the one who told you to wear that red bodycon dress that shows off your assets and makes you look and feel pretty.

And it was him who had you sitting in this fancy-ass restaurant waiting like a damn fool.

You reached out to him to try and figure out where the hell he was but he didn’t even have the decency to call or text you back. It’s only when you leave him a shrew of messages cursing him out is when he shoots back with that half-ass apology.

No explanation as to where he is.

No care in the world of how him leaving you here made you feel.

Sometimes you wonder why you let your parents marry you off to him in the first place. You knew it was for their benefit. Something about their business being in debt and you being the one to (hopefully) bring their business back from the dead through this union. You weren’t truly paying attention. In the end, it didn’t matter because soon after you said your vows they went bankrupt, forcing them to give up everything they worked decades for. You never forgave them for forcing your hand. Especially after you learned the reasoning behind the marriage.

You were their wild child. Their problem child. They hoped you being married would force you to settle down. To give them the grandchildren they desired seeing as their only other child, your sister Eun-ji, had cut all ties (and now you see why honestly).

After a while, you found yourself distancing them from you and your life until you got to a point where you only talked to them every once in a blue moon. Which, wasn’t often. Maybe once every two or three months.

As for your husband… Over time you grew to tolerate his presence within the confines of your house. You could even say you grew to like him but you never loved him.

Not the way he used to love you.

And now, this whole sham of a marriage has been nothing but disappointment after disappointment. That feeling of ’like’ you had slowly dwindled into disdain and in return, you gave up. You're not as upset as you should be but it doesn't matter. You hoped that he would slowly realize how irrelevant he is because you realized it very early on. Honestly, you’re ready to take that next step to leave this burden of a marriage. It not benefiting you anyway.

The first step, however, is getting the hell out of here.

You stand to leave. Brain on overdrive because you want to leave this establishment as soon as possible. You flag down a waiter as another waitress makes her way toward you with what looks like a bouquet of lilies. She mentions he had them reserved for you before bowing and apologizing. You’re getting more pissed off as the time ticks by and the more you look at the flowers, the angrier you become.

All you want to do is go home.

You pay what little bill you had before bowing and apologizing. You hoped the walk to the valet outside wouldn’t be that terrible but, of course, nothing ever goes to plan. 

You turn to leave and immediately smack right into a waiter holding a tray of drinks. The tray crashes to the floor as the vase of lilies falls and crashing to the ground causing it to shatter. She apologizes profusely, trying to wipe off the remnants but it’s a little too late. Your favorite dress is ruined and you’re already growing sticky. It’s uncomfortable and it makes you feel repulsed. You know it’s not her fault, rerouting your anger to your soon-to-be ex-husband. You tell her it’s fine when she offers to get you another vase for the flowers but you refuse. You didn’t even want them in the first place.

Finally outside, you wrap your coat tighter around your body as the valet brings your car around. You thank the man and give him a small tip before settling, you let your tears of frustration fall. Embarrassing doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel. From being stood up to having drinks dumped on you (not intentionally of course), you wondered how could this night get any worse.

Glancing at the clock you realize it’s almost thirty minutes away from being Christmas and you’re about to spend it alone. Although, you don’t want to go home. You don’t want to see his face and you for sure, don’t want to be in the same house with him. You much rather spend it with someone you know who wants to spend it with you.

You groan, tossing the present (you wish you hadn’t had) for him to the back seat. You don’t want to look at it anymore, a reminder of a horrible night.

“I should call him…” You grumble and scroll through your contacts until you see the person you’re looking for. You dial his number and he picks up on the third ring. Excited that you had time to call. You shouldn’t be this thrilled to talk to another man that’s not your husband but… the would have mattered if this marriage was a complete farce.

“Hey…” You sigh in relief, knowing the night is going to be just fine and he leaves you in a much happier mood after the shit show you’ve just endured

You can skip chapters to who you want to read!💖

Prologue

Choice 01⇢ Yoongi ⇢ Bittersweet  ⇢  6k+

Choice 02 ⇢ Jungkook ⇢ You Make Me Better  ⇢ 5.6k+

Choice 03 ⇢ Jimin ⇢ You & Me ⇢ TBA

Epilogue

[givehimthemedicine]

🛁💧 Moms, bathtubs and fear of water

today I'd like to dig into some support for the Virginia/Henry/bathtub theory, most notably a Will/Henry parallel I've not seen discussed before, and some thoughts on the rabies thing.

for those just tuning in, we have hints that something awful happened involving Virginia, Henry, and a bathtub of hot water. (that idea is aemiron-main's, you can read the original here)

where there's a tub, there's a mom

let me start by seeing how many ST bathtubs can be tied to mothers. (much of this will have been pointed out before, but I have a couple observations I think are new)

starting at the top: Virginia's vision (turning on the hot water tap and spiders fill the tub instead of water):

Karen soaking in a hot bath listening to "Memories" before milfing it up with Billy, a minor, a boy her daughter's age. check

Will and Joyce "he likes it cold" you better believe that's a paddlin

we saw the Byers' tub before. when El saw it in the mirror (lol) and went to tell Joyce (Will's Mother) about her water tank idea. ok she was addressing the group but Joyce is the one who actually engages. I'm counting it. ps when they do set up the bath for El, Lucas uses a thermometer to make sure the water is the right temperature

this is a tiny one, but Nancy goes to sit on the tub and cry after excusing herself from Barb's mom at the KFC dinner.

that scene where El and Max find Billy's tub with ice bags?

darn, nothing immediately motherly in this scene. but what if we check the last dialogue in the prior scene? or the first dialogue in the following scene?

both hits! mom/age-inappropriate-sexual-knowledge + mother/son combo.💀

next up, FOR WHAT REASON was I made to see Murray get naked and get into a tub full of ice while on the phone with Joyce in 4x01?

let's also toss in a shot of Joyce being weird in her front yard, prompting a neighbor child to dispense a line of dialogue involving mothers.

but seriously. after all the flayed/ice tub imagery throughout s3, why kick off s4 with Murray in an ice bath? no, I'm really asking.

we've got a dash of sexual inappropriateness, or so Joyce thinks - Murray happens to plop into the ice at the exact moment that she observes the Russian doll has nipples, which makes her think his reaction is about that:

the only tub scene I'm struggling to tie super directly to mothers is Heather. you could say it's that Joyce appears in the next scene, but that's weak. or that Flayed Heather later drugs/kidnaps her mom. eh.

as em pointed out, the tub Heather's in here is extremely similar to Virginia Creel's. is that sufficient?

so anyway, some of those are def stronger than others, but they all provide some combination of: mothers, bathtubs (esp with attention drawn to water temperature), and fear/ sorrow / discomfort / sexual inappropriateness.

am I forgetting any other bathtubs?

now let's talk more about fear

what started me on this post was how possessed-Will's reaction to the bathtub is so explicitly labeled as fear - NOT by Will, but by Mr. Clarke's voiceover:

yet what sparked One's strength was a memory that made him "sad, but also angry" - which, if the implied tub incident indeed happened, would totally fit the bill.

sad and angry. not afraid. I guess it makes sense that fear isn't one of the emotions he would draw power from later upon recalling this event, but he undoubtedly would've been afraid in the moment. he didn't say that though.

not in that scene.

now, idk if he's referring to The Incident here, or his early lab life or what, but. oh I'm at my image limit. ok well his lines leading up to this are (close up of dead kids) "why do you cry for them, Eleven? after everything they did to you? you think you need them, but you don't. you don't."

why exactly would El "need" the other lab kids? according to NINA, they treated her poorly. tbh kinda sounds more like a projected reaction to the death of an abusive mother.

anyway. apart from that "I was scared once" reference to some past turning point, man will not say he is or was scared. he'll imply and project but he won't say it:

you know who else won't say they're scared? Will.

Will has never said once on the entire show that he's afraid. ever. throughout all the utterly HORRIFYING situations he's been in. he undoubtedly has been scared, and other characters say that about him many times, but Will has never said, in his own words, as far as I can find, that he's afraid.

he dances around it and veils it and teeters on the edge of it, but he will not actually say I Am Afraid.

"how did you feel?" "it felt like when you're scared" boy what.

but Will has not always been fearless!

wanna know what the very first mention of fear on the whole show is? Will assuring Joyce he won't have nightmares from seeing Poltergeist because:

is it not giving "I was scared once too" ?

now here comes my favorite part:

Joyce replies with the "my witch" thing, and she doesn't actually finish the sentence, but I think that last word can be guessed pretty accurately:

cook him up in your what?

your cauldron? cauldron, kôl′drən, noun: 1. A large vessel used for boiling?

so like... have I got this straight? our earliest flashback of Will involves his mother playing an evil character who's gonna put him in a large vessel of hot liquid?

I ask you again: is it not giving "I was scared once too"?

I'm tacking my red conspiracy yarn in at "Henry was five years old."

now, just wondering, what was the turning point that made Will stop having nightmares from movies and "getting scared like that"? Bob_one_day_the_nightmares_suddenly_stopped.wav

now let's talk about rabies

Robin proceeds to list some rabies symptoms and what's funny about that (besides the fact they're standing in a mysteriously dry lakebed) is she left out possibly the best-known symptom: fear of water.

in fact, rabies used to be called hydrophobia ("fear of water").

hydrophobia in rabies stems from paralysis of throat muscles making it difficult or impossible to swallow, and so sufferers will panic at the prospect of drinking or even the mere sight of water. excessive salivation + inability to swallow it leads to the other pop culture rabies symptom, the appearance of "foaming at the mouth".

pretend here I put in screenshots of El and Barb spitting up water when they wake up in the UD and that unnecessary shot of Billy drooling when El is levitating him

Robin's isn't the only reference to rabies on ST. it's come up in two other seasons:

so every time rabies comes up, it's in reference to demodogs, demobats, and flayed rats. all critters that are part of the hive.

ostensibly controlled by one guy, who is afraid of water.

misc honorable mentions:

what do you wanna bet Dart not only doesn't need water, but would hate water like he hates heat?

Dart grew up to be a demodog, and demodogs dug those tunnels - the ones Bob figured out were a map of Hawkins because the "roads" outlined recognizable bodies of water instead of crossing over them.

when Bob said that, he didn't know the "roads" were underground, and therefore it wouldn't be crossing over water but rather crossing through water. if your tunnel breached a lake or river, it would flood. the demodogs were avoiding water.

also: no one in the water, you say?

speaking of Hawkins Pool, there's also the thing I've mentioned before, how it seems incredibly relevant that One chose Billy as his s3 host - a lifeguard whose one possession-busting happy memory involved his mother warning him not to drown.

also: Hopper saying that jumping into the quarry would result in the water "breaking every damn bone in your body"

and Jason asks Patrick, right before Vecna breaks every damn bone in his body in Lovers Lake:

I'm going to think of more as soon as I hit post but that's all I have for you today.

I want real answers on the Murray ice thing btw

[mirai-e-jump]

Hero Vision Vol.14 (2004/Spring) ft. Kamen Rider Blade Cast Interviews Takayuki Tsubaki & Hironari Amano Segment (translation below)

Publication: May 20, 2004 (between episodes 17-18) Takayuki Tsubaki (Kazuma Kenzaki) & Hironari Amano (Sakuya Tachibana)

"In the show, you play the roles of senior and junior, but in real life, from Tsubaki-kun's point of view, Amano-san is his senior when it comes to the entertainment industry. Do you ever confide your problems in him?"

Tsubaki: Yes, I do.

Amano: (suppressing his laughter) That's a liiie~.

Tsubaki: Ah! But, what about the time we went out to dinner together, or……ah, actually, I can't remember (said lacking confidence).

"When on set, who's the one that's most supportive and follows up with others?"

Amano: No matter who it is, if someone was yelled at or feeling discouraged, everyone follows up with them by saying, "Don't worry about it!" Everyone's so upbeat, and we're always laughing on set.

"When it comes to acting, do you ever talk about things like, "Going forward, let's do this"?"

Amano: Hmmm……For me, I'm not sure where my role is heading. I try not to establish the role from the beginning, but rather, add new elements as the opportunities arise. At first, I thought Tachibana was a calm, cool person who didn't show any emotions, but to my surprise, there are scenes of him losing his temper and yelling early on in the show.

"Do you and Tachibana have anything in common?"

Amano:……The tendency to worry. But, even though in the past I wouldn't tell people about my worries, recently, I've started to actually do so. I've come to realize just how easy it is.

"Tachibana also has a soft side for Sayoko."

Amano: I want to make Tachibana look more human. It's normal for a human to have many sides. There's the face you have during work, and the face you have in your private life. Now, Tachibana is trying to be strong by not relying on others, and it makes me think, "This isn't how a Rider's supposed to be!" (laughs). It may not be the usual justice of the past, but I think it would be great if Tachibana could overcome his obstacles and gain some confidence.

"Tsubaki-kun, do you think there are any similarities between yourself and Kenzaki?"

Tsubaki:……(vaguely) The stupid part of him? (laughs).

"Is it true that you became an actor because you wanted to learn how to express your feelings due to not having any?"

Tsubaki: I don't have any emotions at all, it's like I'm not a normal human, so it's really fun to "become" a human being when I get into the role. When I was younger, I was so loud, that people would often tell me, "You're noisy!"……Various things have happened since then, and I think I've calmed down abit. I also thought that while I'm a Rider, it would be easier for me to be Kenzaki if I didn't have "myself" in mind, so I've decided to think only about Kenzaki for the rest of the year. That's also why when I'm on set and Morimoto-kun is standing right next to me, my blood starts to rush. I think, "Why can't we fight even though I'm here?!"

Amano: Before we start filming, I try to reduce any tension (in order to become Tachibana), but this guy, he does the role the entire time. That's why he speaks in such a weird way. Even when we all eat together, he'll suddenly say, "You Bastard!," and "Get lost!" He would then start beating on Morimoto-kun, whose face looked as though it were saying, "Ehhhh~?!" (laughs). Morimoto-kun would then also act back.

Tsubaki: Morimoto-kun and I have to fight everyday anyway…..

"You'll soon start filming for the movie, where you'll have to think even more about Riders.

Tsubaki:……I don't know what will happen to me if Tachibana-san betrays me any further (said seriously).

Amano: I like how over such trivial things, you'll suddenly start speaking normally! When he talks to me over the phone, he's like, "Tachibana-san! it's Kenzaki! Where are you right now? Please call me back!" It's like he's prank calling me (laughs).

Tsubaki: For Morimoto-kun, "Hajime?!," is what I'll say when I call him. "I'll kill you," is what he'll say in response……

Amano: Ah, but when you talk to me and Morimoto-kun, you do talk normally.

"Morimoto-kun seems like he's trying to match Tsubaki-kun's pace (laughs). Maybe Tsubaki-kun is the type of person who needs to be taken care of by everyone?"

Tsubaki: That's right. But, it can't be helped, since Tachibana-san is currently acting so violent.

Amano: You're talking about in the show, right?

Tsubaki: Ah, right.

"Do you have a favorite line from the show?"

Amano: For me it's, "My body is falling apart!" People will constantly say it as a joke when on set. Hearing it actually makes me very happy.

"It's known that Tsubaki-kun's lines and way of speaking have become a popular topic of conversation among the fans (laughs). I think it's because they love the ridiculous feel of it."

Tsubaki:……I have mixed feelings about it. I'm glad it's being talked about, but still……(saddened).

Amano: During the dubbing process, the tension is so high, that it gives me alot of energy. In the recording room, everyone goes, "Hah! Hah!" (panting) for even the smallest action scenes. Recently, Tachibana's body has been falling apart to the point of hyperventilating due to the excessive panting (laughs).

"Have there ever been times during filming where you thought, "I really messed up big time!"?"

Amano & Tsubaki (at the same time): The snowy mountain scene in episode 3!

Amano: It was so cold that I couldn't move my mouth.

Tsubaki: My face was frozen. But, you can't tell just how hot or cold it is on when watching on the screen, so either way it's still bad.

"We'd like to thank you for all the hard work you go through when filming everyday."

Amano: Before that, I fell asleep for the first time on the Yamanote Line and circled it completely. I got on the train at Ikebukuro, then suddenly realized, I was back in Ikebukuro again. I looked at my watch and said, "Huh, I'm still here, so why is it so late?! Shit! I circled the line!" (laughs).

Tsubaki: I'd be totally fine with it if that happened to me.

"Would you consider yourself athletic and physically fit?"

Tsubaki: No, I'm just young.

Amano:……Would it be alright if I got upset? (laughs). He's not athletic at all! When we were at the snowy mountains, we all snowboarded together, but after like 2 or 3 times, he said, "I'm leaving. I'm tired. I'm sleepy." I was like, "Hey, hey, hold on, Blade!" (laughs).

"You really go at your own pace, don't you? Since you were young, have you always thought you were alittle different from other people?"

Tsubaki: By the time I realized it, people were already calling me weird. But, since we all start out by crawling, in a way, aren't we all weird?

Amano: Oh, that's pretty deep.

"Amano-san, what was your childhood like?"

Amano: I wanted to become independent as soon as possible, so I started looking for part time work by the time I was in my fourth and fifth year of elementary school. One of my friend's mother recommended becoming a child model as a way to earn money with ease, so I ended up joining an agency on my own. I've been in the entertainment world ever since then.

Tsubaki: I become easily emotional when I watch dramas, so….

"So you also wanted to inspire people?"

Tsubaki: (firmly) No, I just wanted to do it myself.

"How honest of you (laughs). Do you feel you're more likely to grow when receiving praise?" Tsubaki: I want to be criticized for my performance. I'm obviously still not good at it, so I need to be told these things in order to become better.

Amano: Well said, I can see just how serious you are (is impressed). I tend to get carried away when I receive praise. But, I also become discouraged when I'm criticized. It's like my weakness…..

"Finally, would you please give a message to the fans?"

Amano: Eh? Ah…(timid) please pay attention to how I grow in the future……

Tsubaki: Tachibana-san! You're the senior here!

Amano: Ah, you're right. We're all working very hard on this, so please continue to watch us!

Tsubaki: Please watch usss!!

[nolita-fairytale]

first i would like to say congrats and thank you for doing this celebration!! ✨✨✨ i was thinking about a blurb 🥐 for Carmy that has been on my mind forever! i keep going back to this ideia of something like that scene from Bridget Jones’s Diary in which she’s trying to make dinner for her friends and she’s doing this soup and instead of using like a normal string she uses a blue one and the soup turns blue and Colin Firth’s character ends up helping her out idk I feel like Carmy would be delighted to see something like that! 💛

slowly, slowly making my way through the rest of my follower requests. anyone else getting their ass kicked at work these days? i'm fine but work has just been exceptionally worky and i think it should stop. lmao anyways... i love this idea that @pleasecallmeunhinged brought to me and am so happy that i've gotten to sit down and work on it this evening.

It's just butter, flour, and milk. How hard can it be?

At least that's what you think to yourself as you volunteer to make the bechamel sauce for the lasagna. You've watched Carmy work hard, all day long, rolling sheets of pasta out while the bolognese stews low and slow in the oven.

It's not till he has to run a quick errand for Richie that he realizes that this slow Sunday dinner might get pushed back a few hours.

"I can do it, Bear," you offer, considering that, since dating Carmy, your skills in the kitchen have massively improved.

Striving your best to always be a student, you've picked up a few things in your relationship with Carmy, even if it doesn't come as naturally to you as you hoped it would.

It starts simply:

Melt the butter. Whisk in flour. Stir in milk. Add herbs to steep in the bechamel sauce for flavor.

But for the life of you, you can't find the kitchen twine (whatever the hell that is), settling for a long piece of royal blue yarn from the last time you thought you'd take up crocheting. Without a second thought, you toss the bundle of herbs into the milk, butter, and flour mixture, to let it infuse.

"Everything okay, babe?" Carmy asks you when he returns, immediately seeing the look on your face.

"Don't laugh, okay?" you request, only mildly embarrassed, but mostly humored by the whole situation. Carmy shoots you a quizzical look as you take his hand, gently leading him over to the stove where your bechamel-fail sits.

"Why would I-? Oh fuck, babe!" Carmy exclaims, as soon as he inside of the saucepan.

It's blue.

A deep, royal blue, a few shades lighter from the white of the bechamel sauce.

"Remember when I decided I was going to take up crocheting again? Well uh... You didn't have any kitchen twine so I... sort of used some yarn that I found and...." you explain, carefully, searching Carmy's face for any kind of reaction to your kitchen mishap.

Instead he just stares at it, and you can't tell whether he's horrified or in shock, that by the time he opens his mouth, you don't know what to expect.

"Carm?" you ask him, the long silence beginning to worry you.

And instead of answering, all he can do is laugh.

It's the kind of laugh that's full bodied and fully bellied, taking him over, and lighting him up from end to end. It's contagious -- so contagious that you begin to join in, practically gasping for air because of how hard you and Carmy laugh together at the blue bechamel.

You can see it in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, at how his cheeks turn red, with the way he looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

"Yo this is..." he starts, beginning to come down from his fit of laughter.

"A mess?" you suggest, exchanging a look with your boyfriend.

"Fuck yeah," he agrees enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear as he adds:

"But you're my mess. C'mon! Let's get this pot cleaned up and I'll show you how to make it for real."

[levmada]

hello! how are you? hope life's going well for you!

I have a little question.

so, as we all know, there has been a lot of speculation on whether Levi's a virgin or not.

and I've read your personality analysis of Levi (which, omg, bless you, I love) and his mental issues etc...

but here's my question, according to your analysis and your opinion, do you think he is a virgin or not?

also, there's that part where he says that he was "popular enough" with women...what do you think he meant by that? idk why, but I believe he meant...maybe (perhaps (perhaps)) he meant how closely knitted he was with Isabel and *maybe* petra?

and thank you to all the contribution you have made to us levussy worshippers 🫡

and by the way! I love your account!<3

hiii :D that’s so sweet😭😭😭🫶thank u for reading :’)) i’m also happy to answer this lol.

i’ll start with that dialogue!

the “popular with women” bit of dialogue isn’t quite translated correctly into english. it’s more like, when it has to do with men and women, the implication Zeke makes is romantic. the limits of the language - and probably whoever's in charge of PR - default romance to men and women. women isn't the literal term in the japanese dialogue.

but the question is attraction and not general popularity.

while you could argue that the implications of the conversation matter the most - so Levi (self-proclaimed) was popular in the romance scene - you must also consider that Levi had to say he was popular enough, or else he would be proving Zeke’s accusation right in that Levi doesn’t know other people’s feelings.

(although, he is popular to people behind the walls, but i’m getting off topic.)

proof of all that bc my summary is bad🫶

if Levi did seriously answer Zeke in that moment, just knowing Levi and his avoidance of relationships, especially romantic ones as far as is shown in AOT, he would’ve likely answered generally because he could, instead of feeding into Zeke’s attempt to fluster him lol. and of course he could've lied, again, so that Zeke couldn't get the satisfaction of being right or flustering him.

any way you cut it, i don’t think he had anyone in mind.

😅just to get it out of the way for those who don’t know i guess cuz it’s a popular piece of trivia, isayama has never confirmed whether Levi is a virgin.

sex is innately intimate. no matter if you’re just seeking momentary pleasure - which Levi doesn’t seem like the type to do - it’s both intimate and exposing. Levi just wouldn’t engage in casual sex.

especially in the underground and the negative associations he has with sex, mostly as it has to do with pain and suffering - very, very most likely, at least, and supported by what we’ve seen of the bad boy manga so far when some attackers threatened him as a child to make him “do what his mother did”. and Levi would never run the risk for disease.

(also assuming condoms exist.)

like i talked about in that analysis, trauma, in this case being exposed to sex at a young age, doesn’t simply go away, and also it exacerbates other things like distrust and an unwillingness to be vulnerable in romantic relationships.

so if it were to be someone, it would have to be someone Levi has a close bond with and trusts implicitly. someone who’s a Scout, then, but you also have to consider that romance just comes second on principle - at least to Levi whose top priority is always his duty.

his most selfish act after joining, this also being a show of affection, was letting Erwin rest (from his perspective), instead of forcing him back into hell.

so i mean - REALISTICALLY, IMO - for Levi it’s really not as simple as candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach ykwim?? there would be no love confession, only his actions which communicate his devotion or saying “”simple”” terms like “I trust you” or “I need for you not to die on me.”

sorry i’m getting so off topic.

ANYWAY. in my opinion, based on what info is allotted in canon, to me he is a virgin : )

[medusas-musings]

A Sticky Note (Tangerine x GN!Reader)

Summary: After a year and a half of Tangerine disappearing from your life, he invites you out for dinner. Angsty overtones with a tiny hint of NSFW at the end.

(A/N: This is my first Tangerine fanfiction ever, which is special to me because he’s what inspired me after my 5 year writing hiatus.) Shoutout to our collective pookie bear 🍊🧡

Downing the rest of my first glass of wine, I opened my phone again. It was about 5 minutes since Tangerine said to meet him at our old favorite restaurant: a chain Mexican restaurant around town that had cheap booze and the best street tacos around. It was obviously crowded (as any other place to eat on a friday night would be) but that’s what he’d always preferred. Any way he could blend in with a crowd and not draw attention to himself he took it. Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was already here, spying on me. 

A figure approaches the table and I already knew from the pure energy of sarcasm and intimidation it created that it was him. “‘Hey Darlin, love the hair.” He said smoothly, motioning to my hair and sitting across from me. He picked up the menu nonchalantly and I could already feel my blood rising just how it used to with him around.

“You leave me a note to dump me, ghost me for a whole year and a half, and all you can say is…love the hair?” I question him, a  storm in my eyes and lightning striking in my voice. Tangerine remained unphased as he put his menu down, glancing at me as if I was the asshole.

“Love the way you looked when you practically chugged that wine?” he tries again, this time with a mocking smile on his face. God did he know every single button to push tonight, it’s as if he had never left me in the first place. While I usually wouldn’t enjoy some asshole saying this to me, there was something about Tange that made anything to say to me sound so much more slicker and polite from his lips. “I’m sorry, Love, you know I could never handle this sorta thing.” A smile forms on his face, but I can’t make it out if it was out of narcissism over his own charm or if he truly was in hell, finally having to confront the mess he made out of me.

“Why are you here anyway? Last time I checked you moved God knows where and wiped off the planet. Do you know how much I cried about you?” I bit my tongue to stop myself from causing a scene. I couldn’t help but feel old scars opening. I took in a deep breath to stop my eyes from watering; I’ve already confessed how much control he had over me, I can’t let him think he still has any. 

“Love, I’m sorry. But with a job like mine, it was always a possibility that I would have to vanish on ya.”

“I knew you would maybe have to eventually leave me because of all that, but Jesus, a sticky note? That’s fucked.” I hiss as I lean forward, trying to keep the argument between us. It felt painful to scold him here, it’s where we always went after we resolved a fight. There would be so much lust in his eyes from across the table back then. As I look at him, there’s more of a coldness to them towards me, but there’s moments where it slips and I can see that same look again. “You didn’t answer my question.” I add because I know he won’t say anything about it.

“I was in town, thought I’d take a visit down memory lane.” He says in a casual manner, as if we were simply classmates in college that shared notes and not someone who kept a toothbrush and fresh underwear at my apartment. The morning he left, even those weren’t there anymore. I had nothing in my life to tangibly show someone that Tangerine was my boyfriend at some point. 

I get up from the table and start digging cash out of my wallet. “If you’re gonna act like this I don’t want to see you.” Before I could put the five dollar bill onto the table, he grabbed my wrist with just enough force for me to not break away.

“Look, I’m sorry, Doll, I’m fucking flounderin’ here. I’ve been thinking forever on what I’d say to you, but I always drew a blank. Can you give me a break, for once?” I look into his eyes, an unfamiliar note of sincerity in them. It was so out of character that it caused me to stay and let him try again. “It was a shit thing to do, Love. I should’ve told you in person, I handled the situation like a boy and not a man.”

I raised an eyebrow and a small smile started to make its way onto my lips. “There’s no way you just thought of that little speech.”

Tangerine smiles at me, letting out a sn exhale of humor. “That's about all I had.” He says, using his hand to smooth out his mustache, something I knew was a rare tell of him being nervous. “How have you been?” He asks, his accent sounding like a song that used to be stuck in my head.

“It’s nothing new, Diesel’s doing good. She misses you.” I say before opening a picture of the gray cat Tangerine and I picked out together. Lemon had convinced me to name her Diesel because “she looks like one” and he ended up convincing me (after all, she is a bit of an asshole) Tangerine purses his lips as he hears the name of the cat who used to cuddle into his lap as he read. I was surprised he didn’t take her with him.

“I miss you…” He says as he looks into my eyes with a warm smile. Ironically it was at the same time my frozen strawberry margarita arrived at the table, the news making me immediately take a sip from the drink.

“Are…are you fucking with me?” I ask, even though I’ve made my mind up about his answer. “What are you? Is this like a thing you do?” I cross my arms and raise my shoulders in a defensive position. His stance was a lot less confident and he hurriedly sat up going into damage mode.

“Hey Hey, I’m sorry. I really am. The biggest thing I regret is that stupid fucking sticky note.” His tone gets more aggressive as he curses his actions. “But…I couldn’t face seeing you sad. And I couldn't face me getting sad.” There’s a pause, he resonates in the confession, as if it might be the first time he confessed it to himself. “I really really fucking liked you, doll. I never wanted to break your heart, honest.” 

I can’t help but just stare at him. The usual smoothing of  the mustache fidget is now paired with a bouncing leg. To an untrained eye, this might look like a man who is just waiting for his food, but to someone who knows Tangerine, this was his equivalent to a nervous breakdown. 

“…so did you decide what you’re getting?” I ask him, picking up the menu again and glancing over to him. His face is puzzled but I shoot him a look, one that signifies I’m allowing him to have a normal dinner with me. It was a lot for him to admit any sort of weakness so I figured I might as reward it.

“Well for now I just want some fuckin booze, it’s been so long since I had the shittiest vodka ever, I miss it.” He smiles at me and I laugh at his quip. It was probably a mistake to not grill him for longer. I could’ve made him beg at my feet or give me his wallet at that point if I wanted to. But the more I look at his flawless features, the more his charm works on me, as if it’s some intoxicating aura that takes all your strength to resist. 

It’s probably a shit idea, but I think I’ll let him explain it after dinner. I curse myself knowing that he’ll tell me about it all in between our sheets as we stay up all night with pillow talk, just like we used to.

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

Lol how do i explain this chain of events...

there's no way i can make it brief xD So..today i was in an odd mood, feeling so sensitive that any time someone talked to me i almost flinch from how overwhelming it is. And a certain heaviness. sunday is slimbo's only day off tho so i wanted to hang out. We decided to draw, and as we were finishing setting up i suddenly remembered my stereo & how i havent used it all winter. i grabbed it from my room n put it on slimbo's bedroom floor , i was sitting next to it as we focused on drawing for a few hours n listened to CDs.

then as we were about to eat dinner slimbo suggested we watch sopranos. i was reluctant due to my mood today, and ok hear me out: Something about sopranos has like, consistently felt really psychic to me, cus i dont watch it that often but every time i do it's like. that episode will be freakishly synchronized w something happening in my life at that moment. usually in a metaphorical way. Could just be power of suggestion but ive never rly had that with a show before except for a few animes.

ANYWAYS..i agreed to watch it because i felt it to be fateful that slimbo suggested it. like Ok what message is this supposed to send me today, might as well see since i'm already in this strange mood. We sat on the ground where i was drawing and started watching. and ofc, (spoiler warning,) ofc the last ep we watched was the one where junior shoots tony, so this episode is the one where tony's dying in hospital (and having his prolonged dream sequence). Which, if you know me, you maybe know about my Core Wound, but if you dont, well, it definitely involves hospitals and death and fathers. So i'm just sitting there watching like LMAO 🙂 Ok Guess this is what's on tonight's agenda Let's Gooooo 🙂

and i can see slimbo keeps looking at me with an expression like "we can turn it off" but i was like nah im going to watch this im curious now. (i havent seen season 6 of sopranos in 6 years and its the season i have the least memory of because when i watched it i was high as fuck on opiates due to getting my appendix removed (awful experience) so it kinda feels like my first time seeing it). i keep watching and THEN. THE WEIRDEST SHIT OF MY LIFE OCCURED

the fucking scene. Where carmela's in the hospital room with tony and she receives a stereo from chris. she takes it out of the box and i'm like wait....it's only showing the back of it at first, but it looks so familiar, i look over to my right where my stereo is coincidentally sitting on the floor next to me with the back facing me. it's the same. then i see her open the cd slot. ITS THE EXACT SAME FUCKING STEREO SAME color SAME model SAME Everything !!!! and the part that freaked me out most is that my stereo is always just sitting on top of my tv i almost never move it even when i use it but at that moment it just happened to be sitting there on the floor RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME !!!

idk. it gave me kind of an adrenaline rush. it freaked me out. like that is bizarre i dont know. especially with the context of the stereo in the show and how it's there in the hospital to play music for tony as he's basically dying. hospital scenes r always like, intense for me on a cellular level. but that just kinda blew my mind. i got this stereo from a thrift store 2 years ago i had no idea it was in the show lol. IDK. i feel like there's a message here. something to do with my dad and healing and music. See im telling you like.....sopranos makes me consistently feel that God is joking around w me, its ususlly just a feeling but today it was tangible. so.... o_o

[unabashedly-so]

🌹SDV Elliott HC 💃

Content warning: Americanized contexts ahead. 😅 Not pigeonholing SDV as American but I'm using Americanized regionalisms because that's the language I have to communicate I'm trying to portray. 🤷‍♀️

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It takes a high heart level and a moderate intoxication level to bring it out, BUT Elliott has had years of ballroom dance under his belt.

I'm imagining a southern old-money style upbringing for him (subject to change) and he started being trained in different dances bc he was involved in whatever the male version of debutantes is.

he wasn't big into it at the time but yknow mommy issues he was a diligent well-mannered young man so he learned enough to pass by.

enter university and Prince Slut (freshman year) is finding all kinds of ways to get the tender physical touch and affection he craved as a child make friends and finds the uni's ballroom dance club

his foundation of skill and reputation make him insanely popular within the club so it becomes a genuinely healthy outlet for him.

he never takes it seriously in terms of competition; he's just there to have fun and make his partner shine but you KNOW he's flaunting and flexing along the way, like executing daring moves with his partner, showboating, getting so overly sultry with it, etc.

he gets so many numbers and so much ass whenever he goes out, it's upsetting.

anyway tl;dr he spends so much time on that and other social activities in college that he barely passes most of his classes and it's actually a huge regret of his but that's a whole 'nother post

he stops dancing after uni for the most part as he has to reprioritize his life

but that doesn't mean that he lets it go, oh no.

get enough drinks in this man and enough room to move and he's 10years younger ready to sweep anyone off their feet.

He'll trot with the foxes, swing from one coast to another, cha-cha real smooth, give him tequila and he'll give you salsa, etc etc

of fucking course he can waltz but like 1) ya Basic, and 2) dinner and a movie first (and let's make it Viennese, for the love of Yoba)

he'd much rather rumba or tango tbh but only with someone he really cares about. poor boy'll catch feelings quick rocking hips like that.

which like. alternate ending to the 6heart scene has him inviting you to dance with him to blow off some steam. nothing too stilted or sensual, just an easy swing or something so he can move and move you and maybe even give you a twirl if you're so inclined 😉

(at 8hearts and above he's twirling you, dipping you, and rocking you on his hips during wrap-ins 🥴🥴 you've also unlocked private rumba, tango, and waltzes with him, and boy is it getting humid in this seaside cabin 🥵🥵)

it does take getting him at least buzzed to bring it out, but he has no shame once it's out, so it's like an open secret in Pelican town that he'll show anyone who's a good sport a good time

EXCEPT.

(and this is a big one)

he's so fucking judgey about what music people choose to dance to.

full on Big Sassy Gay energy.

"oh you want to slow dance to [Ed Sheeran]? yeah I remember being in middle school too."

"*Thinking Out Loud playing* is this the wedding song where people teeter back and forth like two rickety sideways rocking chairs with room for Yoba in between because your grandma's watching for three straight minutes? ...no yeah it's fine. I mean to their credit it probably functions as their run through for the consummation later too so good for them I guess"

*I Won't Give Up playing* "if you need to dance to a song where someone else declares how you're So Definitely going to be together forever, I'm sorry but I give it two years tops." "Elliott, this was Haley and Alex's song." "I said what I said. Next."

"*dramatic sigh* just because you can mathematically fit a 5 step into a 4/4 doesn't mean you can or should turn any bubblegum pop song about casual sex into a tango. It's NOT about sensuality, it's about THE CONFLICT THEREIN."

just take him home at this point. 😅 no one understands what he's saying but they know it's probably insulting.

anyway fast forward to domestic bliss and he's regularly pulling you in to show you how happy you make him

he's definitely singing any lines he thinks fit you under his breath while he dances with you. He'll bring you in close and murmur them into your ear or kiss them into your neck if he's got bedroom thoughts. 🌹