#careless speech

[beeceit]

I started my project of reading every tim drake comic in publishing order and taking notes. A Lonely Place Of Dying Part 1 took up three pages alone

BABY BOY YOU'RE KILLING ME

[erabundus]

ren stop talking in a way that casually dehumanizes yourself. ( difficulty level: impossible. )

[biosurvive]

i can't traverse twitter right now, because the amount of hate jill is getting for "being mean" to chris in death island has me floored and disgusted.

and on the opposite end i'm seeing people call chris abusive and this is my thirteenth reason.

[neverendingford]

.

[drivemysoul]

different anon here - we don't know your or your relationship, but i will say: if your relationship makes you sad/stressed/hurt/generally unhappy more than it fulfills you and makes you feel happier, consider what walking away would look like. obviously no one is perfect and neither is any relationship, and like i said, i don't know you two so i won't say definitively "oh you should break up", but do keep in mind that if you feel disrespected or hurt more often that not, even if it's not intentional, that's cause for concern.

rooting for you and your happiness, no matter what happens. look after yourself 💛

i’m just making things seem worse than they are because i’m irrationally upset about some things she’s said and im generally upset and stressed about a lot. i’m usually happy when we’re together, it’s just when we aren’t physically in the same space i start overthinking every time i’ve been sad because of something she said or did and it makes me sadder than i should be

[the-acid-pear]

okay speaking of dikx, some fun facts: well its more like, trivia and future plans, but i want to make two characters that hang around him: a scientist that gets full funding for him to fuck around because dikx loves seeing the fucked up shit he makes, although they have a bit of a love hate relationship; and dikx right hand arm man, his everything, his confidant, his silly rabbit (''is that what he calls you?'' ''no ♥''), this big guy who is blindly devoted to Dikx and honestly does most of the leg work and actual politics and shit.

The reason why neither has a design is because for the life of mine i cannot think of how they would look OT2

[forcemeanakin]

Hot with brains

•WARNINGS: SMUT.  Fingering (f receiving), oral fixation, dirty talk, praise kink and also degrading kink, corruption kink kinda??? Edging. Public space. The OC has a kink that attracts her to smart guys.

Pairing: ROTS!Anakin Skywalker x Female!reader.

Summary: Anakin falls for the librarian at the Jedi Temple, however, he soon realizes his adorable smile and golden curls won’t cut it with this one. No, she likes something different: brains. 

Word count: 4.7K. 

A/N: Pretty self-indulgent piece. I've been obsessed with Anakin's engineering brain ever since I got into Star Wars and this idea had be floating around for a whileeeee. Hope you all enjoy reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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You liked smart guys. 

It wasn’t a kink per sé. You just couldn’t see yourself hooking up with someone with no brains, let alone establishing a committed relationship with them. You were swoon by guys with deep thoughts and admirable speech skills. The type of man that would go for a whisky instead of a beer, or use real shoes instead of plain sneakers.

You being a snob might have to do with your upbringing, after all you were the daughter of two scholars and professors of one of the most prestigious universities of Coruscant. You were raised to be logical and love intellectual conversations. You wouldn’t- No. You couldn’t see yourself enjoying a space with someone with a low IQ.

That was the reasoning behind taking the internship in the Jedi Temple’s library as part of your college voluntary program. You had to volunteer a certain amount of hours in order to graduate from your Journalism degree with honors. 

You thought that even though this wasn’t exactly the area in which you were specializing, you would soak up some of the ancient knowledge of the Order, even make some great connections for the future. And so far it has been just that: A great experience. You got to read some really cool books and in the hours where no one would come, you got to finish some school work. The Jedi who would visit the library were nice and kind, always polite with a big smile. You even grew really fond of a young Togruta padawan that would spend her breaks in between training devouring books. 

It was calm and quiet. 

Until the storm broke through the door.

“Is this the one you’re looking for?” You yelled to Ahsoka as you climbed down the stairs with the title she asked for.

“Yes! Thank you, y/n!” She gave you a hug and ran to her table to start reading about the swamps in Dagobah.

You returned to your desk and kept registering the book’s codes into the control sheet when a loud sound made you look to the door, the one that was violently being thrown to open room for a tall, curly-haired man with dark robes.

You would recognize those robes anywhere. In reality, anyone from any point of the galaxy would recognize them.

Anakin Skywalker. 

One of the few exceptions of Jedi men who didn’t live up to the sophisticated standard of the Order’s image. And definitely someone you would prefer to stay away from. For some reason he was the favorite warrior of the people; the citizens would line up in front of the Temple to scream “Hero with no fear” to that pretentious douchebag.

He was fine. 

As what most people would call courageous, you would say careless. To others he was passionate, to you he was irrational. Not to mention how idiotic and unsubordinated he was; always talking back and doing things his way, ignoring what the guidelines said.

You didn’t like him. You didn’t like him at all. For that you were thankful that he never set foot into your sacred place. Until that doomed day.

“C’mon, Snips.” He shouted, approaching the desk where she sat. “We need to go. Council just called.”

“Can I have five more minutes? I’ve barely read anything about where we are going!” Ahsoka whined.

“You don’t need to read anything, we will find out anything that’s necessary there.” He huffed, finding his apprentice’s actions ridiculous. 

You quietly sighed and rolled my eyes. Of course.

“Fine… but y/n really took her time fetching it for me.” She exhaled annoyed and closed the book. 

Your eyes remained glued to your task at hand, not willing to look up and be involved in some type of pending argument.

“Who’s y/n?” Anakin scoffed rather loudly.

“Y/n! The volunteer?” Anakin frowned at the short explanation and shook his head in a negative motion. “You know, y/n! C’mon Skyguy, follow me.”

No, please no, you whispered to your insides.

“Hey, y/n!” You heard Ahsoka’s little footsteps running to where you were. 

“What can I do for you, Soka?” You answered, still pretending that you were too busy to move your head from its position.

“Skyguy hasn’t met you. Here, Anakin, y/n. She helps us out here in the library.”

“Ahsoka, we’re not supposed to be having social meetings, we need to go-” You finally gazed up and in that moment, Anakin and you made eye contact for the first time; it was intense. It felt like something clicked for him. “You must be Y/n.” Anakin shook his head lightly, hinting a little smirk as leaned over your table with fixed eyes. 

Hell, no.

“Yes, I am. How may I help you?” You were bitter, totally unbothered by his chiseled cheekbones, or his gorgeous hair, or his plumped lips. Not even the scar had any effect whatsoever. He was an ass and that was automatically a turn off for you. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t met you. You must be new.” He explained with dreamy eyes, subtly checking you out. You cursed the moment you decided to come in today with a blouse who had a bit of a cleavage. “I’m Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”

“Actually, I’ve been here for almost two months now.” You suppressed the soul-eating need to roll your eyes.

“Oh, really? Sorry, I don’t come here much.” He leaned over even more, trying to keep eye contact even when you sat down. 

“Obviously.” You whispered on the low.

“Excuse me?” Anakin frowned, interrupting his beam to pout with confusion.

“Nothing.” You smiled widely with a fake grin. 

“Okay…” His frown deepened before a smirk broke out his lips. “Maybe I will make it a habit and visit more often.” He shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side, deciphering the effects of his statement on you. 

“You should.” You looked at him and gave him a side-smile, making his eyes sparkle. “Books are good for you.” You returned to check the order of nabooian books on your computer. 

“Yeah, books are cool but there are other things I would much rather check out.” He smirked shamelessly at you, the back-handed comment flying way over his head.

You felt like gagging. Not the good kind.

Before you could come up with a clever response and shut him down for good, Ahsoka spoke from behind him.

“Ugh, gross! Let’s go!” The kid dragged him out by his clothes and before he disappeared through the glass door, he winked at you.

That was the first time you have seen him. First of many, many more. 

Since the day your paths crossed, he took every fleeting moment to come and “read”, when in reality it was just him eating, or drawing or doing anything but opening a book. Taking advantage of your breaks, or whenever you returned to your seat after doing rounds, he would come over and make conversation. About his battles, his accomplishments, his close-calls to death… or about random facts he collected from his missions and travels; Anything that would maybe impress you.

And when he wasn’t doing that? He would drown you in compliments, to see if in fact, you soften up to him. Anakin was already aware of your no-so-secret disgust towards him the day he caught one of your eye rolls.

Did he care? No. 

He was persistent: admiring your hair, loving the way you had styled it in a little bun (even though it was because the heat was eating you alive). He would ask about the tasks you were performing, sucking at pretending to be interested in hearing about organizing books in alphabetical order. 

And it would have maybe worked; his good looks combined to his natural charisma were enough to make any mortal melt at his sight. You almost combust when you saw him carrying some wood boards into the library, the primal part of you rejoicing at the sight of his strong muscles stretching. The man was eye candy, whether you like it or not.

But, boy, were you tough.

Anakin Skywalker was not your cup of tea to say the least. You wouldn’t collaborate in his attempts to get to know you. You were so uninterested in finding out more about him when you had already scanned him. Just a way-too-handsome-for-his-own-good guy who was lucky enough to be born as the Chosen One, because otherwise, he would have never made it in the Order. He was determined, you would give him that. 

His approaches were never creepy or invasive enough to make you uncomfortable, only to drive you wild. Even when he was the worst part of your day, you had to keep the polite but distant charade going on, in order to protect your job. Your disgust towards him, instead of hurting him, amused him. He liked challenges and you were freaking Mission Impossible. Although he also saw the flaws in you: a pretentious prick girl who had probably achieved everything in her life thanks to nepotism. But he could see past that.

Because, boy, were you hot. 

And he was sure you liked it nasty. 

Underneath your goodie-two-shoes clothes hid the true you: he knew you loved being treated like a filthy slut.

“Hello, y/n!” Ahsoka squealed in an excited voice. You two have grown to adore each other. 

“Hey, Soka!” You responded happily, finishing to put some encyclopedias on a shelf. When you turned around, you saw she wasn’t alone. “Oh… good afternoon, Anakin.”

“Nice to see you too, y/n.” Anakin huffed in a sarcastic voice before strolling to where you were, Ahsoka following close behind. “Is that a new shirt? It suits you.”

“No, it’s the same white button up shirt that I’ve always used.” You smiled and turned around to roll your eyes in peace. He was too busy devouring your bosom behind the fabric to ever notice the barrier between his eyes and your skin.

“Y/n, do you think you could grab me a book about loreeks? I’m doing a little presentation about them for my science class.” Ahsoka asked you with a sweet voice.

“Oh sure… just let me look oveeeer…” You walked, stretching the words as you searched in the countless sections. “...here. It must be on one of these shelves.” You announced when you entered the exotic animals aisle. 

Digitating the code on your scanner you found out it was in one of the tallest shelves, only reachable with a ladder. Right when you were about to move it, Anakin came in.

“Don’t worry, Y/n. I’ll get it.” And he used the Force to bring the book down. “Here you go Snips, study hard.” He nudged her head, annoying her.

“Yeah, I guess… but it’s Friday. Can I read after I hang out with the other padawans? Barris and Meelo are going skating!” She gave her best puppy eyes, to which Anakin agreed, after giving it little to no thought.

“You didn’t have to give her the book, I could have done it.” You waited for Ahsoka to leave before dropping the bomb. 

“Easy there, kitten. I was just helping out.” He furrowed his eyebrows. As if the unnecessary nickname wasn’t enough to drive you mad. Looking down, he saw the rest of your outfit and lingered his eyes more than necessary in your short, black skirt. “On second thought, I might have let you do it.” He smirked confidently.

“Just stay out of my way, okay?” You growled, walking away from him to your desk, not without bumping your shoulder with his on your way out.

“What the hell is your problem?” He asked with an incredulous face.

You were done. The build-up from the past month was beginning to choke down your sense of decency. Not to mention that your day was already going terrible before he appeared: the droid that would always help you out was broken, significantly delaying your work day. Also, it was laundry day and you had to use your uncomfortable lingerie.

“You know what, Skywalker?” You turned around with raised eyebrows. “You’re my problem.” He opened his eyes in bewilderment. “I don’t like you. I don’t appreciate you coming in, all macho-” You made a mocking manner. “-acting like a goddamn superhero, only after cleaning up the mess you created in the first place.” You crossed your arms in your chest. 

“I’m a general, kitten, and I can assure you the war it’s not my fault.” He scoffed, he used the nickname again, knowing it would press your buttons. 

“And how many times have you messed it up bigger than it was?” You squinted your eyes, only to see him run out of words. “That’s what I thought.” You came back to digitating codes. “It’s like you don’t think. You are just a machine run by adrenaline and praise.” You finally rolled your eyes in front of him without shame. You tried to run down the reports that C7, your assistant droid would do, only to fail and almost delete everything in your computer. “And I can assure you I have bigger problems than dealing with you!”

“Okay, back down-”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You yelled, getting desperate and throwing a tantrum at the device. You had enough for the day. You could leave, given that no one would come over this late, but your sense of responsibility prevented you from going home before finishing your work load. “I fucking hate this system!”

“Let me see-”

“Don’t! Just don’t, okay?” You swatted his hand away. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Could you stop being so stuck-up and let me help you?” He raised his voice, stepping up close to tower you. His eyes were on fire and you could sense that your previous comments did get to him, but for some reason outside of your understanding, he was still willing to help.

“Fine.” You chewed the words in your mouth, stepping down as you glared at him, giving him space to analyze the situation.

Instead of leaning down the computer, he went directly to C7, who lingered weakly on the side of your desk. He picked him up and put it on the table, moving him around his hands to examine the droid. He hummed after a couple of minutes, putting the mechanical body at eye level. “I see.”

“See what? What is it?” You pressed, trying to pick a glance from over his shoulder.

“I’m going to need my tools.” He murmured, dropping the droid back again.

“Wh-”

“I’ll be right back.” He exclaimed, before heading to the door in a rush.

“Wait! What?” You shouted, the shadow of his body the only thing visible.

You stayed alone for about fifteen minutes. You even got to thinking that he was pulling a prank on you, after yelling at him. But you stayed there, because well… what else would you do? You were beginning to fall asleep as you played with paper clips, when you heard the door being opened again.

“Finally! I thought you had left!” You sighed in relief, pushing your body off your desk. 

“I was getting my tools, I told you.” He frowned, lifting the heavy, dark red box to the white marble. “Now let’s bring this one back to life.” He smiled, before busting the carcass open. 

It took Anakin less than what you waited for him to get C7 up and running again. He flipped panels, snapped cables and pressed buttons, at an order that seemed random to you, until C7’s mechanical eyes opened again.

“Oh my God!” You laughed in disbelief. “He’s functioning again!”

Anakin smiled down at the table, as he finished up adjusting some screws. C7 sat up, analyzing his surroundings before getting up and going straight back to work. 

“I-I-” You were speechless. How did he do that? So fast? “I can’t believe you just did that.” You mumbled, still looking at C7 like it was a ghost. “Thank you, Anakin.” You turned around with apologizing eyes, twitching an embarrassed smile. 

“No problem. His transmitter was disconnected from the main system. I had to fix his-” The next couple of things that he mentioned sounded like pure gibberish to you, but he was very firm, so it must be true. Right? Sensing your bafflement, he spilled facts slower and quieter until he stopped talking, finalizing with a dry smile. “Yeah, it was nothing.”

He was starting to pack everything in his toolbox again and you had a pending need to say something. However, you didn’t know if you should kick off with a real apology or-

“How did you know all that?” So a pop quiz it was. In your defense, you were genuinely curious about the abilities he had just demonstrated. Mindblown, to be more specific. 

“About what?” He furrowed his brows, closing the box but leaving on the table. 

“About the transmitter, and the restraining bolt, and- and-” You were running out of technical terms. 

“Mechanics are second nature to me at this point.” He shrugged his shoulders, picking up the box. “I know everything about the topic, so, it was an easy fix. I’d have rearranged his central system if I had the missing part, but it’s very specific. What I did will do for now, though.” 

He was about to leave when he noticed the way you were leaning on the table, head on top of your fist to pay close attention to him. You were murmuring almost unhearable “uh-huh”s, totally lost in his words. 

“Sooo, you know mechanics.” You were such a hypocrite, you couldn’t stand the man fifteen minutes ago and now you were drooling over the sight of him explaining complicated shit to you. Snob. “You often fix things?” You tried to investigate, see if the throbbing happening between your legs was worth pursuing. 

“Sometimes… I often go to the hangar and repair the damaged ships or flip them.” He grinned without teeth. “The techs often ask for me. They say I have an eye for these things. Been working on droids since I was a kid, so.” Anakin wasn’t trying to brag, but his ample knowledge in mechanics was something that he prided himself on. 

“That seems like a lot of work.” You continued the small talk, slowly losing yourself over this spontaneous crush. 

“It can get tricky.” He dismissed, beginning to notice the glint on your eyes. He recognized the way your irises had darkened: He got those fuck-me eyes wherever he went. “Still haven’t found something I can’t fix.”

But it was involuntary. The fact that he was an expert on a matter as hard as mechanics scratched a part of your brain; It flipped a switch inside of you. Anakin was a different man under your eyes now. He was smart, hella smart. 

“Gosh, that’s so impressive.” You giggled like the girls that would flirt at him. Pathetic. But you quickly regained control, not before sucking up some courage and getting closer to him, posing more seductively this time. “That brain of yours sure hides lots of secrets.”

He hadn’t quite figured out why the change of heart, so it took him a moment to replay your evening together. It lasted a bit more than he liked to admit, but it hit him. Of course. An arrogant smile cracked his face. Of course you would be attracted to someone who was a master of something you consider relevant. After all, you liked to consider yourself an “intellectual”. Just to test his theory, he consciously started to brag about something else… something that would have your panties in a bunch if his hypothesis was correct.

“Wanna know another one?” He cocked an eyebrow, resting his elbow on the table to stand inches away from your face.

Your face shined with a slight pink blush, but it was the way you bit your lip that drove him crazy. That and your enthusiastic nod. “Yeah.”

“There’s a reason behind why I’m the best pilot of the fleet. And it’s not just because of my background as a pod racer or the Force.” He whispered, snickering at how soft your eyes had grown. “It’s actually because… I use physics.”

“Physics?” You almost moaned. 

“Yeah, physics.” He repeated, moistening his lips, a thing your eyes followed. “Self-taught, just like with mechanics.”

That ripped a subtle whimper out of you. Well, not subtle to him. 

“You-you understand math?” If it wasn’t because you were visibly squeezing your thighs at the newly acquired information, he would be completely offended that you thought he was dumb as fuck. 

“Love em.” He muttered, his intense stare glued to you, as his fingers put a string of hair behind your ear.

Like thunder, you were rushing to capture his lips and show him just how hot you thought he was now. Anakin freezed at first, taking aback by your sudden demonstration of affection, but when he understood that you were willingly -and enthusiastically- giving yourself to him, he wasted no time to embrace you back. 

Wet kisses splashed everywhere; it was fucking mess. You hung onto his shoulders while he groped all of your body, starting with your sweet hips, fondling your ass like it was his personal stress ball and finally landing on your waist. You pressed against him shamelessly, but in reality, how much shame could you still have when the man’s tongue was down your throat? The only thing you knew with certainty was that the sucking sounds and moans you both dropped were intensifying the already sex-filled atmosphere.

“Anakin.” You tried to sound normal, but your voice was failing just like your knees were. “W-why haven’t you gone to a proper school? Maybe get a degree?”

Was that seriously so important to you? The opinion of others? Anakin questioned in his own head.

Anakin was the kind of person that wasn’t susceptible to the opinion of others, especially regarding his own image. He was sure of the shit he knew and didn’t need anyone validating that for him. No expensive universities, no uptight professors; Obi-Wan was more than enough. Nonetheless, he had found a shortcut to get inside your pants and God as his witness, he was gonna use it. 

“Y/n.” He snickered right in your face, drinking in the power. “I don’t care about any of that. I'm a certified engineer, that’s how I got to build this myself.” Removing the leather, he revealed his mechanical limb to you, wiggling his fingers.

It was fancier than you ever thought a mechanical hand could be. Black with touches of gold; it was elegant and sophisticated, way more advanced than any technology you had ever seen in the orthopedics research field. And you knew it well, your mom was an orthopedic surgeon. 

It was no surprise to him that after spilling that last fact you were now shamelessly grinding on his half-hard. The fact that he was an engineering mastermind was such an aphrodisiac. And as much as he wanted to have another taste of your full, pink lips, the ones he often imagined enveloped around his dick while you scolded him, Anakin wasn’t willing to make the first move.

You were going to have to beg for it. 

“Anakin?” Your hands flattened on his pecs, back arching when he cupped your cheek with the cool durasteel prosthetic, kneading against it with soft eyes. He must have noticed how captivated you were by his invention. 

“Yeah, baby?” He continued the soft ministrations up and down your cheek, redirecting your gaze to his face whenever your eyes would deviate to his artificial limb. 

“You- Uhm, you built it from scratch?” You gulped when his thumb inched closer to your mouth, rubbing your bottom lip and pulling it open. 

Little obedient you put no resistance, and instead, stuck out your wet tongue to happily receive his digit into your warmness. But this time it was his index, the one you were bobbing your head into, eye contact not faltering even when you were practically giving oral to his hand. Anakin smiled pleased at your enthusiasm for pleasuring him and added another finger for you to lubricate. 

“From scratch.” He nodded, lustful irises boring into you. “Designed it too.”

You moaned around him, feeling content with being sandwiched between his firm torso and your desk, and with your mouth being fucked by his fingers. Saliva smeared all over your chin, you whined pitifully when your lips were no longer stuffed. On the contrary of leaving you all hot and bothered, Anakin lowered those same fingers to your leaky cunt, pushing your underwear aside for easy access. 

He groaned when he first inserted a finger, your gasping a sign for him to slow down. “Baby, you’re tight.” He seemed to love that about you. 

After adjusting to the size of his strong index finger, Anakin breached in with his middle one, repeating the process of you getting used to the coldness and girth all over. 

“A-Anakin.” You closed your eyes, involuntarily standing on your tippy toes. 

“That’s right, you’re doing so well. Taking my fingers like a true champ.” He bit down a condescending smile. “Atta girl.”

The initial discomfort was just a milestone you had to overcome to succumb to the pleasure that it was being fucked by Anakin Skywalker’s metal hand. His frigid thumb came to roll over your bundle of nerves, helping you relax into him and enjoy the sensation of fully riding his hand. 

“That’s it. Fuck my hand just like that, kitten.” He chuckled, finding a spot on your neck to latch on, leave a little souvenir of your encounter, and hide his pitiful laugh. 

Kisses were peppered along your exposed throat, your clavicle and jaw, his long eyelashes tickling you and making you clench around his metal hand tighter. Whilst you worried about not whining too loud for anyone to enter the library, Anakin was pumping his fingers at such an unholy pace to complicate your task.

“Shhh, baby. You need to be quiet. Wouldn’t like for anyone to come in. You could lose your job.” He mocked with a side smile and you had to gripped his bicep to keep your balance. “Could you imagine? Getting caught having sex at work? With a Jedi?”

You could perceive that the trespassing of the pseudo-celibacy Jedi code was turning him to no end, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes getting stronger when he said the last sentence. 

“W-We’re not having sex.” You corrected him, like it mattered. Like having him knuckles deep into you was somehow less frowned-upon than to have actual coitus.

That made him laugh and you wiggled underneath him, fighting to not let your tears fall. 

“You just wait.” His lips ghosted over yours, his breath fanning over your heated face. The increase of the movements of his hand was a sign that he had noticed the contractions around his digits, fully aware that you were close. “Ready to come, baby? Gonna gush all over me?”

You nodded, biting your swollen lip, losing the battle against your tear duct. Anakin used his other thumb, the one that was not torturing your clit, to liberate your abused lip. His mouth lowered to capture yours in a hot kiss, this tongue sliding on your inside until it hit your throat. So deep into you that you would never forget his taste; so deep you will never be able to deny him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You whimpered against his smile when you reached your peak, dissolving into this meaningless mass between his arms. “Anakin…” You rode out your climax, still rocking your hips to prolong the pleasure.

Anakin waited until you regained some composure to help you fix your clothes, putting back your underwear as he found it and lowering your skirt. His actions had you frowning: Weren’t you two gonna fuck? You were already mentally prepared to welcome his enormous cock in your tiny canal. 

He grinned at your puppy eyes and adorable pout, your flustered state funnier than it should be. It was almost enough to break him. But someone had to give you a lesson. 

 “At the end of the day, I’m just a soldier, Y/n. An incompetent one, according to you.” 

Before you could protest that, he was tilting his head in an accusatory manner. Like saying: Don’t even try it. And before leaving with his head high, he spat: 

“My apologies if that’s not fancy enough for you, ma’am.”

[fraugwinska]

Hello, wait are your requests open? 😅

If yes - i have an idea? :)

Per Charlie's decision everyone goes out for a night out in the town. You stay at the hotel as you weren't feeling well. Thinking the hotel is empty you carelssly leave your room and head to the bar and lounge area. To your surprise it's already occupied - Alastor is drinking whisky and listening to jazz on his old radio. He is already tipsy as he starts slowly dancing with himself. You don't want to interrupt but before you can go back he calls to you and asks if you want to join him. I just really need some tipsy and more relaxed Alastor thay slowly openes up to the reader. Bonus scene: you two fall asleep on the couch and wake up to the whole group staring at you two with the wildests reactions lol

This was such a cute prompt - Thank you for suggesting this, dear Anon! It's a little shorter, but I really like it - hope you do too! :>

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

More than words

Thirsty. You are thirsty.

That's the first thought you had when you woke up from your nap. Hell really had eternal suffering, with migraines being just as annoying and painful in hell as they were on earth. You had woken up with pain behind your eyes, and you knew in that exact moment you had to tell Charlie you wouldn't be able to go out tonight, because knowing yourself it would last the whole day and leave you exhausted by the evening.

You peeled yourself out of bed, realizing with relief that the pain and the dull pressure were gone almost completely. One or two glasses of water and a strong espresso, and maybe you were even able to get a good night's sleep. So you threw a cozy, fuzzy cardigan over you and headed to the kitchen. You had expected creepy silence, since it didn't happen often that everyone went out all at once, so you were surprised to hear the faint sounds of pianos, trumpets and drums when you were halfway down the staircase. Maybe Charlie or Husk had left the radio on? Without real reason to you tiptoed the last steps down, peeking around the corner of the corridor leading to the bar. What you saw made you both speech- and breathless.

Alastor, with a glass of whiskey in hand, humming along to Boogie Man by Sid Phillips, eyes closed and dancing just for himself – tipsy, slightly uncoordinated swing steps that might've looked impressive if he wasn't... drunk? At least a bit buzzed, that was for sure.

You watched him in fascination, tapping and twirling, while you contemplated what to do. The only way to the kitchen was through the foyer, which meant you had to pass the bar, ergo Alastor. But you weren't sure how much he would appreciate you catching him in this... state. Yes, you were on good terms, you would even go as far to say you were friends, but that stage of relationship was far too fresh to risk changing it by angering him. You decided that your bathroom sink had to provide the much needed water and fuck the espresso, you turned around to sneak back to your room.

„Oh, I didn't know there was an audience for my show!“

Fuck.

You glanced over your shoulder – Alastor looked you straight in the eye, swaying a bit, grin loose and eyes a little clouded. He sounded more amused than angry, something you didn't expect, but were fucking grateful for.

„Sorry, Al... I didn't think you were home, I just wanted to get some water and head back to my room.“ „Ah,“ Alastor took a sip of his drink, golden brown liquid leaking from the corners of his mouth down to his chin. With careless fingers he wipes it away. „So eager to leave little ol' me hanging...“ He pouted. Alastor, the radio demon pouted. You asked yourself if you might have migraine-incited hallucinations.

„Alastor, are you... okay?“, you ask, carefully turning to him.

„Fantastic dear, just fantastic.“, he muttered, eyeing his now empty glass, „Although drinking in company would certainly be more pleasurable than drinking alone.“

He walked back behind the bar, steps still a little wobbly, and poured himself another, giving you an opportunity. It was the deers crude way of handing you the choice - You could leave now, if you wanted.

Instead, you wrapped the cardigan tighter around yourself, suddenly very aware of your lack of decorum, and with a few steps, you were in front of him, sliding onto one of the stools. Alastor tilted his head at you as you leaned on the counter, both elbows on the slightly sticky surface and face in your hands, sighing.

„Alright tapper, as long as you don't bring my headache back, pour it away.“

----------------------------***----------------------------

„... and wouldn't you believe it, the next time this idiot saw me he just ripped off his whole arm and threw it at me!“

Alastor laughed, loudly and boastfully, slapping his thighs. You joined in with your own laughter, more like a cackle, tongue and restraint loosened by his choice of drink for you – mint julep, apparently one of the only cocktails he knew how to mix, being a favourite from his time in the 1920's. The fresh and cooling drink went easily down your tongue, and both of you had been chatting away for the last hour, mostly Alastor telling you funny anecdotes and you laughing at his stories till your mouth went dry.

While you drank slowly, Alastor rushed every drink down his throat like a parched man. With wonder you watched him, amazed by how much he could take, word unslurred and speech still crisp and transatlantic. The only indicator of his drunkenness: his choice of words became more and more crass. It made you giggle uncontrollably whenever he used profanities that were so unlike him. 

“Can you blame him? That poor man probably didn’t want you to rip it off again - might just do it himself and save the trouble!” “I didn’t even get to the best part, darling - He owned a fucking second hand shop! Ha Ha HA!” He bellowed with laughter,looking more like a mischievous school-boy than a terrifying overlord and you slapped his arm. “Alastor, stop, you’re making this up!” “Absolutely not, it’s the irony that makes the story even more comical.”

You shook your head, stirring the mint leaves in your glass.He was much more easy-going than normal, his cheeks tinted in a pretty shade of red. The biggest difference was his everlasting smile. Tight and wide normally, it had become a loose, content one, playful without the malice it usually carried. He looked even more handsome that way.

“A penny for your thought, cherie.”, he chuckled, arms crossed on the countertop and leaning in closely. The proximity brought the smell of bourbon, warm wood and nutmeg with hints of vetiver. The stronger version of his natural scent. Tasty. The thought shuddered through your mind and you swallowed it quickly with the rest of your own drink. “I just thought about a Chaplin quote that came to mind.” He leaned on his hand, blinking in curiosity, half-lidded eyes telling you to continue - you and him had a thing for his movies, you've watched City Lights together multiple times. “A man's true character comes out when he's drunk.” You mirrored his gesture with a smile of your own, bringing your face even closer to his, which seemed to startle him. “And I gotta say it’s a shame you’re not drunk more often.”

Alastor pulled back, grasping for the whiskey bottle as he avoided your gaze. You were confused - had you offended him? You sat yourself upright, ready to apologize, when he cut you off.

“Better not to reveal this kind of secret to just everyone, my dear. It’s only the ghost of a man long gone, anyways.” He sighed at the bottle in his hands, realizing it was empty. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Please, you may tell that yourself but I’m not a medium. That man isn’t gone. He's only hiding, deep down in there.”

Foolishly your brain didn’t remind you that Alastor didn’t like to be touched. You reached out, putting your hand flat at his chest, right where his heart would be. As for Alastor, his alcohol-dazed mind couldn’t catch up with what you were doing fast enough. Your palm pressed down, receiving the soothing, soft warmth he always radiated through your sensitive skin, like an old radio that had been left on for too long. His eyes widened, you felt him inhale sharply, yet it took another few seconds for him to react, flinching back.

His barstool wobbled, swinging dangerously, and like in slow-motion he fell backwards, only letting out a small, ulfiltered “Shit!” before he disappeared behind the bar. You jumped up, stuttering “Sorry, sorry, oh fuck, I’m so sorry!” while you hurried behind the bar to help him up. He was sprawled out on the floor, almost like a starfish, his chest shaking and an arm thrown over his face. “Alastor, I’m so sorry, are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Fuck, I’m so….”, you stopped abruptly when he burst out laughing. He wheezed, shaking with laughter, and you fell to your knees beside him, relieved and at the same time unnerved. He sat up, still holding his chest with one hand and patting your head with the other.

“Moments like these remind me why I like you so much, darling. Such a blue-eyed, air-headed doe you are.” You met his gaze, ready to banter, but the sad tint in his expression made you decide against that. Instead you shuffled nearer to him, slowly sitting up on your knees, to give him the option to push you away. He didn’t, only watching you closely. You wrapped your arms around his head, pulling him close, his cheek resting on your chest, tight enough he had to hear your heartbeat.

You held him like this until you felt his hands on your back, returning the embrace. HIs breath was warm and heavy on your skin. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was holding back tears. Maybe he was. You just stayed like this, holding him in your arms. Words were unnecessary, unwanted even. Him and you weren’t close enough yet to bring everything he should share into words. But you would be there, whenever that moment came, and for now, this was the right way to express what couldn’t be said. Much more even.

When he pulled away, he did it gently, a soft and thankful smile on his lips. “I think the bar has run dry, my dear.” He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up. You took it, and he left your hand in his as you stood face to face. “How about a warm nightcap to end our day?” ----------------------------***----------------------------

“... You are seeing this too, right? I’m not trippin’?!” “Shhhh! Don’t wake them up.” Charlie hissed at Angel, her eyes round like saucers, staring over the backrest, as did the others. “How can this creep still smile even when he’s sleeping?!”, Vaggie whispered loudly. Angel gave her a sly smile. “You’d smile too if a hot girl slept in your lap like that.” Husk groaned, pulling a paw over his face. “It’s too late and I’m too sober for this shit.” “SSSSSSSHHHHHH! Leave them alone, go! Go to bed, quietly, all of you!”, Charlie shushed them again, shooing them away from the sofa.

She quickly ran to the nearest cabinet, pulling out a thick blanket which she carefully draped over your and Alastors body. She took a few heartbeats to internalize what she everyone saw when they came home.

You looked like a couple. Of course Charlie knew you weren’t. Alastor - half-laying, half-sitting asleep on the sofa - had his arm around you, his head resting on the top of your head. You were serenely slumbering while nuzzled against his chest, legs pulled up and looking like you were mended to his side. You, too, were smiling. On the cofffee table in front of the sofa were two cups of what looked and smelled like hot milk with honey, the porcelain still faintly warm to the touch and the liquid barely touched. She suppressed the squeal she wanted to squeal.

After she was done, she quietly took a few steps back, scanning that you were both still fast asleep, then she took Vaggie’s hand and together they headed to their own room. Charlie knew you weren’t a couple. But she also knew that was only a matter of when you would become one, not if.

[buzzinrusso]

Careless ,part .2

You can find part 1 here ,thank you to this and this anon for requesting a part two and giving me ideas!

A short one but with the ending we wanted

You truly didnt mean for this to happen .

Though you tried to distance yourself from all of Alexia's friends ,team ,family ,etc..., patri was a force to be reckoned with,she drew you in and left you always wanting more.

She healed you ,made you feel wanted ,actually loved you.

It was nine months after alexia broke up with you that patri kissed you,she held you ,looked you in the eyes ,and even made a speech .

Patri was perfect ,she was what you needed . She loved you In a way that you have never seen before,she supported you with your job , just as you supported her with her football.

It was the champions league final.

Alexia had a sneaky suspicion that something has been happening with patri .she seemed more joyous,more happy and was always sporting a smile .

The final whistle blew and the crowds went wild , alexia's ears blocked every single sound ,and for some reason her only thought was you .

She should've shared this moment with you but instead she was a selfish woman that cheated on you.she didnt deserve to have you back .

She had the biggest smile on her face while walking through the pitch ,while everyone was pulling their loved ones over the barrier ,her eyes caught you.you hugging patricia like your life depended on it with tears streaming down your face.

Her heart nearly stopped ,her body stilled in it's place ,she couldn't believe it .

She kept it cool until they got to the locker room,immediately finding patri and slamming her into the nearest wall.

"why?! Why her?!" She screamed in the brunettes face , with minor tears streaming down her face .

"let go of me !" Patri said as she pushed alexia back ,leaving her to stumble ." Look ,alexia ,you lost your chance ,you were the one who fucked things up with her!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"yes,but you still did ! You can't blame her for moving on ,and I'm so sorry that it had to be with me ,but it felt right ! " Patri yelled over her captains voice ,her words as stern as steel .

"ale ,i love her ."

Alexia took a deep breath at patri's words.

She never imagined someone else saying that about you except for her. So when she let patri go ,with the promise that she won't hurt you like she did,she knew that it was probably for the better.

Immediately as the guijarro girl left the locker room ,she pucked you up into a bone crushing hug.

That's when you realized that love was not when alexia would ignore your calls .love was not when she would not eat the dinner that you made ,love was not when she would turn away in bed .

Love was when patri would call you every night before she goes to sleep ,love was when patri would try every single thing you made ,love was when patri would squeeze you to death whenever you shared a bed.

So,alexia may have won many things in her career but she could never win you back.

[misstycloud]

Ok so we know how the Cowboy yan reacts to an indifferent city girl reader…BUT…

How’d he react and handle a reader who’s a bit of a ditzy bimbo in the best way possible? (Think of Marilyn Monroe’s character from, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, if you’ve ever seen the movie. I really recommend it!)

Yandere cowboy x bimbo. reader

If reader was the stereotypical dumb, pretty girl, the cowboy would find it very endearing. He’s not the smartest one of the bunch himself, so he’d think it’s cute. If it was the other way around and reader being insanely intelligent, he’d still love them and tell her how sexy he finds it. However, he probably wouldn’t be able to help feeling unworthy since he’s more brawn than brain.

The cowboy would make it his responsibility to protect reader(he would no matter what but especially in this case). She’s too careless: trusting anyone who throws her a smile! It’s not safe. Reader is pretty too, so there’s a big chance some creep will become obsessed with her and stalk her. The cowboy doesn’t trust her to notice someone hiding in the bushes on her way home, following her every step. Of course he had to make sure she’s safe by walking at a safe distance behind her whenever she went home alone. Only so she’ safe, though. Not so he can drag his gaze over her form and imagine sinful fantasies involving both of them. And especially not so he can linger outside the bedroom window until the sun starts to rise.

It wouldn’t take long for him to start manipulating his darling. Every day there would be speeches on how only he truly cares for her, how everyone else tries to take advantage of her, of how she needs him.

If bimbo reader told the cowboy she had to leave the village and go back to the city, he would immediately convince her it’s not a good idea. From all the previous conversations, he has picked up enough information about her friends to come up with unlikely scenarios. He’ll say that they’re not her friends and that they’re obviously just pretending. From her stories about them, it’s clear that they treat her awfully. Why would she go back?

If that doesn’t work, the cowboy will activate the water work.

The poor, kindhearted bimbo reader can’t abandon someone so pitiful. The way he sobs and begs her to stay is seriously tugging on her heart strings.

In all, he wouldn’t treat her so differently compared to indifferent reader, except that he’s a bit more protective and thinks she’s naive and therefore need him. I mean, he’d think she needs him not matter what but this is in a more practical way. The cowboy would do everything for bimbo reader. Need some water? He’s getting a glass from the cupboard right now. Need to change the lightbulb? He’s the best at changing lightbulbs! You want some flowers in your garden? He’s out in the field plucking wild flowers and will even replant them for you.

With (for example) the indifferent reader, he would recognise that she wants to do things on her own and let her.

Not with bimbo reader though. She is too sweet, she might accidentally hurt herself.

[zepskies]

hi zep!! do you have a fic rec list for soldier boy or any fave soldier boy fics/writers in general?

Hey there!

Ah, I should've known this question was coming lol. The answer is, I do now! 💚

Stories are Soldier Boy x Reader unless otherwise specified. This is 18+ only content!

@waynes-multiverse -

Bad Reputation Summary: In a world full of careless supes, powerful people, and corruption on all levels, Y/N’s the typical millennial, trying to make the world a better place one good deed at a time. As a civil rights lawyer in New York City, justice, kindness, and selflessness are her motto. Her patience is tested, however, when none other than America’s ass himself shows up on her doorstep and needs help. [series complete]

Soldier Boy Masterlist - Recommending everything she writes, because I've read and loved it all.~

@venus-haze -

She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best Summary: Soldier Boy’s been pulled from the European Theater to sell war bonds to the American people, the goodwill tour dotted by big cities and small towns alike. In the meantime, he gets familiar with the variety of women in dazzling costumes that accompany his speeches with carefully choreographed dances. You’re, without a doubt, his favorite of them all.

Watch Honey Drip, Can't Keep Away Summary: America’s golden son can't keep his eyes off of you, almost like he wants to devour you whole...or something like that.

Power Play Summary: So, you lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship. It happens all the time. Maybe not quite like this.

@luci-in-trenchcoats -

The Boys Masterlist (I'm about to read Thunder in Our Hearts in particular.)

@rizlowwritessortof -

Gladiator Reborn

Gladiator Reborn Part 2

Say It Summary: Ben has a jealous streak, and you have a stubborn streak - but only one of you can win.

@kaleldobrev

Soldier Boy Masterlist

@lamentationsofalonelypotato -

Take a Chance on Me Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think?

I'll keep adding to this list as I read more of this (charming) asshole.

Soldier Boy Masterlist || Main Masterlist

[mishoarts]

Few differents between Canvas and Original :[What we know so far]

1-Bus graveyard gang were a little older (16)

*Aiden had a rented van to drive,

2-

Ashlyn's parents weren't military, they worked in a family friend's restaurant.

--Ashlyn used to work as a dancer on Saturdays ( she's still under the age but the owner allowed her because he knows how much she likes dancing, as long as she covers her face )

3- Ash's parents design 

(Mike fans how you feelin rn )

4-Ashlyn

Ashlyn was more like an introvert who hates socializing than someone who just doesn't like people(and kinda a little shy lol)

However, she still had that "done with everything" energy ✨

5- Witch Curse

In canvas, the curse didn't start with the sorrel weed house, it's originally from a trap in the witch house 1642 

*there wasn't a tour guide (no jasmine) they went in all by themselves

And unlike O. Ashlyn hearing phantom noises since childhood, C. Ash started hearing them in the witch house -(and got possessed immediately)-

6- Colored speech-bubbles:

Ashlyn > green

Aiden  > yellow 

Tyler  > brown 

Taylor  > orange 

Logan > blue 

7-Aiden :

Instead of our lovely cupcake we have in Original, Canvas Aiden was known as the crazy psycho of the school who no one dares to get near him (except Ben ofc), -- like a suspicious evil weirdo --

BUT the funny thing is that C.Aiden fears hights while O. Aiden is suic/idal careless who likes jumping (lmao)

8- Teacher

Instead of Thomas, it was a normal kind teacher called Mr.T, who tried to push Ashlyn to socialize.

9- T twins

-changed race, 

Tyler's personality was a little different ( less grumpy)

Sadly, the available Canvas chapters ended at this panel before the website moves to Original, so that's all what I know (if you know anything else tell)

END OF WHATEVER THIS WAS, THANKS FOR READING 🩵🫡

[ All Canvas credits to Red ]

____________________

I had to make this so you can have some background information before I post random translated panels.

In case you don't know where I got these, there're 9 chapters from canvas translated to Arabic on some unofficial website.

Some panels have a weird font type, that's just my hand writing I didn't have that time to edit them 🗿🤚🏻

__[ This took me too long to make pls like 🫠]__

[anm3mi]

CLINGY ─ NETEYAM ⊹ ִֶָ

contents. fem!reader, established relationship, intoxication, fluff, a bit of humor

notes. i am obsessed with avatar fics where they get drunk, it's so funny👹👹

"bro!" at the sudden call, followed by rushing footsteps towards the entrance of his family tent, neteyam looked up with confused, yet worried eyes. "bro-" once again, lo'ak called out, this time almost out of breath, as he hunched over with the palms of his hands resting on his knees. "what's wrong?" quickly making his way towards his brother, neteyam quiried. "it's y/n." lo'ak explained, finally managing to catch his breath. neteyam's heart dropped - stomach swirling with anxiety.

usually this time of the day, in the late afternoon the two of you'd be together - both of your duties done, as you'd bask in the comforting presence of each other. but it seemed today prepared different plans for you and neteyam. his parents were away for the afternoon - busy with their own responsibilities, meaning the sully siblings were left alone. for a while, they all managed to stay together and safe inside their tent, but it didn't last long. lo'ak and kiri soon sneaked away, while neteyam stayed watching over his youngest sister, before trouble seemed to come.

"y/n? is she okay?" placing both of his hands on lo'ak's shoulders and slightly shaking him, neteyam hurriedly questioned. "she is okay, but also no?" lo'ak attempted to explain, tilting his head to the side with furrowed brows. neteyam suppressed a groan, as he took tuk by her hand, quickly explaining they'll go and give you a visit, before speed-walking towards your tent.

tuk almost tripped, due to neteyam practically dragging her. glancing over his shoulder, neteyam worried expression softened, as he apologized to his younger sister. it didn't take long, before all three of them were standing in front of your tent. neteyam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, as he entered and was met with a confusing sight - you sitting on the floor, pressing the side of your face into kiri's shoulder, as she kneeled next to you. every once in a while, she'd hum in response upon your muttering.

"finally." kiri let out a groan, slightly pushing your head off her shoulder, which caused you to open your heavy eyes. "look who's here." kiri announced, as your eyes widened. "neteyam!" you called out excitedly, throwing your hands in the air. even a blind person could notice something was off about you - there was a loopy grin plastered across your face and your movements were sloppy, yet eager.

"what... happened?" tilting his head to the side, neteyam once again asked, as he made his way closer to you. kiri and lo'ak exchanged a unreadable look, before glancing at the empty bottle next to you. "we wanted to ask y/n to join us to go in the forest, but when we found her..." lo'ak begun to explain, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "she drank an entire bottle of one of her parents' drinks." kiri finished her brother's sentence, causing neteyam to shut his eyes close.

your parents were known for their famous liquor made from fruits growing inside the pandora's forest. adults would drink it on occasions such as celebrations and all the children were curious about it, yet never dared to try it. the liquor - consumed in a certain portion could cause one to tumble, when they attempted to walk, often slur their speech and sometimes make them cheery without a reason.

earlier in the morning, your parents have left, leaving you all alone inside your tent with numerous bottles of the said liquor. your parents were in such a hurry, they forgot to hide the bottles away as they'd usually do due to your curiosity and often careless behaviour. bored and curious, you took a sip of the drink. it was sweet, yet it managed to leave an almost burning sensation in the back of your throat. and before you knew it - you drank the entire bottle, as the effects slowly begun.

your head felt dizzy, the room around you seeming to float around, causing you to laugh at the newfound strange feeling. you didn't like the drink itself, even if it was rather sweet, but the way it left you feeling? you silently wished you could stay that way for the rest of your life.

kneeling in front of you, neteyam inspected your face, as you could only grin in response. "where are you guys going?" you cried out with a sad pout, followed by a disappointment groan, when you noticed lo'ak, kiri and tuk slowly sneaking away. neteyam threw pleading eyes at his siblings. "she's your girlfriend." hands in surrender, lo'ak swiftly shook his head from side to side. "good luck, you'll need it." kiri added, grabbing tuk's hand, before they disappeared out of your sight.

neteyam let out a sigh in response, before turning his attention back to you. with your eyes closed, you let your forehead fall against neteyam's chest, before mumbling a few words. "what was that?" caressing your back with his hand, neteyam raised a brow at you. once more, you muttered the same words, but the boy still didn't manage to make them out. he held back another sigh, before slightly leaning back and raising your head to meet his eyes with a gentle hold on your chin.

"i said- i feel funny." eyes still closed, you let out a giggle. "y/n." neteyam scolded you with a disagreeing shake of his head. "what were you thinking?" pushing a loose braid away from your face, he asked, as you carelessly let out another small laugh. "i was bored." you drag the last word out, before letting your head fall onto neteyam's frame once more. sneaking your arms around his waist, you pushed your face even further into his skin, before letting out a long breath.

"are you in any pain?" neteyam asked another question, sneaking a glance at the top of your head, as you mumbled in response. "i'm doing-" you sharply inhaled. "amazing." another chuckle. carefully, neteyam steadied you, before standing up and searching the room for anything that could help him in such situation. relief washed over him, once his eyes fell on a bowl filled with water, as he begun to make his way towards it. yet before he could reach it and hand it to you, the sudden noise coming from behind him startled him.

"y/n!" eyes wide, neteyam rushed over you, as you attempted to reach for another full bottle of the liquid. usually, prying something from your hands would be a harder task, but due to your intoxicated state, neteyam barely had to use his strength. "hey! i wanted that..." you cried out, before dramatically flopping onto the floor, as you let out a huff. "i think you've had enough. now come on- sit." quickly, he went to grab the bowl and with one hand holding it, neteyam used his other one to help you sit up. you furrowed your brows, eyes glancing between the water and neteyam's face.

"you're lucky i like you." you grumbled, before snatching the water out of his hand - almost spilling it in the process. cautiously, neteyam held his hand underneath your mouth and the bowl you were drinking from, in case you managed to spill some more. "i like you too." neteyam added with a small smile. "you do?" you raised an eyebrow at him, as in testing his loyalty to you. but instead of replying, neteyam only chuckled at your dramatic face - which you didn't seem to like. playfully, you pushed his shoulder. "i do, don't worry." he reassured you, causing your expression to soften.

"how about we lay down? huh?" neteyam simply offered, head nodding towards your sleeping mat. "i'm not tired." you admitted in confusion. "we don't have to sleep, we can just lay together. does that sound better?" at his question, you eagerly nodded before you begun making your way towards your bed. instead of standing up, you crawled towards it, as neteyam let out a small breath at the sight.

once you laid down, you sprawled your arms and legs around, breathing in and out heavily. "the room's spinning..." you muttered, staring at the ceiling of your tent. without a word, neteyam laid down next to you and you wasted no time, before throwing yourself at his side - your movements sloppy. head resting against his chest, you tangled your legs together, as you let out a dry chuckle. "now you can't escape." you raised your head up to meet neteyam's eyes, grin plastered across your face. at the sight, neteyam's lips twitched into a grin aswell. "i wasn't planning on it." gently, he caressed the back of your head.

letting out a long sigh, you closed your eyes - desperately attempting to ignore the pounding inside your head. "can you..." you begun, taking a few seconds to try and think about the right words to choose. "...talk about something?" you asked. "i don't like the silence." simply, you added, as you begun tracing the dark marks along neteyam's skin. "what would you like me to talk about?" neteyam offered, placing one of his arms under his head for support, as he glanced towards the ceiling. "anything." your voice was barely above a whisper, yet loud enough for neteyam to catch. "do you remember, when..."

your heart swelled with pure joy, once neteyam begun recalling your shared memories, while gently caressing your hair. eyelids feeling heavy, you couldn't bother to try and keep them open. it didn't take too long, before your heartbeat slowed down, as low breaths escaped your parted lips. neteyam stopped in the middle of a sentence, as he took in your sleeping frame. with a soft smile, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head.

it wasn't a suprise you woke up with a pounding headache the next morning, but neteyam's warm touch and assuring words he'd whisper in your ear eased the pain - his presence simply bringing you comfort, as it always did and always will.

[wlntrsldler]

f.u.c.k | jamie tartt

based on the song f.u.c.k by victoria monet

description: pure smut. no plot.

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did ya expect?!; PinV! sex! smut! so dirty.

word count: 2.4K

The first time you fucked Jamie Tartt was all lust. You’ve come to learn that there was something absolutely magnetic about him. Like once you’re within his vicinity, you are pulled towards him whether you want to be or not. You tried to fight it at first, unable to get rid of the idea of who he once was from your brain, but it was no use. The more you got to know Jamie, the easier it was to fall for him, to be so intoxicated from him. He consumed your thoughts. All kinds of thoughts.

It was Ted and Beard’s going away party. Rebecca rented out Bones & Honey entirely for the team and their guests. The early part of the night was wholesome. Players gave speeches about how their lives were changed because of the two Americans and wished the coaches a safe flight. There was a three-course Michelin-star menu and an assortment of expensive and classy wines. After the meal, the open bar was introduced. 

Bones & Honey was instantly transformed into a nightclub and it became far from innocent. You found yourself sitting at the bar, sipping on your drink, with Jamie Tartt whispering in your ear, so close to you that you could feel his body heat radiating off of him.

You’d had a few drinks. You were in a good place where you felt careless enough to speak your mind but sober enough to carry on a proper conversation and to know what you want, what you need. The music was so loud that you encouraged Jamie to lean in closer so you could hear him properly. He happily obliged. 

From where he was, your sweet perfume filled his senses. Your skin was a little damp from how hot the club was with all the dancing. Jamie had a hand sprawled across your lower back, not because you needed to be steadied but because he needed to touch you. As he pulled away from your ear, he couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip. Had he extended his neck just a little bit more, his lips would’ve brushed the skin of your neck. 

You placed your drink on the counter, turning the bar chair to face him directly. Your eyes roamed his figure– strong thighs on display with the slacks he wore that hugged his bottom half perfectly, arms so sculpted that you couldn't help but run your fingers over them, and his hands that would look so, so good on you. You couldn’t help but watch the veins of his tattooed arm as he flexed his hand. You let your eyes wander upwards, stopping at his plump lips. You forgot what the conversation was about. 

Jamie’s eyes trailed down your body, having to hold back a groan when he saw you press your thighs together. His hand slowly crept to touch your exposed knee, giving an experimental squeeze before he let his hand move up. He stopped at the hem of your dress, looking up at you once more. You had this look on your face like you were fucked out and he hadn’t even touched you yet, as if the sexual tension between the two of you was enough to get you off. Jamie flared his nostrils, his slacks getting tighter by the second. He leaned toward you again, “If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doin’ anythin’ about it, I will fucking take you right here on this counter in front of everyone.” 

You smirked, placing a hand over his own that was resting on your thigh. You opened your legs a tiny bit, guiding his hand near where you wanted him, but not quite letting him get there. You placed your other hand on the side of his face as you leaned closer, “You couldn’t handle me.” 

For a split second, he was taken aback, eyes blinking while your words sunk in. Then, he smirked, extending his thumb to lightly graze your mound. You sucked in a breath at the contact. Jamie pulled his hand away and hopped off the bar stool, extending his hand for you to take. You adjusted your dress and took him up on his offer. 

Jamie placed a hand on your back, ushering you out of the bar. As you were walking out the door, Jamie pulled your back to his front. You gasped at the sudden contact, feeling him against your leg. He wrapped an arm around your torso, mouth finding the skin behind your ear. He placed a soft kiss on it, so soft you didn’t know if you just imagined it. “You’re gonna regret saying that.” 

When you got to his flat, it was like you were both done with the months of pining, sexual tension, and secret touches. Jamie unlocked the door, pulled you inside, and then his mouth was on yours. He kicked the door closed and had his hands gripping you everywhere like you were going to disappear if he didn’t. You had your fingers tangled in his hair, gently tugging, making him moan into the kiss. Your mouths were reckless and messy, but so fucking hot against each other. 

He was the first to pull away from you, the last shred of logic he had left willed him to because then, he truly didn’t care if he needed to breathe to survive. At that moment, your lips on his own were more important than anything else. Jamie fumbled with the zipper on the back of your dress as he left sloppy kisses down your neck. He inhaled your scent, groaning, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against yours. You sighed in pleasure, arching your back to press closer to him. 

When he detached from your neck, he looked at you with eyes that nearly had you sinking to your knees without question. His eyes were wide, lust clouding his irises so much that you couldn’t recognize the color they’d become. He was panting, lips raw and red from kissing you. You saw traces of your lipgloss lingering on the side of his mouth, twinkling sinfully under the lights. You ran your thumb across his lips, trying to wipe the remnants of your mouth away from it. Jamie captured it between his lips and sucked on it, his tongue licking a stripe up the pad of your thumb. He placed a soft kiss on it before you pulled it too far from him. 

“What I wouldn’t give to see this look on your face again,” he sighed, beginning to kiss down your body. He placed a kiss on your collarbone, “And again.”

A kiss to your chest as he peeled your dress down, leaving your top half exposed, “And again.” A kiss on your boobs, nipping and biting at the soft flesh. Your skin was on fire. “And again.” 

He continued this down to your stomach. Jamie was on his knees, looking up at you pleadingly. He looked wrecked. He pulled your dress down, running his fingers over your panties as if asking if it was okay. You responded by placing a leg on his shoulder. He shuddered, reaching down his pants to adjust himself. He whimpered at the contact before returning his focus to you. 

He moved your panties to the side, whining at the way your slick looked so inviting for him. Jamie licked up your cunt, moaning into you, enjoying your taste. His cock was leaking pre-cum and it was so fucking painful, but he wasn’t going to let this moment go to waste without tasting you, feeling you. Jamie’s eyes fluttered shut when your fingers found his hair again, tugging him closer to where you needed him the most. 

“Right there, Jamie,” you panted, chest heaving. “So good for me, baby.” 

Jamie didn’t know that he could get more turned on. He was rock hard already, but hearing the pet name roll off your tongue, sounding so fucking spent, with you withering above him, made his cock twitch in his pants. He clumsily undid his zipper, pushing his slacks down to relieve himself from its confines. Jamie brought his hand back up to you. His tattooed arm was pressing down on your stomach, trying to keep you still. His other hand joined his tongue, fingers dipping inside your cunt. 

You mewled at the feeling of his fingers inside you. There were so many things happening. It felt so good. He was knuckles deep, lips wrapped around your bud when you felt that familiar knot in your belly. You pulled on his head, trying to warn him about what was coming. You were trying to give him an out just in case he didn’t want to be there when the dam broke. 

Jamie pulled away, staring at you with his face glistening with your slick. “Give it to me, baby. Want it so bad.” 

When he went back down on you, it didn’t take much to have you screaming. You were blubbering above him, crying out his name as your orgasm turned your limbs to jello. Jamie could no longer hold off. He pumped his cock just enough to relieve the pressure, but not enough to cum. He couldn’t come in his hand. He needed to come inside you. 

You pulled him up to kiss him again, sighing into his mouth when you tasted yourself on him. He led you through his hallway, picking you up so you could wrap your legs around him as he carried you up the stairs to his bedroom. You pushed yourself on him, moaning when you felt his cock prod your pussy. Your soaked panties and his thin boxers were the only things separating you from each other. 

He dropped you on his bed, not once disconnecting your lips. Jamie was on top of you, hips rocking against yours. You were tugging down your underwear, whining when the cool air hit your center. Jamie tugged his boxers off shortly after you. He hissed in pleasure when the head of his dick touched your entrance. 

In his distracted state, you flipped the both of you over so you were on top. You got on your knees, placing your body in between his separated legs. He looked at you questioningly, his face ever so expressive. You arched your back so you were leaning onto him. You grabbed his dick, lightly stroking it. Jamie scrunched his eyes closed, taking in a breath as you took your time with him. He backed up so his back was on his bed frame and you hungrily followed him. He crossed his arms behind his head. 

Jamie’s heart nearly stopped when your tongue licked up the side of his cock. You wrapped your lips around his head briefly, “Been wantin’ to taste ya since forever ago.” 

“Yeah?” Jamie breathed out, unable to look away from you. He groaned when you took his cock in your mouth, your hand wrapping around the rest of him that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. He tucked your hair behind your ears, trying to stop himself from bucking his hips up, “Been wantin’ you like this for so long. Wanted to feel that perfect pussy.” 

You groaned at his words, continuing to suck him off. He was a moaning mess, panting, hands gripping the sheets beside him. He abruptly pulled you off his dick, mumbling something about wanting to finish in your pussy. You hummed, connecting your lips once more. As he hovered over you, you leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Next time, I want you to fuck my mouth so hard I lose my voice. Don’t hold back, baby. Want to taste you.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jamie groaned, stopping his movements. He dropped his head on your shoulder. His dick was poking your pussy, more than ready to feel you around it. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Told you, you couldn’t handle me.” 

Jamie licked his lips, a twinkle in his eye. “Told you, you were goin’ to regret sayin’ that, love.” 

Jamie pushed into you with fervor. Your scream bounced off the walls, and the air in your lungs disappeared. He looked down at you, a moan escaping his lips at how utterly perfect you looked under him. Your nails clawed at his back, no doubt leaving marks on it. Jamie couldn’t feel it. All he could feel was the warmth and tightness of you. His brain was shortcircuiting. He met no resistance from your pussy. It was so inviting. It was like it was made just for him. 

No coherent words left your lips. All you could babble out was Jamie’s name. You forgot every word besides his name. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie. Like a fucking mantra. Like a prayer. 

“Baby,” Jamie whispered. “Baby, please,” 

Your eyes were rolling back as you felt your orgasm coming quickly. Jamie was begging for you to come with him. He was close, so close that his ears were ringing. He couldn’t think about anything else but chasing his high and feeling you come undone around his cock. He thrusted into you with a rhythm that had you sobbing. The pleasure was so intense. You felt so full. 

Jamie felt your pussy tighten around him and his arms nearly gave out. He held himself on top of you, continuing to push into your pussy. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it at the perfect pressure to bring you to your end. 

“Shit,” Jamie hissed, unable to stop himself from pounding into you. You yelled out his name when you came, your pussy constricting around him as you orgasm. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, spilling himself inside of you shortly after. 

You cradled his head against you as he tried to catch his breath. When he pulled out of you, an involuntary sound left your mouth, suddenly feeling empty. Jamie chuckled at your reaction and let his eyes trail down your body. He licked his lips at the sight of his cum spilling out of you. 

You rolled over on your side, reaching up to fix his hair, “So what’s the verdict, Tartt? Can you handle me?” 

Jamie laughed, wrapping an arm around you. He placed his lips on yours, softer and sweeter this time. There was no more urgency between the both of you. “I don’t think I can.” 

“Told you.” 

“But, I think I just have to build my stamina up,” He added, his hand making its way down to your ass. “So I just need to practice some more with you.”

You smacked him on the shoulder, throwing your head back in laughter, “You’re ridiculous.” 

He smiled at you, teasing, “Hey, you’re the one who said there was a next time.” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, kissing him again, “There will definitely be a next time.” 

[the-hittite]

I never actually sat down and talked to Benny before. My first run through the game he bamboozled me good and every run after that I'd just kill him. This time around I'm making an effort to engage with the lore and characters closer so I made sure to hear him out completely.

I'm actually really surprised at how, well, sane he makes it all sound. I always just assumed he was a power hungry despot and there's definitely some of that in there. But his main motivation for overthrowing House is that he genuinely believes he'd make a better leader. Not because he thinks he's smarter or anything but because he actually knows how to lead. House leads Vegas the same way he ran his corporation. Invest capital, broker favorable deals, appoint competent subordinates, and then sit back and collect the profits. Problem is that his "employees" were tribals less than a decade ago and weren't raised in a corporate hierarchy. To them, this hands off approach looks at best like carelessness and at worst like an intentional insult. I'm finally starting to understand why the Omertas call him "Not-At-Home."

And the irony of the situation is that thanks to all of his scheming, Benny himself is disappearing for days or even weeks at a time and it's weakening his peoples' confidence in him. To the point that any brain damaged yahoo with a Speech of 45 can convince them to sell him out. Benny and House are more alike than either wants to admit.

But what really gets me is that the little shit bamboozled me again. He actually had me going with all that talk about working with him to take down House. I've been playing this game and engaging with the fandom for at least a decade. I should have known for an absolute fact that there was absolutely no way to side with him but the smooth talking son of a bitch actually had me doubting myself right up until the moment the guards came in. Absolutely fucking incredible. Babygirl of all time. I might actually let him live.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Frev appearance descriptions masterpost

Jean-Paul Marat — In Histoire de la Révolution française: 1789-1796 (1851) Nicolas Villiaumé pins down Marat’s height to four pieds and eight pouces (around 157 cm). This is a somewhat dubious claim considering Villiaumé was born 26 years after Marat’s death and therefore hardly could have measured him himself, but we do know he had had contacts with Marat’s sister Albertine, so maybe there’s still something to this. That Marat was short is however not something Villaumé is alone in claiming. Brissotwrote in his memoirs that he was ”the size of a sapajou,” the pamphlet Bordel patriotique (1791) claimed that he had ”such a sad face, such an unattractive height,” while John Moore in A Journal During a Residence in France, From the Beginning of August, to the Middle of December, 1792 (1793) documented that ”Marat is little man, of a cadaverous complexion, and a countenance exceedingly expressive of his disposition. […] The only artifice he uses in favour of his looks is that of wearing a round hat, so far pulled down before as to hide a great part of his countenance.” In Portrait de Marat(1793) Fabre d’Eglantine left the following very detailed description: ”Marat was short of stature, scarcely five feet high. He was nevertheless of a firm, thick-set figure, without being stout. His shoulders and chest were broad, the lower part of his body thin, thigh short and thick, legs bowed, and strong arms, which he employed with great vigor and grace. Upon a rather short neck he carried a head of a very pronounced character. He had a large and bony face, aquiline nose, flat and slightly depressed, the under part of the nose prominent; the mouth medium-sized and curled at one corner by a frequent contraction; the lips were thin, the forehead large, the eyes of a yellowish grey color, spirited, animated, piercing, clear, naturally soft and ever gracious and with a confident look; the eyebrows thin, the complexion thick and skin withered, chin unshaven, hair brown and neglected. He was accustomed to walk with head erect, straight and thrown back, with a measured stride that kept time with the movement of his hips. His ordinary carriage was with his two arms firmly crossed upon his chest. In speaking in society he always appeared much agitated, and almost invariably ended the expression of a sentiment by a movement of the foot, which he thrust rapidly forward, stamping it at the same time on the ground, and then rising on tiptoe, as though to lift his short stature to the height of his opinion. The tone of his voice was thin, sonorous, slightly hoarse, and of a ringing quality. A defect of the tongue rendered it difficult for him to pronounce clearly the letters c and l, to which he was accustomed to give the sound g. There was no other perceptible peculiarity except a rather heavy manner of utterance; but the beauty of his thought, the fullness of his eloquence, the simplicity of his elocution, and the point of his speeches absolutely effaced the maxillary heaviness. At the tribune, if he rose without obstacle or excitement, he stood with assurance and dignity, his right hand upon his hip, his left arm extended upon the desk in front of him, his head thrown back, turned toward his audience at three-quarters, and a little inclined toward his right shoulder. If on the contrary he had to vanquish at the tribune the shrieking of chicanery and bad faith or the despotism of the president, he awaited the reéstablishment of order in silence and resuming his speech with firmness, he adopted a bold attitude, his arms crossed diagonally upon his chest, his figure bent forward toward the left. His face and his look at such times acquired an almost sardonic character, which was not belied by the cynicism of his speech. He dressed in a careless manner: indeed, his negligence in this respect announced a complete neglect of the conventions of custom and of taste and, one might almost say, gave him an air of ressemblance.”

Albertine Marat — both Alphonse Ésquiros and François-Vincent Raspail who each interviewed Albertine in her old age, as well as Albertine’s obituary (1841) noted a striking similarity in apperance between her and her older brother. Esquiros added that she had ”two black and piercing eyes.” A neighbor of Albertine claimed in 1847 that she had ”the face of a man,” and that she had told her that ”my comrades were never jealous of me, I was too ugly for that” (cited in Marat et ses calomniateurs ou Réfutation de l’Histoire des Girondins de Lamartine (1847) by Constant Hilbe) 

Simonne Evrard — An official minute from July 1792, written shortly after Marat’s death, affirmed the following: “Height: 1m, 62, brown hair and eyebrows, ordinary forehead, aquiline nose, brown eyes, large mouth, oval face.” The minute for her interrogation instead says: “grey eyes, average mouth.”Cited in this article by marat-jean-paul.org. When a neighbor was asked whether Simonne was pretty or not around two decades after her death in 1824, she responded that she was ”très-bien” and possessed ”an angelic sweetness” (cited in Marat et ses calomniateurs ou Réfutation de l’Histoire des Girondins de Lamartine (1847) by Constant Hilbe) while Joseph Souberbielle instead claimed that ”she was extremely plain and could never have had any good looks.”

Maximilien Robespierre — The hostile pampleth Vie secrette, politique et curieuse de M. J Maximilien Robespierre… released shortly after thermidor by L. Duperron, specifies Robespierre’s hight to have been ”five pieds and two or three pouces” (between 165 and 170 cm). He gets described as being ”of mediocre hight” by his former teacher Liévin-Bonaventure Proyart in 1795, ”a little below average height” by journalist Galart de Montjoie in 1795, ”of medium hight” by the former Convention deputy Antoine-Claire Thibaudeau in 1830 and ”of middling form” by his sister in 1834, but ”of small size” by John Moore in 1792 and Claude François Beaulieu in 1824. The 1792 pampleth Le véritable portrait de nos législateurs… wrote that Robespierre lacked ”an imposing physique, a body à la Danton,”supported by Joseph Fiévée who described him as ”small and frail” in 1836, and Louis Marie de La Révellière who said he was ”a physically puny man” in his memoirs published 1895. For his face, both François Guérin (on a note written below a sketch in 1791), Buzot in his Mémoires sur la Révolution française (written 1794), Germaine de Staël in her Considerations on the Principal Events of the French Revolution (1818), a foreign visitor by the name of Reichardt in 1792 (cited in Robespierre by J.M Thompson), Beaulieu and La Révellière-Lépeaux all agreed that he had a ”pale complexion.” Charlotte does instead describe it as ”delicate” and writes that Maximilien’s face ”breathed sweetness and goodwill, but it was not as regularly handsome as that of his brother,” while Proyart claims his apperance was ”entirely commonplace.” The foreigner Reichardt wrote Robespierre had ”flattened, almost crushed in, features,” something which Proyart agrees with, writing that his ”very flat features” consisted of ”a rather small head born on broad shoulders, a round face, an indifferent pock-marked complexion, a livid hue [and] a small round nose.” Thibaudeau writes Robespierre had a ”thin face and cold physiognomy, bilious complexion and false look,” Duperron that ”his colouring was livid, bilious;  his eyes gloomy and dull,” something which Stanislas Fréron in Notes sur Robespierre (1794) also agrees with, claiming that ”Robespierre was choked with bile. His yellow eyes and complexion showed it.” His eyes were however green according to Merlin de Thionville and Guérin while Proyart insists they were ”pale blue and slightly sunken.”  Etienne Dumont, who claimed to have talked to Robespierre twice, wrote in his Souvernirs sur Mirabeau et sur les deux premières assemblées législatives (1832) that ”he had a sinister appearance; he would not look people in the face, and blinked continually and painfully,” and Duperron too insists on ”a frequent flickering of the eyelids.” Both Fréron, Buzot, Merlin de Thionville, La Révellière, Louis Sébastien Mercier in his Le Nouveau Paris (1797) and Beffroy de Reigny in Dictionnaire néologique des hommes et des choses ou notice alphabétique des hommes de la Révolution, qui ont paru à l’Auteur les plus dignes d’attention… (1799) made the peculiar claim that Robespierre’s face was similar to that of a cat. Proyart, Beaulieu and Millingen all wrote that it was marked by smallpox scars, ”mediocretly” according to Proyart, ”deeply” according to the other two. Proyart also writes that Robespierre’s hair was light brown (châtain-blond). He is the only one to have described his hair color as far as I’m aware. 

For his clothes, both Montjoie, Louis-Sébastien Mercier in 1801, Helen Maria Williams in 1795, Duperron, Millingen and Fiévée recall the fact that Robespierre wore glasses, the first two claiming he never appeared in public without them, Duperron that he ”almost always” wore them, and Millingen that they were green. Pierre Villiers, who claimed to have served as Robespierre’s secretary in 1790, recalled in Souvenirs d'un deporté (1802) that Robespierre ”was very frugal, fastidiously clean in his clothes, I could almost say in his one coat, which was was of a dark olive colour,” but also that ”He was very poor and had not even proper clothes,” and even had to borrow a suit from a friend at one point. Duperron records that ”[Robespierre’s] clothes were elegant, his hair always neat,” Millingen that ”his dress was careful, and I recollect that he wore a frill and ruffles, that seemed to me of valuable lace,”Charlotte that ”his dress was of an extreme cleanliness without fastidiousness,” Williams that he ”always appeared not only dressed with neatness, but with some degree of elegance, and while he called himself the leader of the sans-culottes, never adopted the costume of his band. His hideous countenance […] was decorated with hair carefully arranged and nicely powdered,” Fiévée that Robespierre in 1793 was ”almost alone in having retained the costume and hairstyle in use before the Revolution,” something which made him ressemble ”a tailor from the Ancien régime,” Thibadeau that ”he was neat in his clothes, and he had kept the powder when no one wore it anymore,” Germaine de Staël that ”he was the only person who wore powder in his hair; his clothes were neat, and his countenance nothing familiar,” Révellière writes that Robespierre’s voice was ”toneless, monotonous and harsh,” Beaulieu that it ”was sharp and shrill, almost always in tune with violence,” and  Thinadeau that his ”tone” was ”dogmatic and imperious.”

Augustin Robespierre — described as ”big, well formed, and [with a] face full of nobility and beauty” in the memoirs of his sister Charlotte.

Charlotte Robespierre — an anonymous doctor who claimed to have run into Charlotte in 1833, the year before her death, described her as ”very thin.” Jules Simon, who reported to have met her the following year, did him too describe her as ”a very thin woman, very upright in her small frame, dressed in the antique style with very puritanical cleanliness.”

Camille Desmoulins — described as ”quite tall, with good shoulders” in number 16 of the hostile journal Chronique du Manège (1790). Described as ugly by both said journal, the journal Journal Général de la Cour et de la Ville in 1791, his friend François Suleau in 1791, former teacher Proyart in 1795, Galart de Montjoie in 1796, Georges Duval in 1841, Amandine Rolland in 1864 (she does however add that it was ”with that witty and animated ugliness that pleases”) and even himself in 1793. Proyart describes his complexion as ”black,” Duval as ”bilious.” Both of them agree in calling his eyes ”sinister.” Duval also claims that Desmoulins’ physiognomy was similar to that of an ospray. Montjoie writes that Desmoulins had ”a difficult pronunciation, a hard voice, no oratorical talent…”, Proyart that ”he spoke very heavily and stammered in speech” and Camille himself that he has ”difficulty in pronunciation” in a letter dated March 1787 and confesses ”the feebleness of my voice and my slight oratorical powers” in number 4 of the Vieux Cordelier. In his very last letter to his wife, dated April 1 1794, Desmoulins reveals that he wears glasses.

Lucile Desmoulins — The concierge at the Sainte-Pélagie prison documented the following when Lucille was brought before him on April 4 1794: ”height of five pieds and one and a half pouce (166 cm). Brown hair, eyebrows and eyes. Middle sized nose and mouth. Round face and chin. Ordinary front. A mark above the chin on the right.” Cited in Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018). Described as beautiful by the journal Journal Général de la Cour et de la Ville in 1791 (it specifies her to be ”as pretty as her husband is ugly”), former Convention deputy Pierre Paganel in 1815, Louis Marie Prudhomme in 1830, Amandine Rolland in 1864 and Théodore de Lameth (memoirs published 1913).

Georges Danton — Described as having an ugly face by both Manon Roland in 1793, Vadier in 1794, the anonymous pamphlet Histoire, caractère de Maximilien Robespierre et anecdotes sur ses successeurs in 1794, Louis-Sébastien Mercier in 1797, Antoine Fantin-Desodoards in 1807, John Gideon Millingen in 1848, Élisabeth Duplay Lebas in the 1840s, the memoirs (1860) of François-René Chateaubriand (he specifies that Danton had ”the face of a gendarme mixed with that of a lustful and cruel prosecutor”) as well as the Mémoires de la Societé d’agriculture, commerce, sciences et arts du department de la Marse, Chalons-sur-Marne (1862). As reason for this ugliness, Millingen lifts his ”course, shaggy hair” (that apparently gave him the apperance of a ”wild beast”), the fact he was deeply marked with small-poxes, and that his eyes were unusually small (”and sparkling in surrounding darkness”), while Chateaubriand instead underlines that he was ”snub-nosed,” with ”windy nostrils [and] seamed flats.” Mercier writes that Danton’s face was ”hideously crushed.” The former Convention deputy Alexandre Rousselin (1774-1847) reported in his Danton — Fragment Historique that Danton developed a lip deformity after getting gored by a bull as a baby, had his nose crushed by another bull, got trampled in the face by a group of pigs and finally survived ”a very serious case of smallpoxes, accompanied by purpura.” Vadier claims that Danton possessed a ”robust form, colossal eloquence,” the anonymous pamphlet that ”he was very strong, he said himself that he had athletic forms,” Desodoards that he ”held the nature of athletic and colossal forms,” Chateaubriand that he was ”a vandal in the size of Goth” (don’t know who he’s referring to), Pierre Paganel (in Essai historique et critique sur la révolution française: ses causes, ses résultats, avec les portraits des hommes les plus célèbres (1815) volume 2, page) that he was of an ”enormous stature,” while the pamphlet described him as a ”gigantic orator” whose voice ”shook the vaults of the hall.” René Levasseur in 1829, Millingen, Paganel and Desodoards all agreed with this, the first three writing that Danton possessed a ”stentorian voice,” the latter that he had ”a very strong voice, without being sonorous or flexible.” In her memoirs (1834) Charlotte Robespierre claims that ”[Danton] did not at all conserve the dignity suited to the representative of a great people in his manners; his toilette was in disorder.”

Louis Antoine Saint-Just — In Saint-Just (1985) Bernard Vinot writes that Saint-Just’s childhood friend Augustin Lejeune recalled his “honest physiognomy,” and that his sister Louise would evoke her brother’s ”great beauty” for her grandchildren (I unfortunately can’t find the original sources here), while the elderly Élisabeth Le Bas too stated that ”he was handsome, Saint-Just, with his pensive face, on which one saw the greatest energy, tempered by an air of indefinable gentleness and candor” (testimony found in Les Carnets de David d’Angers (1838-1855) by Pierre-Jean David d’Angers, cited in Veuve de Thermidor: le rôle et l'influence d'Élisabeth Duplay-Le Bas (1772-1859) sur la mémoire et l'historiographie de la Révolution française (2023) by Jolène Audrey Bureau, page 127). In Souvenirs de la révolution et de l’empire, Charles Nodier (who was twelve years old when he met Saint-Just…) agrees in calling him ”handsome,” but adds that he ”was far from offering this graceful combination of cute features with which we have seen it endowed by the euphemistic pencil of a lithograph,” had an ”ample and rather disproportionate chin,” that ”the arc of his eyebrows, instead of rounding into smooth and regular semi-circles, was closer to a straight line, and its interior angles, which were bushy and severe, merged into one another at the slightest serious thought that one saw pass on his forehead”and finally that ”his soft and fleshy lips indicated an almost invincible inclination to laziness and voluptuousness.” How would you know what his lips were like, Nodier. In Essai historique et critique sur la révolution française (1815) Pierre Paganel writes that Saint-Just had ”regular features and austere physiognomy.” He describes his complexion as ”bilious” while Nodier calls it ”pale and grayish, like that of most of the active men of the revolution.” Similar to Élisabeth’s description, Nodier writes that Saint-Just’s eyes were big and ”usually thoughtful,” while Paganel instead writes they were ”small and lively.” According to Paganel, Saint-Just had a ”healthy body [and] proportions which expressed strength,” while Saint-Just’s colleague Levasseur de la Sarthe instead wrote in his memoirs that he was ”weak in body, to the point of fearing the whistling of bullets.” Finally, Paganel also gives the following details: ”average height, large head, thick hair, disdainful gaze, strong but veiled voice, a general tinge of anxiety, the dark accent of concern and distrust, an extreme coldness in tone and manners.” In Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, August général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes (1793) Desmoulins jokingly writes that ”one can see by [Saint-Just’s] gait and bearing that he looks upon his own head as the corner-stone of the Revolution, for he carries it upon his shoulders with as much respect and as if it was the Sacred Host.” In Histoire de la Révolution française(1878), Jules Michelet claims that Élisabeth Le Bas had told him that this portrait, depicting Saint-Just as having ”a very low forehead, [with] the top of his head flattened, so that his hair, without being long, almost touched his eyes,” was similar to what he had looked like.

Jacques-Pierre Brissot — The following was documented after Brissot had been arrested at Moulins on June 10 1793 — ”height of five pieds (162 cm), a small amount of flat dark brown hair, eyebrows of the same color, high forehead and receding hairline, gray-brown, quite large and covered eyes, long and not very large nose, average mouth, long chin with a dimple, black beard, oval face narrow at the bottom” (cited in J.-P. Brissot mémoires (1754-1793); [suivi de] correspondance et papiers (1912)). In Journal During a Residence in France, from the Beginning of August, to the Middle of December, 1792John Moore described Brissot as ”a little man, of an intelligent countenance, but of a weakly frame of body” and claimed that a person had told him that Brissot had told him that he is ”of so feeble a constitution” that he won’t be able to put up any resistance was someone try to assassinate him.

Jérôme Pétion — described as ”big and fat” (grand et gros) by Louis-Philippe in 1850 (cited in The Croker Papers: the Correspondence and Diaries of the late right honourable John Wilson Croker… (1885) volume 3, page 209). Manon Roland wrote in her memoirs that Pétion ”had nothing to regret physically; his size, his face, his gentleness, his urbanity, speak in his favor” as well as that he ”spoke fairly well,” a descriptions which Louis Marie Prudhomme partly agreed with, himself recording that Pétion ”had a proud countenance, a fairly handsome face, an affable look, a gentle eloquence, movements of talent and address; but his manners were composed, his eyes were dull, and he had something glistening in his features which repelled confidence” in Paris pendant le révolution (1789-1798) ou le nouveau Paris (1798). In Quelques notices pour l’histoire, et le récit de mes périls depuis le 31 mai 1793 (1794) Jean-Baptiste Louvet reported that, while on the run from the authorities after the insurrection of May 31, the less than forty years old Pétion already had a white hair and beard. This is confirmed by Frédéric Vaultier, who in Souvenirs de l'insurrection Normande, dite du Fédéralisme, en 1793 (1858) described Pétion during the same period as ”a good-looking man, with a calm and open physiognomy and beautiful white hair,” as well as by the examination of his mangled courpse on June 26 1794, which states he had ”grayish hair” (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées (1872) by Charles Vatel, volume 2, page 154.

François Buzot — according to the memoirs (1793) of Manon Roland, he had ”a noble figure and elegant size.” In the examination made of Buzot’s body after the suicide there is to read that he had black hair (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées (1872) by Charles Vatel, volume 2, page 153)

Charles Barbaroux — his son wrote in Jeunesse de Barbaroux (1822) that ”nature had richly endowed Barbaroux; a robust and large body; a charming, fine and witty physiognomy.” In 1867, François Laprade, who had witnessed Barbaroux’ execution as a thirteen year old, recollected that ”he was a brown man - that is to say he had brownish skin, black hair and beard, reclining figure” (cited inCharlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées, volume 3, page 728)

Marguerite-Élie Guadet — According to his passport (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées, volume 3, page 672): ”height of 5 pieds, 5 pouces (176 cm) middle sized mouth, black hair and eyebrows, ordinary chin, blue eyes, big forehead, thin face, upturned nose.” According to Frédéric Vaultier’s Souvenirs de l'insurrection Normande, dite du Fédéralisme, en 1793(1858), ”Guadet was a man of fine height, meagre, brown, bilious complexion, black beard, most expressive face.”

Joseph Le Bon — his passport description (cited in Louis Jacob, Joseph Le Bon, (1932) by Louis Jacob, volume 1, page 63) gives the following information: ”Height five pieds six pouces (178 cm), light brown hair and eyebrows, high forehead, average nose, blue eyes, medium-sized mouth, smallpox scars.”

Claire Lacombe — the concierge of the Sainte Pélagie documented the following about the imprisoned Lacombe: ”height of 5 pieds, 2 pouces (168 cm). Brown hair, eyebrows and eyes, medium nose, large mouth, round face and chin, plain forehead” (cited in Trois femmes de la Révolution : Olymps de Gouges, Théroigne de Méricourt, Rose Lacombe (1900) by Léopold Lacour)

Charlotte Corday — according to her passport, ”height of five pieds one pouce (165 cm), brown hair and eyebrows, gray eyes, high forehead, long nose, medium mouth, round, forked (fourchu) chin, oval face.” (cited in Dossiers du procès criminel de Charlotte Corday, devant le Tribunal révolutionnaire(1861) by Charles-Joseph Vatel, page 55)

Prieur de la Marne — a passport dated October 1 1793 gives the following details: ”age of 37 years, height of 5 pieds 5 pouces (176 cm), blondish brown hair and eyebrows, receding hairline, long nose, grey eyes, large mouth.”

Maurice Duplay — ”height of 5 pieds 6 pouces (179 cm), blondish brown hair and eyebrows, receding hairline, grey eyes, long, open nose, large mouth, round, full chin and face.” Descriptions given in 1795 and cited in Les deniers montagnards (1874) by Jules Claretie.

Jean Lambert Tallien — Both a spy report written in 1794 found among Robespierre’s papers and Mme de la Tour du Pin, a noblewoman who met Tallien in late 1793, describe Tallien as blonde. Mme de la Tour du Pin adds that said hair was curly and that he had a pretty face.