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thewulf · 1 month

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Forever Yours || Paul Lahote

Summary: Request -Okay so reader is Bella's (fraternal) twin sissy. She moved to Forks with Bella and the whole first book happens WITHOUT her knowing what's going on. She's just as in the dark as Charlie is..... Read Rest Here

A/N: LOVED THIS. LOVE TWILIGHT. Keep them coming!! Thank you for the requests as always!

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Swan Sister Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

TW: Possessiveness

You and your sister, Bella, had always gotten along well even being so different. She was the shy twin who always stood behind you. You on the other hand always fought Bella’s battles because she needed it, that’s what sisters were for. The two of you weren’t identical, and your personalities could not have been more different. Yet, at the end of the day, she was the person you knew would always understand you. She was your best friend and confidant. So, when she proposed moving back in with Charlie you followed along with her.

Things changed when the two of you moved to Forks and not in a way you liked. She began distancing herself from you after she met Edward. Instead of coming home and gossiping about your respective days she started going to the Cullen’s house. She stopped telling you things. She became protective and oh so secretive over her boyfriend. You confided in Charlie more than you could ever expect. You hung out with Jessica and Angela more than you would’ve ever dreamed. Still, you looked after your sister. She was the shy one who fell hard and fast. For whatever reason you just couldn’t seem to trust Edward. When she finally let the two of you meet he was just off and you couldn’t seem to pinpoint what it was.

It wasn't until the departure of Edward Cullen, leaving Bella desolate and shattered, that the mysterious shroud enveloping your lives began to unravel at a rapid pace. As Bella struggled to navigate through the abyss of heartbreak, you tried your hardest to be the strength that she needed. But it often felt like you were failing her. Like nothing you could say would offset any of the heartbreak she was feeling. And you were angry. Angry at the stupid family that decided to vanish without a trace. For even though Edward seemed off he seemed like he truly was deeply in love with your sister.

Your only saving grace was your old friend Jacob. He found a way to bring your shattered twin back to the surface of the water she was struggling to swim in. The three of you spent so many nights together doing everything and nothing at the same time. Laughing till your faces were blue and finding the human connection she so desperately needed. You could never thank him enough for bringing back your sister you had lost for so many months.

But even that wasn’t enough for him to leave. When Jacob withdrew from both of your lives you became the sad twin. It was Bella who became angry like you were so many months prior. Bella forced you in the truck one afternoon claiming she had a bone to pick with the second boy who abandoned her in so many months. You had no desire to see the boy, but Bella demanded you come with her.

You watched as she pounded on the door of his home only to be met with nothing. You waited in the truck as Bella noticed Sam and his pack off to the side of Jacob’s home. Her footsteps treaded the path towards Sam and his pack, heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. It was only when you saw her physically push Sam, the leader of the tribe, did you bolt out of the car trying to catch your sister from doing anything too drastic.

"Bella, stop!" you cried out, your voice tinged with desperation as you rushed forward. Your heart was hammering desperately in your chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you as you reached out towards Bella, hoping to stop the impending confrontation.

But it was too late. Bella's palm has already met one of the dark-haired boys cheeks with a sharp crack, the sound reverberating through the trees. You watch in dismay as the man’s expression darkened. His features contorted with fury, a primal growl rumbling in his chest that even startled you. The forest seemed to hold its breath as the world became silent at what the next move of the man could possibly be. You gulped feeling the tension thick in the air.

And then in the midst of the events that were unfolding you looked to the men in front of you looking at each of them one by one before your eyes finally met the one who had just been slapped. His gaze locked onto yours, a fleeting moment of connection amidst the tumult that surrounded you. In that instant, everything seemed to crystallize, the world narrowing down to just the two of you even with all the people surrounding you.

Timed seemed to slow to an utter crawl. The world around you faded into insignificance as your attention was locked in on the man. A sharp gasp came from you as you continued staring right at him. It was a feeling you had never experienced in this lifetime. Something you could never have expected. He too couldn’t seem to break his gaze away from yours. In that fleeting instant, everything seems to shift. The air crackled with anticipation, the forest holding its breath as the weight of the moment bears down upon you. It's as if the universe itself has paused, allowing you and Paul to exist in a suspended state of existence, isolated from the disorder that rages beyond the confines of your shared gaze.

As the boy who captured your heart and soul with just a single look staggered backwards, a whirlwind of emotions courses through his mind each feeling vying for dominance over the others. Anger, once burning bright within him, now dissipates like mist in the morning sun, leaving behind a hollow sense of bewilderment and wonder. His chest heaves with the effort of controlling the torrent of feelings threatening to overwhelm him. He had felt every single emotion. Saw every single emotion. You were her. You were his imprint. Only Sam had been so lucky to have found his person. And now he did. And he didn’t even know her name nor you his.

To your surprise you felt your feet moving forward as he dropped to his knees on the forest floor. Pauk was acutely aware of the weight of this moment. He had to wonder what you were feeling. You too were locked in on his own eyes, yet you could have no idea what was going on and how chaotic your seemingly normal life was about to get. But amidst the heaviness of the moment, there is something else—a glimmer of hope, a spark of possibility that ignites within him like a flame in the darkness. For in your eyes, he sees not just a reflection of his own turmoil, but also a flicker of understanding, a shared recognition of the bond that now binds the two of you together.

"What... what just happened?" Bella's voice wavers, her eyes wide with disbelief as she looks between you and the man she just slapped. But you have no answers to offer, you were just as confused as she was. While Bella's voice wavers with disbelief, her eyes dart between you and the surrounding men, searching for answers amidst the bewildering scene.

Embry, who had been standing nearby with Sam, catches your eye with a knowing smirk, a hint of understanding dancing in his gaze. He stepped forward, as if he's seen this scenario play out before. "Looks like we've got ourselves an imprint," Embry remarks, his voice tinged with amusement as he addresses Sam, who watches the unfolding scene with a composed yet cautious demeanor.

Sam nods in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable as he assesses the situation before him. His eyes shifted between you and Paul with a measured intensity, as if gauging the depth of the bond that now connects you.

Meanwhile, the boy you had originally came to see, Jacob, came sprinting out of the house that he had just ignored Bella from. His expression a mix of surprise and concern as he takes in the scene before him. His eyes narrow as they settle on Paul, a flicker of protectiveness crossing his features before he turns to you, his look softening with understanding in your utter confusion. Yet in all that was happening so fast you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from this man. He had captured your mind, body, and soul all within a single look.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Jacob asks, his voice gentle yet tinged with worry as he approaches, his footsteps echoing against the damp grass.

You finally tore your gaze away from Paul somehow, your heart racing as you meet Jacob's concerned gaze. Despite the frenzy that surrounds you, his presence offers a sense of comfort, a reminder of the unwavering support that has always been there for you, negating the two weeks he had decided to ignore you for.

"I don't know what happened," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that flowed through you so unexpectedly. "But I feel... different."

Bella's eyes widen in disbelief, her mind racing to comprehend the incomprehensible. But amidst the uncertainty that envelops you all, one thing remains clear—the ties that bind you to Paul, are unbreakable, defying logic and reason with an undeniable force.

"Jacob," Sam's voice cuts through the silence, his tone firm yet tinged with a hint of urgency. "Take them to Emily's. We need to talk." He motions towards Paul who was still on his knees before you.

Jacob nods in acknowledgment, his gaze flickering between you, Paul, and Sam, a silent understanding passing between them. He moves forward, his hand reaching out to gently guide you away from Paul, his touch reassuring in the confusion that surrounds you.

"Come on, Y/N, Bella," Jacob murmurs softly, "Let's go."

As Jacob reaches out to guide you away from Paul, a low, guttural growl rumbles deep within Paul's chest just as it had earlier after Bella has slapped him. His possessiveness flaring in the face of Jacob's touch. His eyes narrow, a primal instinct driving him to protect what he now considers his own.

"Hands off my girl," Paul's voice is low, but the irritated edge to it is unmistakable as he stands to takes a step towards you. His eyes never left yours. The intensity of his declaration sends a shiver down your spine, his unwavering stare holding you in a trance.

But Sam, ever the voice of reason among the sea of emotions, steps forward with a measured stride. His expression unwavering as he addresses Paul with a firm yet understanding tone. “Paul, calm down," Sam's voice carries authority, tempered with a hint of empathy as he meets Paul's frustration head-on. "We need to talk, separately. She will be just fine with Jacob."

Paul's protest is immediate, his feelings for you overwhelmingly strong. "No, she's not going anywhere without me," he insists, his voice tinged with desperation as he takes a defiant step forward, his resolve unyielding.

But Sam's gaze holds steady, his alpha like authority asserting itself in the face of Paul's defiance. "Paul, stand down," he commands, his voice brooking no argument as he meets Paul's gaze with unwavering determination. Paul winces but gives into Sam’s demands, though the reluctance is evident in the tension that lingers in his frame. His eyes remain locked on you, a silent promise of protection and devotion burning brightly within their depths.

While Jacob leads you away from Paul you can't help but feel torn between the conflicting desires that rage within you. Part of you longs to stay by Paul's side, to bask in the warmth of his unwavering love. While another part recognizes the need for clarity and understanding in the sheer confusion that threatens to consume you. And as you and Bella follow Jacob through the dense undergrowth of the forest you can't shake the feeling of Paul's presence lingering at the edges of your consciousness, a constant reminder of the inexplicable bond that now defines your existence.

Jacob guides you and Bella through a trail in the forest, a heavy silence hangs in the air, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. Sensing the need to break the tension, Jacob takes a deep breath before breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Look, I need to tell you both something," Jacob begins, his voice cautious yet resolute. "But it's going to sound... well, it's going to sound crazy."

You and Bella exchange a puzzled glance, the weight of Jacob's words settling uneasily in the pit of your stomachs. You've both sensed that there's more to the Quileute tribe than meets the eye, but the truth remains shrouded in mystery.

Jacob takes a moment to gather his thoughts before coming out with it. "The thing is... we're not exactly... normal," he admits, his words halting as he struggles to find the right way to explain the inexplicable. "We're... werewolves."

The revelation hangs in the air like a heavy fog, enveloping you and Bella in a cloud of disbelief. For a moment, neither of you can find the words to respond, the enormity of Jacob's confession leaving you speechless. "Werewolves?" Bella's voice is barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with shock as she looks to Jacob for confirmation.

Jacob nods solemnly, his expression grave as he meets Bella's gaze. "Yes. And there's something else. Something called imprinting."

You nodded along, “That’s what the one guy just said. We’ve got ourselves an imprint? What is that?” You asked pressing him further.

Jacob smiled knowing that your life was going to change, hopefully for the better. "It's when a wolf finds their soulmate. Their other half. The one person they're meant to be with for the rest of their lives." Bella's brow furrows in confusion, her mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what Jacob is telling her. But you, on the other hand, feel a strange sense of recognition stir within you, a faint echo of the inexplicable connection you felt with Paul.

As Bella sighs with uncertainty, Jacob senses the weight of her confusion and seeks to provide clarity. "And... and what does that have to do with what happened back there?" Bella asks, her voice laden with hesitance as she gestures back in the direction of Paul and the pack.

Jacob's gaze flickers towards you, a silent acknowledgment passing between you as he prepares to reveal the truth. "It means that... Paul imprinted on you, Y/N," he explains gently, his eyes filled with compassion as he meets your bewildered gaze. "He's your soulmate."

“Paul.” You whispered his name out loud for the first time. Paul, your soulmate. Your heart skips a beat at the revelation, the words sinking in slowly as you struggle to comprehend the enormity of what Jacob is saying. Soulmates? It's a concept you never thought you'd entertain, let alone experience firsthand.

"Soulmate?" Bella's voice echoes your thoughts, her eyes widening in astonishment as she turns to you for confirmation.

You nod slowly, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in. "I... I don't understand it all," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you grapple with the implications of Jacob's words as the three of you walked through the forest to what you assumed to be Emily’s place, whomever that was.

Jacob offers you a reassuring smile, his expression filled with understanding. "It's okay, Y/N. I know it's a lot to take in," he says softly, his tone gentle yet firm. "An imprint is... it's like finding your other half. Your perfect match. And for Paul, that's you."

Bella's eyes widen in realization, her mind racing to process the revelation. "So... he's bound to her? Like... forever?" she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she seeks to grasp the intricacies of the imprinting process.

Jacob nods solemnly. "Yeah. It's a permanent bond," he explains, his tone heavy with the weight of the truth. "But it doesn't have to be romantic. It can be... it can be like a best friend too. Someone who's always there for you, no matter what."

The realization washes over you like a tidal wave, the enormity of the situation sinking in as you come to terms with the truth of Paul's imprint. It's a bond that transcends the boundaries of time and space, forging a connection between two souls that can never be broken.

And as you walked surrounded by the whispering of the trees and the steady presence of Jacob by your side, you find yourself beginning to accept the truth of your newfound destiny. The road ahead may be filled with uncertainty, but with the unwavering support of your sister and the friendship of Jacob, you know that you'll face whatever challenges may come your way head-on.

As you, Bella, and Jacob step into Emily's cozy kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked muffins envelops you, a comforting contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. Emily's warm smile greets Jacob, her eyes alight with joy as she rushes forward to embrace him.

"Jacob, it's been too long!" Emily exclaims, her voice filled with genuine affection as she pulls back to look at him.

Jacob returns her embrace, offering a sheepish grin. "I know, Em. It's good to see you," he replies warmly.

Emily's gaze then shifts to you and Bella, her smile widening as she takes in your presence. "And who do we have here?" she asks, her tone friendly and inviting.

Jacob gestures towards you and Bella. "Emily, this is Y/N and Bella Swan," he introduces, a sense of pride evident in his voice. "They're new to town, and we thought I'd bring them by to meet you." He spoke referencing the pack as a whole. It was intriguing watching him operate now that you knew why he up and disappeared on you those weeks ago.

Emily's eyes widen with recognition as she looks at Bella. "Ah, the Swan sisters! Charlie's girls. I’ve heard a lot about you two," she remarks with a knowing nod. Then her gaze shifts to Bella, and her expression changes to one of surprise. "And you're the vampire girl, aren't you?"

Your heart nearly stops at Emily's words, the revelation hitting you like a sudden jolt. Vampire girl? You exchange a bewildered glance with Bella, who looks equally taken aback. Edward was a vampire? What next… mermaids?

"What? Bella? Vampires?" you stammer, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you struggle to comprehend Emily's words.

Bella's face turns crimson, her embarrassment palpable as she shoots you an apologetic glance. Her eyes told you that she would explain it all later. "Emily, I'm so sorry," she begins, her voice tinged with mortification. "Y/N, this is... um... kind of a long story."

As the truth about vampires and the supernatural world of Forks begins to unfold, you can't help but feel overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. But amidst the confusion and embarrassment, there's a sense of shared understanding that together you'll navigate the challenges that lie ahead. As the conversation continues in Emily's kitchen, laughter and chatter filling the air, the sound of approaching footsteps draws your attention. Sam, Paul, and Embry enter the room, their expressions relaxed and jovial as they exchange banter with Jacob.

"Hey, look who decided to join the party!" Jacob teases, a playful grin spreading across his face as he greets his packmates.

Sam chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Couldn't stay away, could we?" he retorts, a hint of mischief in his voice as he exchanges friendly jabs with Jacob.

Paul's gaze finds yours amidst the commotion, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Y/N," he says, his voice gentle yet earnest as he steps forward, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of emotion that leaves you breathless.

"Paul," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze, a rush of anticipation coursing through you at the prospect of speaking with him alone.

Sensing the unspoken tension between you and Paul, Jacob steps forward with a knowing smile. "I'll leave you two to get to know each other," he says, his tone light yet meaningful as he gives you a subtle nod of encouragement.

As Jacob and the others retreat away from the kitchen to give you and Paul some privacy, you find yourselves alone in the midst of Emily's bustling kitchen. The air crackles with anticipation as Paul takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sets your heart racing. "Y/N, I wanted to talk to you," Paul begins, his voice soft yet filled with determination as he gathers his thoughts. "About what happened earlier. About us. If that’s okay with you."

You swallow hard, the weight of Paul's words hanging heavy in the air as you search for the right response. "Paul, I... I don't even know where to begin," you admit, your voice trembling with uncertainty as you struggle to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to overwhelm you completely.

But Paul reaches out, his hand finding yours with a gentle touch that sends a shiver down your spine. "We'll figure it out together, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here for you. I promise you that."

As you stand there, enveloped in the warmth of Paul's presence, a soft blush tinges your cheeks as you struggle to find the right words to express the swirl of emotions coursing through you. Your heart races with anticipation, your thoughts a jumble of uncertainty and longing. "This is all a lot," you murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze with a shy smile. "But it's a good thing you're so... so handsome." You weren’t sure where that surge of confidence came from, maybe it was the bond. But even you couldn’t deny the sheer beauty of the man that stood before you. You feel a rush of exhilaration mixed with nervousness, unsure of how Paul will respond to your flirty compliment.

Paul's expression shifts, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Is that your way of saying you think I'm cute, Y/N?" he teases, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip, a playful glint in your eyes as you meet his gaze. "Maybe," you reply coyly, a hint of flirtatiousness creeping into your tone as you lean in closer to him. "You'll just have to stick around to find out."

As a smirk tugs at the corners of Paul's lips, his gaze intensifies, locking onto yours with a magnetic pull that leaves you breathless. You feel a surge of anticipation coursing through your veins as he leans in even closer, the air crackling with electricity between you.

"Oh, I intend to, pretty girl" Paul murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers ripping through your body. His words are filled with promise, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he closes the distance between you, his breath warm against your skin. “Don’t you worry about that.”

A soft gasp escapes your lips as Paul's hand gently cups your cheek, his touch sending waves of warmth cascading through you. Your heart pounds in your chest as his lips brush against yours in a tantalizing whisper, a feather-light caress that ignites a fire deep within your soul.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N Swan," Paul whispers against your lips, his voice filled with sincerity and admiration. "I can't help but be drawn to you. I’m forever yours pretty girl."

The sweetness of his words sends your heart soaring, a rush of euphoria washing over you as you lose yourself in the intoxicating embrace of his affection. In that moment, all doubts and fears melt away, leaving only the undeniable connection between you and Paul, a bond forged in the flames of desire and longing. And as you surrender to the irresistible pull of his embrace, you can't help but feel a sense of bliss wash over you. With Paul by your side, you know that the journey ahead will be filled with laughter, passion, and endless moments of pure, unadulterated love.

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javelinbk · 3 months

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Paul McCartney listening to his transistor radio in New York, 9th February 1964

#don’t ask me why he’s doing a yorkshire accent for I do not know #john looking completely unimpressed in the background #don’t listen to him transistor sister #he’s clearly a gramophone granny #paul mccartney #john lennon #the beatles #the first u.s. visit #february 1964 #javelin’s gifs #javelin’s gifs: 1964 #it was sixty years ago today

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unofficialpersonsblog · 3 months

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this was the picture she was taking abt

#iasip #dennis reynolds #my sister btw #her name isn’t billy also #her contact name is just billy joel #this is the sister from the paul simon drag drawing

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nephilimbrute · 8 months

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ms paint things

#splatoon #callie cuttlefish #marie kensaki #captain 3 #spingly (4)#agent 8 #pearl houzuki #dedf1sh #paul splatoon #squid sisters #agent 24 #agent 32 #agent 12 #agent 96 #calf1sh

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swaying--daisies · 3 months

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Hiya beatlemaniacs, long time no see! Just like many of you, I too have been obsessively been re-watching Get Back to an unhealthy degree, and my hyper fixations (or coping mechanisms lol) usually manifest themselves as quick doodles! and I’ve also been obsessed with @m1ssunderstanding ‘s Get Back recap posts (they’re so in-depth and iconique check them out) , and I was wondering if y’all would be interested in seeing daily (or weekly lol) new doodles recapping each days of the documentary? 👀 I have a few already finished but it would be a fun lengthy project for me and I’m excited to potentially experiment with different styles and see how things evolve?

#this is the best way for me to use my BFA at this point #let me know if this is totally insane #but the brain rot is too real #also I’m open to name suggestions for this series!#my sister suggested Bootles Doodles buutt maybe we can do better #the beatles #beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #beatles fanart #beatles art #my art #get back #mclennon #mclennon fanart

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fadingstudentbananacookie · 4 days

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Brothers & Sisters

A tragedy in the making.

Revenge of the Sith / George Lucas, Star Wars: Tales of the Jedi / Dave Filoni, Charles Murray, House of the Dragon, Dune Part Two / Denis Villeneuve, Antigone / Sophocles, Fire & Blood / George R.R. Martin

#anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #star wars #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #helaegon #paul atreides #alia atreides #dune movie #house of the dragon #hotd #dune #star wars: tales of the jedi #tragedy #brothers and sisters #blood and cheese

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shin-slayer · 1 year

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After reading Lords and Ladies, wanted to have a go at drawing Nanny and Granny when they were younger 👀

#granny weatherwax #nanny ogg #wyrd sisters #lords and ladies #the one of Esme in the middle was inspired by a sketch by Paul Kidby!

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thedepartmentofdiscoveries · 4 months

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#showgirls #elizabeth berkley #gina gerson #1995 #goth #paul verhoeven #90s nostalgia #1990s #90s #90s film #90s films #sisters of mercy #my life with the thrill kill kult #siouxsie and the banshees #killing joke

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fuckingwoodfuckingpaneling · 4 months

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these violent delights (micah nemerever, 2020) // saltburn (dir. emerald fennell, 2023)

#yeah i did it. it was NEEDED!#there were plenty more i noticed i mean endlessly #these were just the ones i took photos of #the endless amounts of parallels to the line i just need you to know how much i fucking love you.#AHHHH!!!#oh paul fleischer and oliver quick… sisters in causing me misery #saltburn #these violent delights #micah nemerever #datvd

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thewulf · 1 month

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Miss ma'am!! Idk how I'm just finding your blog but omggg you have the motherload of amazing FF's. THANK YOUUUU. It's hard to find sweet fluff and actual good angst. So thank you. please keep it up for forever.

Can i request a Paul Lahote x Swan Twin Sister Reader? I've had this in my head for forever but you can ignore it if you don't wanna do twilight. But i think you'd crush it!

Okay so reader is Bella's (fraternal) twin sissy. She moved to Forks with Bella and the whole first book happens WITHOUT her knowing what's going on. She's just as in the dark as Charlie is. However, after edward abandons her she gets to the bottom of it and is her sisters rock while she comes out of the depression hole she's in.

Okay so reader convinces Bella to go talk to Jacob after he too seemingly abandons the both of them (reader is good friends with Jake prior to the transformation instead of the Cullen's). Reader is too upset to confront him so she sits in the car. However, when reader notices Bella walking towards the Sam and his crew that's when she springs into action running behind her. She tries to stop Bella from slapping Paul but she does in her rage. However, instead of transforming reader calls out to Bella and locks eyes with him. Of course, reader is his imprint and it can be really sweet n fluffy after that. Like he falls the the ground, anger vanished and things just make sense to him. Obvi bella and reader are hella confused. Jake is super thankful bc he's obviously missed you.

Sorry this is so long but I think you'll crush it!!

First of all, thank you so much!!

Second of all, YASSSS you got it. My first twilight request!! I swear Twilight is what got me INTO reading. Sucked me in and I've never looked back. This series is what fanfics are made for hahah. You got it anon!!

(I also love really detailed requests, so no worries!)

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maidenstaarz · 5 months

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⚡️🧨

#80s bands #80s metal #80s music #80s glam #80s rock #power metal #bret michaels #dee snider #paul stanley #michael monroe #alice cooper #hanoi rocks #twisted sister #tigertailz #kiss band #new york dolls #hair metal #bighair

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 5 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What obstinacy to want me to be someone other than myself? It doesn't even matter to you that everyone believes that I named Marat: having been unable to succeed, you have decided to repeat my name so often with his, that I was at least taken for an accessory of this great character, so celebrated in your pages; as if I had not had an existence of my own, several years before you had decided to strip me of it; as if my constituents and my fellow citizens had not been able to judge me by my own actions; while Marat wrote underground, and Brissot still obscurely intrigued, with the henchmen of the old police, his colleagues, and crawled in the antechambers of the men in power. In the past, I still remember, Brissot and a few others had entered into I don't know what conspiracy to make my name almost synonymous with that of Jérôme Pétion; they took so much trouble to put them together. I don't know if it was for love of me or of Pétion: but they seemed to have plotted to send me to immortality, in company with the great Jérôme. I have been ungrateful; and, to punish me, they said: since you don't want to be Pétion, you will be Marat. Well, I declare to you, monsieurs, that I want to be neither. I have the right, I think, to be consulted on this, and you will perhaps not dispose of my being in spite of myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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nephilimbrute · 5 months

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LOTS of stuff

#splatoon #agent 8 #captain 3 #spingly (4)#shiver hohojiro #callie cuttlefish #frye onaga #big man splatoon #marie kensaki #deep cut #squid sisters #splatagents #agent 24 #agent 12 #polycut #frosty fest #4's family photo was inspired by leixodemo's paul family comic

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fluffishere · 3 months

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GIRLS NIGHT!!!!! ✨✨✨✨

#I'M SO HAPPY #MY FAVORITE PSYCHOS FROM MY TOP 2 FAVORITE MOVIES!!!!!#YIPPEE!!!!!!#EVERYONE SAY THANKS MY SISTER FOR BUYING BATEMAN ❤️❤️#og #text #American psycho #Patrick Bateman #Paul dano riddler #the batman #the batman 2022 #Matt reeves the batman #the riddler #riddler

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literaryfandomangel · 3 months

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The Lost Boys The Promise

Chapter One

Moving to Santa Carla, California, had been too stressful for Mom. Following the curtails of her divorce, where Dad took everything, Mom had to uproot us back to her old home. Dad didn't want us; he had shouted when the divorce papers had been served. He didn't want to have to deal with a crazy, ill daughter or a son who read comics all day long. I remember feeling as if my heart had just stopped beating after being stabbed with a knife.

My dad had some choice words for my mother, too. By the time my father had read through the divorce paperwork, my Mom had dissolved into tears. Sam had crept into my room, trying to appear older and rougher than breaking into his own tears. I had welcomed my brother into bed, flipping down the light coverlet for him to crawl under.

Sam had hugged my stuffed animal, face buried in the soft fur until the screaming stopped. Usually, I would have sung to my little brother to help him sleep, but with the divorce, the fighting, and my own personal issues, I'd start withdrawing. Which meant not even speaking.

The school had ended by the time the paperwork had been signed and settled. Sam gave Mom grief about moving to her hometown, but I said nothing. There wasn't anything left for me in Phoenix - my toxic relationship had ended badly. I touched the lightening bruise on the side of my face in memory. I didn't have any friends, and now Mom had divorced Dad.

I felt hopeful that Santa Carla would be a better place. Something deep inside me yearned for the sandy beach, the hot summer sun, and the scent of saltwater in the air. I could faintly remember the summers spent in the town; Dad always griped about coming to Mom's hometown. Our summers spent in Santa Carla were few.

Sam grumbled for most of the ride. I was content to let my brother sit in the front seat while my Mom tried to ease the growing tension rising with every mile closer to Santa Carla. I didn't bother to protest - not wanting to spend one more minute in Phoenix. I didn't want to be any closer to my paternal figure than I had to be. Sam was popular. He wore designer clothing and had a lot of friends in Phoenix, even though he was a comic nerd.

"Honey, you need to eat something," My Mom's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. I sighed granola bar in hand. I had picked each piece of oats off the bar for two hours. "Please just eat the granola bar."

"I'll eat it!" Sam reached back and snatched the granola bar from my hand. Before Mom could protest or reprimand my brother for taking my food, he had it half-crammed into his mouth. My stomach turned with disgust at seeing his bulging cheeks and flecks of chewed food on his lips. "Mmm!"

I just sighed and returned to gazing out onto the landscape. I could hear the seagulls becoming louder, indicating we were closer to Santa Carla and the sea. Mom wanted to say something else about my food situation but turned her attention to my brother as they messed with the radio.

For the past three years, my parents have struggled with my eating disorder. I didn't want to eat anything at all. My dad tried to ship me off to an inpatient facility, but they released me after I didn't gain any of the much-needed weight back.

Nanook, my brother's husky, set her head on my lap, offering warmth and protection. I reached down and pulled a copy of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina out of my bag. I knew it would be at least another hour before we reached Grandpa's place in Santa Carla.

"We are stopping!" Mom announced loudly, startling me. I was engrossed in the pages of Russian literature, the illicit affair between Anna and Vronsky. I jumped, the sharp tone of my mother's voice cutting through the scenes playing out in my head as I read.

I grabbed the discarded ribbon across my thin thigh and pressed it between the book's pages. I always needed to find my bookmarks; therefore, I would use any material to track my progress. Mom pulled into a gas station parking lot, needing to fill the car's tank.

"I'm taking Nanook to potty!" Sam yelled, jumping out of the front seat. He grabbed his dog's leash and then took her across the lot. I watched as my brother had no qualms about walking past all the people.

I blinked as I took in the people milling about us. My Mom was busy putting gas in the tank, so I just gazed at those passing by. All the individuals were bright - and colorful. It differed from what I was used to in Phoenix, but it made sense with my Mom's aesthetic. She loved colorful clothing and gauzy skirts.

Looking around, I saw that everyone was different but fit together. There were women clad in bikinis, roller skating down the sidewalks, and goth kids covered from head to toe in black. Homeless kids in worn layers, alongside surfer guys in wetsuits, carting around surfboards. It was astonishing to see all these individuals walking beside one another.

They wouldn't be in the same vicinity as their counterparts in any other town. People of the same cliques and gangs would stick together, not daring to break into another group.

However, as I stood there, gazing around at the people, I felt a seed of jealousy take root deep within my soul. It might have been the heat of the sun, but the hot feeling radiated from within my body as I looked around. These people felt comfortable enough to express themselves through their outfits and appearance. They weren't afraid to show their originality - some had numerous piercings, colored hair, and weird hairstyles. Even their tattoos and clothing - or lack thereof - demonstrated that they weren't shying away from their individuality.

"Honey," my Mom's soft voice brought me out of my musing as I leaned against the back of the Range Rover. "Can you go give those two this money?" I looked to where my Mom was indicating, pulling my cardigan closer. I saw two teenagers around a dumpster, looking for food scraps in the trash bags. I took the proffered money from my mother's hand and walked towards them. The two gave me a slight, grateful grin before snatching the money and disappearing.

Sam had finished letting Nanook stretch her legs and came across the parking lot towards us. I slid into the backseat, not bothering to fight Sam about the passenger seat. There was no use - I wouldn't argue or talk with him. Sam let Nanook climb in with me, unclipping the leash before shutting the back door.

"Mom!" Sam was excited about something he had seen on his travels. "Did you know there's an amusement park on the beach?"

"That's called the boardwalk, sweetheart," Mom educated the both of us. I just raised an eyebrow in question. My Mom seemed to be more excited about the boardwalk than Sam. "We will go to the boardwalk tonight. Unless, Aria, do you want to go look?"

"That's not fair!" Sam crowed, spinning around to glare at me. "Why does she get to go?"

"Because she's older, Sam," Mom tried to allay his upset. I just shook my head, knowing Mom saw it in the rearview mirror. "Okay. Then we'll all go tonight."

I thought that Grandpa's house would be closer to town, but it was a few miles outside of the main attraction in Santa Carla. I didn't bother to pull out Anna Karenina again; I just gazed out the window. Mom eventually pulled off the city streets onto an unmarked and unpaved road. A cloud of dust, comprised of the dirt making the lane, billowed behind the car. Mom pulled into the driveway, which was lined with wood chips. Sam was looking in horror at the house.

The decor and house were attractive. It looked like an old log cabin converted into a modern-sized dwelling. Grandpa obviously had a knack and talent for wood carving, as many of his projects littered the yard. There were several small trailers, and wind chimes around the lawn. I actually liked the feel of the house.

Exiting the car, I noticed the paddock with at least three horses. They were grazing on the lush, green grass growing, tails lazily swishing in the wind. I could smell the scent of sharp manure and the salty breeze from the sea.

"Grandpa has horses?" I asked, breaking my silent streak. My voice was husky from misuse. My Mom and brother looked at me, amazed that I had spoken.

"Yes," my Mom smiled, happy I had spoken for the first time in several days. I nodded, not saying another word. I looked towards the house entrance that we would call home, noticing the figure of a man lying on the porch.

My face paled, immediately assuming the worst. Sam and my Mom went to investigate the situation, but I stayed by the car. I didn't want to walk onto the scene to find my grandfather dead of a heart attack.

"Honey, he's just a deep sleeper!" My Mom tried to settle my nerves with a gentle smile. She waved her hand to make me come over and join the trio on the porch. I sucked in a deep lungful of the salty air before walking across the yard towards the porch.

"If he's dead, can we move back to Phoenix?" Sam asked, causing my Mom and I to glare at him. He shrunk back as Grandpa opened his eyes and moved.

"Playin' dead!" Grandpa's innate masculine voice filled the air. It was a relief to hear his voice, knowing that he wasn't dead. I turned to look down at the man with whom we would live for the unforeseeable future. "And from what I heard, doin' a damn good job of it."

My Mom chuckled as she leaned down to hug her father. I can imagine it would be a relief to be comforted by one's parents, especially as Grandma had died when Mom was just a preteen. Her dad was her rock, someone Mom could depend upon in life.

Sam looked weirded out by the situation, but I wordlessly motioned we should return to the car. We had little to move since Dad got everything in the settlement. Mom had wanted the divorce over and done with, so she took the lowest agreement with Dad. Even though Mom could have won more in the divorce since she was taking care of Dad’s two kids, she just signed the paperwork. Chapter Two

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