#Follow the Frenchmen

[cadmusfly]

I’m hypocritical in that I think Greco-Roman mythology is a bit overused as inspiration/reference in fantasy writing (which is one of the reasons I never really got into Hades despite considering Transistor one of my favourite games Of All Time and also loving Pyre and Bastion)

but my chosen online masc name is straight up from Greek myth and reading House of Leaves as a teenager just embedded the Minotaur myth into my brain as a reference touchstone I keep going back to

And Minotaur Forgiving Knossos is just such a banger of a song, and now I’m listening to Minotaur Forgiving Theseus

theseus, you’re just a hitman~

#cadmus rambles #I have a few mutuals who are all about the Greek or Roman history and maybe one day I’ll follow you #annnnd the Frenchmen I like themselves were Big Roman Enjoyers #but idk maybe it’s just that I want to see more obscure Greek myths and other mythology motifs #I did enjoy the Bacchae in high school #that’s not particularly obscure

[gatheringbones]

[“But if French assessments of the character of ‘savages’ tended to be decidedly mixed, the indigenous assessment of French character was distinctly less so. Father Pierre Biard, for example, was a former theology professor assigned in 1608 to evangelize the Algonkian-speaking Mi’kmaq in Nova Scotia, who had lived for some time next to a French fort.

Biard did not think much of the Mi’kmaq, but reported that the feeling was mutual: ‘They consider themselves better than the French: “For,” they say, “you are always fighting and quarrelling among yourselves; we live peaceably. You are envious and are all the time slandering each other; you are thieves and deceivers; you are covetous, and are neither generous nor kind; as for us, if we have a morsel of bread we share it with our neighbour.” They are saying these and like things continually.’

What seemed to irritate Biard the most was that the Mi’kmaq would constantly assert that they were, as a result, ‘richer’ than the French. The French had more material possessions, the Mi’kmaq conceded; but they had other, greater assets: ease, comfort and time. Twenty years later Brother Gabriel Sagard, a Recollect Friar, wrote similar things of the Wendat nation.

Sagard was at first highly critical of Wendat life, which he described as inherently sinful (he was obsessed with the idea that Wendat women were all intent on seducing him), but by the end of his sojourn he had come to the conclusion their social arrangements were in many ways superior to those at home in France. In the following passages he was clearly echoing Wendat opinion: ‘They have no lawsuits and take little pains to acquire the goods of this life, for which we Christians torment ourselves so much, and for our excessive and insatiable greed in acquiring them we are justly and with reason reproved by their quiet life and tranquil dispositions.’

Much like Biard’s Mi’kmaq, the Wendat were particularly offended by the French lack of generosity to one another: ‘They reciprocate hospitality and give such assistance to one another that the necessities of all are provided for without there being any indigent beggar in their towns and villages; and they considered it a very bad thing when they heard it said that there were in France a great many of these needy beggars, and thought that this was for lack of charity in us, and blamed us for it severely.’

Wendat cast a similarly jaundiced eye at French habits of conversation. Sagard was surprised and impressed by his hosts’ eloquence and powers of reasoned argument, skills honed by near-daily public discussions of communal affairs; his hosts, in contrast, when they did get to see a group of Frenchmen gathered together, often remarked on the way they seemed to be constantly scrambling over each other and cutting each other off in conversation, employing weak arguments, and overall (or so the subtext seemed to be) not showing themselves to be particularly bright. People who tried to grab the stage, denying others the means to present their arguments, were acting in much the same way as those who grabbed the material means of subsistence and refused to share it; it is hard to avoid the impression that Americans saw the French as existing in a kind of Hobbesian state of ‘war of all against all’.”]

david graeber and david wengrow, the dawn of everything: a new history of humanity, 2021

#david graeber #history stuff #currently reading

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: What is expected of us? 2962 words.

Notes: This is dedicated to @jo-harrington, @somnambulic-thing, and @toomanyacorns, who all helped brainstorm and/or fact check this chapter.

1836

“You cannot ask how I know of this place,” Eddie said as he made a path for you to follow. It was well beyond the forest and the open plains you and he usually traversed.

“When you say such gloomy things, Eddie my love, you do know that I know what is left unsaid?” He threw you a look over his shoulder. “Well, excuse you, Mr Vampire. All brooding and mysterious,” you teased. You cleared your throat loudly and put on your best Eddie voice. “You cannot ask how I know of this place,” you impersonated.

Eddie stopped walking abruptly, letting you crash into his back. Instant speed and he’d hoisted you up over his shoulder. You laughed and hit your fists against his back.

“And you, my little witch? Were you not the one that said you would not play audience to my… murderous misadventures?”

“Murderous misadventures,” you repeated in your Eddie impersonation, giggling and letting your body fall limp as he carried you off to wherever he had planned.

Like he’d teleported, Eddie had you both to the destination in a second. Vampire speediness made your stomach turn with motion sickness. As he put your feet back on the ground, his hands lingered in case you were unsteady.

“Oh… Wow…” you marvelled, looking up at the great tree. “Surely she’s been here longer than you or I.”

Eddie knew you’d like the glorious tree. He knew you’d call it ‘she’ too. “See here,” he directed, showing you how the wide trunk was hollowed out in part. It was a space large enough for him to walk into.

You followed him. “It’s warm… Dry…”

“It was a place of respite. Somewhere to wait out storms,” Eddie told you.

You spun on the spot and looked at him, the darkness of the night even darker within the tree cave. “This is not a recent discovery for you?”

Eddie said nothing. Whoever had sought respite was instead met with violence.

“There’s something else.” Eddie crouched low to the ground. He reached into the darkness of the tree cave corner and pulled out a large suitcase. It looked as though he’d pulled it out of thin air, but you figured there were many holes and crevices within the tree appropriate for hiding things in.

You knelt next to Eddie and looked at the suitcase. It was old, the metal corners and lock rusted, and the fabric torn and discoloured.

“All their possessions were pillaged. The case was left for… fun,”

“Fun?” you asked.

“An ominous thing to find. An empty case in a hollowed-out tree.” Vampires hunted humans for sport. It was no surprise that mind games were part of the fun. “I don’t know when this was put here,” Eddie continued, picking up a wool blanket and shaking it off. He laid it on the soft dirt floor. “Perhaps it was us. Perhaps it was the humans… But these… These were me.”

With the blanket gone, a bundle of envelopes and paper was revealed. Eddie took them and stood. He kicked off his leather shoes and stepped onto the blanket, stretching out and looking at you.

As you sat next to him, crossing your legs, he let you take the paper. Eddie folded his arms under his head to make a pillow, then closed his eyes. It was as close to peace as he could get.

You were fluent in French and easily devoured the letters. It was a love story.

A Frenchmen had been all over Europe, you judged by the changing addresses and postmarks on the envelopes. A Marguerite du Bruyeres wrote to Guillaume du Bruyeres often. Though none of the letters were sent to America, Guillaume traveled with them.

She wrote of how colours were paler without him there. How pastry was stodgy and the city smelled less of blossoms and more of sickness. She wrote of how she missed him, oh, how she missed him.

Marguerite called Guillaume stupid but brave. Her loopy handwriting was romantic and her bittersweet farewells were so obviously prayers that one day, her Guil would make it home. Being part of the French army was a dangerous thing.

“Where did you find these?” you asked Eddie. The letters had absorbed all your attention. You’d read each of them, taking almost an hour.

Eddie stirred, eyes fluttering open. “Here,”

“He was here?”

“Guillaume de Bruyeres? Yes. He was,”

“These are… The dates on these were before he came to America. So, he was here to fight against the British Empire,”

“Guerre de la Conquête,” Eddie said, his French as fluent as yours. “They have always been like this, your humans. Always fighting for land. For resources. For title. They take and take, they recreate, repopulate, and expect their children to do the same. Little monsters who grow up with the same bloodthirsty nature for land. Resources. Title,”

“That’s the real monster, is it? Human endeavour?”

“Human conformity,” he corrected. “And don’t tell me you’re an advocate for colonisation, little witch. You love the forests and the animals too much,”

“I don’t love them enough. None of us do. I’m not an advocate for colonisation. I just don’t judge the humans for what they are.”

Eddie smiled. You were wrong, of course. You often judged them, as you did the vampires, albeit for different reasons. He’d leave you on your high horse though. He figured it would only take another decade or two before the humans disappointed you beyond repair.

“I knew you’d find the letters of interest. You did not hesitate to read them. Does privacy end in death, I wonder?”

You looked up at Eddie from where you were studying the ink on one of the letters. Feeling hot shame wash over you, you bundled the papers up and put them back in the suitcase.

“Why did you show me them if you were going to torment me for reading them?” you asked coldly. “You read them. You-”

“I what? I killed him? Took his furs and his love letters and never thought of him again?” Eddie was still casually laid out on the blanket. “I never read them. Not more than the addresses. And he was dead before I got here. The British found this foxhole. They took his furs and his rations and his weapons. I took the letters.”

For a moment you were silent. Eddie knew you were crying before you did. He had sat up, body mirroring your position, and reached out to brush the tears from your cheeks.

“I don’t know what you need me to think of you,” you whispered. “Some days you demand I face the truth. That you’re unholy. Undead. That I should not trust you and that this will all end in tragedy. Other days you trick me into being the one suggesting it, before rolling over to show me the humanity that’s left in you.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched and his gaze wandered down. He picked your hands up from your lap and held them. Apparently, from your high horse you had a vantage point to see him and all his contradictions.

“I took them to her,” he said. He frowned suddenly; you figured it was at the memory but it was that he’d let the confession slip out before he could stop himself. There was no choice but to continue. “I returned the letters to Marguerite. She was eating rye bread. Her lips were stained with wine. From the moment she saw me, she was afraid. At first, it was that I was a stranger. Then, that I had come with ill news about her husband. When I handed her letters, she sobbed.”

Eddie looked up and tried to gauge your reaction. Did you think this was a story of love or a confession of violence? He couldn’t read it on your face, but you knew the ending. The letters were in a rotting suitcase beside you, not buried with Marguerite as they should have been.

“She smelt so rich. I was not young, but I was not adept in restraint. Eighty-years-later and it still takes effort. I escorted the widow home. I bled her dry… I don’t know why I took the letters. I don’t know why I kept them. I don’t know why I have never been back to France. It’s surely not humanity that’s left in me.”

You were crying again.

There was no reason for a vampire to hold onto love letters. But he did.

“I would take death… over the unknown,” you spoke quietly. “If… If it were me. If I was Marguerite and I was given the choice. Live out my years and not know what became of my beloved. Or die knowing I was loved.” You looked up, stared into Eddie’s dark and unblinking eyes. “I would have let you bleed me dry if you brought proof I was loved.”

He’d woken that desire in you. So independent for all your years. Defiant. Self-governing. Seeking the company of your coven when you needed. Then, the vampire. The bright morning sun of something inside you screaming it needed to be loved.

“I think she would have too,” Eddie whispered.

“Are there others like you? Other vampires that… feel?”

“Not that I have met. And that is a saving grace. It would be a weakness snuffed out, if they thought it could exist,”

“If they find you with me?” It was a question you had been too afraid to ask.

Eddie hesitated. There was no point in shielding you from harsh truths anymore. “An eternity of unbridled agony. I imagine I’d wish for the witches to find a method of death for us. For them and for me.”

In the warm shadowy insides of a beautiful tree, you and Eddie held hands and looked at each other. He questioned his flaw of humanity. How had it survived his death and transformation? You questioned your judgment. What did you believe to be right and wrong now? Were there any such things as a definitive good? A definitive bad?

“I do know what I need you to think of me,” Eddie spoke. “I want you to be safe. I want you to live a long life. I want you to thrive. But… But I need you to love me. It… feels like breathing again. It feels like I can taste food. Crisp apples and butter. I need you to love me.”

You did.

You loved him so completely and utterly that it was all-consuming. You loved him as he was. As he would be.

Eddie caught you when you launched yourself at him, crashing your lips to his. You cried into the kiss and took the breathlessness of his crushing arms without complaint as he held you tight.

“We could run,” you said, knotting your fingers into his wild hair.

“What is a witch without her coven,” Eddie replied sadly.

“Loved. She can be loved.”

As layers of clothes were peeled away and skin was touched and kissed, the moon dimmed when eclipsed by cloud. Eddie nipped but never drew blood, just deep bruises you hid well. His tongue was never warm, but it was wet and could move with vampire speed, so fast that it vibrated against your core. He dragged you up, up, up and towards a shattering orgasm.

The whimpers and moans and constant rambling promises of love and lust drowned out the rest of the world. Eddie’s sharp senses didn’t detect the movement of his colony. You didn’t hear the screaming coming from the village beyond the forest and flatlands.

For one last night, it all seemed so possible. 

…

1986

The trailer was muted in pensive silence. Lost in story, you replayed Henry Creel’s life in your head. The endgame came to you suddenly.

“I don’t know if I can kill Vecna,” you said. The others looked at you, disheartened. “But… One… One before you, El. Before the Upside Down… We can kill him.”

Most of the humans appeared confused. Hopper slowly asked, “You… can… time travel?”

“Oh, like a Baby Hitler situation?” Robin added, pointing up at you.

“No… and, no, no Baby Hitlers… Who he is now is just… trauma and scar tissue, right? What if I heal that? Heal the damage that has been done. Take him back to when he wasn’t as powerful.”

You looked mostly to El. She thought carefully before answering. “He has always been bad,”

“Yeah, I know. But he hasn’t always been unstoppable. You said he was contained at the lab, right? If humans contained him, then we can kill him.”

So, a plan was hatched. Vecna would not need to be hunted down; he was freely killing the townspeople of Hawkins. He would need to be called though and Will Byers was the perfect bait. He and El would draw Vecna’s mind back to Creel House and buy time.

“He’ll know something’s happening,” Nancy said.

“So, they can distract him with that. Tell him about me. About how I healed Erica of his poison. How I’m somewhere close and he won’t find me until it’s too late,”

“You really want to poke the bear like that?” Hopper asked.

“He seeks power. If he thinks he can get it through me, he’ll want to know everything they know,”

“But what if he… Gets into our heads. Sees this,” Will motioned to the room.

“I can hide this from him with a spell. It won’t last forever. A temporary cloak over time and space. But it will be enough.”

Joyce, Hopper, and Jonathan would stay with El and Will. They would protect them and pull them out if anything went wrong.

“I gotta be honest… I am not thrilled at the idea of going back there,” Robin admitted.

She and Nancy would take you through a gate, show you where Vecna was. Their Molotov cocktails and sawed-off shotguns may not have worked, but your witchfire and insidious healing would.

“I know we’ve gone over it, but… We are totally sure there is no possible way to get him up here?” Nancy asked. If he could be lured out of the Upside Down, Vecna would be a little less powerful. A little more vulnerable. Not by much, but even the smallest thing could tip the scales.

“We’ve gone over it a dozen times. This is it. If this doesn’t work-”

“It has to,” Joyce interrupted Robin. “It has to.” She looked from Will to Jonathan.

“Nance, one more time,” Hopper instructed.

Nancy recited the plan again and again. A kill plan. One that could not fail. You would not let it.

…

Needing time alone to prepare your craft, the humans left. They’d go back to Reefer Rick's house to eat and sleep before heading into what they hoped was the last supernatural battle of their lives.

You sat at the trailer’s kitchen bench for fifteen minutes or so in quiet stillness. It wasn’t long ago that you sat listening to the sounds of Hawkins. It was worse now. Loud rumbling tanks with no destination – no identified assailant of the attacks. Voices that could only speak in terrified and panicked tones. Lives being thrown into cars; tires speeding passed the ‘Come Back Soon!’ sign out of town.

Hawkins was hours away from becoming a ghost town.

Standing at a window, you looked out over Forest Hills. Although they had the least amount of worldly possessions, and some of the most mobile homes, these were the people who would leave last.

You turned away and took a breath. It was time to write a spell. It would not be easy, but the vampire had not yet returned, and with sunrise looming on the horizon, a difficult distraction was a welcomed thing.

…

1840

Sometimes, when the water rippled and showed your face as a distorted and immeasurable image, it’s when you recognised it best. The mud beneath the surface swirled up, making the picture all the more clouded.

“Did you hear me?” your aunt hissed.

Your gaze snapped up from the wet ground, the puddles of dirty rainwater and witch blood.

She shook her head at you.

“They’re immortal,” you said, voice floaty and lost. “Really immortal… Not like us,”

“Amabel…” She cursed 1836 in her mind, what it had taken from you. “Amabel, look at me. Listen to me. Tell me the plan.”

A witch could live as long as she wanted, granted no monster intervened. Vampires were monsters. You hated them with every fiber of your being. Every single molecule and atom that made up your bones and marrow loathed the irredeemable and soulless creatures.

You’d watched them tear your sisters to parts. Limbs scattered across the flatlands. Heads spiked onto branches in the forest you used to love. Yes, a witch could be killed.

“Amabel!”

“Lure. Lure them,” you said, pulling a dagger from your boot and slicing a deep cut along your forearm. Blood swelled to the surface and dripped from you. “I am the bait,”

“Yes. Lure them. We heard them like livestock into the cages. Hold them there to burn under the sunlight.”

You looked up from your bleeding arm to your aunt. Hard determination was set on her face. You could tell she was already concerned about you, so it didn’t much matter making it worse. “To what end? It won’t kill them. They’ll escape by next night,”

“You know why. We need practice.”

While the vampires withered during the daylight, vulnerable in cages, your coven practiced both witchfire and science. There had to be a way to kill them, and Penelope needed lab rats.

“I am the bait,” you repeated, glancing one more time at your reflection. “We will make them suffer.”

End Note: The tree in this chapter was inspired by one that I grew up near. The Herbig Family Tree is a literal tree that a German family lived in 1855. I was picturing that and also the 'olive tree of vouves', one of the oldest olive trees in the world. They are both these huge old things that have stood and witnessed entire lifetimes go by, and have amazing hollowed out bodies. They're cool. Trees are cool.

The Grimoire has no new additions for this chapter, but the timeline is updated.

We're gearing up for battle, folks!

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#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Witch!Reader

[promises-of-paradise]

'On Suicide' - an essay by 17-year-old Napoleon Bonaparte

(aka Napoleon's emo phase...)

"Solitary amidst men I return to my room to think alone and to abandon myself to my melancholy. Where does it lead me today? Towards death. In the springtime of life, I may hope to live long. I have been absent from my country six or seven years. What pleasure shall I have in four months seeing once more my companions and my parents? Can I not conclude, from the sweet sensations awakened by the remembrance of my childhood, that my happiness will be complete? What mad fellow urges me on to self-destruction? But what can be done in this world? Since I have to, is it not better to kill myself? If I was over sixty years of age I would respect the prejudices of my fellow creatures, and would wait patiently for nature to accomplish its work; but since I commence to experience unhappiness, and since nothing gives me pleasure, why should I endure days in which I succeed in nothing? How far men are from nature! How cowardly, vile and cringing they are! What is the spectacle I shall witness in my country? Fellow countrymen loaded with chains, all trembling, kissing the hand that oppresses them. They are no longer brave Corsicans animated by heroic virtues, and the enemies of tyrants, luxury and base courtesans. Proud and full of the noble consciousness of his own personal importance, a Corsican was formerly happy. If he had occupied his day in transacting public business, the night was spent in the tender arms of a dearly loved wife; his reason and his enthusiasm obliterated all the troubles of the day, tenderness and nature rendered the night comparable to that of the gods. But with liberty those happy days have vanished like a dream. Frenchmen! Not content with having despoiled us of all we loved, you have corrupted our manners. The present condition of my country, and my powerlessness to change it, are additional reasons for me to leave a land where I am obliged by duty to praise men whom I ought by virtue to hate. When I arrive in my country how am I to act, and what am I to do? When the mother country has ceased to exist, a good citizen should die. If I had to destroy but one man in order to deliver my fellow countrymen I would start at once. I would plunge the avenging dagger up to the hilt in the breast of the tyrant. My life is a burden, because I taste no pleasure, and because, for me, everything is wearisome. My life is a burden, because I live, and must probably always live, with men whose thoughts and manners are as different from mine as the silver moonlight is different from the light of the sun. I cannot, then, follow the only manner of living that could make life bearable for me, whence it follows that I feel aversion for everything."

(source)

#emo teenage napoleon #napoleon #napoleonic #napoleonic wars #Napoleon bonaparte #frev #history #French revolution #French history #napoleonic era

[sgiandubh]

And now, for the backpacking round...

But there is more than two (pardoned?) turkeys facing each other western-style, of course. And I cannot help but notice how the whole phagocytosis process picked up speed, especially in this Season of Compulsive Buying.

It goes to prove McTavish closely followed everything that S is trying to build for himself. Everything means even the MPC. We already knew about the fitness program copycat attempt: it never worked as planned.

But, still - how about this?

vs...

There is zero research and development into this. It is shameless sourcing of a no-name Chinese backpack stock and slapping a label on it. I checked my intuition and was right (and pissed off at coffee time - I hate impostors):

But it is a more democratic price tag and that means only one thing: ye olde Pain in the Ass means to be around for a good while. Everything he does, he does on purpose & with a roadmap.

Exactly what he meant in a recent interview to Uproxx, a California-based Warner Music Group subsidiary, with a clear focus on Gen Z:

(Source, heh: https://uproxx.com/life/graham-mctavish-interview-bourbon-whiskey/)

I can almost hear the all-encompassing, all-consuming envy: 'I’m not some actor just putting my face in front of something and going, “Please, please buy my whiskey…” Now that is particularly vile and also a fucking lie, too. Who is 'some actor', Grandma? And why are you so sarcastic, Grandma? Knowing that 'putting your face' is exactly what you did with that bourbon, it takes some rich nerve to say what you just said to those Millennials, both S and you furiously want to poach. Or at the very least, to their wallets.

Every day brings more news of this Wrestling Saga. This is not team-tagging, this is no silent partnership. Will it be a court case in the making?

Only time will tell. S's good heart led to this. But you know what the Frenchmen say: 'trop bon, trop con'/' too nice is also too stupid'. I'd hate to see it happen. And someone simply has to set the record right, nom d'une pipe!

PS: Gracias por la info, niña. Siempre perfecto. Un abrazo.

#BoozeWars

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Hate the way

Basic off the song from Purple Hearts Hate the way

enemies to lovers lyrics in purple Pierre Gasly x reader  The one where you and Pierre hate each other, until you don’t

“Please be nice.” Sasha your media consultant begged as she lead you to the media room, by her words you already knew who would be there. Pierre Gasly, has hated you since day one. Part of you understood why, he thinks you took the Redbull seat from him, as a driver he should know that’s not how it works.

“I’m always nice,” Seeing the man in question sitting for the panel you inwardly groaned seeing your name next to his. “Pierre,” you drawled, making his jaw clench and exhale harshly out of his nose. While you smirked at how easy it was to piss him off he once mentioned how he hated the way you said his name, so you did it every chance you got.

Lewis seeing the rising tension offered to switch seats with you, which you politely declined, “No thanks Lewis, but I appreciate it,” at you words the Frenchmen huffed again, making you glare. “What hate the way i say his name too Pierre?”

‘I hate the way you do a lot of things Y/n.” He drawled your name out like you do his making your eyes narrow, his team principal has already gotten onto him many times about his behavior but his control and patience disappeared when you were around.  

Pierre cursed as the elevator doors opened showing you inside, deciding he could tolerate the short ride over waiting for the next one he stepped in standing as far away from you as he could get, folding his arms over his chest.

“I hate the way you say my name” he spoke as you tried to pretend he wasn’t there. “I know”

“Then why do you do it?” He growled through gritted teeth, getting angrier as you smiled. “Because you hate it.”

He doesn’t know where it came from but for a second Charles words from earlier repeated in his head, ‘you guys just need to fuck it out.’ Worth a shot, hate sex was always the best anyways, scanning your body his lips pulled into a smirk, not the normal look of distain you’re used to seeing on his face.

“And if i said i hate your ‘picture perfect lips’ on mine?” He asked quoting part of an article about you. Little did he know you had the same idea as he did. And that’s how you both ended up in his hotel room clothes thrown carelessly, his kiss was all teeth as your nails dug into his back. Moaning his name when he bit the soft spot on your neck leaving a mark. The noise making him grind harder into you.

“That’s it say my name” he panted against your neck, no amount of pleasure would be enough to not take that shot. “Don’t hate the way i say your name now do you.”

“Y/n so glad you made it!” Daniel shouted informing the other drivers of your arrival, Daniel threw parties after every Australian Grand Prix it always ended with the drivers way to wasted to leave so it turned into a sleep over really. And now almost all twenty drivers were spread around Dans house, you were leaned up ageant the wall separating the kitchen and living room laughing as Daniel tried to convince everyone to do a shoey, you tensed up feeling someone breathing on your neck.

“Someone has been a bad girl.” Pierre hummed, you scoffed not answering. Since that night in the elevator you had both had a enemies with benefits situation, now pissing each other off was almost forplay. “Oh not talking? You had a lot to say earlier.” By earlier he means the grill the grid video of who’s most likely, and beacause you were the only woman you got the question who you were most likely to date, all the boys laughed some raising their hand to volunteer. Unknowing pissing Pierre off for a reason he didn’t know, but not more than your following words did.

“Charles probably.” Throwing him a wink for extra effect. “What not me?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.  Leaning over to look him in the eye seeing the same challenging look he gave you when he snarked off. “If I could I’d cut the breaks on your car.” You deadpanned, luckily for you F1 edited that part out, but you still got scolded.

You dont know when or how it happened but suddenly your enemies to benefits changed a bit, you still got on each other nerves but now that’s not all of your conversations. He learned you had a soft spot for puppies and now always sends you pictures of cute ones he sees on his runs, or how you learned to tell when he got homesick and you found yourself cursing in your head walking out of a small French bakery you found in Canada and bringing him fresh croissant.

He didnt let you leave after you dropped those off instead showing you how much he appreciated it and fed them to you in bed the next morning, that was the first time you stayed through the night.

things shifted then and now instead of sneaking out in the night you woke up to Pierres arms wrapped around you more often than not, when you tried to sneak out fearing what this meant he mumbled still half asleep pulling you in, “Don’t leave.”   you hate the way you can’t help but stay all night.

“Seriously mate you won’t even look at her, i know you guys have that love hate relationship but come on.” Charles scolded, when Pierres head dipped the second you walked through the doors of the bar the crew and drivers practically took over. Smile still shining from your podium today, he wondered if he could taste the champagne on your skin you were sprayed with if he just got close enough. He shook his head, looking from you to his best friend. “You’ve got it all wrong, if i look to long i’ll never look away.”

“Let me take you to dinner.” Pierre whispered not to disturb the soft air the room held laying on his side with his head propped on his hand eyes set on you.

“I dont do dates.” Was your response everytime he tried. He was getting a little sick of it. Everyone has noticed you weren’t at each other’s throats anymore but you refused to give up.

One night after to many drinks and sweet caresses he pulled the true reason out of you, you were hurt by your ex and refused to try again how you never gave up in racing but did in love confused and hurt him equally.

“And what do you call what we do?” He asked genuinely curious, he’s tried to get a label out of you for months and you always ran away. “Give me a chance to save you from your past.” He practically begged, grabbed your hand in his when you pulled away and started to find your clothes. “Babe I wasn’t praying for a saving grace,” unfolding your fingers “let’s go back to nothing.” Were your last words before going out the door.  

Finally summer break hit normally you’d be climbing the walls to get back to driving but not driving means not seeing Pierre, which you haven’t since you left him in his hotel room. You didnt know why you were upset its what you wanted no strings, how did your biggest enemy become something different.

Sasha had noticed your down behavior and you spilled the beans, surprisingly making her laugh. “I’m spilling my heart out and you’re laughing!”

“Sorry sorry just Miss, i hate Pierre and i’ll never date a driver is talking about said driver like its a love song.” And she was right. you hate the way you say words you laughed at before

Two races passed the break and you refused to speak to him despite his unwavering attempts, he was furious that you could just turn your shoulder and act like he wasn’t there after everything he thought meant something between you two, but that didn’t stop his heart from stopping at the news coming over the radio.

He slowed his car and weaved the spun out Redbull as a McLaren practically shoved it purposely off the track into the gravel making it flip into the barrier landing upside down. “Who was it?” He asked when they called red flag immediately after. “Y/n.”

His lost all the air in his lungs when he heard your name, flashes of every life threatening crash going through his head but picturing it being you made him spin his Alpha Tauri and weave between the oncoming cars back to the crash.

‘No no no’ Speaking to himself a he saw smoke. “Pierre safty car is in route please get back to the paddock.” Ignoring his radio he jumped out of the car and ran to your flipped one.

“Y/n!” He yelled crawling under your car seeing you handing from your straps. Reaching up to release them and catch you but he gets pulled out by his feet. “Let me fucking go!” He struggled against the marshals holding him back as the medic pulled you out and onto a gurney which he quickly followed to the nearby ambulance not taking no for an answer as he climbed in not leaving your side.

When you woke up he was still there not even leaving to change out of his suit. “Y/n.” He sighed in relief, pressing his forehead against yours, after explaining what happened you were more worried about him than yourself. “You shouldn’t have done that you’re going to be in so much trouble.” He just fondly shook his head.

“All i was thinking about was you, all i ever think about is you, my thoughts aren’t mine now their yours.”

Your phone dinged for the tenth time since you and Charlotte left the boys at the villa, making her laugh. “He’s smitten its so cute,” she awed. You sighed checking your phone seeing two selfies he sent one smiling with the text. “My face when i think of you’ and the next him pouting. ‘When i realize you’re not here’ Texting back,

‘I just left you can’t miss me already’                        

     ‘I do, do you not miss me?’

‘No’                                                                          

‘You think you cool when you pretend I’m not always in your head’    

‘You’re not.’                                                                              

‘Don’t lie.’

‘Maybe a little’

One lost seat. One elevator ride and a wild night. One season, and One new world champion later, your championship trophy sat centered on your kitchen island as you longingly stared at it still not believing you actually won it and made history. Pierre snuck a picture and posted it to Instagram with the caption. ‘She won the championship but she’s in my kitchen, who’s the real winner’

Pierre slid in behind you wrapping his arms around your waist, “I Remember when you looked at me like that.” He joked making you pull you attention away from the trophy and spin to face him. “Please i never looked at you like that.” You teased making him dramatically clutch his chest over his heart.

“Go ahead give the award your heart!” His eyes lighting up at your giggles pulling him back towards you by the collar of his shirt brushing your nose against his. “You know my heart isn’t mine now its yours.”

Hope you guys liked it let me know what you thought dont forget to check out the F1 romance trope series  coming out next sunday!!!!

F1 tag list @coffeehurricanes

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz imagine #daniel riccardo imagine #carlos sainz x reader #charles lecrelc imagine #Charles lecrelc x reader #Daniel Ricciardo x reader #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll x reader #purple hearts imagine #purple hearts x reader #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #george russel imagine #luke morrow imagine #Luke morrow x reader

[bantarleton]

New Don Troiani just dropped!

This one is depicting the storming of Redoubt No. 9 at the close of the Siege of Yorktown, 14 October 1781.

After campaigning through Virginia in 1781, Major General Cornwallis’s Crown forces had established a base at Yorktown, a seemingly ideal spot since it provided easy access to the sea, and thus supplies and reinforcements from the Royal Navy.

What Cornwallis hadn’t counted on was a major joint French and American revolutionary operation that would not only bring a French and Continental force to besiege him by land, but also a French fleet to block off access by the sea.

The siege that followed progressed rapidly. Yorktown’s main defences were protected by a number of redoubts, small fortifications sitting a little out from the primary defensive lines. Two redoubts, numbered 9 and 10, were earmarked to be captured by the besiegers. On the night of 14 October Continental Army light infantry would attack redoubt 10, while their French allies attacked redoubt 9.

The multinational nature of the American Revolution comes to a head here. The 120ish Crown defenders of redoubt 9 included detachments from several English and Scottish regiments as well as Germans from the Hessian Regiment von Bose. There was variation even among the Scots, with highlanders from the 71st Regiment (Fraser’s highlanders), and lowlanders from the 80th Regiment (Royal Edinburgh Volunteers).

The attacking French force primarily consisted of the grenadiers and chasseurs (light infantry) of two regiments, Gatinais and Royal Deux-Points, but the latter regiment actually mostly consisted of Germans from the states of the Holy Roman Empire.

After darkness fell, and following a thunderous bombardment, the attack got underway. The French first had to clear the abatis (basically stakes and sharp undergrowth) lining the ditch in front of the redoubt. Charpentiers wielding axes did this, hacking a path. The assault force then stormed up and into the redoubt, roaring ‘long live the king’ and ‘kill, kill.’ The fighting was some of the most brutal of the Revolutionary War. One German in Royal Deux-Points, Georg Daniel Flohr, leaves a grim account;

‘Anyone can imagine what happened once we were inside the redoubt. People of four nations were thrown together: Frenchmen, English, Scots, and Germans… the soldiers… were so furious that our people were killing one another. The French were striking down everyone in a blue coat. Since the Deux-Ponts wore blue, many of us were stabbed to death… One screamed here, the other there, that for the grace of God we should kill him off completely. The whole redoubt was so full of dead and wounded that one had to walk on top of them.’

Artwork is, of course, by Don Troiani and reproduced with permission. Prints available for purchase on the W Britain website.

#history #military history #18th century #american revolution #american war of independence #revwar #yorktown #siege of yorktown

[everythingthatsgoingon]

The most incredible thing about the French women's team performance this winter is how unexpected it was.

Not that we didn't think they would get good results, given their 2022/2023 season (relay cup and Nations cup, global score for Julia, first podiums for Jeanmonnot and Chloé Chevalier, first flower ceremonies for Chauveau and Colombo, and so on).

So sure, we expected Sophie to get her first podium, Lou her first win, Julia and possibly Justine to fight it out for the global score (if Julia wasn't too burnt out from last year and that the legal issues from the summer didn't interfere).

But we didn't expect Caroline Colombo to get sick before the season start, and Chloé Chevalier to follow early in the season, prompting the arrival of Gilonne Guigonnat, Océane Michelon and Jeanne Richard on the WC. We didn't expect Jeanne Richard, whose name nobody knew before this winter, to get a top 10 or Guigonnat to get her first podium. We didn't expect Jeanmonnot to get her first win as early as the Östersund sprint and follow up with the pursuit, while Julia and Justine started with bad results. We didn't expect Justine's grand chlem in Lenzerheide, or Julia's incredible World Championships. We didn't expect the 1 to 4 sweep in the World Championship sprint, especially as sprints aren't usually where Frenchmen shine. We didn't expect Lou to race in the World Championship single mixed relay with QFM and win. We didn't expect for them to win 11 out of 21 individual races this season, let alone for Julia to be the one with the less victories out of the 3 French winners. We didn't expect to get 3 French women in the top 5 of the global score, especially not with Lou as the first French athlete in second place. We didn't expect Lou to be the one to win a small glob.

Especially not with how competitive the women's biathlon world cup is, how good other athletes are too.

So yes, a good season was expected and hoped for, but no one would have ever imagined it the way it ended up happening.

#biathlon

[hopefulromances]

one is on the other's lap, holding their face between their hands, kissing them and instantly forgetting everything else in the room with them + the espectacular sam obisanya and f reader pleaseeeee 😭🩷😭 I can't get enough of your writing

You were nervous. Sam was taking you to his team's annual Christmas party at a collegues house and everyone would be there. You loved Sam, you really did, but this was like jumping into the deep end of meeting friends.

Sam was walking a bit in front of you, his hand in yours leading you, telling your the names of all the people coming and a little bit about them.

So far you had Isaac, who was the team captain and acted tougher than he was, Richard, who would most definietly be bringing someone but would also try and flirt with you at the same time, Jan Maas, who came off blunt but meant the best, and Bumbercatch, who was convinced Christmas was just a corporate holiday made up by capitalists as a way to exploit people.

As you approached the house you found yourself overwhlemed by you nerves and stopping. Sam tugged slightly but then looked back and eralized you had stopped.

"(Y/N), do not worry," He reassured you, ducking his head to look you in the eye. "They are going to love you."

"But what if I say something wrong or, or, or, I'm not cool enough or whatever," you rambled, your eyes darting back and forth between his.

"I promise you that you are 100% cooler than anyone you'll see in there." Sam took you by your forehead and kissed you softly. "You're going to be great."

You smiled gratefully at him and squeezed his hand to let him know you were ready. It turned out, you fit right in with his friends. They all flocked to you immeditaly as you walked in, making sure to let you know that Sam talked about you all the time and that he was totally whipped for you.

At some point you'd gotten pulled aside by the host's, Leslie Higgins's, wife and she was talking to you about your home and family. You answered her questions graciously but kept looking over at Sam talking and laughing with his friends.

Finally, you had to excuse yourself to go talk to him. Sam saw you on approach and uncrossed his legs to make room for you to sit. You sat down so you were sideways on his lap, arms around his neck.

"So, how are you doing?" He checked, rubbing his hand up and down your leg.

You nodded at him, feeling quite content in his lap. "Good, your friends are all so kind."

You looked around at the group. Practically the whole team was there, all excited to be around each other and share in the many holidays they were all celebrating. It was so heartwarming to know how close the team was.

"They're a good guys," Sam agreed, following your gaze. "Even if they can be a little crazy from time to time."

His gaze lands on Isaac stacking empty beer cans as Richard is talking adamently to Jan Maas about something in french. You giggled as you looked at them. Sam gently brough his hand to your jaw, turning you back to face him.

"But I'm just glad that you are here," he murmured.

You smiled and brought your hands up to cup his face just as delicatly as he was holding yours. Then you kissed him and everyone else in the room vanished. It was just you and him. Forget angry frenchmen, forget the children running around playing with nerf guns, forget beer cans. Just you and Sam.

That was until you were being shot at by said nerf guns.

"No being gross at the dinner table!" One of the younger boys shouted, pointing their nerf gun at you.

"Hey! That's my girlfriend you're talking to!" He moved you off his lap gently and got up to start chasing them. You laughed, watching him run around the table.

#sam obisanya reader insert #sam obisanya x you #sam obisanya x y/n #sam obisanya x reader #sam obisanya #ted lasso #ted lasso show

[cadmusfly]

In the magical girl Marshalate AU

Napoleon is either the main character who everyone is trying to protect

or the cute mascot who gives everyone their powers and may have nefarious motives

#cadmus rambles #cad rambles about dead Frenchmen on main #most of my followers are not here for the Dead Frenchmen Posting but too bad #my main magical girl exposure is PMMM and random edgy webcomics #I don’t actually have much more thoughts on this au but I am sketching a Sabre and a Scythe

[shaarlslec]

friends

part 1 & part 2 here lovelies;

pairing: charles leclerc x reader (ft. pierre gasly x reader)

summary: Charles sees paparazzi pictures taken with you and a very drunk Pierre and that does not do him good although the three of you have claimed to be just friends.

words: 6000 ish

warnings: swearing, a lil bit of smut, heart-broken pierre

masterlist

“You came for the keys?” You dared to speak after cleaning your throat and facing Charles now with Pierre’s hands off your face defendable resting across his body just enough to trace the back of your hand with his fingers, “They are on the kitchen table.” You harshly spoke as you drifted form Pierre leaving him with nothing to touch but just the spot you stood in rejecting him for the man who just entered the hall, “I will get them for you.”

Charles noticed Pierre’s look on him, that dreadful stare that the Frenchmen displayed when angry. Charles knew that he interrupted something, and he wished that the interruption occurred before that something happened. The Monegasque noticed not only Pierre stare towards him, but also your flustered steps taken towards the kitchen and the rosiness of your cheeks. Charles felt the boiling blood rushing through his veins because of Pierre and you again, and again, and again. Damn, he had to keep it under control this time if he did not want to screw it up again. Charles had to keep his jealousy in check this time to make sure that he was not going to say something stupid again as he did earlier that day. 

“No.” Charles firmly spoke although aggravated by the view, “I promised you hangover soup, right?” The Ferrari driver spoke as he casually lifted two bags of groceries in the air, “I see you two are busy so I will just take the keys then.” Charles awkwardly spoke as he followed you to the kitchen counter where he placed the bags, “I apologise for earlier.” He then spoke when he reached the distance for only your ears to hear, “I know this is not what you want me to say but I am really sorry.” Charles then spoke, catching your glare on him. You knew that Charles was not lying judging by the way he looked at you with soft eyes and a very much pinched bottom lip by clenched teeth. You figured him out, you always do. Seeing you and Pierre that close irritated him in such way that it could not be put in words but only apologises. You wanted to assure him that nothing happened between you and the Frenchmen, but words seemed to not be enough from your side as well. 

“Charles I-“

Before you could say something to him, you heard Pierre’s voice echoing in the room in quite an upset tone, “No, we are finished. You stay, I leave.” The Frenchman spoke and went straight to the exit door passing by you and Charles. Your look was now moved from Charles to Pierre. Your chest lifted in a heavy sigh; you were not even given the time to properly talk with Pierre about what was maybe going to happen if Charles was a little bit late and now you had Charles looking defended right in front of you. You wanted to apologise to Pierre, you wanted to make sure that everything is good between the two of you and that you two will be good for the remining of your days while also calming Charles. You screwed up big time, and the timing between the three of you now meeting in your apartment was not helping at all. You could not stand the thick atmosphere between the two of them. You had to come with a solution, you were the one out of you three that always knew what to do in situations of crisis. You knew both, and both knew you. 

You watched Charles and Pierre as they exchanged awkward glances, and then snapped your fingers to make them both attentive to you at. You were not going to let any of them leave until you patched things up between the two of them. You had to make them spend time together and to let it all go and to remind them what are friends for and what your friendship was all about. And only after that you were going to solve things between you and Pierre and between you and Charles. Now their friendship was all that mattered to you.  

“No.” You tightly spoke after the snap, “What about you both stay?” You demanded, eyes fixed on both of their figures, “You both know that I have no idea how to cook.” You agonised with a dramatic hand movement to the groceries, “Help me out here boys, I really need two strong men to cut some vegetables and boil the water.” You sarcastically cried, “How can a female do it on her own?” You continued the joke while looking at them with big pleading eyes. 

You could not handle both of you being mad at the same time, especially at you and at each other. You knew that Pierre and Charles loved each other deeply and that a dating scandal involving you with one of them will not be enough to crash the relationship between the two. You wanted to fix things, that was your role throughout your three-way friendship. You were the mediator, the fixer of it all and being the apple of discord was not your thing, and they both knew that you meant anything but harm with your invitation. Your plan was for the three of you was to spend the afternoon together as if nothing happened before Charles stepped in the apartment. Your friendship was way too important for discussions such as before to ruin it. You knew that they were aware of that too. 

“Please boys.” You genuinely spoke now, “I want you both to stay.” You spoke, putting them right on the spot as you switched your glare from one to the other, “I really do suck at cooking.” You laughed it off to de-tension everything that was going on in that open living room. 

Charles and Pierre took a turn in looking at each other before bursting into laughing, “You never quite figured out how to play the damsel in distress.” Charles spoke, already taking out the groceries from the bags assuring you that he was going to stay, and that he always stayed when you wanted him to do so. 

“Thank you.” You muttered towards Charles, then switched your glare from him to the Frenchman in the hall, “Pierre, please.” 

Pierre took a short breath in; how could he say no when you begged for him so nicely? The Frenchman thought once again of what a fool Charles is for letting you slip in between his fingers in such a way when you were more than willing to beg for more than just to stay from Charles. 

“That was so far the worst act you have ever put on in front of us, right Charles?” Pierre added as he was coming in the kitchen to search for a pot to boil water in, “You always been far from being the damsel in distress.” 

They stayed, of course they stayed. Your plan worked out perfectly for the next couple of hours. You cooked together mocking either Charles for not properly cutting the vegetables or Pierre for not knowing when the water was perfectly boiled. You stood up on the counter as they made fuzz in the kitchen by competing on who was going to make the best soup and not letting you touch anything in the process. It reminded you of when you were young, and they used to compete against each other on every single little thing letting you be the judge of the invented competition: who runs the fastest on the racing tracks, who scores more points in silly games, who dances the best on Latina tunes, and now who your heart fluttered most for. 

Until the soup was ready you played last year’s Azerbaijan Grand Prix and the three of you went full into analysing mode. You paused at every turn, every corner, every straight line. You considered which were the best strategies from last year that could have been applied this year as well. The three of you were completely engulfed now in the F1 talk. You loved it, all of you. After all the sport was the main factor that bought you together and everything after that just followed. You went into focus mode so deep that you even forgot about why you fought with Leclerc earlier that day and that Pierre wanted to kiss you. 

“Damn Pierre, I have forgotten that you were brilliant in this race.” Charles spoke as the replayed race finished and Pierre crossed the checked flag on the screen, “Brilliant drive mate.” 

“Oh be serious, I just got lucky with a podium there, your car was shit last year compared with what you guys have now, you will do just great.” Pierre answered with eyes fixed on the TV. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I will not say that it was completely shit.” 

Charles and Pierre both laughed, “Not the parts that you and your father designed.” Charles replied to you before turning to Pierre, “Never say again that it is just luck for you. You are an amazing driver!” 

You and Charles both nodded at the same time, “You are indeed an amazing driver Pierre.” You added to Charles, both of you stroking Pierre’s shoulders for comfort, “You both are actually.”  

“Not enough to be promoted at Red Bull though.” Pierre huffed, and you and Charles exchanged yet again one of your typical glares whenever the words “Red Bull” were mentioned. 

“I know it is hard for you to believe this, but they are the ones who are losing big time for not giving you back your rightful seat.” You spoke, rolling your eyes only at the thought of Horner’s decision from years ago, “Do you want me to sneak in their garage and sabotage their cars?” You chuckled, “It will benefit you too.” You spoke pointing your finger at Leclerc. 

“Y/N is right.” Leclerc agreed, “Not the sabotaging part.” He then chuckled, “I would have paid good money to see their faces when you won in Italy.” Charles declared, “Oh no we need to replace our good-for-nothing advisor.” Charles spoke as he tried to imitate Horner’s voice. 

You and Pierre busted in laughter at Charles’ poor impression of the sport principal, and then you tried to equal your friend’s performance. You spend the next couple of minutes picturing how much of a fuss Pierre created in the Red Bull garage and successfully managed to brighten up the French driver’s mood.   

“Ok, ok, you two are right. I will just keep proving them that they were in the wrong for kicking me out.” Pierre ended up speaking in between laugher provoked by you and Charles’ squawky voices imitating Horner. 

You missed this, you missed it so much. Even since you got your spot at Ferrari meetings between just the three of you were rare. You smiled non-stop watching them complimenting each other and then replaying the race right from the beginning, reliving every second of it with closed eyes to prepare for the next weekend. You bought the soup to the kitchen table as they were mentally lapping on the circuit and watched the two grown up men sitting on the couch falling in love with the sport that they have been practicing for decades again and again. You could not help yourself but smile at the picture and tell yourself that your interference with it can only do them good, and never try to take away what Charles and Pierre had. 

“Come on boys, late lunch is ready.” You spoke once the soup was indeed ready to be served.  

“Coming mom, three more corners.” Both shouted at you from the couch at the same time. 

You could not help yourself but laugh at them as you arranged the table, how could you give up on one to choose the other? Your heart sunk as they both took their seats at the table behaving as good kids. 

You joined them and started the gossip session about the grid. At this point, it was tradition every time when you three had a meal together. You knew all the gossip from Ferrari and Alpha Tauri garages from the two drivers, and they knew all the good scoop from fellow engineers from you. You chuckled every single time when one of you started with, “who am I to judge but” or “I am not saying that what they did is either wrong or right but”. 

The tension from last night and this morning vanished away with every gossip shared and every laugh heard echoing in the room, and yet you could not play pretend all day. You would have loved to do so; you would have loved to spend all your afternoons in their company talking about F1 in such manner. But then again, you cannot live your life only at its ideal points. 

“Have you told Charles about Ferrari’s decision?” Pierre asked you as he was helping with the dishes while Charles was cleaning the table, “Does he know that you might be fired?” 

You shook your head, “No, and please keep it as a secret for now.” You asked of Pierre, looking over your shoulder at a very concentrated Charles who wiped the table squeaky clean, “I will find a way.” 

Pierre nodded, “You should not be the one to find a way alone, you always do that on your own.” He then spoke, carefully placing the bowls back into their places, “I already told you that you should let us take care of you once in a while.” Pierre added with both eyebrows arched up, “I should be the one who solves this.” He then spoke, watching you watch him back without a word to say knowing very well that Pierre solving the scandal means more exposure on his side thing that no team wants from their driver when it comes to scandals, “I am sorry for earlier Y/N.” Pierre then apologised, and you could not believe your ears that you had both apologising in the same day to you, “It was a dick move to try and kiss you.” He then continued, “I know how much you care for Charles and I never inten-”

“I know, and it is okay Pierre.” You nodded as a sign that you accepted the man’s apology, “I am also sorry for leading you on.” You continued, focusing on cleaning the plates rather than looking into Pierre’s eyes fearing that you might feel what you felt earlier in the living room.

“Leading me on?” Pierre confusingly repeated your words, “Honey, you never in your life lead me on. I always knew it was Charles, I was just trying my luck today.” Pierre flirty spoke to you once again before throwing you a cheeky wink, again hiding behind pick-up lines and silly flirts.  

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Charles’ voice startled you coming from your back.

“Verstappen.” You and Pierre both lied at the same time, surprising each other even more that you got the same answer at the same time. You slightly fist bumped Pierre when Charles was not paying attention, “We are good at this.” You whispered to Pierre before Charles’ attention switched from the now clean table to you with a tiny smile on the man’s face. 

Pierre noticed the nervousness in Charles’ smile and then saw you completely sueded by it and that was he understood once again that you will never give up on everything that Charles made you feel. Pierre declared him defeated, no rejection from a girl ever before broke him as yours did a couple of hours earlier and it was only now that he understood why. You two might have your silly little flirts with each other and might be comfortable being in each other’s arms at times of need, but you never looked at Pierre in the way you do at Charles. Pierre made you shiver with calculated touches, whereas Charles managed to do that with only a half-smile. You looked happy when Charles was doing that, and that was everything that Pierre whished for at that very moment. Pierre knew that you deserved the world, and he knew that it was his job from now on to make sure that Charles was giving you that – no matter how much it hurt to do so. 

“Ok then.” Pierre spoke, breaking the silence that has installed in the room, “I will get going now.” He added in an amused tone, “You two have to talk.” Pierre added as he quickly grabbed you in a warm hug and placed a swift goodbye kiss on the top of your forehead, “See you in Azerbaijan child.” Pierre then said before hugging Charles only to whisper into his best friend’s ear, “I am meddling again if you screw it up for the second time today.” 

Charles returned Pierre’s embrace, “Kill me if I ever screw it up again.”

“Gladly.” Pierre laughed, and it was the only word that you heard the two of them sharing. 

You watched Pierre leave and your heart sunk again for him that day. You somehow always knew that Pierre was the easy answer no matter how much you lied to yourself that the flirts and the flings were just games. But then again, Pierre was not Charles. For you at least, no one could ever be him nor even close to him. Oh, you were in too deep. 

“Thank you for today.” Charles spoke once Pierre’s steps faded on the outside after you shouted a short “please take care” to Pierre, “It has been a while since we gathered like this.” 

You nodded, “Yes, I know.” You spoke as you fretfully stretched the back of your neck, “I hate when you two are not okay.” You confessed as you leaned back on the counter with your head into your hands now, “I hate when I am the reason of it.” You spoke, letting all out and at once. You were tired of playing games with Charles of not telling him the whole truth about how you felt towards him, “I am sorry I took your car.” You confessed as you lifted your glare from the ground to meet Charles inches apart from yours as your friend presumed to take a few steps towards you, “I just wanted to avoid the fight.” 

Charles leaned next to you as well, part of his hand touching yours which was back on the counter for support. You both watched your pinkies intertwine as your hands searched for more than just a mere touch of your fingers. You felt your heart up in your throat, and Charles’ chest was barely holding up together not to break due to the throbs of being this close to you. And yet, none of you dared to make the next step. This is how it has been since you were teenagers, too afraid to move forward, too fearful to confess anything, too anxious to say out loud what was going on in both of your minds, but not anymore. 

“I really do not want you to date Pierre.” Charles confessed, “I said that just because I saw the pictures when you were on the phone and I just—” The driver stopped to lock eyes with a very confused you who was not expecting Charles to be this sincere with you this fast, “I went ridiculously insane.” He then spoke as he went away from the spot next to you only to anxiously walk in rounds in the kitchen as the words flew continuously out of the man’s mouth as he was nervously gesticulating with both hands in the air, “The truth is that I was always jealous of the way in which Pierre seems to so easily touch, hug, kiss you.” Charles stated once his agitated steps stopped next to the couch in the middle of the living room, “I clenched my fists even now when he kissed you goodbye because I never get to do that first, Pierre is always the most edger between the two of us to catch your attention and I hate myself for letting it slide every single damn time.” 

“Charles,” You called his name in such an endearing tone that his eyes softened as he watched you following him back in the living room, “There was never something going on between me and Pierre aside from cheap flirts and cheesy pick-up lines.” You assured him, “I always have wanted you to kiss me goodbye first.” You confessed as you approached Charles to slide one of your hands into his for them to tightly clasp together, “I just supposed that you never wanted to do so.” You replied, watching him titling your head in disbelief and confusion at his right as both man’s eyebrows arched up, “I want you to kiss me all the time Charles.” 

Charles’ chest lifted in a heavy sigh before his voice trembled as he replied to your request, “Even now?” The Monegasque then asked as the man’s grip tightening around your fingers up to the point that they could have broken if applied more force from Charles’ side. 

You nodded, “What part of ‘all the time’ is not understandable enough?” You laughed as your other hand went around Charles’ neck to bring him closer to you if that was even possible judging by the almost non-existent space in between your bodies. 

Charles smiled and went for it as soon as your breaths hardened underneath each other’s glares filled with unimaginable lust and unthinkable desires. Your first kiss with Charles felt exactly like you both had Imaginate it. Sloppy at first, but nervous all the way, and then slowly turning in something more than a mere collision of hungry mouths and untamed lips. You closed your eyes and took all in. Charles’ scent glued on yours, Charles’ way of searching for more than just your mouth to kiss, Charles’ skin jabbed by your nails as you bought the man the closest that he has ever been to your body, Charles’ soft moans as you departed briefly only to catch your breath in. 

Charles followed your example as well and was engulfed by everything you had to offer him at that moment. Your soft and wet lips on him, your trembling fingers searching for support on the edge of the coach as he leaned you on it while the other hand was playfully tracing lines at the top of his already ruffled hair. 

“You should have done this sooner; I should have made you jealous a long time ago.” You breathlessly managed to speak once Charles was already on top of you on the coach, looking for a better way to sustain your body against him by wrapping one of his arms around your waist while the other sustained his bodyweight on the edge of the couch.

Charles chuckled as he gave you yet another short peak at the top of your lips, “Never try to make me this jealous every again, or else you might suffer other consequences.” He playfully warned as the man mouth went to attack your neck with the same short peaks leaving burning traces from your ear and down to your shoulder.  

You laughed, “What other consequences?” You inquired as you titled your head for him to have better access to your skin, “Oh fuck, Charles.” You moaned right when he pressed his lips against your ear just to slightly bit it afterwards knowing that you would enjoy the tease Charles was. 

Charles smirked as he lifted his glare to meet your pleading one, “What about we move this into the bedroom, and I can give you a preview for the type of consequences I am thinking about?” 

You immediately nodded as you were not going to be insane enough to give the question a second thought. Charles was amused by your eagerness being almost as big as his own was. The Monegasque took you up in both of his arms and carried you to your bedroom knowing exactly the path to your bed while managing to keep you entertained with long kisses and neck bites. 

The consequences Charles was telling you about rose to your expectations, and even succeeded to surpass some of them. You two spent most of the night in the company of each other’s moans and screams, begs of mercy and pleadings for more. Charles was nothing but gentle with his tongue inside of you, and then nothing but merciless when inside of you completely. Your mouth was covered by the Charles with the man’s palm more than once for you to not wake up the entire building with your lustful voice, and Charles’ mouth had to bite your shoulder countless times as you were on top of him to not do the same. 

“Fuck me, fuck me.” Charles groaned when you went down on him for the second time that night, “This feels so good.”

“Immediately Hervé.” You joked as you lifted your glare to catch him staring at the celling with an arched neck and hands gripping the fabric of the sheet in between his fingers, “How do you prefer me to take your ‘fuck me’ order?” You joked as you moved on top of him, “Slower?” You chuckled as Charles’ hands went back on the curves of your hips to move them exactly how he felt fit, “Or should I-”

Your words were cut by Charles’ hand going around your neck from the back to pull you down on him with a swift move to switch positions once again while hungeringly biting on each other’s lips. 

“I think harder is the way to go.” Charles then smiled, pinning you down the bed with the man’s hand still around your neck. 

You continued in this matter as the night held, or at least until your bodies held whatever they were taking in. You both loved to play, to compete, and to challenge each other. And yet, what you enjoyed even more was when left breathless laid naked next to each other in dim light before taking a shower together. You smiled as you caught Leclerc scanning your now frail body next to him. 

“What?” You asked him, tracing two of your fingers on the man’s bare chest, “Why are you looking at me like this?”

Charles smiled before taking your fingers into his to press his lips against the back of your hand, “Admiring.” The man simply answered, “What I should have admired long time ago.” 

You chuckled as you traced your thumb on the man’s bottom lip, “The important thing is that you are doing it now.” You spoke, cuddling at the man’s chest after giving him a quick peak on the lips, “Will you keep doing it?” You inquired him while looking up at him. 

“As long as you allow me to.” Charles straightforwardly answered as the man snuggled you closer to him. 

You both smiled and kissed one more time before laying in a comfortable silence for a while. The words “I love you” were pierced on both of your tongues, and yet no one managed to get it out from your mouths. But then again, somehow you both knew what no one of you dared to speak. It was one of your things, unspoken truths held as secrets on top of your lips while both being aware of the unuttered words. 

“Shower?” Leclerc inquired, catching your glare back on him. 

“Shower.” You nodded as you rose from the bed only to glue your body on Charles again on your way to the bathroom. 

***

The next day you were woken up by your phone blasting messages and calls, all of them containing the words: Pierre, Instagram. Not your ideal way of waking up next to the man you had desired for quite some time now. You were the first one to open your eyes and to watch a somehow bothered Charles half naked now next to you. You smiled; you were finally living what you lusted for in the last couple of years – to wake up early next to Charles Leclerc. Your dream come true man annoyingly woke up minutes later after he felt your body moving from his. The first thing that he did was to catch your waist within his arm to bring you close again to him. Hell, Charles was never again going to let you be away from him. 

“Oh no, throw that away.” The man slowly murmured at your ear as he slowly opened his eyes to see you taking the phone from the nightstand, “Oh fuck.” He then whispered as his phone started acting funny too, “Ok, let’s throw both away.” Charles spoke as he grabbed his phone as well to put it on silent mode but being stopped by the notifications blowing on the screen, all of them containing Pierre’s Instagram handle. 

“Oh my God.” You whispered before covering your mouth with your palm in shock, “He just—” 

You both opened Pierre’s post at the same time as you were both tagged in. Photos with the three of you appeared on the screen, all of them from your personal archives that no one else had access showing you three laughing, drinking, having fun at parties or attending family gatherings from when you were ten. Charles was the first one to read the caption all loud for you to hear as you were swiping through the pictures. 

“I declare myself the happiest man to ever existed because throughout my life and career I had friends and family that supported me even my dumbest decisions, and those two that you see here have been my greatest supporters since day one. I want to be the first one to stop all the rumours that have been circulated these days by showing you that between me and the beautiful woman you see in these pictures is nothing more than just a long-lasting beautiful friendship that I share with Charles even since we were little kids dreaming of becoming world-champions throughout which she has been our number one fan. The more you look at the pictures, the more you can see that her heart is already spoken for and not for me, and that there lays nothing more but respect and love between me and my friends. I hope you can all respect this from now on and stop with the nasty comments towards the ones that made me what I am today.” 

You listened to Charles voice, now you were both fully awake by the news of Pierre positing you both on Instagram. 

“Did Pierre just-”

“Made our relationship public? Yes.” Charles continued, now swiping through the pictures as well. 

The last picture out of the bunch was one of you and Charles alone. It was taken at your eighteenth birthday when you were too drunk to be taken home from the bar back to your place and since both drunk heavily too that night none of them drove you back home using a car. It was your bold decision then to walk home and not to call a cab, and since Pierre and Charles were listening to your pleadings all the time, they decided to take turns in carrying you on their backs.

“No, no.” You drunkenly barely spoke then while sitting down on the cold concrete in front of the bar, “I want Percival to carry me all the way home.” You demanded, “Pierre, stay away from this.” You warned your other friend as you pointed a finger to him. 

“Gladly!” Pierre shouted almost as drunk as you, “My back hurts me so much from the training, you go Charles.” Pierre spoke as he hurried Charles to scootch down so you can hop in.

Charles was too drunk to even comprehend what was happening, let alone to oppose to either you or Pierre. Charles executed and you were on his back in no-time while Pierre was taking random pictures around the city at night and texting some of the girls he was then seeing. 

“Can I ask you why I am the only one to carry you?” Charles managed to ask after a few meters of walking in silence with you on his back after Pierre who was not really paying attention to your discussion.

“Form of punishment.” You replied, tightening your grip around Charles’ neck as you childishly swung your feet making him hard to keep the balance. Charles frowned but was not complaining at your actions, your friend only wanted answers. 

“Punishment for what?” He then inquired, slightly looking over his shoulder to meet your glare that was fixed on the back of his neck. 

“For kissing that girl at the bar earlier.” You honestly answered as you looked at Charles’ stare, “I saw you kissing her in the bathroom.” 

Charles’ cheeks went red in the darkness as he focused his eyes on the road rather than you, “You are punishing us for kissing girls now?” Charles inquired as he felt your head falling on his shoulder sign that you were about to go to sleep. 

“Just you.” You spoke into his ear, “I really hate when you are kissing other girls Charles.” You spoke as your heavy chest was liberated by an invisible ache that was burning from the point you caught him with yet another girl in the bar that was not you up to your drunk confession to him, “I want you to kiss me all the time.” 

Charles’ steps stopped once the words were uttered but so was your complete body as you were turned off to sleep after saying them. Charles dumbfounded looked at you not believing what you just confessed. That was when Pierre took your picture noticing that Charles was not walking anymore behind him. 

“Come on now Charles, we must take her home before her father notices that it is past two o’clock in the morning, he will murder both of us.” Pierre spoke as the picture of you confessing to Charles for the very first time and him left speechless was saved in Pierre’s gallery. 

You both stared now at the same picture but none of you remember the conversation you had that night. You were too drunk to do so back in the day, and now that you were seeing the photo you only saw two teenagers who were very much clearly in love but too afraid to admit so. 

“This will have implications.” You spoke first, “Oh my God, this is what he meant when he told me earlier that he will solve it for me.” 

Charles’ attention went from the drunker younger you carried by him to the woman standing next to him with only a shirt on her, “The scandal?” 

You nodded, “Yes, the thing is that there is something I have not told you yet.” You spoke as you put away your phone and took Charles as well to cup his hands into yours to kiss them twice before letting it all go from your chest, “Ferrari told me that they would fire me if I do not accept the whole fake relationship with Pierre.” You spoke, “I wanted to keep you out of it.” 

Charles was confused at first and judging by the man’s frown even a little bit mad that you were just now telling him about Ferrari’s decision, “I understand why you did not tell me and yet,” He then paused, “We are a team now stronger than we have ever been and you cannot keep secrets away from me, ok?” Charles softly spoke as he leaned in for his first well deserved morning kiss, “You were right to leave me out of it, I would have fought anyone who dared to even think about such decision.” 

You laughed before caving it for the kiss. Charles’ hands immediately went underneath your t-shirt as your tongues were searching for each other. You smirked, “Easy there Hervé.” You teased as you caught your breath in between kisses, “We need to call Pierre to thank him, and then we must get up and to pack for Azerbaijan.” 

Charles slightly rolled his eyes, “I hate sometimes when you are right.” 

You chuckled again, all you did that morning was to chuckle, “I am always right Charles.” 

“I will get so confused with the way you are using my names, love.” Charles spoke, hearing how sweet his name sounds coming now from your mouth and comparing with how different it sounds from the lustful Hervé.

“Oh, that is easy.” You nodded before explaining, “Charles is for day to day and my favourite out of all of them, Percival is for when you are drunk, Hervé for when you are horny and Leclerc for when I am mad at you.” 

“What about Marc?” Charles asked, “We need to find one for that too, right?”

You smiled, “Something tells me that we have plenty of time for that."

#i want to only use gifs with him happy pls #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #leclerc x y/n #leclerc x you #leclerc x reader #f1 one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x reader #fic: friends #f1 drabble #charles leclerc #pierre gasly

[microcosme11]

Napoleon at his worst!

General Thiébault goes to court and witnesses this ugly scene in 1810...yikes:

I was in the gaming room at the end of the rooms devoted to receptions; the empress played her part; and while so many kings, archdukes, princes, foreigners of the highest rank, and so many illustrious Frenchmen, followed the Emperor with their eyes and watched his slightest movements, he exchanged a few words with one, honored another with a nod, went from one gaming table to another, and addressed the ladies in words that were more piquant than gallant.

Having made his rounds, finding himself near the door which separated the gaming room from the drawing-room which preceded it, he crossed the threshold, and instantly an immense procession rushed after him. Waddling, he arrived in the center of the salon, stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, stared at the floor six feet in front of him and did not move. The kings, the Archduke Ferdinand, uncle of the Empress, and the other eminent personages who followed, stopped immediately; some drew back, others stepped aside, all close together, and a rather large circle formed around the Emperor, of which he occupied the center in an immobility that everyone imitated, in a silence that nothing interrupted. We began by avoiding even looking at each other; little by little we raised our eyes and looked around us. A few more moments, and our exchanged glances took on such a questioning character that everyone seemed to be wondering what this stage game was preparing: a tacit question, which, in the presence of so many foreigners, made everyone French feel uneasy. Indeed such a sudden meditation, as bizarre as it was out of place, could, for three or four minutes, be attributed on the part of the Emperor to the need to realize an important thought which he had unexpectedly been seized with; but after five, six, seven, eight minutes, no one was in a condition to make sense of it; and yet it remained evident that with a haughty and superb master, at a moment when it pleased him to create so singular a spectacle, it was best to do nothing. 

Unfortunately, Marshal Masséna, who was in the first rank, and behind whom I had placed myself, judged otherwise; I was even convinced that this man, who on the battlefield had such a happy inspiration, such a sure eye, but who retained none of his advantages at court, had thought he was doing Napoleon a service by offering him a natural way of ending a ridiculous scene, and, in its kind, the most ridiculous that I have seen in my life; he did not understand that by providing an offended chief a means of mortifying him, he was getting him out of trouble, but by substituting cruelty for [ridiculousness?]. Consequently, while no one in the world was moving, or dreaming of moving, he left his place, entered the circle which an evil genius seemed to have traced for him, to go there to seek an affront; then, with slow steps advanced towards the Emperor. Astonishment and curiosity showed on all faces; mine could only express fear; the wait, however, was not long; for hardly a few words, said too softly to be heard, had been uttered by the Marshal, when, without raising or averting his eyes, without making a movement, the Emperor articulated in a voice of thunder: “What are you doing?” This old marshal, who despite his glory and his dignities had just been humiliated in front of the whole of Europe, instead of leaving immediately and returning home to hide his shame, returned to his place without replying and, which completed my confoundment, regained it by stepping backwards. Never have I felt more mortified, never has the despot appeared to me in Napoleon with more arrogance and impudence; for it was gratuitously cruel to insult France with one of her oldest and most illustrious defenders. As for Napoleon, after this prize awarded for such great services, he continued his statue scene for a few more moments; then, as if emerging from a dream, he raised his head, uncrossed his arms, cast an examining glance at everything around him, turned around without saying a word to anyone and went back into the game room. At a sign, the Empress threw down the cards and rose; all games ceased and everyone was on their feet. Passing in front of Marie-Louise, he said to her in a rather dry tone: "Allons, Madame..." and continued to walk, while she followed him three paces behind him. As soon as he approached the door of the interior apartments, this door opened, and, the moment the Empress had passed it, it closed behind them.

Mémoires du général Baron Thiébault / publiés sous les auspices de sa fille Mlle. Claire Thiébault, d'après le manuscrit original par Fernand Calmettes, c.1 v.4

hathitrust

#I haven't even read this memoir it was quoted in another book #Thiebault memoirs #Napoleon being incredibly rude and crazy #Massena makes a regrettable error of etiquette #Napoleon drama queen #WTH #Massena probably regrets that General Bonaparte ever got into power

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Give me the last words of every figure that had a role in the French revolution

(Maybe it will be to many so you can give a little of if you want)

Louis XVI — on January 22 1793, Suite du Journal de Perlet reported the folllwing about the execution that had taken place the day before:

[Louis] climbs the scaffold, the executioner cuts his hair, this operation makes him flinch a little. He turns towards the people, or rather towards the armed forces which filled the whole place, and with a very loud voice, pronounces these words: “Frenchmen, I die innocent, it is from the top of the scaffold, and ready to appear before God, that I tell this truth; I forgive my enemies, I desire that France…” Here he was interrupted by the noise of the drums, which covered some voices crying for mercy, he himself took off his collar and presented himself to death, his head fell, it was a quarter past ten.

Jean-Paul Marat — several people who came to witness during the trial of Charlotte Corday reported Marat’s last words to have been a cry for help to his fiancée Simonne Évrard:

Laurent Basse, courier, testifies that being on Saturday, July 15 (sic), at Citizen Marat's house, between seven and eight o'clock in the evening, busy folding newspapers, he saw the accused come, whom citoyenne Évrard and the portress refused entrance. Nevertheless, citizen Marat, who had received a letter from this woman, heard her insist and ordered her to enter, which she did. A few minutes later, on leaving, he heard a cry: ”Help me, my dear friend, help me!” (À moi, ma chere amie, à moi !). Hearing this, having entered the room where citizen Marat was, he saw blood come out of his bosom in great volumes; at this sight, himself terrified, he cried out for help, and nevertheless, for fear that the woman should make an effort to escape, he barred the door with chairs and struck her in the head with a blow; the owner came and took it out of his hands.

The president challenges the accused to state what she has to answer. I have nothing to answer, the accused says, the fact is true.

Another witness, Jeanne Maréchal, cook, submits the same facts; she adds that Marat, immediately taken from his bathtub and put in his bed, did not stir.

The accused says the fact is true. 

Another witness, Marie-Barbe Aubin, portress of the house where citizen Marat lived, testifies that on the morning of July 13, she saw the accused come to the house and ask to speak to citizen Marat, who answered her that it was impossible to speak to him at the moment, attenuated the state where he had been for some time, so she gave a letter to deliver to him. In the evening she came back again, and insisted on speaking to him. Aubin and citoyenne Évrard refused to let her in; she insisted, and Marat, who had just asked who it was, having learned that it was a woman, ordered her to be let in; which happened immediately. A few moments later, she heard a cry: "Help me, my dear friend!” (À moi, ma chere amie !);she entered, and saw Marat, blood streaming from his bosom; frightened, she fell to the floor and shouted with all her might: À la garde! Au secours !

The accused says that everything the witness says is the most exact truth.

Girondins — Number 64 of Bulletin du Tribunal Criminel, written shortly after the execution, reports that, once arrived at Place de la Révolution, the Girondins sang Veillons au Salut de l’Empire together while waiting for their turn to mount the scaffold. Lehardy’s last words are reported to have been Vive la République, ”which was generally heard, thanks to the vigorous lungs nature had provided him with.”

Hébertists — On March 31, a week after the execution, Suite de Journal de Perlet reported the following anecdote, though I’ll let it be unsaid whether it should be taken seriously or not:

Here is an anecdote which can serve to make better known the eighteen conspirators whom the sword of the law has struck. On the day of their execution, several heads had already fallen when General Laumur's turn arrived. Ronsin and Vincent looked at him at the scaffold and said to Hébert: ”Without the clumsiness of this j... f... we would have succeeded.” They were alluding to the indiscretion of Laumur, who would tell anyone who would listen that the Convention had to be destroyed.

In Mémoires sur Carnot par son fils (1861), Carnot’s son also claims that, on the day of the execution, his father got stuck in the crowd witnessing the tumbrils pass on their way to the scaffold, close enough to hear Cloots say: “My friends, please do not confuse me with these rascals.”

Dantonists — the famous idea that Danton’s last words were: ”show my head to the people, it’s worth seeing” is, according to Michel Biard, at best backed by a dubious source — Souvernirs d’un sexagénaire (1833) by Antoine Vincent Arnault:

I found there all the expression of the sentiment which inspired Danton with his last words; terrible words which I could not hear, but which people repeated to each other, quivering with horror and admiration. ”Above all, don't forget,” he said to the executioner with the accent of a Gracque, ”don't forget to show my head to the people; it’s worth seeing.” At the foot of the scaffold he had said another word worthy of being recorded, because it characterizes both the circumstance which inspired it, and the man who uttered it. With his hands tied behind his back, Danton was waiting his turn at the foot of the stairs, when his friend Lacroix, whose turn had come, was brought there. As they rushed towards each other to give each other the farewell kiss, a guard, envying them this painful consolation, threw himself between them and brutally separated them. "At least you won't prevent our heads from kissing each other in the basket," Danton told him with a hideous smile.

Biard does however question how reliant Arnault really is, considering his account partly contradicts what earlier, more reliable ones, had to say about the execution. None of the authentic to somewhat autentic descriptions of the dantonist execution I’ve been able to find mention any recorded last words from Danton or his fellow convicts. That has not hindered authors and historians throughout the centuries to let their imagination run wild with the execution — look for example at how many have had Danton say something menacing about Robespierre on his way to the scaffold. Early Desmoulins biographers often have him be a sobbing mess, saying things like "Citizens! it is your preservers who are being sacrificed. It was I — I, who on July 12th called you first to arms! I first proclaimed liberty… My sole crime has been pity...” (Methley, 1915) or ”Thus, then, the first apostle of Liberty ends!” (Claretie,1876) and for Fabre there exists the claim that he hummed his song Il pleut bergère on his way to the scaffold, or muttered his biggest regret was not being able to finish his vers (verses), to which Danton replied that, within a week, he’ll have more vers (worms) than he can dream of. None of these statements do however appear to be backed by any primary sources. Finally, John Gideon Millingen, twelve years old at the time of the execution, reported in his Recollections of Republican France 1791-1801 (1848) that ”[Danton’s] execution witnessed one of those scenes of levity that seemed to render death to a jocose matter. Lacroix, who was beheaded with him, was a man of colossal stature, and, as he descended from the cart, leaning upon Danton, he observed, ”Do you see that axe, Danton? Well, even when my head is struck off I shall be taller than you!” It does however strike me as unlikely for Milligen to actually have been able to hear anything of what the condemned had to say.

Robespierrists — like with the dantonists, we have several alleged last words from more or less unreliable sources. The apocryphal memoirs of the Sansons does for example report Saint-Just’s last words to have an emotionless ”Adieu” to Robespierre, and for the latter we have a story that his last recorded words were ”Merci Monsieur,” which he said to a man for giving him a handkerchief to wipe away the blood coming out of his shattered jaw with (can you even talk under such conditions?). However, here I have again collected trustworthy descriptions, and none of them record any last words. In this instance it’s not exactly strange either, given the fact many of the condemned had been injured so badly they were more or less unconscious by the time of the execution. 

Other alleged final words can be found in this post, among others Madame Roland’s ”Oh Liberty, what crimes are committed in your name” and Bailly’s ”I’m cold.” I will however doubt the authenticity of all of them until someone shows me a serious source for them (the author of the post doesn’t cite any at all). Like I wrote above, I doubt anyone actually stood near enough to hear any eventual last words.

#french revolution #frev #robespierre #danton #brissot #hébert #louis xvi #desmoulins #fabre d’eglantine #ronsin #vincent #ask #the extent actual historians have fictionalized the death of actual people is pretty f:ed up if you ask me #read biard’s la liberté ou la mort: mourir en depute and you’ll see…

[sollannaart]

The Battle of Leipzig, October, 1813

By mid-October, Napoleon gathered all his forces near Leipzig, where on the 16th the started a battle that would later be called the Battle of the Nations .

Jan Czesław Moniuszko, Prince Józef at Leipzig

Commanding the Poles incorporated into the Grand Army as the 8th Corps, Prince Joseph defended the village of Markkleeberg south of the city. As he reported to Napoleon, on the 16th

"the enemy did not gain an inch of ground […] the army showed admirable zeal and endurance […] but I lost 1/3 of my men and I have no ammunition."

And on that very day, the 16th of October, the Emperor appointed Prince Poniatowski a Marshal of France, with the official nomination taking place a day later.

Prince Józef Poniatowski being presented the marshals baton, Reville's engraving after Martinet

As diarists recall, prince Józef received both the news about the nomination and the announcement that followed quite calmly, or even indifferently. However, he considered that moment not appropriate to insult the emperor with a refusal. So first Poniatowski asked consent of Frederick Augustus, King of Saxony and Duke of Warsaw, to accept the nomination. Then he hastened assure his subordinates that

"whatever happens he would never replace the Polish uniform with another one."

Also anticipating that the news of his new appointment might not receive support in Warsaw, prince Józef asked Tomasz Ostrowski

"to send to the capital as early as possible, by a known means, an explanation of the circumstances and an assurance everyone that if there is no war for Poland, no one will see him wearing anything but a civilian clothes".

Together with this, however, Poniatowski promised that in any case he would have to escort Napoleon to France. As for the global situation, the 17th of October was a day of rest and re-ranking of troops for both the Frenchmen and the Coalition , thus there was almost no fighting then.

Polish infantry fighting at Connewitz-Probstheida, a drawing by Raffet

On October 18, Prince Joseph was defending Probstheida, a village southeast of Leipzig. But that day the fighting was even more fierce than before. The French troops held their positions, but by the end of the day they were exhausted and depleted as a result of the intensifying attacks of the Allies, who, in addition, had on the previous day received reinforcements in the form of General Bennigsen's Czech Army and the Army of the North commaded by Bernadotte. Considering all this, that evening Napoleon considered the battle a lost cause. So, he then began organizing the retreat. The corps of General Reynier, Marshal Macdonald and Prince Poniatowski were to defense the rear guard of the French. They were to hold the city of Leipzig for 24 hours for the Grande Armée to gain as much time as possible.

Napoleon resigns after the Battle of Leipzig, From a painting by Ludwik Braun

Having arrived in Leipzig at nine o'clock in the evening, Napoleon stayed at the hotel "At the Prussian king", where he asked Prince Józef to come. They then had, according to Baron Agathon Fain's account, the following conversation:

- Prince, you will defend the southern suburbs. – Sire! I have very few men, most of my corps have, following Prince Berthier's orders, crossed the Elsther at night. - How many Poles are there with you? - My usual escort, i.e. two hundred of the Krakuses, the same number of cuirassiers, staff and several cavalry units, in total about eight hundred people. - Well, this will be the way for you to defend the southern suburbs and cover the retreat of the army with the Prince of Tarentum… For 800 Poles are worth 8,000 other soldiers. - Your Majesty can trust us, we will cover the retreat, even if every one of us dies!

These were the last words the prince addressed to the emperor. After saying goodbye he looked "preoccupied and sad". What's more, that meeting was probably the last time Poniatowski and Napoleon seeing each other...

January Suchodolski, Napoleon and Józef Antoni Poniatowski at the Battle of Leipzig

On the morning of the last day of the battle, Polish troops were defending a section of the southern suburbs near the Peters Thor gate. Moreover, that time they had not only to fight the enemy, but also there intensified clashes with the locals, who were shooting at the retreating units from the windows.

Author Unknown, Prince Józef Poniatowski during the Battle of Leipzig

At about 11:00 Prince Józef found it impossible to conduct further defensive operations in this place and ordered a retreat. The Poles moved along the esplanade, where, near the Wasserkunst fountain, they fight the enemy in an organized manner for the last time.

Jan Chełmiński, Prince Józef Poniatowski at the head of the troops at Leipzig

During that skirmish Poniatowski was probably wounded (probably not first time). As Klemens Kołaczkowski recalled:

He received a wound in the hand from a rifle bullet; he ordered it to be treated, got back on the horse and, holding his hand on a scarf, he did not stop fighting.

Then the Poles, having left the city walls, were looking for a crossing. The first on their way was the Pleisse River, deprived of all bridges on Napoleon's orders. Kołaczkowski:

Prince Poniatowski <…> was exposed to the fire of enemy tirailleurs, in dense troops approaching from all sides. General Bronikowski, standing next to the prince, advised him to seek salvation by swimming. But the prince answered him quickly: "One must die bravely!" (Il faut mourir en brave - AS) He ordered the rest of the escort to attack enemy tirailleurs one more time, but that managed to stop their advance only for a moment. There was not a single moment to lose! In this last resort, the prince finally followed the opinion of the officers surrounding him, mounted his horse and jumped into the river with him!

Jan Bogumił Plersch, Prince Poniatowski crossing Pleisse

The water was flooding the banks high up; the horse, carried away by its momentum, could not reach the shore. At this sight, captain Blechamps from the staff rushes after the prince, helps him swim and get to the opposite shore.

But there was one more river to cross – the Elster. Which had also been devoid of all its bridges except one. But even that one was earlier that day blown up by mistake when a significant part of the French were still on the other bank.

Retreat of the French from Leipzig, October 1813, an English engraving

What's more, in German Elster means "magpie". And according to legend, a gypsy woman once told Prince Joseph that he would die because of a magpie. And that's how it happened.

Tadeusz Korpal, Prince Poniatowski at Leipzig

Kołaczkowski:

The prince was walking on foot through the gardens lying between Elster and Pleisse: here, he was shot in the side by a rifle bullet for the second time and fell into the arms of the officers surrounding him. However, he soon regained consciousness and, with the help of his adjutant, mounted his horse with difficulty, swaying in the saddle. The Poles started to appeal to him to take care of himself and, handing over his command to another general, to preserve himself for the homeland. But the prince's courage seemed to increase with danger. "No! no!" he shouted "God has entrusted me with the honor of the Poles, I will only give it to God". The engineer's officer comes running and points to the most convenient place to cross; the prince, walking along the river bank, heads in that direction; but when he notices the enemy unit blocking his path, he shouts loudly: "There they are!" He turns his horse and rushes to Elster. Weakened by his wounds, he can no longer steer his horse, but the beast can only follow the current and cannot climb the high, precipitous shore. All this happened under a hail of bullets. At that final moment, the prince receives his third wound, slips from his horse and, carried away by the rush of the water, begins to sink. The good Blechamps comes to the aid again. In noble zeal, he throws himself into the river and grasps the prince. He was seen holding his arms and trying to lift the prince's head above the water, but the efforts of this noble man were in vain. They both disappeared forever in the currents of the treacherous river! Such was the death of a Polish hero, a beloved leader who preferred death to ignominious captivity.

Prince Poniatowski at Leipzig (enlarged)

According to another legend, at Leipzig prince Józef was to see the notorious White Lady of the Poniatowskis for the last time.

#józef poniatowski #poniatowski #1813 #Leipzig #the battle of leipzig #napoleonic wars #napoleon bonaparte #Jan Czesław Moniuszko #Ludwik Braun #January Suchodolski #Jan Chełmiński #Jan Bogumił Plersch #Tadeusz Korpal

[ameonds-dragonn]

Heyy! I decided to make a pt2 of my Tom story I posted this week. Just a for warning, I haven’t seen world on fire actually. Only clips on YouTube and tik tok, so sorry in advance. We take all the Ewan crumbs we can get :((

Warnings: hospital for a quick scene, Tom(yes he’s a warning), cussing, smut, angst, again WW2 events from the show. Marriage proposal(😉.. yes I’m marrying our smartass sailor off soon!)

Tom had been gone for 4 months, he wrote for the first couple months when he could. Wish he was on land, maybe he would be able to get his letters mailed.

Lois and Bonnie went off to sing for the soldiers, last I heard they were in Sweden. Xavier got shipped to France, father was commanding in Norway. Tom was somewhere in the sea, probably in trouble for his smart mouth. He always wanted to his voice to be heard, wether it was stupid or something he thought of. I used to roll my eyes so far into my head when he would say something to Lois about Harry. Lois was his favorite person to piss off, he acted like a little boy every time.

I had been working days and days, it helped me to not think of all the people I love are gone. On my days off, I would go see Douglas and talk with him over tea . Some days we would just sit in the kitchen in silence. He cried once talking about the kids and their mother. Tom never mentioned his mother much, I never asked. Lois had a picture of her one day, when I was over. She was beautiful, Tom got her blonde hair, but Lois was a carbon copy of her.

I was over at Tom’s for the weekly meeting with his dad. “Have you heard from Tom?” Douglas asked.

“No, too far from actual land to come up. For the first week, I thought he was ignoring me” I smiled.

“He would write if he could, love” Doug smiled

“I know. Did he tell you how he got in a fight with another sailor?”

Douglas rolled his eyes and shook his head, “No, but that doesn't shock me. Why?”

“Something about calling someone of the same rank sir. Tom ran his mouth talking about how he would call him something that a mother wouldn’t say. That wasn't enough he told him his probably would say it” I rolled my eyes

“He reminds me of myself, but I was never picking fights for the hell of it” Doug replied.

“I always thought Lois took after you”

“The war calmed me down”, he grinned

Eventually, Doug got tired and needed his nap. I headed home to see how mother was.

“I’m home” I closed and locked the door

“Get in here”, Emily pulled me to the living room

“Em, what is it?” I whined as she gripped my arm

Mom had the tv on and was crying

Subs around where Tom was supposed to be at got hit last night. His sub made it to shore, but they were shot at. My chest tightened, my breathing got out of control. “Have they announced the deaths?”

“Yes, Tom isn’t on it. Maybe he got rescued by some Allies” Mother replied.

“Right right” I started crying

I would listen to the death calls every night for his name. Each time he wasn’t on it.

A few months later,

Xavier came home and father soon followed, we were a family again. Emily’s mental health was better again, she was doing good in school. I was losing my mind, worrying about my blue eyed boy. Doug had received a letter that said Tom was shot that day. And Frenchmen took him to a hospital, he had been released not long after. But he wasn’t here in front of me, he could be dead in a ditch or decided to marry a French whore.

I was sitting at the nurse’s station, going over my charts for my patients.

“Excuse me?”

“Fill this out and someone will be with you for triage” I said too focused to look up

“Triage to see my girl?” They scoffed

Hold up! I know that scoff, Tom!

I rounded the counter to hug him, “You came back”

“Ooff! Of course I did, I promised you didn’t I?” He hugged me back.

“Didn’t mean you listened to me” I smirked

Tom pulled me out of his chest, but held me to look at me. “I think you’ve got even more gorgeous since the last time I saw ya”

“Don’t know how, I’ve been losing my mind for months now”, I sighed.

“I’m back now, so stop worrying”, he ran a finger down my cheek.

I couldn’t believe it was real, I had to be dreaming in my bed. I buried my face into his chest again to get his scent. He laid his chin on my head and rocked us.

“Y/n, Dr. Willis. Oh he made it back” Alice said.

I sighed, getting out of his arms, “What does he need now?”

“Don’t worry about it, I got it” Alice smiled.

“Alice” I watched her as she took a chart and

walked down the hall.

Tom snickered

“Shut up”

“Took her ten minutes to get pissed at me” Tom said.

I sighed, “I got another hour before my shift is over. I can’t exactly have you being my shadow, so go hang out in the waiting room”

Tom kissed my cheek before walking to the waiting room.

“Y/n” Dr Wills called out

“Yes sir?” I smiled

“Is that tall blonde your boyfriend?”

“Yes”

“Go clock out early, be our secret” He smiled

“No it’s fine, sir really” i replied.

“Y/n, when I came home from the first war all I wanted was my wife. I know how much you’ve worried about him. Now go clock out” He held my shoulders

“Thank you, Dr.Willis!” I smiled

“Go before I change my mind and drag you to the OR” He winked.

I nodded and went to clock out

Tom was smoking, flipping through a magazine

“Did I get you fired? Baby I’m so sorry” he stood up

“No, I think Alice told the dr you were back. He knows how much I worried about you. That and he told me he would drag me for a surgery if I didn’t leave” I grinned

“Well then, let’s go” He grabbed my hand

We were walking towards his house

“You and dad talked while I was gone?” Tom asked shocked

“Yes, other times we sat in silence with each other’s company. By the way you had the cutest little ass when you were a baby” I teased.

Tom blushed

“It took me two years to get you to blush. Awh Tommy don’t be embarrassed” I elbowed his ribs playfully.

“Mhm easy, that’s the I got hit at” He winced

“Fuck, I’m sorry”

“It’s okay, love” he rubbed my hand with his thumb.

We walked more

“Did Dad really show you my baby pictures? Or just my ass?” Tom light a cigarette

“Oh yeah. I saw you and Lois in the tub, when it was your 6th birthday party and you lost your front tooth. When you were 9 and thought flexing your muscles in your underwear was a good idea”, I snickered.

“My muscles were good when I was nine thank you! I��m asking Emily for baby pictures sometime”, He pinched my hip

I stopped for a second “What? No, you’re not!”

He turned around and smirked, “Ya coming love?”

I walked forward, “You’re lucky I missed you”

He opened the door for me, it was empty, but the light in the kitchen was on.

“Wanna take advantage of the flat being empty?”He laid his chin on my shoulder, holding my waist.

“Don’t know how much time we have, Thomas”, I smirked.

He seen a note on the counter and read it

We decided to go to a late showing of Gone with the Wind. Dinner is in the ice box

“That’s a two hour movie”

“Really? That’s good”, He took my jacket off

He captured my lips with his and clipped my nurse’s hat off. “Mhm, I’m not screwing you in the kitchen” I pulled away. We walked upstairs, occasionally stopping to make out on a hall. Tom ran his hands down my ass, I whined. “Jump” he mumbled in between a kiss. I jumped in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. My top of my nursing dress was half way off, exposing my bra to him.

He slammed the door shut with his foot, walking to the bed. Dropping me gently on his bed, I looked around. I haven’t been up here in months, the thought of walking up here to their room was a knife in my chest. “You okay”

“Yeah I’m fine, Tommy”, I smiled

Tom was peppering kisses on my neck, I was unbuttoning his dress shirt. Got his shirt off, I started to undo his pants. Something chirped, it was nighttime. Ain’t no way birds are chirping this late,, I looked over slightly. There was a yellow canary in a cage on a table.

Tom was leaving love bites on my chest, i tugged his hair a couple times, signaling him to rise up. “It’s just us here love”

“Then why is there a canary looking at my tits?” I cocked my eyebrow.

“Oh her”

“Oh” I mocked him

“She’s my buddy, we survived the war so I brought her back” He smiled.

I just blinked at him

“I’ll put a sheet over her, if it makes you feel better”, Tom nosed my right boob.

“She’s being quiet, just continue” I sighed.

Tom was getting close, i could see his hips slowing down. He put my legs over his shoulder, angling him deeper. “Oh god” I whined at the sudden change.

We were so into each other, we didn’t hear the front door open and close. Or Lois walking up the stairs. I was getting ready to cum, when Lois gasped. “Fucking animals! Gross” Lois slammed the door, screaming. Tom snorted and continued moving his hips. “Shut up!” I smacked his chest. “I don’t know why she didn’t think we weren’t gonna touch each other. Christ sakes!” Tom rolled his eyes.

We got cleaned up and dressed again, my hair was a mess. The curls I wore for work were destroyed. “You look fine”

“Not like I got fucked and his sister walked in. She probably told your father” I rolled my eyes, putting my heels back on.

“He probably heard us, you were better about being quiet this time” He zipped his pants

I blushed, “Shut up and walk me home, Bennett”

We walked downstairs. Douglas and Lois were on the couch. Doug had his paper and Lois was acting like she was reading.

“Did you have a good day, Y/n?” Doug asked as we took the last step

“Uh you know normal day, Mr. Bennett”

I chewed my lip, Tom was taking forever putting his jacket on.

“Mr. Bennett? I thought we were past formalities, dear?” He asked, laughing.

“Right. Good night Doug. Goodnight Lois” I replied back, pulling at my cuticles.

“I’ll be back, I’m walking Y/n home” Tom finally spoke up

“Hurry back. Goodnight Y/n” Douglas walked into the kitchen. I rubbed my hand over my face as he got up. Lois snorted

“Learn to knock, Lois” I spat back as we walked out

Tom’s shoulders were shaking from him containing his laughter. I cut my eyes up at him. “It’s not like Lois didn’t see what she already has”

“The war didn’t kill you but I’m thinking about it” I laughed at my dryly

“Oh I was jokin, baby” he sighed

“Come on and walk me home” I rolled my eyes

“Thanks for walking me home” I squeezed his hand as we made it to my house.

“No problem, love. Just being a good boyfriend” Tom kissed my hair

I hummed

“Okay good night, Tommy. I’m glad you’re back, I love you” I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him. “Love you too, baby” Tom moved to kiss me back.

“Y/n, it’s midnight! Get in bed”, Emily yelled out her window

“Keep your voice down, stupid!” I yelled back

“Better get in there, warden is waiting” Tom said

“Wish I was the only girl. See ya later”, I gave a side hug before walking inside

Tom’s pov

I watched Y/n get inside and I was gonna leave but Emily hollered at me

“She’s back now. What is it?” I asked

She smirked, “When are you gonna propose to my sister?”

“Soon as I get a ring and I get your father’s blessing” I scoffed. She was 15, why did she care if I was married to Y/n.

“Haha! You need my approval too. It’s hard to get” Emily cocked her eyebrow, like her older sister does constantly at me.

“You ask the father not the sister” I blew out my smoke

“Fuck tradition. You better catch daddy on a good day” She smirked.

“Goodnight, Emily” I waved as I walked down the street.

“What does blessing have to do with me marrying Y/n? Stupid kid” I sighed

Y/n always said her father was a protective dad and had his moody days. He won’t let Y/n marry me, I’m a jailbird. Y/n could have any bloke and she goes with me, why?

Lois was already in bed, the curtain was pulled between our beds.

“She home?” Lois asked

“Yeah. Her little sister said something stupid to me” I sat on the bed, taking my boots off

“What then?” Lois rolled to my side

“When I ask Y/n to marry me, I don’t just need her father and brother’s approval. I need hers too or I’m not marrying Y/n. What a crock of shit, she’s 15” I scoffed.

Lois giggled, “She just loves her sister, Tommy”

I sighed and got into bed

“Night Tom”

“Night Lois. Missed your annoying ass snores”

I was gonna marry Y/n, no matter what. Emily will have to deal with it, the father is the only blessing I need.

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett x reader #world on fire

[cousticks]

Hi cou <3 I wanted to ask if you had any thoughts on the Transcendents and/or any brainstorms on what we may see from them if they ever do appear cause there's some interesting names there

Hi Sol!! This ramble really got away from me. I end up going on about the Great War, different European organizations , talk about 55 minutes a little bit, brief stints on the real-life authors, this is really rambly as all hell.

Honestly? I don't know what to expect from them at all, and I'm quite excited about it.

Realistically, I don't expect them to appear directly. It seems like the Transcendents mostly exist in background and worldbuilding outside of the main series. Our favorite sad frenchmen Verlaine and Rimbaud were mostly for Chuuya's backstory (though Verlaine is still technically relevant, as an executive. I expect him to come back... eventually. The Chekhov's Gun of "waiting for a storm" wouldn't have been left if he wasn't mean to come back eventually in a plot relevant way, I hope. We know what happened to Rimbaud, too.

As for the big names we haven't seen any of yet, I feel like they were mostly involved in the circumstances of the War, and some background for 55 Minutes. (I had to go reread the passage where they're mentioned.) We... don't really know anything about them at all, other than they were European ability users who were deployed during the war with devastating outcomes.

Read more cut because I got real rambly <3

If we did see any more from them, though? I expect big things.

I study English literature, so I'm not too versed on other European works, unfortunately, so I did a little light research. (I encourage anyone better with German literature particularly to hop in.)

Goethe's Faust was wildly influential in German literature during a time where there was a push to form a unique literary identity separate from that of England and France, if I'm understanding correctly. It was and is a great work of literature that helped form the literary identity of a country. Foundational. That's not something to be taken lightly and I'd expect a powerful user to come out of it.

Similar with Victor Hugo. Plays, massive literary works, all riddled with social commentary that was key to his time. Big things. I'm more familiar with Hugo and kind of making the assumption anyone seeing this is, too. Or at least knows Les Mis. You don't write Les Mis to get anime twinkified in a way that is weak or uninteresting.

And of course, Shakespeare. Who had such a wild contribution on English literature and the language itself that we still use today plenty of words he invented, and follow the pattern of his plays to no end. I had a horrible Shakespeare phase I never grew out of, and have favorite sonnets (sonnets 131-134 my beloved). He was foundational to the language as we know it. I'm sure he'll be a powerful user.

But... sure, whatever. All the characters we know are powerful skill users in their own right. That's not new, that's just me going "look! this major author was important! wahoo!" I haven't said anything yet.

The Transcendent characters are... kind of strange, when you look at their real life counterparts. Most if not all of the characters are based off of authors within ~100 years of each other (with lifespans ranging from early 1800s to early-mid 1900s, generally.) With considerable overlap.

The Transendents, though? Are kind of outside of this. Victor Hugo is a little earlier than average, but he's got some decent overlap with the other authors. Rimbaud and Verlaine are in there, too. But Goathe? He was born in 1749, and died in 1832. The end of his life overlaps with some of the older authors generally present in the main series, but he really is significantly earlier, generally, to the point its kind of weird. And Shakespeare? Man is from the 1500s. He is so far removed from the other general eras that I was honestly surprised he was mentioned anywhere within relevant BSD canon. As such, I'm expecting to see some crazy shit with him, even in more background lore than actual main plot. Shakespeare is so far removed from any of the other authors featured and so foundational to his language that I can't imagine him not having crazy amounts of impact.

As far as the 'organization' itself, the Transcendents seem to be more of a class of ability users from the war more than any kind of group on their own, which I'll always find interesting. I'd love to learn more of what exactly they did in the war--its only mentioned that Goethe, Shakespeare, and Hugo 'clashed' during the war in 55 minutes. Each from one of the three countries who's peace treaty resulted in Standard Island. So likely they were all enemies. We don't really know who was on what sides, or what the "sides" were at all. Its interesting, because if we expand the scope to Rimbaud and Verlaine as well, that leads to three French Transcendents known, and only one English and one German. (I have my own running theory that Agatha Christie, or perhaps some other member in the Order is also a Transcendent, though.)

Which... I like to believe Shakespeare was allied with the Order, since they seem to call the shots for English ability users and foreign conflicts relating to such, and 55 Minutes says the Transcendents were deployed. As for the other two? Who knows.

We do know a decent bit about goings on in the French side of the war. We know they were running spies, with Rimbaud and Verlaine, and that there were internal conflicts at the time, as Verlaine killed his creator/was acquired by Rimbaud in what they called the May Uprising, iirc. France was also responsible for Mimic becoming what it was. Where Hugo fell into this, I don't know, but he was most likely working under whatever same government umbrella Rimbaud and Verlaine were. But with, theoretically, an even more combative ability, or just more blanket-powerful. Which... Rimbaud's Illuminations is pretty damn powerful, but Hugo was the one deployed as a direct offensive in the war, so we can at least assume his is either more combat-oriented or more generally powerful than Rimbaud's. That's about all I can assume about him.

Wells was an engineer for English skill-weapon development, which we can assume is a project that continued on in England after the war, considering how quickly the Order was able to deploy a weaponized skill user to wipe out Yokohama in Dead Apple. We really don't know much about the Clock Tower, other than the fact the Guild may also have ties to it, and that they're powerful. I'm sitting on the idea that Shakespeare was also involved in the order. We don't know what Agatha's ability is, but again we can make the assumption that whatever hers is, it is less combat oriented than Shakespeare's. Which... doesn't say much of anything, but we could theorize that Agatha's ability leans more manipulative or psychological than physical if it isn't combat optimized, which is an interesting insight to her, but kind of fitting to what we have seen of her, I think.

We... don't really know much of anything about the German side of things. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe Goethe is the first German author mentioned in BSD canon at all? So I don't really have a reference for him. We can assume his ability is combat oriented and insanely powerful as well, but I've got nothing beyond that. Hopefully we'll get more content surrounding that eventually, that would be really cool. But... assume combative or otherwise offensive, that's all I've got.

I... don't really know what else to say on them, honestly. There's so little known and so many pieces missing that I can hold high expectations for the Transcendents we haven't seen, but I don't know enough about anything surrounding them to really have more than vague speculation.

Its a silly one, but I personally would love to see some kind of weird obscured identity surrounding Shakespeare at some point. If you've never gotten into the Shakespeare Authorship Question conspiracy theory rabbithole, I recommend it. Some kind of weird identity obscurity in canon would be a really fun nod to it that would personally make me happy and will probably be a headcanon I hold, but beyond that I've got nothing.

This was a very long answer to tell you I have no clue, but I had fun with this ask anyway!! I hope something from it gives you some food for thought.

#asks? answered. hotel? trivago. #sol! #bsd transcendents #bsd #bsd 55 minutes #bungo stray timeline #i guess