#Maximilien Ly
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It's a Bird Thing (2017) [5 min] by Sylvain Bonnet, Justine Gautheret, Mathilde Le Gloahec, Maximilien Ly, Johanna Nizard, Léo Pieri, Andrea Roncancio, Jérémy Souillet and Ludivine Vincent | France
#3D#3D Animation#2017#5 min#Sylvain Bonnet#Justine Gautheret#Mathilde Le Gloahec#Maximilien Ly#Johanna Nizard#Léo Pieri#Andrea Roncancio#Jérémy Souillet#Ludivine Vincent#France#Animated Short#AnimatedShortOfTheDay#Animation#Birds#Flying#Invention#Goal#Isart Digital#Youtube
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cambrian period dashboard simulator
redlichiida-realdeactivated0645589142
petition to ban anomalocarises from the local sandbar. theyre so fucking big and it's freaking everyone out and me personally ion want a trilobite muncher looming over me when im trying to have a drink.
🪲 trillybite17 Follow
they dont call them the ABNORMAL shrimp for nothing, they're fucking weird
🎸 punkrock-halluci Follow
No, you know what petition needs to be started? One to get rid of ignorant bigots like you. Have you ever SEEN an Anomalocaris ever eat, let alone ATTACK a trilobite? No, you haven't. Because they DON'T EAT TRILOBITES. Do some fucking research before you say shit like this.
⚜️ splendidmarrella Follow
fyi if you get rid of anomalocarises from public spaces then you will quite literally starve. you know those dead soft-bodied organisms yall scavenge and eat? yeah anomalocaris is the one providing those for you. as a scavenger myself i have been personally impacted by loss of food due to unfair treatment of anomalocarises that have forced them to leave the shallows that i live in and let me tell you eating detritus and nothing else is literally awful. please think twice before you post something prejudiced like this.
🩶 pleurae71 Follow
common hallucigenia + marrella W
ignore the OP, i promise most of us trilobites aren't like them- i don't even know why this is a debate. i guarantee they've never stepped outside of their little rock cave in their life
🌀 xXcorynexospikesXx Follow
LMFAOO they deactivated☠️
32,354 notes
🫧 cambripuns Follow
What do you call a Hurdiidae without any eyes? A Hurddae!
♟️vampeytoia Follow
actually you'd call it 'uncle maximilien' because my uncle maximilien was hatched with no eyes
💼 stanley-shrimp Follow
Valerie, you and I both know damn well that you do not have an "Uncle Maximilien," let alone one with no eyes. Stop lying on the internet and stop leaving your soft-bodied organism carcasses on my front sandbed. It smells putrid.
♟️ vampeytoia Follow
wow ok mr fun police. just go and piss on my parade like that
51,039 notes
👾 fiveeyedcoolguy Follow
giys i.m tripping bals rn lol. shuld not hv eaten tge 'detritus " browni e from the hallucigna.. i saw thr magic anomllcrais
🪱 pinkpikaiapage Follow
What?? Elaborate
👾 fiveeyedcoolguy Follow
He told me a prophecy
6,211 notes
🦐 apexshrimpy Follow
she cambrian on my period till i explosion
#anomalo talks #misc tag #is this hash tag funny or no?
211 notes
🎸 punkrock-halluci Follow
thinking about dying my spikes again. what color should i get?
🍢 leancho852 Follow
Do magenta to match your skateboard!!
🎸 punkrock-halluci Follow
ohh that's actually really smart thanks🙏
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🪨 shalesifters Follow
🧽 the-odontogriphus767 Follow
yo wtf. none of these fuck the landmasses. we're all in the ocean for a REASON
🦪 biofilmer08 Follow
Hey, actually, a few other molluscs and I browse on the microbial biofilm :)
♟️ vampeytoia Follow
🤓
9,761 notes
🕸️ arthropodstemz Follow
reblog if u get around by undulating ur lateral lobes
21,006 notes
📜 g-wiwaxia Follow
Did anyone else happen to see @shalesifters poll on the landmasses (followed by the reblog of the mollusc)? I think that I was simply born in the wrong generation, that I should have been able to experience the joys of being a land-dweller. I may just have grown tired of being in the ocean every day; quite frankly I just want some sort of change or reform (especially considering the incredulous prices of jellyfish nowadays...)
#Rant #I hope you guys get the idea. I expect some (likely a copious amount of, actually) hate for this one, but regardless I thought that I'd share my thoughts here #I'd like to move to Laurentia
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📸 daily-cambrian-pics Follow
⚜️ splendidmarrella Follow
omg thats me on the bottom in the middle! @romip51212 @kookykootenia look its us from earlier today
🫑 kookykootenia Follow
Woah whatt this is actually crazy
🍤 romip51212 Follow
yo i look rad in that.. changing my header immediately
8,121 notes
🦂 radiodont-radiostatic Follow
DNI if you support any of the anti-anomalocaris propaganda that's circling around. Sick and tired of the twisted lies that are being spread on here. I won't stand for the slandering of my brethren.
#static speaks #dni #will not hesitate to block and report any of you bigoted assholes
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🪼 jlyfsgh224256 Follow
q
79,343 notes
🍌 nectocarisking69420 Follow
I FUCKING LOVE DETRITUS
🍌 nectocarisking69420 Follow
Yo wtf was i on last night
🍢 leancho852 Follow
You were just speaking your truth king!!
755 notes
🪸 see-you-lagerstatte Follow
thought too long about the big white orb beyond the surface and broke down crying. What to do about this?
#why is it there?????? what is it???? #please im going insane over this
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🐾 catboycanadaspis Follow
born to say "nya!" and meow. forced to consume the coarse particles found on the sediment surface
886 notes
🌊 tidal-trilobite Follow
hey has anyone else noticed that it's been harder to breathe lately or is it just me? can't afford to go to the doctor for an exam rn
🦀 clackyappendages Follow
I thought that it was just me! I might sound crazy but have there been less archaeocyathids lately??
🐚 sand-muncher-757 Follow
i've had TWO neighbors pass away from hypoxia in the past month, definitely have noticed the breathing issues too. also i havent seen an archaeocyathid in so long either. so weird😬😬
682 notes
#cambrian period#cambrian explosion#cambrian#paleozoic#paleontology#paleoblr#dashboard simulator#anomalocaris#anomalopost#opabinia#trilobite#hallucigenia#wiwaxia#canadaspis#pikaia#possible amrev reference
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Hi! Out of curiosity, what was the whole drama with Charlotte and Augustin? I’ve tried reading it in several Robespierre biographies and it’s never made sense
Good question! That you couldn’t find an answer in a biography that made sense is not all that weird, I tried looking over the ones I had access to and those that touched on the fight all got it wrong in some way in my opinion. The reason for this, besides the fact that the conflict is a pretty small detail in the grand scheme of things, is probably that we have several different sources mentioning it that all put their own spin on it in some way or another. I would say these sources fit into three categories:
First off, we have contemporary letters dealing with the fight written by Augustin and Charlotte themselves. These include an undated letter from Augustin to Maximilien, as well as a letter dated July 6 1794 from Charlotte to Augustin.
Second off, we have what Charlotte had to say about the fight in Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères, published in 1834 by Albert Laponneraye.
And third, there’s what contemporaries said regarding it. This mostly includes Armand Joseph Guffroy’s Secretes de Joseph Lebon et ses complices (1795) as well as the memoirs of Maurice Gaillard.
The fight, as far as we’re concerned, dates back to Augustin and Charlotte’s trip to the Army of Italy, where the former was tasked to go by the Committee of Public Safety on July 19 1793. Augustin set off a few days later together with Jean François Ricord, another representative on mission. For company, Ricord brought his wife Marguerite, while Augustin (on Charlotte’s request, if we’re to believe her memoirs) brought his sister.
We only have Charlotte’s memoirs to rely on regarding what played out between her and her brother during the trip. According to them, the group, after a time of traveling from town to town with counter-revolutionaries constantly after them, finally settled in Nice for a longer period of time. There, Augustin and Ricord made frequent outings to different divisions while Charlotte and Marguerite occupied themselves with making shirts for the soldiers during the day and went for walks and horseback rides in the countryside in the evenings. This latter activity soon proved to be troublesome, as ”several journals paid by the aristocracy” back in Paris started accusing the two women of acting like princesses with their equestrian outings. As a consequence, Augustin vetoed further horseback rides after receiving a letter from Maximilien regarding the issue, and Charlotte promised to abstain from riding from then on. But not long after, Marguerite, who according to Charlotte ”was the most frivolous and inconsiderate person in the world,” proposed they should go on yet another ride, and Charlotte, after trying in vain to remind her of what her brothers had said, hesitantly joined her.
When Augustin reproached his sister for the ride a few days later, Charlotte called on Marguerite to testify that it had been her idea. But Marguerite, instead of telling the truth, not only enforced the lie that it was Charlotte that had wanted the ride, but also added that she had taken her with her against her will. Augustin chose to believe her, much to Charlotte’s distress — ”My brother knew I was incapable of lying. Why then did he not want to believe me?” After this incident, Augustin started keeping a certain coldness in regards to Charlotte which caused her much despair, though it would not appear she tried to approach her brother to explain herself again.
The straw that broke the camel’s back came when Marguerite a while later suggested to Charlotte that they should go to Grasse together, something Charlotte agreed to do. But hardly had they arrived when Marguerite came forward with a forged letter, telling Charlotte it was from Augustin and that he urged her to return to Paris as soon as possible. A shocked Charlotte obeyed and set out for the capital the following morning, ending her journey somewhere in the fall of 1793. Marguerite in her turn went on to slander Charlotte to Augustin, saying that she didn’t care about him and that this was the reason for her brusque departure. She and her friend Madame Gesnel made him believe Charlotte had caluminated both Augustin and Madame Ricord. According to Charlotte, Marguerite was seducing her brother, who ”believed it essential to his honor and duty” to respond to her advances (it might be added that this is very similar to how Charlotte explains the relationship between her other brother and Éléonore Duplay). It evidently worked, and Augustin refused to see his sister when he too returned to Paris for a short stay (December-January), choosing instead to move in with the Ricords. He told Maximilien about both Charlotte’s brusque departure from Grasse, as well as her compromising the honor of him and Madame Ricord, causing the former to become angry with her too.
Such is the story as presented by Charlotte in her memoirs. Parts of it can and has been questioned, above all the idea of Augustin as completely innocent in the drama. Both Maximilien’s biographer J.M Thompson and Augustin’s Mary Young instead embrace the idea that there did exist a mutual liason between Augustin and Madame Ricord that Charlotte became an annoying witness to. Thompson declares himself sceptical in regards to the idea of Marguerite forging a letter from Augustin, while Young completely dismisses it and instead suggests the letter did indeed come from the pen of Augustin, eager to send his sister away so she wouldn’t be in the way of his love affair. The idea that there was something more than platonic friendship between Augustin and Marguerite also appears in the memoirs of Paul Barras, who served as a representative to Toulon at the same time as Augustin and Ricord:
Fully convinced that women constituted a powerful aid, [Bonaparte] assiduously paid court to the wife of Ricord, knowing that she exercised great influence over Robespierre the younger, her husband's colleague. […] Robespierre the younger was particulary attached to Madame Ricord.
Besides the question of Augustin’s guilt, it can also be observed that the letter where Maximilien tells his siblings about the controversy Charlotte’s horseback rides were causing has never been found. I’ve also not seen anyone point out the journals denouncing Charlotte and Madame Ricord’s outings the memoirs are alluding to…
If this first bit of drama can be boiled down to a mere personal feud, it gets harder to make the same case when we get to the second part of the conflict. This is where the first of the two contemporary letters — the one Augustin wrote to Maximilien — comes into the picture:
My sister does not have a single drop of blood that resembles ours. I have seen and learned so much about her that I regard her as our greatest enemy. She abuses our spotless reputation to lay down the law on us and threatens to take a scandalous step in order to compromise us. We must take a decisive stand against her. We must make her leave for Arras, and thus take her away from us, a woman who causes our common despair. She would like to give us the reputation of bad brothers, her calumnies spread against us aim at this goal. I would like you to see the citoyenne La Saudraie, she would give you certain information on all the masks that it is interesting to know in these circumstances. A certain Saint-Félix seems to be from the clique.
This letter is unfortunately undated, but two things has lead to all historians up until this point to place it somewhere in April-May 1794. The first is the fact that Augustin makes allusions to Guillodon La Saudraie whose first known contacts with Augustin (of whom she, according to the memoirs of Charles Nodier, was the presumed mistress) are from the first half of 1794, when she accompanied him on his second mission. Augustin had already in a letter dated March 24 also asked Maximilien to offer her an audience, and it seems likely for this to have been a follow-up to that.
The second clue is that, on May 19, a letter written by Augustin Darthé revealed that Charlotte had come back to Arras two days earlier, just like her younger brother asks for above. She had been escorted by Joseph Lebon, representative to Arras who Maximilien had recalled to Paris on May 14, saying that the Committee of Public Safety had decided to direct his energy ”in an even more useful way” and telling him to ”come back as soon as possible, to return promptly to the post where you currently are.” I have chosen to believe ”the more useful way” Maximilien suggests Lebon should use his energy for alludes to the mission of bringing Charlotte back to their hometown.
It can be observed that, if it’s true the letter to Maximilien is from April-May 1794, Augustin wouldn’t have met his sister since the fall of 1793 (assuming Charlotte is telling the truth in that he didn’t want to see her during his short break in Paris). The question is therefore evidently what exactly Charlotte had done for it both to reach the miles away Augustin and make him think this ill of her. In her memoirs, Charlotte passes in total silence on both this letter and her exile to Arras (and with that, the question of whether she gave her consent to being sent there or not). Since the accusations in Augustin’s letter are so vague, it gets hard to verify what exactly she’d done to make him so upset, other than it seems to be about her 1, slandering her brothers and 2, doing something scandalous. The first charge I suppose could tie in with Augustin falling for Madame Ricord’s claim that Charlotte was caluminating him, as the memoirs would have us believe. However, we do also have several pieces that could fill the criteria for the second charge that all date back to around the same period Augustin allegedly penned down his letter.
First off we have a letter written on April 25 1794 and sent off to Charlotte. In it, the author brings her up to speed regarding the recent repressive politics their hometown Arras for the past months has been the victim of:
What has been said of your country is true; for six weeks one hundred and fifty people have been guillotined and about three thousand imprisoned. […] I’ll spare you other details that are too atrocious to be believed, when you haven’t been an eyewitness. If I had more time, I could have given you more detailed facts; I cannot tell you what I have heard from different people without having had the time to verify it. We go into the countryside tomorrow. I forgot to tell you that the prosecutor of the revolutionary tribunal is arrested and the revolutionary commissar broken.
He also makes allusions to a commission Charlotte is part of, that appears to have as its goal to slow down the repression apparatus. This commission may be what the deputy Armand Joseph Guffroy is alluding to in the following part of his Secretes de Joseph Lebon et ses complices (1795):
I was not discouraged; Leblond’s sister, Demeulier’s (sic) daughter, Buissart’s wife, Robespierre’s sister, to whom he was also almost invisible, took every means to reach him.
Speaking of Guffroy, the second piece is a letter dated May 7 to him from the arragois lawyer Antoine Buissart, a friend of both him and the Robespierre siblings. The letter confirms Charlotte’s interest in what was going on in Arras:
We salute the citoyenne Robespierre; my wife has just received her letter; tell her as soon as possible that I will immediately give her the clarifications she requests.
Furthermore, as shown through the above cited letter, Charlotte came to see Guffroy (this was something she would herself confirm when interrogated after thermidor, adding that Madame Duplay reproached her for it). It is not impossible this relation caused dislike in Augustin, who, along with his brother, had ”a great contempt” for Guffroy if we’re to believe the memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas. Since March 3 1794 Guffroy had also become suspect in the political arena, as he on that day had been expelled from the Jacobins accused of having connections with a former marquis, forcing the Revolutionary Committee of the Picques section to release Louis XVI’s former locksmith and having English letters found among his papers. This denounciation had also forced him to resign from his functions as member of the Committee of General Security. Guffroy was himself convinced that Charlotte visiting him was the reason for her fallout with her brothers, as this is what he wrote about it a year later:
[The brothers] drove [Charlotte] out of their house because she did not think like they did, because she came to see my wife and because she saw citizens who were sincere friends of justice and truth.
Finally, there’s also a passage (1, 2) from the memoirs of Maurice Gaillard that’s of interest here. Gaillard claims to have met Charlotte somewhere in May 1794 to hear her opinion on the magistrates of Melun having been denounced for two years earlier signing an adress denouncing the demonstration of June 20, 1792. Charlotte not only expressed her disapproval when it came to this affair, but also deplored of the terror in Arras and raged against the Duplay family. She then helped arrange an interview between Gaillard and Couthon, but when the latter got threatening she holds him still in the armchair he was sitting while yelling at Gaillard to escape. Tracking him down again she tells him that ”the wretched man merely wanted to discover your inmost thoughts” but that she ”succeeded in making him ashamed of the crime which he was about to commit against one whom I had introduced to him in confidence.” She then urged Gaillard to flee the city, which he also went ahead and did. Curiously, Charlotte appears to think the conflict between her and Augustin to be old news in Gaillard’s account, talking instead about how she’s eagerly awaiting his return so he can help her get Maximilien to move away from the Duplays.
(note that these four pieces are very rarely (I might say never) used by Robespierre biographers who talk about the conflict a bit more in detail).
Whatever it was Augustin’s letter was alluding to, Charlotte ended up in Arras. We know through a letter her step-cousin wrote to Augustin that she doesn’t appear to have made their fallout known to her friends there (so again, pretty far from Augustin’s charge that Charlotte had slandered her brothers). Her stay was nevertheless short, already on July 1 we find a letter confirming she was back in the capital. Charlotte’s reason for leaving is unknown, but according to Guffroy it was to avoid arrest:
Lebon had [Charlotte] denounced to the popular society of Arras, by his cutthroats, as an aristocrat. Her apparent crime, and at least the pretext for her arrest, was to have been with Payen de Neuville la Liberté, an estimable farmer, whom Lebon had guillotined, and brother of another Payen, member of the constituent assembly who had served as father and friend to Robespierre, and whom Lebon likewise had guillotined. […] Without Florent Guyot (sic), who brought her back to Paris, she would have been imprisoned there, because Lebon's accomplices had denounced her in their infernal club which they called the popular society.
While most historians I’ve looked at have dismissed this as mere slander, it can nevertheless be observed that the dates of execution for the two Payen brothers Guffroy is talking about (June 21 and 26) matches rather well with the time Charlotte’s would have departed from Arras… On June 28 we do actually find a letter from Antoine Buissart to Maximilien, telling him that since a month back, he, his wife and Charlotte have been denounced by a certain Carlier, administrator of the department of Pas-de-Calais — ”You know that from this time on I am a conspirator in the eyes of the famous Carlier, and my wife and your sister two intriguers.” Guffroy did in his turn call the same Carlier ”Lebon’s fiercest lieutenant” so it may actually be him he accuses of having denounced Charlotte here above…
Augustin had returned to Paris just before Charlotte. In her memoirs, Charlotte describes the situation between them in the following way:
He seemed to be fleeing my presence. I admit it, I was indignant against him; what had I done to him, I said to myself, for him to treat me this way, for him to say to anyone who will listen that I am unworthy of him, that I conducted myself badly with him, that I no longer deserve his esteem? It was then that I wrote him the letter that Levasseur recorded in his Memoirs.
This is the second of the two contemporary letters regarding the fight, dated July 6. In her memoirs, Charlotte tried to declare certain phrases of it as embellishments by her brothers’ enemies, but an encounter with the fac-simile of it proves that she was actually lying there.
Charlotte begins the letter by writing that Augustin’s aversion for her has developed into the most implacable hatred, to the point that they can’t even talk to each other anymore. Because of this she will instead try to write to him. She tells Augustin how hurt she has become by his hostility — ”what does it matter to me that I am hated by those who are irrelevant to me and who I despise? Their memory will never come to trouble me, but being hated by my brothers, I, for whom it is a necessity to cherish them, this is the only thing which can render me as unhappy as I am” — a hostility she considers herself completely undeserving of. Despite this she writes that she won’t hold any grudges the day Augustin decides to come back to her, she will only feel joy over having him at her side again.
Like that of her brother, Charlotte’s letter is very emotional and very vague when it comes to the question of what the conflict is actually about. When she gets a bit more specific however, it would once again appear like her relationships is what Augustin had denounced her for:
Nonetheless, do not hope in your delirium to be able to make me lose the esteem of a few virtuous persons, which is the only good which remains to me, along with a pure conscience ; full of a just confidence in my virtue, I can defy you to detract it and I dare to tell you that, beside the good people who know me, you will lose your reputation rather than harming mine.
Charlotte ends by declaring she will move into the house of her and Augustin’s maid Madame Laporte so that she won’t be in Augustin’s way. Her interrogation held a few weeks later confirms that she went through with that plan. According to Charlotte’s memoirs she never saw her little brother again, and there was therefore never any reconciliation between the two. This is the last thing we know of it.
So the drama is no doubt not just a little confusing. What I personally consider most likely is that Augustin had found out about Charlotte political activities and contacts, felt both his own reputation and, to borrow a phrase from Charlotte’s letter, ’the public good” threatened by it, and written to Maximilien to urge him to send Charlotte away from Paris and with that her connections. While the mistrust of the sister certainly could have been fueled by what had played out between the two during the mission, I am hesitant to buy the memoirs’ story of Augustin simply having been brainwashed by Madame Ricord into hating Charlotte. The fact that Charlotte makes allusions to Augustin having a problem with her friends does also imply there was much more to it than that.
Finally, and I’m totally just speculating here, if it turns out no article regarding Charlotte and her scandalous horseback rides can be found in any contemporary journal, then I wouldn’t be all that defiant in front of the idea that the entire story could be something fabricated by Charlotte and Laponneraye to hide the former’s more controversial activities. We know through her testament as well as this letter that Charlotte, towards the end of her life, wanted to rehabilitate her brothers’ memory and be remembered as a loyal sister. Laponneraye was in his turn someone who evidently didn’t think women belong in politics. This is shown through the following sentence from the preface of the memoirs, which, given what has since been found out about Charlotte, has aged badly in more than one way:
Passionate about the private life, [Charlotte] could never bring herself to leave it, and was always careful not to imitate those women who, forgetting the role that suits their sex, throw themselves madly and ridiculously into a career that is not made for them. So she played no part in the extraordinary events that signaled the time when her older brother was in power. […] Charlotte Robespierre occupied herself with politics only as much as is necessary for her to follow her brothers with her eyes in the arena where they fight hand in hand against crime.
With all this in mind, the idea of Charlotte and Laponneraye redefining the conflict between the former and Augustin to be more appropriate to their narrative doesn’t come off as all that foreign to me. Regardless, I think the two letters line up much better with the version of the drama presented by Guffroy compared to the one presented in the memoirs.
#augustin robespierre#charlotte robespierre#bad brother bonbon#sus sis charlotte#robespierre#ask#maybe i’m paranoid#but the version of the fight presented in the memoirs just sounds like one of those stories by a bad author#where the characters must act as stupid as possible for the plot to even move forward#like why does charlotte join madame ricord instead of just being a damn adult and saying ”no”?#why does augustin choose to believe a person he’s just met rather than his own sister he’s known his entire life?#why does charlotte just accept that augustin doesn’t believe her rather than explaining herself again?#why doesn’t charlotte ask to see the letter this obviously suspect woman just claims to have?#regardless this whole family was messed up
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POV: You’re an original character in a weird, messy, inaccurate (but so far not Thermidorian!) little novel from 2018
To be more specific you’re a farm girl from Aire-sur-La-Lys (53km from Arras) in the late 1780s
And you’ve just pinched one of Maximilien Robespierre’s buttocks.
#antoine duport: max#can't believe robespierre walked 11h just to get laid...coucy castle suddenly seems very close to Blérancourt#i'm sure he took a carriage tho XD#getting his butt pinched feels more like a thing that would happen to Bonbon???
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closed starter with: max and hisashi (@xforgedsecrets)
location: the night market
time: two nights after the end of the rainstorm
Donning his least viscount-ly clothing, Maximilien set out after midnight to wander the Night Market. He had heard, time and time again, that anything could be found in the stalls and shops, something that naturally intrigued him. There were many nights that he planned to venture out, but the chaos of his days meant that many of these same nights left him asleep in his clothing on a still-made bed, candles left burning, all before 11pm. Tonight, however, had less to do with exploration and more to do with information. The arrival of two new kingdoms was bound to cause a stir, especially when the nature of their arrival was taken into question, and Max wanted to hear the gossip, speculation, and, likely, the frustration of the public firsthand. There was no better place to find it, he thought, although he wouldn’t be disappointed if he also walked away with some rare book or ended up in the bed of a street performer. As he walked the streets, his eyes landed on a familiar face- and one that he was not surprised to see. “And what brings you here, my friend?” Max approached and clapped Hisashi on the back, his voice low enough to be discreet, but still carrying a certain rowdiness that he had been keeping under wraps in the palace. It was something of a relief to shed the formalities, even for a moment. “Any nefarious plots I should be aware of? Or better yet, do you know where I can get a drink around here?”
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hi! im kat, im always looking for rps! (last edited 10/17/23)
i only rp with 15+! i write 1-3 paragraphs in third person past tense. i rarely do cc x oc but im more than willing to try it out. i lean towards mxf and mxm but im not opposed to writing fxf either! i usually will reply once a day, though there will be periods where im available for rapid-fire responses. timezone is US PDT!
on this blog ill be posting searches for rps and posting about my ocs.
fandoms/characters/pairings below 👇🏻
fandoms/canon pairings
overwatch (this is my main interest right now!)
i dont know a whole lot about the lore im gonna be honest. i typically know it on a character-by-character basis, i know the cliffnotes backstories and events of characters' lives who are in the game, but background characters, general story lore and themes, etc are lost on me. i dont really have much motivation on my own to look into it (especially from the horror stories ive heard about some of the short stories and comics) but feel free to give me motivation, or ramble to me, or anything really! id be happy to learn, i just have no real interest in it at the moment. angst is a big fav of mine for overwatch, but im okay with simpler slice of life or fluffy rps too!
id love to do romantic and platonic rps with these characters, i love seeing how characters would interact in general on top of romance!
im looking to write for (italics are who i have a preference for atm, but im happy to be any of these!): hanzo shimada, niran pruksamee, cole cassidy, mei-ling zhou, hana song, jamison fawkes, maximilien, and tekhartha zenyatta!
some pairings i have special soft spots for (pink is romantic, blue is platonic, and purple is either/both) are: baptiste and hanzo, hanzo and genji, niran and baptiste, cassidy and fareeha, cassidy and ashe, jamison and mei, jamison and lucio, zenyatta and genji, zenyatta and ramattra, maximilien and ramattra, sombra and maximilien, hana and brigitte, hanzo and mei, hanzo and cassidy, satya and niran, akande and hanzo, and cassidy and sombra! im open to trying pretty much any ship or pairing though. send me your favs, rarepairs, etc, id love to see about giving them a shot :)
one punch man
my knowledge of one punch man extends to the manga and thats about it! please have knowledge of the manga, and please no webcomic spoilers! >w>
im looking to write for (italics are who i have a preference for atm, but im happy to be any of these!): amai mask, okamaitachi, king, and metal bat/badd!
some pairings i have special soft spots for (pink is romantic, blue is platonic, and purple is either/both) are: zombieman and amai mask, okamaitachi and iaian, king and saitama, and badd and garou!
ocs
the elder scrolls
ill make a separate post for my tes ocs (linked here! yet to be added).
most of my knowledge extends to skyrim, i really wanna get around to playing the older games at some point i promise but i just havent yet. i do know the cliffnotes of the previous games, though, and ive done my best to look into the lore of the games.
in terms of canon and fan-made characters, id like to be: cicero, taliesin (modded follower), karliah, nazir, and veezara! im totally a-okay with oc x canon for tes, gimme all ur fav ocs! i dont require doubling but it could be fun :3c
frankie / they/he / link (na)
frankie is a "fallen" angel who briefly fell too in love with humanity, and was stripped of holy status. they now are forced to work as heavens surveillance of earth, reporting back to heaven on what the humans are up to. he is now generally apathetic towards humanity, often lying to heaven to get out of doing their job. he spends most of his time alone, indulging some of the human desires they have developed in a large city.
andrew / he/him / link (na)
andrew is one of the citys christian churchs pastors, born and raised nothing but a faithful christian. raised to believe in fundamentalism and to never doubt such beliefs, his faith has stayed strong for nearly 50 years now. though, the more he puts himself into his religious studies for the sake of his church, the more he finds himself doubting the literal understanding of the bible. he even finds himself failing to understand some of the morals. along with constant pressure to settle and get a wife that he really would never care for, hes beginning to feel ostracized and othered from the community hes helped foster. will he force himself to push his doubts aside and mold himself to fit in, or will he indulge in these unholy thoughts?
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merry sodor lightshow
#I had the lines lying around from a different drawing#was too tired to finish the thing#SO I repurposed it#max gets crimis lights :]#ttte#ttte oc#maximilien (oc)#gwr achilles class#sodor lightshow#art#thomas the tank engine#kips art
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Nikola Tesla, Lizzie Borden, and Maximilien Robespierre are all in the ‘historical figure who gets a bad rap but also loves pigeons’ gang
#listen i know lizzie borden was a literal axe murderer#so she kind of deserves any bad rap she gets#but i came to this realization as i was lying in bed#and i had to make the joke#i also know that tesla was just kinda.#vibin with his inventions#and his hating war#and that he invented a lot of things we use today#but a lot of people are like#'fuckin mad scientist tesla'#'tried to build a death ray'#and of course Robespierre wasn't a dictator#he was also not a terrible person all around#but y'know#he has the worst reputation of them all#thanks thermadorians#anyway#pigeon#maximilien robespierre#robespierre#history jokes#frev#lizzie borden#not even surprised that a tag for her came up immediatly#nikola tesla#if anyone can think of any other historical figures in the 'gets a bad rap but also loves pigeons' gang#please tell me
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Desmoulins: I remember that Saint-Just was being a dick.
Robespierre: Camille...
Desmoulins: I don’t like to use that word, Maxime, but it’s so hard to describe Saint-Just any other way, because he’s just such a dick.
#frev#camille desmoulins#maximilien robespierre#antoine saint-just#source: derry girls#HONESTLY i thought of them when i was watching it#also camille’s lying he does like to use that word especially about antoine#incorrect quotes
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Looking for Thermidor pic…
@frevandrest @montagnarde1793 @usergreenpixel @patientsisavertu
Am sure I saw on here recently a colour image, possibly a chromolithograph 'chocolate card' or similar book illustration, of Maximilien lying on the table at Thermidor. It's not the Mélingue or Jakobi paintings. Low viewpoint, with guards in the foreground. Can anyone help with this, please?
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Reincarnation au
Part 2
Max was awoken not by the normal blaring of an alarm clock, but instead a voice shouting “wake up” repeatedly. With rhythm. He practically fell off of his bed.
“May I ask why that’s your alarm..?!” He exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Well, it’s better than mindless beeping, I’d say.” Antoine replied, stretching his arms over his head before sliding out of bed and making his way over to his own set of drawers which held, not surprisingly, his own clothes.
“What even is it?” Max continued to ask, he himself getting up.
“Chop Suey.” Came the nonchalant reply from his roommate, who now made his way to the bathroom, clothes in hand before disappearing behind the door. Max shook the remainder of sleep from his head before grabbing his glasses. He grabbed a sweater from his drawer, and a comfortable pair of pants, before getting dressed and getting the things he needed for his classes set up. “You’re quite the sweaters guy, aren’t you.” Said Antoine, suddenly emerging from the bathroom again. Max turned around in surprise, before chuckling.
“I suppose I am. They’re comfortable.” He responded, earning a satisfied nod from the other. He then went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and then stared at the bags under his eyes, deciding he once again needed a cup of coffee to survive the day.
“Coffee right after brushing your teeth?” Began Antoine, with a raised brow as he watched Max make his coffee. “Not smart. At all.”
“Why?” Max asked, still staring at his coffee mug.
“Well, you’ll stain your teeth.” Replied the other, and Max shrugged.
“Teeth are very high maintenance.” He stated, before grabbing his mug and his bag. “Well, I’m heading out. I’ll see you later.” He said, heading towards the door.
“Yep.” Came the final reply, before Max walked out into the hall, closing the door behind him. As soon as he walked into his class however he was met with a surprise. Georges, the kid who went there on a football scholarship, not to mention the other things he’s known for.
“Hey, Maximilien! What a not so surprise to see you taking this class.” He hollered, sauntering up to Max.
“What are you doing here..?” The latter asked, getting a hand smacked on their shoulder a little too firmly, and he flinched.
“Well, I figured it would be more enjoyable than math.” Replied the taller, barge of a man. Max nodded awkwardly, before slipping over to his seat. The class was small, but larger than it had been in previous years if that is any source for judgement. The teacher was a small, wiry woman with glasses far too big for her face, and a scarf always around her neck, with long coils of near black hair that reached past her shoulders, though it would most likely be shorter if her posture was better.
She stood, slouched over in the front as usual, smiling when she saw Max, walking over to him.
“I had a feeling I would see you in this class,” she said with a hint of a smirk, there was a warm twinkle in her eyes, and she radiated kindness and some strange sense of family. That’s what he had heard from her former students, at least, and he was certain now that they were not lying.
“What makes you say that, Ms. Rozzero..?” Max asked, with a quirked brow, and the woman shrugged her shoulders.
“I dunno, I just did.” She held an expression which seemed to say that she was withholding some sort of information from him. He stared at her hesitantly for a moment, before she patted him on the shoulder and returned to the front of the classroom.
Well now I have that to eat away at my mind as well. Wonderful.
He sat and drank his coffee, noticed Antoine walk in and sat in the back, and watched Georges fiddle absently with a pen, twirling it back and forth in his stubby fingers.
Why did the football scholarship kid take an art history class?
Max’s brows slowly grew closer together as he thought, slowly bringing his cup to his lips again.
Oh coffee, my beloved, what ever would I do without you..
As he sat, obviously still paying attention to what Ms. Rozzero was saying, he wondered how Augustin was doing. Was he alright? Was he staying out of trouble? Were he and Charlotte getting along as best as they could? He was worried, and began to chew on his nails anxiously. Perhaps one more swig of coffee would clear his head.
He watched as the woman, who appeared not much older than he, stood at the front of the room, wringing her hands together. What an anxious woman she appeared to be.
“Now, I do want to tell you all that at the end of the year we are going to take a field trip. I know, field trips are stupid-“
“Are you kidding?! I haven’t been on a field trip since 7th grade!” Howled Georges, slamming his hand on the desk. Max jumped, before rolling his eyes and letting his head fall slowly into his hands.
Perhaps I am going to need something much stronger than coffee at the end of today..
Ms. Rozzero’s smile was warm and genuine as she laughed lightly, the coils of jet black hair moving over her shoulders as they shook.
“I’m glad to see that we are excited for that. I know that all of my previous classes have had a wonderful time on it.” She replied, before turning around and picking up a stack of packets, passing them around. “These are the copies of the syllabus, read it over between now and next class, and then we will be ready to get started.” She grinned, clasping her hands together in excitement.
“Ugh, reading..” Max heard Georges grumble from a few rows behind him. Perhaps he did not know how loud he was, even when whispering, in a small space. How he even got through school Max did not know.
Oh wait.
Football scholarship.
Ms. Rozzero rambled on for a while more, and Max continued to sip his coffee, until at last the class was over. He got up and grabbed his things, walking towards the door when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned around, coming face to face with his teacher. She gave him one more warm smile.
“I look forward to having you in my class this year, Maximilien.” She said, enunciating every word that passed through her lips. Max was thrown off by the use of his full name, his eyes going wide for a moment, before he hesitantly returned her smile.
“Thanks.” Was all he said, before nodding courteously and walking out.
That was.. strange.
#frev but make it a poorly written reincarnation au.#frev#reincarnation au part 2 just dropped have at it ladies and gentlemen
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Kit and Ty’s reunion (Fan Fiction) - Part 8 - What’s the point?
A little more than three years after the Dark Artifices. Characters based on Cassandra Clare’s (TSC) though I invented one for the plot.
With the Cohort threat being mostly quashed, the following weeks passed uneventfully.
The Centurions remained at the New York Institute, as there were still other Cohort members and Faeries looking for Kit.
Kit and Ty never mentioned the fight they had had on the first day Ty had arrived at the Institute. Their friendship resumed; major events left unspoken.
It was as it had been before they had performed necromancy spells together. As if they had not raised Livvy’s ghost (except for the fact that they were seeing her every day). As if they had not lost all contact for three years. As if they had not kissed under the rain.
Kit still remembered though. How Ty’s lips had felt against his, the taste of his mouth. Rain, metal and musk. Kit could not forget the feel of Ty’s skin under his fingers, under his lips, the scent of him, the noises Ty made when he was aroused. He blushed, sometimes, thinking back to those intimate moments he had shared with Ty. And of course, there were the glances they cast at each other, the shiver of excitement when their hands accidently brushed, when they walked side by side and their shoulders touched.
Kit had started helping Ty with his missions for the Scholomance, and it was as if Sherlock had found Watson again.
“How many times do I have to repeat myself? I am not your Watson” had said Kit one evening, when they were doing research on demons’ poisons in the Institute’s library.
Ty had smiled one of his rare smiles. “Well, Kit, that’s exactly what my Watson would say.” And Kit had blushed at the way Ty had naturally said “my Watson”.
Days went by, and everyone at the Institute carried on with their own routines.
This is probably why no one expected the events that occurred that evening.
Kit was returning to his bedroom after a late-night training session. He heard noise coming from the library. He stopped to peer inside, his brows furrowed, only to see Jace standing with his back to him. He thought he saw a flash of red hair.
“Jace?” called Kit.
Jace froze. When he slowly turned, Kit could see that he was carrying Clary in his arms. She looked fast asleep.
Kit felt an increasing uneasiness. Something was wrong. But this was Jace right? If there was anyone Jace would never, ever hurt, it was Clary.
“Jace? Rough night? I know Clary is probably light as feather but do you… need a hand?” asked Kit, unsure how to act.
As Jace said nothing, he took a step toward him.
Jace took a step back. Something was very wrong indeed.
“Stop! It’s not Jace!” yelled a voice that Kit instantly recognized.
Kit turned to where Ty stood, in the doorway, holding two daggers. His face was covered in scratches, his lips bruised, a deep red cut on his upper lip. He clearly had been into a fight.
“Not Jace from this world,” Ty continued. “It’s probably Jace from another world. That’s one of the few possible explanations at least.”
“How do you know?” asked Kit.
“Details” was all Ty said. And Kit believed him. If anyone – save for Clary, where Jace was concerned – could notice small inconsistencies, like in a game of Spot the Difference, it was Ty. Ty could see objectively, without the blurring curtain of expectations or preconceptions.
Jace – well, his evil doppelganger – stiffened. “Will you make me regret I didn’t kill you?”
“You didn’t give my friends that chance. They trusted you and you took them by surprise. Why spare me?” said Ty.
“I didn’t fool you” said the fake Jace. “I figured you probably knew Jace, the one from this world, very well. And I saw the heron-shaped pendant you carry around your neck. I thought this meant you had earnt the love – or at least the trust – of a Herondale. Sentimental me.”
“Leave Clary. And we will not hurt you,” said Kit, although he carried no weapon.
Jace laughed. He had moved to stand close to an open window and seemed ready to pounce. He would not try to jump with Clary in his arms, would he?
“You will not hurt me? The Jace from this world must be too soft, if you think you can bargain with me.”
In a swift movement, he had shifted Clary’s body in one of his arms and drawn out a sword.
It all happened in a blur. The sword flew. Ty launched himself in front of Kit and the blow hit him with such force that he was thrown back against Kit, who caught him in his arms. Kit crumpled to the floor, holding Ty.
Kit was filled with a dreadful sense of déjà-vu, as he looked at the knife protruding from Ty’s chest. He had not been there at the time, but he imagined that was what Livvy must have looked like in the Council Hall. He had imagined it, although he had tried not too, often enough. And he was probably in the exact same position Julian had been at the time.
Kit was barely aware of the sound of footsteps and shouts. People around him assessing the situation. It seemed the “other Jace” had somehow escaped. Without his prey. Clary was safe.
“No, Ty. No. Please don’t leave me.”
Kit was kneeling on the floor, carrying Ty’s limp body in his arms. He started rocking.
“What’s the point, Ty? What’s the point of Watson’s whole existence if there is no Sherlock? What’s the point of me if there is no you?” Tears were rolling down his cheeks. But he could not feel them. He could not feel anything.
Kit did not even bother to grab for his stele, he knew it was too late for that. Through his numbness, Kit gently lay Ty’s body on the floor and ripped his shirt. With desperate hope, he placed both his hands on Ty’s chest and willed him to heal. He remembered the time he had made the horses of the Riders of Mannan disappear. He thought about drawing that strength, all his strength, all his will, into healing Ty. He heard voices softly murmuring to let go of Ty, that it was over – but he did not listen to any of them. He shoved away anyone’s attempt to grab him.
He did not know how much time had passed but eventually, he felt a flicker of movement. It was barely there but Kit knew he had sensed something.
Ty gasped and his silver-gray eyes flew open. They widened in amazement. “Kit…“ he said. “I knew you would find them.”
What? What did I find? Kit wanted to ask. But he could not find his voice. Relief had washed over him, and although he was drained, he felt giddy with it.
He did not hear anything further, as Ty slipped into unconsciousness a second later. It was not long before Kit himself collapsed on top of Ty’s body.
*****
Jace, carrying Clary in his arms, Isabelle, Simon, Alec and Magnus stood in a circle in the Institute’s library. In the middle of the circle, two bodies were lying on the ground, one resting partly on top of the other, as if in a lovers’ embrace. Their skin appeared to glow from within and one of the boys’ exposed chest seemed to be pierced through with bronze-colored light.
*****
It was late in the night when the dean of the Scholomance, Maximilien Verlac, slipped through the door of the Institute’s infirmary. The room was mostly dark save for the moonlight filtering through the windows. He did not notice Kit, sitting on the floor, next to Ty’s bed.
He was entirely focused on Ty, his expression one of deep sorrow and… something else. Kit recognized that look. It was the look he probably had himself when he was glancing at Ty and thought no one was seeing him.
Kit knew then, that Maximilien did not only admire Ty as one of his best Centurions. He loved him.
Suddenly, Maximilien fell on his knees. “Oh, Tiberius. What did I do? I am sorry. I am so sorry,” he whispered.
Kit shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
Maximilien snapped out of his daze and stood. Even in the darkness, Kit could see his cheeks were flushed. “Christopher Herondale.”
“Kit, please” answered Kit.
“Kit?” Maximilien’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I see…”
Kit didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt uneasy.
“What is it? What is it that you see?”
Maximilien hesitated. He looked at Kit for a moment, considering.
Then, he explained, in a resigned voice. “One day, Tiberius returned from a mission to the Scholomance with very deep wounds that couldn’t heal. The demon poison had spread. We had to keep him in the infirmary for three days. He was delirious. He kept calling a name. Your name. Asking why you had left him. Why you never said goodbye. He also talked about the characters of the book he holds so dearly…saying that Sherlock was not Sherlock without Watson. It seemed like nonsense to me.”
Maximilien exhaled deeply. “I thought Kit was a girl’s name. Short for Katherine, in French Catherine. It could also be short for Quitterie, another French girl name. When Tiberius woke up, and I asked him about it, he simply shrugged and did not explain. We never talked about it again.”
Kit didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just nodded, closed his eyes, and waited for Maximilien to leave.
Once he was alone with Ty, Kit lay down on the bed next to him, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of his body. Ty’s face was turned to his. Kit fell asleep to Ty’s soft breathing, each exhalation caressing his skin like feather across his cheek.
#cassandra clare#cassandraclare#cassie clare#cassandra clare fan fiction#the shadowhunters chronicles icons#the shadowhunter chronicles#shadowhunters#tsc fan fiction#tsc fanfiction#tsc fandom#tsc#tmi fanfiction#tmi fanfic#tmi fandom#tmi#tda#tda fanfiction#tda fan#kitty tda#kitty fanfiction#kitty blackstairs#kit herondale#kit herongraystairs#tiberius blackthorn#ty blackthorn#kit and ty#blackthorns#the wicked powers#kit x ty#ty x kit
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Do you know anything about Brount?
When did Maxime first meet/get him, and what happened to Brount after Thermidor? ;0;
Good questions! I may have the answer to the first one, but unfortunately not the second…
The first sign of what could be Brount is in a letter Robespierre adressed to ”a young girl” 6 June 1788 (incidentally, it’s the same letter that was put up for sale a few days ago). In it he writes ”Is the puppy (petit chien) you are raising for my sister as pretty as the model you showed me when I passed through Bélhune? Whatever it is, we will always welcome it with distinction and pleasure. We can even say that, however ugly it may be, it will always be lovely.” Both historians JM Thompson, Peter Mcphee and Hervé Leuwers have concluded that the ”young girl” must have been one Mlle Dehay, who also gave Robespierre a cage of canaries in 1782. If the puppy here actually is Brount, it means that he 1, was born 1788 and thus six years old when his master died, and 2, was originally meant to be Charlotte’s dog.
After this, not much is known. In 1791, Charles-Engelbert Oelsner reported the following anecdote (cited in Robespierre: a Revolutionary Life by Peter Mcphee), but is impossible to know if the dog in question is Brount:
At Madame de Kéralio’s I have seen him (Robespierre) hold himself apart for an hour, playing with a big dog.
Élisabeth Lebas, our most authentic source on the subject, only has this to say in her memoirs:
He (Robespierre) had a dog named Brount whom he loved a lot, the poor animal was very attached to him.
Inside the work in which Élisabeth’s memoirs were published, Stéfane-Pol (Paul Coutant), it’s author, also adds the details of 1, Robespierre letting Brount bath in the Seine, and 2, Robespierre bringing Brount with him when going for walks with the Duplay family on the Champ-Élysées. However, these may just be embellishments, considering both Élisabeth and her son Philippe died before Coutant was even born, and thus hardly could have shared them with him.
The historian Hamel gives us even more details, claiming to know both what dog breed Brount was as well as when Robespierre brought him from Arras to Paris:
One of the family's great amusements consisted in long walks on the Champs-Élysées. Robespierre did not miss out when he had the time. He was followed by a Great Dane named Brount, whom he had brought back from his last trip to Artois and whom he loved very much. This dog was very attached to his master, of whom he was the assiduous companion. Lying at Maximilien's feet when the latter was working in his room, he gazed at him with a sad and gentle air, as if he had divined his anxious thoughts. When they went out, Brount showed his joy by barking and gambolling; he was a friend, a friend always feted and pampered by the young girls.
Hamel was born 1826 and did claim to have met (and even danced) with Élisabeth Lebas, so this sounds somewhat more authentic, even though I also don’t think it needs saying that a lot in Hamel’s account is embellishent rather than fact.
In his Robespierre (2014) Hervé Leuwers also writes the following about Robespierre’s last weeks alive, citing page 408 of Henri Guillemin’s Robespierre - Politique et mystique, (1987) (a book which I unfortunately don’t own) as the source:
[Robespierre’s] absence from the Committee is coupled with a long silence at the Convention. A far cry, however, from the illness that kept him from all places of power the previous winter; one sees him walking in the meadows on the banks of the Seine, with his dog Brount.
These are all authentic sources I know about regarding Brount. I also know two apocryphal anecdotes in which he’s mentioned, one originating from Alphonse Esquiros Histoire des Montagnards, in which Robespierre, Éleonore and Brount go for a walk on the eve of 8 thermidor, and one from Charles Henri Sanson’s diary, in which Robespierre and Brount meet Sanson and his nieces while out on a walk (in the latter one, Brount gets described as a black and white spotted dog).
As for what happened to Brount after thermidor, I have no idea. The Duplays were all arrested shortly after Robespierre’s execution, and unless they managed to give away Brount or brought him with them to prison (the latter of which I don’t know if you could actually do or not) I doubt they ever saw him again. When the first of them was released it would have already been way too late for Brount had he been left in their apartment. With that said, this can hardly have been the first time a pet got left behind when someone got arrested, so it seems likely there would be some sort of rule for what to do when that happened. Maybe Brount was let loose and lived the rest of his days as a street dog? Or maybe he was adopted by someone sent to arrest the Duplays? although here we can also ask outselves if ”Robespierre’s former dog” was such a great title to possess if you wanted to survive thermidor… Pick whatever makes you sleep the best at night I suppose.
#Robespierre#maximilien robespierre#brount#Élisabeth duplay#élisabeth lebas#maybe brount was meant to be charlotte’s but max was like ”after what you did to my pigeon i don’t trust you with ANYTHING anymore#ask
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The sex is bad in Marge Piercy’s City of Darkness, City of Light (1996), but her Robespierre’s post-coitus thoughts are so weird they’re kinda hilarious
I hate Piercy’s portrayal of Robespierre relationship with his sister Charlotte, but here it almost literally sounds like he’s thinking about using Eleonore as a physical shield? WTF
also arsehole point for lying to the Duplays (he doesn’t plan on marrying, he thinks his days numbered and that marriage to him would actively put Eleonore in danger)
Also how does “I can’t go back to live with Charlotte now that I’m married to Eleonore” works if it’s a secret marriage you don’t plan to tell Charlotte about???
Also Robespierre is Maximilien Duplay now, assigned Duplay by coitus
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Talon Sugar Daddies
Heyyy yo! Was gunna post some stuff last night but then....ya now... *waves hands vaguely* I just needed to lay down and eat some pancakes. But I’m better today.
Heres something I made a while ago but never posted bc idk.
As usual Minors DNI and the nsfw is under the cut :*
Maximilien-SFW
Plucked off the streets and thrown into a land of opulence and grandeur, nothing makes Maximilien happier than introducing you to his world. He wants you cultured.
School, paid for. Travels around the world, done. If he can’t go with you he wants a video call every evening. Operas, wine tastings, art exhibits, galas, balls, he’ll take you anywhere. He’ll dress you like the prized jewel you are for these occasions. Designer brands are the only thing he allows on your skin each tailored to match your shape perfectly.
Knowing he is the only one allowed so much as to touch you is the biggest high. The jealous looks of his compatriots make him preen. Go ahead, give him a twirl! Make the others jealous of what they can never have.
You don't have to ask for a thing from him. He just knows. If your gaze ever wanders to a store front during an evening out you can expect whatever it is by sun up. You also try to give him gifts too. But what could you give him he can’t get himself? It's endearing nonetheless.
Biggest pleasure for him is having you on his lap during his meetings, the solid warm weight of your body an odd comfort for the omnic. Especially with all he has to deal with.
Reaper-SFW
“Turn on the news baby I got you something.”
Reaper delights in providing only the best for you. Nothing is off limits if it gives him a chance to see you smile. To show that he can and will do anything for his baby. Your collection of stolen artifacts is starting to rival world renowned museums now. Jewelry, art, gemstones of exorbitant value all given to you with pride. Your gifted loft apartment is covered in stolen goods and high end electronics. He won’t take no for an answer when he brings out his gifts. But is touched by your concern for his well being, no matter how unneeded it was.
You don’t get to see him physically often due to his “career path”. So video chat became your go to for communicating. He enjoys watching you through your laptop doing the most mundane things. Cooking, cleaning, painting your nails while telling him the latest gossip from your friends. It doesn’t matter, as long as it's you.
Due to his infamy it’s sometimes hard to do things together but that doesn’t deter him. He’ll take you anywhere under the cover of night. Sneaking you into stores and venues after hours (with the help of Sombra of course) so you could both enjoy the quiet. Sometimes though you have to talk him down from pocketing things he sees you fawn over.
A surprisingly huge movie buff. On days he’s around and you don’t want to go out he is more than happy to hold you close on the couch and watch movies. Though most of the time movie night divulge into him criticizing or sharing some interesting fact about the film instead of watching it.
Doomfist: Akande- SFW
Like Maximilien, Akande desires perfection in his sugar baby. Your education and social standing are important to him. To him you are his magnum opus. Your schedule living under his roof is meticulous, not that you minded too much. He still gives you plenty of time to meet up with friends. As long as you remember the mornings and evenings were his.
He loves to wine and dine you, having you sample his favorite liquors and spirits with him at a restaurant of his choosing. He compliments you on your apparel or taste in food every time he gets the chance. Keeping you flushed and blushing the entire evening.
Once he thinks you are refined enough he plans to take you to every event he can showing off his taste in partners and encourages you to network. He one day hopes to have you join his little organization. When he trusts you enough he starts to groom you to become his protege for business off the field.
Vacations are a grand mix of business and pleasure. He enjoys spending time at high end boutiques finding things of both yours and his taste. You also have free rein to wander the sprawling city or countryside, soaking up the scenery as Akande takes care of business. Sometimes during these vacations you hardly see him. Not the planned outcome of the trip but these things happen, and he enjoys that you are happy regardless. If anything he makes time for you on the plane ride back, getting a little handys as you somehow manage to straddle his legs.
Maximilien-NSFW
He loves to watch you touch yourself. Sitting legs crossed in his overstuffed leather wingback watching you writhe before him, pretty little hole stuffed to the brim with your fingers or toy.
Speaking of toys…
Out of all of his worldly possessions, his toy box is his favorite. Even for as large as his collection is he makes sure you are familiar with each and every piece of it. He is a strict daddy when it comes to sexual intimacy, many rules are in place for what you can and can’t do. Only good little ones who follow them all get to come.
When you do come undone it’s only to be done bouncing on his lap with his favorite toy of the hour bringing you to nirvana, soaking his expensive three piece. Sweet praises rain down on you as you relax into his steel frame.
But gods help you if you’ve been naughty.
Physical punishment is beneath him, he has no wish to damage his little treasure. No, there are other ways to get his point across though. He will ignore you, leave you touch starved for weeks on end in his penthouse. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, to reflect on your actions. All his gifts swept up from underneath you, your room bare except for the essentials.
When he does come back you better have a good apology ready.
Reaper- NSFW
Gabriel likes to take things slow, building up to the main event. He doesn't know the next time he'll see you, so why rush? He’s pretty kinky and will bring it out in the bedroom. Only if you are comfortable with it. He loves having you at his mercy.
Blinded, gagged and bound a top your bed he will savor you. Tongue tracing and finding every blemish and mark showing affection to the parts you are the most sensitive about.
Eat you out like a champ, 10/10. He probably traded his tongue with the devil's if you’re honest.
Edges you to the point of pain, till you’re crying through your gag. Just enough to get you thrashing body hungry for more. Finally after what seems like an eternity he’ll claim you, taking you rough and hard, hell bent on leaving a mark on you. Something to remember him by till next time.There is no way you’re moving tomorrow once he's done with you.
Be prepared to be pampered and coddled afterwards. He never wants you to forget how much you mean to him.
Even when he can't be around you he makes sure you know he wants you. You can always expect some devious gifts in the mail while he's away.
Phone sex with Gabe is an experience. That rough raspy voice moaning in your ear all the sinful things he wishes he could do right now. Listening to his guff pants of passion as he strokes himself to completion your name echoing in his dark room.
“Does daddy's gift feel good baby? Sí? But not as good as me right?”
He has every picture you ever sent him saved for when the mood hits. Sometimes you are woken up by your phone binging loudly, a message from your daddy. He is the only man you have ever met that is somehow able to take tasteful dick pics.
Punishment with Reaper can be scary but it takes a lot to get him to that point. He uses sex as a punishment thinking only of himself those times. Spankings and verbal degradation are staple in his arsenal. Though he would be lying if he thought he could stay mad at you for long. These sessions are savage but short, giving him plenty of time to see to you afterwards.
Doomfist: Akande-NSFW
Oof. You’ll be walking funny for a few days that’s for sure especially if you rile him up. Nothing gets him going like showing off the latest lingerie fashions for him. Custom made for both of your pleasures. He’ll watch from a distance at first circling you like a predator, getting steadily closer each rotation. You can almost feel the heat of his gaze. Slowly and leisurely just to tease him you remove each article watching him watch you. Surprisingly gentle when he finally starts, kissing and tasting you after getting impatient with your little strip tease. Large hands remove what you haven’t gotten to yet carefully.
Prep takes some time but damn if you don’t get off from it. His fingers and tongue alone get you going, lapping and sucking. Large fingers stretching you open, the burn only adding to your excitement. One large hand is all it takes to pick you up wrapped around your waist. You are his favorite little cock sleeve, and he tells you this regularly groaning at the tight feel of you around him. So wet and sloppy, the lewd noises of your hips meeting only punctuated periodically by loud gasps of pleasure. Watching you come undone under him and around him as he fills you is euphoric.
Messing up is expected, to become perfection takes work. He won’t be too hard, you’ll just need extra lessons. A better teacher; a firmer hand, himself perhaps...
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Another stuck sneeze story, roughly 3k words, which takes place in the mid-1700s and in Russia. More information under the cut!
This is a fanfic based on an anime called Le ChevaIier D’Eon. The show is known by few and watched by fewer, so there may be a small handful of you who will know who I am based solely on the fact that I like this series. And, yes, the character that sneezes in this story is Maximilien Robespierre, though his anime counterpart is pretty different from who he was as an actual person. Here’s what Robespierre looks like in the anime. And here’s Lorenzia, the other character who appears in the story (and was maybe also a real person?). Even though I’ve made it obvious, I’ll just say again that this story is very much about their fictional representatives and not the actual historical figures.
Enjoy!
Lorenzia felt she understood the ways of men better than those of women. That knowledge was inevitable when you were a whore. Her body was her tool, it always had been, even before she’d christened herself in poetry and let spellwords snake across her skin. And in retrospect, the lessons men taught her hadn’t been difficult to learn. The men she’d known were pigs, running on instinct and instant gratification. A virgin soldier and his stoic captain were different in their expectations of pleasure, but the end result was always the same.
Lorenzia thought herself streetwise, but she knew now that her education in darkness was just beginning. The brothels and alleyways where sin festered were humorous, predictable—petty. The world of the rich had black secrets all its own. That was where the strings were pulled and real power dwelled. These powerful men were the ones she took lessons from now.
Maximilien Robespierre was such a man. He was a revolutionary. Lorenzia didn’t fully understand what circumstances had brought him in opposition of the monarchy, for he would not tell her. Robespierre’s motives didn’t pique her so much as his disposition, though. He was one of those rare types Lorenzia found endlessly intriguing: the type who would not bare his underbelly, figurative or literal, for a moment of ecstasy. Lorenzia had kissed so many loose lips, she wondered if the clamped ones had a different taste, a motley of secrets tucked under their tongues. Robespierre was not interested in letting her try.
Even now, as she observed him at the desk from her place on the bed, her lean body sprawled like a lazy cat’s, utterly coquettish, he continued to quill a letter without any glance in her direction. Robespierre hadn’t spared her a word since Cagliostro left the inn to buy more vodka. Lorenzia smirked with a quiet snort. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do; when in Russia, drink as the Russians do,” was Cagliostro’s parting word. Another curiosity, that man— not weak to her breasts either, though perhaps it was because he’d seen them often. But at least Cagliostro had weaknesses, could declare himself mortal. Maximilien Robespierre’s countenance was almost otherworldly.
So, as Lorenzia had been so often studied by men, she studied him from her sideways stretch across the mattress. The book was next to him, as it always was. She narrowed her eyes at it. That tired brown tome had rejected her, and she was still offended. Only Maximilien could open it. When she tried, it had remained as tightly shut as if the pages were glued together. Cagliostro couldn’t even lift it. The book was full of Poet’s knowledge, no doubt. Such strong magic she had never witnessed before. It was just another secret swarming around a secret man.
Outside, the champagne-colored sky of a Russian dusk sent most travelers indoors, to inns and bars alike. The quill scratching across the parchment was the only noise that filled the chamber. Lorenzia felt hypnotized by it, lost in the lull of its gentle scraping… at least until it suddenly stopped. Maximilien paused, shifted in his chair. He sniffed, put his quill down, and dove the hand inside his jacket. Lorenzia felt her curiosity perking like a hound’s ears at gunfire. What was he looking for? He found it fast. His back was to her, but from her angle there was enough of his face visible to see it tilted back before the handkerchief he offered. A sneeze? It seemed the case, though seconds passed and there was no such announcement.
“Something the matter?” she drawled, voice honeyed with drowsiness.
Her words set him into motion once more. Robespierre brought the handkerchief to his nose and blew politely enough for the company of a lady before tucking it away again. “Nothing.”
“What are you writing?” Now that the silence was broken, she felt she could prod him further.
“It isn’t a concern.”
“Then there should be no harm in telling me,” Lorenzia mused.
“No harm, and no purpose.” Maximilien had resumed the letter now. His script, neat and even, matched his tone all too well.
Lorenzia propped herself up a bit. Her virgin white sleeve slipped farther down her forearm. “Shall I look over your shoulder, then, and spare you the effort of conversation?”
His eyes were to the paper, not on her pale arms, but her words did the trick. “It is for Bestuzhev. Addressing his concerns about Pyotr.”
“Of which he must have a thousand,” Lorenzia chuckled lightly.
“He must let go of those concerns if he is to see his plot through.” Maximilien paused his hand again. Kept writing. “It is Bestuzhev’s love for his country that keeps him from overtaking it.”
Lorenzia felt an excited stirring in her stomach. What a different world this was, to be in the presence of those who spoke of destroying the crown so casually. Cagliostro was right: they’d shed their comedy of a life for a tragedy, and it was every ounce more interesting. “But, do we not all have some love for our mother country?”
“Not all. Hh-!” His answer ended with a sharp intake of breath that made his spine straighten with the jolt of his shoulders. Lorenzia leaned up on her elbows to watch as he ducked his hand back into the recesses of his jacket to claim that handkerchief again and thrust it out before his face. He gasped once more, just barely a sound from parted lips. He was sure to sneeze. Lorenzia waited.
He didn’t sneeze. Maximilien relaxed and gave the smallest sigh as he tucked the cloth away.
“What is that all about?” Lorenzia draped her legs over the edge of the bed, letting her skirts fall where they may. “Why don’t you sneeze? You have to, don’t you?”
“Hmm.” Maximilien busied himself with the letter again. “I suppose I mustn’t if it doesn’t happen.”
His usually calm voice held just the slightest hint of frustration. Lorenzia was fixated. His composure was like a curl of paper peeling off its wall to reveal the whitewash beneath. If she decided to tug at that curl, how much more would she expose?
“Your nose is causing you trouble,” she pried.
Maximilien sniffed. “As are you.”
Lorenzia laughed, coy. “I am as bad as a sneeze that won’t come? You compare an ally to an enemy.”
An enemy it proved, as the phantom sneeze struck again and made him beg for it with a wavering, “Hhh...” He wrenched out the handkerchief with such urgency that Lorenzia thought his battle won. He hovered before his hand, his mouth marginally agape and wanting, but before long his shoulders dropped as his breath huffed out. Not to be. Robespierre was the sort to keep his composure intact, but Lorenzia fancied she could see his eyebrows lowering with each failed attempt.
She smiled to herself. Before her no longer was a being without exploit. Lorenzia was quite familiar with men who couldn’t reach relief on their own.
She stood up from the bed and padded over to him, doe-like, serpentine, not trying for alluring so much as masterful. Robespierre eyed her watchfully and stiffened. What obstinacy! Rarely did Lorenzia face such an iron shield. The challenge of lowering his guard enticed her.
Robespierre resisted by organizing the parchment before him, tapping the papers together in his hands. He coughed low in his throat. “Perhaps a bit of fresh air will cure this.”
“Will it? The window is open. Here.” Lorenzia reached to the desk to take up the quill. It was a goose feather, a tawny gray, the follicles lying in a tame diagonal. “I imagine this would cause a sneeze much faster than ‘fresh air.’”
Robespierre showed his immediate opposition with a furrowed brow, and then stood, taller by a good seven inches. “If I’m lucky, fresh air will cause it. If I’m luckier still, fresh air will drive it away. Pardon.”
Lorenzia gripped his arm before he left – the most brash she’d ever been with him, but she knew her voice alone wouldn’t keep him there. “Come now. Your not-quite-sneeze is curing my boredom... And it’s not polite to leave a lady alone. Would you abandon me and not even hesitate?”
At that final sentence, his usually composed features stirred towards despondence, which then dissolved into slow anticipation as said “not-quite-sneeze” returned to bother him further. The arm Lorenzia wasn’t grappling struggled to pull the handkerchief free and, once successful, covered his face with it…
His long-lashed eyes, dolphin gray, dauphin gray, held a sheen from the tickle in his nose, a sheen that reflected all nearby light from the candles and the window. In those sparkling eyes, Lorenzia suddenly imagined that there had, once upon a time, been a man who lived in the sounds of women’s laughter and the dull colliding of wooden steins and a song from the throat of a soldier. Who mourned the loss of that man? Did anyone? Did Robespierre?
It was too much. At last the tickle proved strong enough to become a sneeze, and Robespierre collapsed into his handkerchief with a sharp, single, “Ch’schuh!”
Lorenzia felt his body tremble with it up through her arm. “À tes souhaits, monsieur!” she simpered, pressing the inside of her elbow to his. “Though I do believe your wish just came true, yes?”
“… Sch’iuu!” A second tagged just after the first, muffled into the handkerchief again. He squinted his lids, as if he were trying to look at something close to his face. Was it a third sneeze on the way? Yes, it was – the handkerchief pressed beneath his nose, and the air came fast, frantic, into his lungs, lifting his diaphragm up, up–
And then dropping it in a sudden huff of breath.
And lifting it again–!
And… nothing.
Robespierre’s posture was a struggling against the hesitant third, somehow the most stubborn, of the sneezes, and Lorenzia saw her chance. She reached behind him to his quill on the desk, holding it delicately between forefinger and thumb. He didn’t stop her when she moved in towards him, mere inches away; he was too preoccupied with his closed eyes and fluttering breaths. Under normal circumstances, he would not let her, or anyone, this close to him. Lorenzia opened her mouth in a small smile, charmed by his distraction, his neediness, as she brought the feather to his face.
At the slightest touch, he pulled away. She pursued. He pulled away again, stumbling backwards to his chair and trying to turn to the desk, but Lorenzia caught him by his chin and turned him towards her instead. She felt his resistance to her soft fingers, wondered suddenly, briefly, if a woman had broken his heart, that her touch wasn’t an unusual sensation to him but in fact something all too familiar. That, like her spells, Robespierre’s skin was blanketed in memories and to touch him was to reopen a hundred invisible wounds.
But Lorenzia had never been the type of woman to hold back.
The introduction of the feather to the inside of his nose was met with a blustering snort. The next attempt was not much better. She imagined the feeling was very foreign and unpleasant, and Robespierre swatted her off when she tried again. He glared at her with watery eyes.
“Enough of that,” he growled. “You are only making it worse.”
“That’s what your problem is,” Lorenzia said, bringing the feather under his chin. “It’s a sneeze. It has to get worse before it can get better.”
Robespierre went very quiet at that, but kept his jaw raised, not yet giving in to her argument. Lorenzia waved the feather against his right ear temptingly. He didn’t respond to it. He stared, not happy but not angry, as if he were looking right through her. Eventually, he closed his eyes. It was not her actions that seemed to undo Robespierre; it was more as though he had reached some decision with himself. The angle of his head sort of relaxed, then, as if letting her know she had permission to try again.
Lorenzia put on another slow smile. Even though she had ‘won,’ it had not been an easy victory, and she delighted in that notion.
This time Robespierre let the feather go deeper into his nose, as if to prove his acceptance. It still wasn’t long before he had to snort against it, but it was tucked in too deep to be forced out this time. Pleased by this, Lorenzia began to stir the feather around with tantalizing slowness. Robespierre’s response was subtle but immediate. He took in a few gasping breaths, so thin and light like whispers. His arms were folded, and his fingers twitched and tightened on their opposite elbow. When Lorenzia began to reverse the spinning of the quill, he clenched his teeth, grimaced, and opened his eyes to slits.
“I would prefer it if you didn’t take your time,” he rasped.
Lorenzia’s smile became more prim. “I’m not trying to take my time. Is it working then?” She trembled the feather as she swirled it and watched to see his response.
Robespierre shifted his posture uncomfortably. His upper lip twitched and his eyes narrowed. The feather wasn’t moving things along as quickly as he would have liked, she could tell, and before his patience could wear off and he’d say “Never mind,” Lorenzia tried fervidly to make him sneeze. The feather spun faster, twitched more. It was bothering him, she could tell, but it wasn’t bothering him enough.
As his eyebrows began to knit and Robespierre opened his mouth, as if to protest, Lorenzia touched the feather to the back of his nose and gave it the tiniest of tremors. It was the last thing she could think of. Would it work?
Robespierre’s eyes widened, then clenched. “Hhh…”
Lorenzia kept at it. Robespierre sniffed, fluttery. “H-hh… Hh-huh…”
His gasps were getting deeper, sounding fuller in his chest than the light breaths from before. Proud of her success, Lorenzia continued this subtle gesture, and soon Robespierre’s head was tipping back, responding to the tiny stimulus much more urgently than the twisting. He couldn’t stand it, not for another instant. And with the feather tucked as far in as it would yield, and trembling like a leaf in a summer breeze, Lorenzia watched the stoic, steadfast Maximilien Robespierre lose control.
“—SHH’IUUU!”
He sneezed. It was a sneeze as stubborn as he was, and he’d barely had the resolve to brush Lorenzia’s hand to the side before it came free. The quill had fallen to the floor when he’d done it. His recovery seemed immediate; other than his still-pink nose, one might have guessed he hadn’t sneezed at all, if they hadn’t seen it happen. But though his face was placid, it was not the end. Robespierre turned fully to the desk, whisking out his handkerchief, and sneezing into it three more times. “… Sh’iuuu! Huh-shhoo! —shhh!” Then he blew, roughly, politely, a last time, and sighed like someone who was tired.
“À tes souhaits,” Lorenzia purred again. She picked up the feather from its place on the floor and pointed at him with its soft tip. “Well? Did that do the trick then?”
She had been hoping Robespierre would be embarrassed by the ordeal, or maybe even a little relieved and thankful—anything other than his usual despondence. But his eyes were foggy and distant as he tucked his handkerchief away, and he was quiet for a moment.
“Well?” Lorenzia smirked, though she was feeling a little put-off. “Not even a thank you?”
Robespierre did look at her then. If he were smiling, it was so small as to be scarcely perceptible. She could have been imagining it. “I was under the impression that that was an exchange, not a favor.” His voice was as rehearsed as ever. “You’ve cured my ailment, and I’ve cured yours.”
Lorenzia blinked, eyebrows joining in puzzlement. “My ailment?”
Robespierre took the quill not forcefully from her fingers. “Your boredom.”
With that, he set back to his letter with the very culprit that had caused his sneeze.
Lorenzia watched him. The feather was only a bit disheveled by its ordeal. The man who held it was in equal poise. Somehow, she felt she knew Maximilien Robespierre even less than she had before.
After another ponderous moment, Lorenzia trailed back to the bed and curled up on it, a lounging jungle cat once more. Outside, the roof of the pale sky was dappled with tiny stars. She heard Cagliostro coming up the road, shouting something merry to a passerby in a voice that said he’d already gotten started on that vodka. Soon he’d be upstairs, a bottle in each hand, and the din of the room would surely be broken until he fell into a drunken sleep.
“Lorenzia.”
Robespierre’s voice was somehow quiet and powerful at once. It cut through the air just as well as Cagliostro’s booming laughter.
Lorenzia sat up, playing her fingers through her thick hair. “Mm?”
“There’s no need to tell Cagliostro about what transpired while he was away.”
Lorenzia’s mouth opened just a bit in surprise. Then she smiled. “And… if I did tell him?”
Robespierre’s hand had not stopped writing while he spoke. “I should not feel the need to stay company with someone who I cannot trust, nor should I feel inclined to protect their secrets… or, perhaps, alleviate their boredom.”
Without any wind blowing through the window, Lorenzia felt herself shiver. She was not sure if she could love men anymore, but this particular man knew how to keep her interest.
She bowed her head to him as if he were a king. “Well… we certainly can’t have that, now, can we?”
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