#District and Sessions Judge

[yogenderthakur]

District and Sessions Judge, Mandi Clerk, Peon & Other Posts Recruitment 2022

District and Sessions Judge, Mandi Clerk, Peon & Other Posts Recruitment 2022

District and Sessions Judge, Mandi Clerk, Peon & Other Posts Recruitment 2022 District and Sessions Judge, Mandi Clerk, Peon & Other Posts Recruitment 2022 | District and Sessions Judge, Mandi Clerk ,Peon & Other Posts Jobs Notification & Online Application form 2022 District and Sessions Judge, Mandi Clerk, Peon & Other Posts Recruitment 2022: Applications in prescribed format are invited from…

[townpostin]

New Sub-Divisional Civil Court Inaugurated in Chakradharpur

Chief Justice Inaugurates Chakradharpur Sub-Divisional Court A new sub-divisional court in Chakradharpur was inaugurated with traditional rituals and mantras. CHAKRADHARPUR – The Chakradharpur Sub-Divisional Court was inaugurated on Sunday amidst traditional rituals and chanting of mantras. Priests Gautam Nanda and Mahadev Nanda conducted the ceremonies. The building was officially opened by…

[afewproblems]

I want Steve to find out about the simultaneous games that happened at the beginning of season 4.

That Eddie insisted that the hellfire session went on as scheduled, despite the fact that Lucas wouldn't be able to make it.

Lucas, one of Steve's kids, who Steve had defended from being beaten up, putting himself in the line of fire from that racist asshole Billy Hargrove.

Lucas, who had been pushed aside and alienated from his longtime friends just because he also liked sports and wanted to try and remain afloat in the ocean of high school.

Lucas, who loved his friends and and enjoyed different things, because spoiler alert you can in fact be a jock and like Dungeons and Beasts or whatever the hell it was called. Steve enjoyed Star Wars and could dunk, proof right there.

But all it took was one word from Eddie, and Dustin and Mike not only didn't go to Lucas's game, but they couldn't even be happy for him about the championship AND their final session of their long-term campaign went on as scheduled despite the absence of the oldest Sinclair.

Sure Jason Carver turned out to be a crazy asshole but Steve knew exactly how it felt to be caught between worlds and the biggest difference was that Lucas had always been a good person.

Unlike him.

One nice thing about his King Steve days was that he knew how to push, and he could turn it on for a day, just to knock some sense into a certain curly haired metal head.

"Hang back a sec man," Steve says almost casually as they exit Eddie's van after pulling into the movie theater. The kids tumble out of the open doors and race towards the building, pushing each other in their hurry to get in line for the second running of Highlander.

"What's up Stevie?" Eddie says, his dimpled grin comes out in full force as he looks Steve up and down, leaning back again the front of the vehicle grill. His arms cross loosely over his Black Sabath shirt and the various rings and chains sparkle in the high afternoon sun. He looks great today.

Focus Steve.

He clears his throat and sighs, trying to get into the heads pace from earlier when he initially found out what happened from Dustin. He had been absolutely furious.

But the flame of righteous fury had dissipated, leaving behind a cold feeling of disappointment in Eddie. It hung heavy and immovable in his chest, he needed to talk to him.

"Hey uh, I heard about the championship game man, Lucas's game".

Eddie tilts his head slightly, his brown doe eyes scanning Steve's face with confusion.

"What the basketball game back in March? That was like six months ago man? What about it?"

"Did you ever apologize to Lucas?" Steve asks, he keeps his face neutral, not wanting to influence the answer as Eddie scoffs. Not a great sign.

"For what Harrington?" And that stings a little, he'd been Stevie for the last two months or so, sometimes a Honey or Sweetheart thrown into the mix and Steve felt that they were barreling their way towards something new.

Steve swallows, he can't let this go, not even for Eddie.

"It was a shit thing to do man, to not let Lucas play and to not let Dustin and Mike go to support him--"

"Those kids know that the campaign comes first, that's the first tenant of Hellfire and they know that going in!" Eddie snarls, he steps forward towards Steve who holds his ground with narrowed eyes.

Fine.

"I thought you were above that sort of thing Munson, judging people for the things they like? Assuming things about a person and writing them off".

Eddie stops, his face paling slightly, his angry expression flickers once but remains in place as he crosses his arms again.

"Those games can't be rescheduled man," Steve continues with a shake of his head, "it's not even the school that decides the schedule for the season, it's the districts and the coaches, and who fucking cares if he was on the bench for most of the season? Because he played! And none of you were there".

Steve sighs and runs a tired hand over his face, "Not even his friends who he has known since pre-school. And with Will gone and Max dealing with all that shift from Starcourt and Vecna it was just the three of them, and you took that from him man".

Eddie stares at him, he says nothing, he doesn't even look like he's breathing right now and Steve feels like shit.

"I'm just saying, if you do that again, to any of them, to my kids," Steve says matter of factly, "then we'll have a problem".

"That supposed to be a threat, King Steve?" Eddie sneers at him, but his shoulders are dropping, and there is no true heat behind the words.

Steve shakes his head as Mike pops out of the double doors of the entrance and yells at the pair of them to, shit or get off the pot because what hell is taking them so long?

"No Eddie, it's not a threat because I'm hoping that you'll do the right thing. Because I know you love those kids and you're not an asshole".

He turns on his heel and heads towards the doors, leaving Eddie with the empty van. His heart thumps wildly in his chest, and the cold feeling in his chest spreads and spreads as he goes over the conversation again and again.

It stings a little to know that he's ruined whatever he had with Eddie but he couldn't let this go, friends don't lie after all.

He grabs their tickets, still buying one for Eddie --just in case, though the other man has not entered the building.

Steve tamps down the tight feeling of disappointment that grows the longer Eddie remains outside. If Eddie takes off, leaving them there, Steve can cover, he'll get Nancy to pick them up or maybe Jonathan --they're on better footing these days. He'll say Eddie had some kind of emergency come up, that Wayne needed him for something.

Yeah, friends didn't lie, but how could he break the kids' hearts like this?

They thankfully don't seem to pick up on this as they chatter about Sean Connery and what flavor of soda to get.

"Oh there you are dude! We thought you got kidnapped!" Dustin suddenly crows beside Steve, he turns to see Eddie behind him, a strange expression on his face.

Oh thank God.

"Nah, just had a quick smoke before the movie man, uh actually I wanted to borrow Lucas for a sec if that's cool?"

The kids look from Eddie to Steve, as though to check if he knows what's going on, Eddie hasn't been this shifty since March when Chrissy's death hit the news.

Steve nudges Lucas by the shoulder, leaning slightly down to say, "I'll grab your snacks, go on".

Lucas gives him a confused look over his shoulder before following Eddie outside the entrance  the doors swing closed just as Dustin whirls on Steve.

"What the hell was that!" He demands with crossed arms and a scowl on his face, his blue eyes scanning Steve's own for something, some information about what is going on outside.

"Yeah, you guys are being weird," Mike snarks from over his shoulder, he's standing with Will and El who watch the interaction with curious eyes, "first you take forever to come in and now this?"

And so much for the kids not picking up on it.

"You guys are pretty nosy," Steve hums, deflecting with a small smile as he ruffles Dustin's curls and steps forward with the rest of the line.

Dustin glares with narrowed eyes and huffs, "Fine, I'll just ask Lucas about it".

Steve snorts, he isn't sure if the kids have even talked about it. They've all been friends long enough now that this one event wouldn't be enough to hurt this kind of friendship. But it's certainly been on Dustin's mind since he was the one to bring it up to Steve that morning.

"Good idea," Steve says with a smile as he steps up the the counter, he looks at the kids before smiling at the clerk, "okay what's everyone having, let her know".

***

The lights have dimmed and the pre-show has started by the time Eddie and Lucas make their way over to the seats Steve and the kids have saved. Steve hands Lucas his popcorn and soda, sprite and orange crush mixed, as he makes his way over to the empty seat beside Dustin. There is a wide smile on his face, and it startles Steve slightly as he realizes he hasn't seen Lucas with one around Eddie in months.

His heart hurts at the thought.

Eddie drops down beside Steve, blowing out a long slow sigh as he does.

He scrubs a pair of ringed hands over his face roughly before finally relaxing into the shitty theater seat and reaching over to snag a handful of popcorn from Steve's bag, spilling kernels all over the place. 

Steve rolls his eyes and tips the bag closer to Eddie who immediately grabs a second handful.

Eddie is facing the screen, but his eyes are trained on the seat in front of him, the projection illuminates his face in whites, yellows, greens, and blues as the movie begins and Steve can't look away.

He eventually tips his face towards Steve, "You were right," Eddie murmurs before finally taking in the screen as he looks away again. Even though he's sitting nearly boneless and slumped in the seat, his shoulders are tense, upset. 

Guilty.

"I'm glad," Steve whispers, and he is.

The icy feeling of disappointment that held his chest in a tight vice grip all morning finally loosens as he leans into the armrest and feels the warmth of Eddie's shoulder soak into his own.

"Thanks Steve," Eddie whispers, his warm breath ghosting over Steve's ear as leans closer, letting their hands brush in the darkness of the theater.

Steve closes his eyes, and lets himself bask in the warmth, even for just a moment.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Were Danton and Camille really as close as almost every biography/novel/movie, etc. makes them out to be? For a long time I believed they were best friends, but I realize that I don't know much about what really happened (only that Camille mentioned him as a friend several times in his letters).

Sorry if a similar question has already been asked, and thank you for all your wonderful posts. I read each one with great interest.

Thank you! I’m throwing in their wives too for good measure.

As popular as the idea of Danton and Desmoulins being friends already before the revolution is among novelists (A Place of Greater Safety (1992) by Hilary Mantel, The Gods Are Thirsty (1996) by Tanith Lee) and even biographers (Danton (2012) by David Lawday, Georges-Jacques Danton (1987) by Frank Dwyer) I have not been able to discover any evidence indicating this to actually have been the case. The very first connection I’ve found between the two dates to December 12 1789, when Desmoulins for the very first time mentions Danton’s name in his recently founded journal Révolutions de France et de Brabant:

As I do not have the advantage of being from the illustrious Cordeliers District, I am addressing this motion [to make it forbidden to use the term Queen of the French in public acts] to it through this journal. I beg its worthy President M. d'Anton to propose it to the honorable members, to discuss it in their wisdom and address it to the fifty-nine others; I leave my motion on their desks, and I sign it... A Frenchman.

The second time Camille mentions Danton’s name in Révolutions de France et de Brabant is eleven numbers later (March 1 1790). In the number, Camille describes how he on February 24 for the very first time enters the Cordeliers club and enrolls himself as a member. The very same session, he, alongside Danton, Fabre d’Eglantine, Paré and Dufourny de Villiers are named commissioners for the editing of a report by the club requesting the construction of a building ”worthy the National Assembly” on the place of the destroyed Bastille. This is the earliest confirmed meeting between Danton and Desmoulins that I’ve been able to find.

By the end of the same month, in number 17 (March 20) and number 18 (March 29) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, Camille loudly protests against the fact Danton (”this lustrous president of the Cordeliers district”) has been decreed under arrest by le Châtelet de Paris, accused of having threatened to ring the tocsin in order to mobilize the Faubourg Saint−Antoine for the defense of his district when the National Guard came by:

If you put on trial a citizen who has put forward an extravagant opinion in his district, you will therefore also have to put on trial, with much more reason, the judge who, in his company, has opined in an extravagant manner; it will therefore be necessary to hang the judge who will have sentenced to death an accused whom the majority will have absolved, since this judge will have approved the death of an innocent person, which is much worse than making an extravagant motion in a district.

Desmoulins brings up Danton in Révolutions de France et de Brabant a few more times throughout the rest of 1790, calling him both ”the lustrous Danton” (number 31, June 28, number 35, July 26) as well as the more bombastic ”the most robust athlete of the patriots, the only tribune of the people who could have been heard in the Champ-de-Mars, and with his voice rally the patriots around the tribune, the only man whose veto the aristocracy had to fear, and in whom it could have found both the Gracchi brothers and a Marius.” (number 44, September 27). When Danton in the fall is appointed judge at Saint-Germain, Camille celebrates (number 47, October 18):

The Philoctetes of Hercules, d’Anton, is also appointed judge at Saint-Germain. He is well worthy of sitting next to M. Le Grand de Laleu. Honor to the city of Saint-Germain! Based on these two choices we can only augur well for the others. I would be tempted to believe that our patriarch Robe did so many readings of his poem on the revolution there, that he inflamed all the voters with a patriotism which dictated to them these excellent choices. The Parisians, ungrateful, forgot in the elections Danton, and Abbé Fauchet, and Brissot, and Carra, and Manuel; but it seems that the surrounding districts were responsible for the recognition.

On December 27 1790 Danton, alongside twelve other well known ”patriots,” signed the Desmoulins couple’s wedding contract. He was however not present for the actual wedding ceremony two days later, something which I suppose could be read as implying he and Desmoulins were not that close yet. On the other hand, the way Desmoulins does describe his wedding witnesses in a letter to his father written five days later (”Péthion [sic] and Robespierre, the elite of the National Assembly, M. de Sillery who wanted to be there, and my two colleagues Brissot de Warville and Mercier, the elite among the journalists”), it almost sounds like he’s chosen them less out of friendship and more out of prestige, so maybe this doesn’t have to mean that much either… After the wedding, Camille and Lucile moved to Rue du Théâtre 1 (today Rue de l’Odeon 28) roughly a ten minute walk from the Dantons’ apartment on 20 cour du Commerce-Saint-André (today destroyed). The ease with which they would come and go between these two apartments will be seen through Lucile’s diary 1792-1793.

In number 63 (February 7 1791) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, Camille celebrates the fact that ”the excellent patriot Danton” has become a member of the department of Paris — ”If there is only one patriot of this caliber in the 83 departments, all the projects of our enemies from within and without will fail against his firmness, his ascendancy, his vigilance and his incorruptibility.” In a letter to La Marck dated March 10 1791, Mirabeau claimed to ”have evidence Danton was behind (a fait faire)the latest number of Camille-Desmoulins,” which, regardless of whether the charge was true, suggests a certain closeness between the two at this point. In number 72 (April 11) Camille exclaims: ”how the true jacobin Danton made blush the adulators that his excellency had already found.” Two numbers after that (April 25), he celebrates Danton’s actions the 18th the same month, the day the royal family tried to leave for Saint-Cloud but was stopped by a mob. In the number, Camille writes that Danton told him how he on the day in question had found himself at the Departemnt when Bailly and La Fayette came there to demand permission to proclaim martial law and order the National Guards to fire on the crowd surrounding the royal family if necessary. Danton had successfully intervened and reduced them to silence. Camille praises this move in the number:

Courage, dear Danton! how much the patriotic writers must congratulate themselves today, who fought with obstinacy to praise you, and constantly nominated you for the votes of the people. By the parallel of your tribunitian eloquence, of your incorruptibility, of your masculine courage, with the academic and lachrymatory sentences of the courtier Bailly and his telescope which would have made us fall into the well with the astronomer in a scarf, continue to cover with shame all the citizens who gave him votes due to your patriotism.

In the same number, Camille also attributed to Danton and Kersaint an address placing the blame on what had happened on the 18th not on the people, but on the king: ”The same day the department of Paris presented the king with an address, the first, perhaps, which was written in the style of a free people. Also, it had been written by Danton and Kersaint: [transcription of the address].” According to Danton (1978) by Normann Hampson, Camille is however mistaken here, as the adress had actually been written by Talleyrand and Pastoret…

In the next number (May 2 1791) Camille writes the following, which I’m not sure how to interpret, but which Hervé Leuwers reads as assassins having been after both Camille, Danton and Fréron when the three were walking home a week earlier: ”I have learned that four assassins waited for me Tuesday evening (April 26), until midnight. Me, D’anton [sic] and the Orator of the People (Fréron).” In number 81 (June 18 1791) he lifts Danton, Garran de Coulon and Manuel as ”the candidates whom I would most strongly recommend to the 83 departments, for the next legislature.”

In number 82 (June 27 1791), Camille writes that, eleven o’clock in the evening of June 20, ”I was walking home from the Jacobins together with Danton and other patriots. We only saw but one patrol the whole way. Paris seemed so abandoned to me that night that I could not help but remark on it. One of us (Fréron according to Leuwers) who had in his pocket a letter which I will speak about, which warned him that the King had to leave that night, wanted to observe the castle, he saw M. Lafayette enter it at 11 o'clock.” The next morning, Paris woke up to the discovery that the royal family had indeed left the capital during the night. The very same day, Camille goes to the Jacobin club and arrives in the middle of Robespierre holding a speech about the current situation which moves him deeply. After him, Danton mounts the rostrum, and about the same time Lafayette enters the club. Danton delivers a speech blaming him for the king’s flight and asking he explains himself that Camille records in the journal. At the end of the speech, Alexandre Lameth rises to support Lafayette, recalling that he has always thought Lafayette would fall at the head of the patriots in case of a counter-revolution.

Danton came back to sit down next to me. Is it possible? I said to him. Yes, [he answered], and rising up, he confirmed that M. Alexandre Lameth had always said this to him about M. La Fayette. My blood boiled. I was tempted to cry out to Alexandre Lameth: you used very different language with me; and I declare that almost everything I wrote at La Fayette, I wrote, if not under your dictation, at least under your guarantee. But Danton held me back.

While all of this was going down, Lucile Desmoulins and Gabrielle Danton was staying at the apartment of the latter, something which we know through a letter Lucile wrote her mother on either June 24 or June 25, when the royal family had been captured and was on their way back to Paris. Unfortunately I have not been able to transcribe it in its entirety, but these are all the places mentioning Gabrielle that I could find:

…Ever since papa came with [warnings?] to us madame Danton and I have not left each other. I would have [gone crazy?] had I remained alone. These three days we have left [her place?] only at 9 o’clock [in the evening?] Sometimes people came to tell us that we were lost, and when we were told good news, madame Danton, her eyes filled with tears, threw herself around my neck. I’ve supped at her place during this time and [with?] all the patriots. […] Oh God o God, I’m going to send your beautiful  [p..?] to madame Danton.

On July 15 the Jacobins entrusted Brissot with writing a petition asking for the abdication of Louis XVI. The session was closed at midnight. Afterwards, Camille, Danton, Brune and La Poype all went over to Danton’s house to further discuss the petition (this was revealed by Brune in an interrogation held August 12 1791, published in number 34 (August 26) of the journal Gazette des nouveaux tribunaux). Two days later, the two were there once again, this time together with Fréron, Fabre, Santerre, Brune, Duplain, Momoro and Sergent-Marceau, and discussing the lynching of two men at the Champ-de-Mars the same morning, when, at nine o’clock, Legendre arrived and told the group that two men had come home to him and said: We are charged with warning you to get out of Paris, bring Danton, Camille and Fréron, let them not be seen in the city all day, it is Alexandre Lameth who engages this. Camille, Danton and Fréron follow this advice and leave, and were therefore most likely not present for the demonstration and shootings on Champ-de-Mars the very same day (this information was given more than forty years after the fact by Sergent-Marceau in volume 5 of the journal Revue rétrospective, ou Bibliothèque historique : contenant des mémoires et documens authentiques, inédits et originaux, pour servir à l'histoire proprement dite, à la biographie, à l'histoire de la littérature et des arts (1834)).

In the aftermath of the massacre on Champ de Mars, arrest warrants were issued against people deemed guilty for them. On July 22, the Moniteur reports that the journalists Suleau and Verrières have been arrested, and that the authorities have also fruitlessly gone looking for Fréron, Legendre, Desmoulins and Danton, the latter three, the journal assures, having already left Paris. Camille hid out at Lucile’s parents’ country house in Bourg-la-Reine together with Fréron, while Danton went to Arcis-sur-Aube, where he was sheltered by his friend Courtois, and then to Troyes (it’s also commonly stated he went to England during this period, but Hampson expresses some doubt over it). If Camille’s fellow journalist Louis Marie Prudhomme’s Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs, des fautes et des crimes commis pendant la Révolution (1797) is to be believed, on August 14, Danton told Camille and Fabre d’Églantine: the ”b.... won't have me; rather they will all be exterminated first.”

The rather flimsy charges against Danton and Camille — Danton was accused of having cheered on a crowd demanding Lafayette’s head on June 21, Camille of having made incendiary remarks at Café Procope café, saying that it was necessary to shoot the national guards — were however dropped after about six weeks, and in September 1791 they were both back in Paris to stand for election to the Legislative Assembly. Neither did however get in. Camille had also had to resign as journalist in the aftermath of the massacre on Champ-de-Mars.

In Histoire des Montagnards (1847) Alphonse Esquiros writes that Albertine Marat had told him that her brother, Danton and Desmoulins ”liked to come together, from time to time, to rest their souls in the sweet serenity of nature”:

In this contrast of the noise of revolutions with the silence, with the serious serenity of a sunset, under the trees, at the water's edge, a league from Paris, the three friends then had before their eyes the two faces eternal aspects of the world, history and nature, God in movement and God at rest. Danton, this eloquent thunderbolt, this large head of a genius on which smallpox had left big marks, Danton ordered dinner. Whatever efforts one agreed to make during the frugal meal, to keep irritating subjects out of the conversation, one was obliged to go there at dessert; because the company was too preoccupied with the dangers of the State not to mix public affairs with their most personal conversations.

When the question of war in December 1791 became the main topic of discussion, both Danton and Desmoulins joined the minority that cautioned against it. Already on December 16, right after Brissot had held his very first speech in favour of the idea, Danton, while praising the speaker as an excellent patriot, objected to the thought of a war right at the moment — ”I want us to have war; it is essential. We must have war. But above all, we have to exhaust the means that could save us from it.” Ten days later, December 26, Desmoulins did him too deliver a speech against war. Four days after that, after Brissot had just finished his second speech on the subject, Danton and Robespierre both demanded a change be made to a passage when it got printed. Following this moment, it would however appear Danton abandons the question. Camille on the other hand released the pamphlet Jean Pierre Brissot démasqué in February 1792, mocking Brissot and painting him as a fool. Danton’s name got mentioned three times throughout, Camille calling him and Robespierre ”the best citizens.” Danton also got mentioned a total of eight times in the journal La Tribune des Patriots Camille and Fréron published from April to June the very same year, but not in any way that could give us more insight into their relationship.

In her memoirs, Manon Roland claims that Danton and Fabre d’Églantine in the summer of 1792 often came home to her. At one point Fabre told her that “We have a newspaper project which we will call Compte rendu au Peuple souverain, and which will present the picture of the last revolution. Camille Desmoulins, Robert, etc, work on it.” Manon suggested they bring it to her husband for him to subsidise it, something which the two apparently never did, and there was no more talk of the journal again.

On June 23 1792 Lucile starts keeping a diary. The first time any of the Dantons show up in it is already on Wednesday June 27 — ”Madame D(anton) came, we played music.” A few days later Lucile gives this rather odd account: ”My head is spinning. I was madame D(anton) after dinner.” The day after that, July 6, she gives birth to her first child, and a week later, Camille writes to tell his father that said child ”was immediately sent to a wetnurse in Isle-Adam, with the little Danton” (François-Georges, born February 2 1792). If Camille and Lucile made a conscious choice of sending their son to the same wetnurse as Georges and Gabrielle’s (perhaps on the suggestion of their friends) one can only speculate in.

A week after Camille wrote his letter, Lucile traveled to her parents’ country house in Bourg-la-Reine. On July 25 Camille writes to tell her that ”I was brought to Chaville this morning by Panis, together with Danton, Fréron, Brune, at Santerre’s” (letter cited within Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république). Lucile returned to Paris on August 8. In a diary entry written four months later she reveals that she, in the afternoon of August 9, together with others went over to the Dantons. ”Her mother was crying, she was sad, her father looked dazed. D(anton) was resolute. As for me, I was laughing like a madwoman! They feared that the affair [the insurrection of August 10] would not take place; although I was not at all sure, I told them, as if I knew it well, that it would take place. “But can we laugh too?” mde D(anton) said to me. ”Alas, I said to her, that presages to me that I will perhaps shed a lot of tears this evening!” At the end of the day, Lucile, Gabrielle (and others?) go home to Gabrielle’s mother to go for a walk and eventually sit down next to a cafe with her. When groups of sans-culottes and troops on horseback pass by, Lucile gets scared and tells Gabrielle that they should go. ”She laughed at my fear, but by dint of telling her, she too became scared and we left. I say to her mother: ”Farewell! You will soon hear the toscin sound!” The two go back to Gabrielle’s apartment, where a scared Lucile eventually admits to Camille she doesn’t want him to get involved in the dangerous insurrection — ”He reassured me by telling me that he would not leave D(anton).” Lucile and Gabrielle are soon left alone in the apartment with Louise de Kéralio-Robert, but after only a little while Danton returns home and goes to bed. This eventually upsets Louise who tells Lucile that if her husband dies in the insurrection she will stick a knife in Danton. ”From that moment on I never left her. What did I know what could happen? To know what she was capable of…” Some additional time later Camille returns to the apartment and falls asleep on Lucile’s shoulder. Louise tells her that “I can’t stay here any longer! Madame D(anton) is unbearable to me, she seems to be calm, her husband does not want to expose himself!” Lucile therefore suggests she come with her and Camille to their apartment to get some rest. When they around noon go back to the Dantons’ place again ”Madame D(anton) ran up to us to see how we were, she was soon informed when she saw the silence of one and the tears of the other. We waited long enough without knowing anything. Finally they came to tell us that we were victorious.” In a letter to her mother penned down the very same day, Lucile, similarly to how she described them during the Flight to Varennes, writes: ”Mme Danton and I do not leave each other, when I would have liked to flee it would have been impossible, the women are kept from going out.” The following night Camille and Lucile sleep over at the Roberts. When Lucile returns home on the 12th she learns that Danton has been appointed minister of justice. ”These news gave me great pleasure, especially when C(amille) came to tell me that he was secretary.” One day later Camille writes a letter revealing the very same news to his father:

My friend Danton has become minister thanks to the canon. This bloody day could only end, for the two of us especially, in being raised or hoisted together. He said to the national assembly: If I had been defeated, I would have been a criminal. The cause of liberty has triumphed, and Danton has associated me to his triumph.

According to Prudhomme’s Histoire générale et impartiale… (1797), it was Camille and Fabre themselves who three o’clock in the morning announced to Danton that he had been named minister of justice, after which they demanded he make them his secretaries:

”But, are you sure that I am appointed minister?” [said Danton].  “Yes,” replied the two midshipmen; and we will not leave you until we have your word for these two places.” ”Right on time,” said Danton. And everything was arranged according to the wishes of the two revolutionary patriots; but all this does not praise their disinterestedness.

After Camille and Danton had gotten their new occupations, both families briefly went to live at Hôtel de Bourvallais. Lucile writes:

I really liked it there, but only one thing bothered me, it was Fréron. Every day I saw new progress and didn’t know what to do about it. I consulted Maman, she approved of my plan to banter and joke about it, and that was the wisest thing to do. Because what to do? Forbid him to come? He and C(amille) dealt with each other every day, we would meet. To tell him to be more circumspect was to confess that I knew everything and that I did not disapprove of him; an explanation would have been needed. I therefore thought myself very prudent to receive him with friendship and reserve as usual, and I see now that I have done well. Soon he left to go on a mission. I was very happy with it, I thought it would change him. But many other cares to be taken… I realized that D(anton)… Oh, of that one, I was suspicious! I had to fear the eyes of his wife with whom I did not want to be hurt. I did so well that one did not know that I had noticed it, and the other that it might be. We spent three months like this quite cheerfully. At the end of this time C(amille) was appointed deputy and we returned to our first home.

Somewhere during Camille and Danton’s time in the ministry we find the following undated letter ”from the minister of justice to citizen Desmoulins, national commissioner in Vervins” (Camille’s father). Charles Vellay, who published the letter in 1792, did however find it more likely for the author of the letter, unlike what the header leads you to believe, was Camille, seeing as it is in a secretary’s handwriting and the letter was found among his and not Danton’s papers:

I am pleased to learn, Citizen, that yielding to the wishes of your compatriots, you have accepted the position of Natal Commissioner at the Vervins District Tribunal. You could undoubtedly desire some rest after the long fatigues you have had and the feeling which invited you to retire was very legitimate; but it was worthy of your good citizenship to still make the sacrifice for your country, and I am convinced that it was not in the midst of the agitations which precede the most beautiful of centuries that you would have left without regret a career where you you still have services to render to public affairs for a long time to come. It is not fair, however, to forget that the more you redouble your efforts, the more it is in your fellow citizens' interest to prescribe reasonable limits for yourself, and it is also your duty to moderate your zeal and not to forbid you these considerations which can be reconciled with public service and the care of your health. Your colleagues will themselves urge you to give nature the moments of relaxation it needs; a few temporary absences can be infinitely useful to you, and certainly they will not harm the interests of business if some attention is given to the circumstances and replacement measures. I will approve the first of wise precautions which I feel the necessity of and sure of my attachment to your duties I will rely with confidence on your respect for this moral responsibility as sacred as the will of the laws to true republicans.

Danton would however not remain minister of justice for a long time, already on August 26 Camille reported to his father that:

It seems that several departments will nominate me and especially Danton [to the National Convention], and he will not hesitate for a moment to leave the ministry to be representative of the people. You can imagine that I would follow an example that I would have given him, if I were in his place. Danton is from Paris no more than I am, and it is a remarkable thing that among all the principal authors of the revolution and among all of our friends, we perhaps do not know a single one who was born in Paris.

However, before the opening of the National Convention, the so called September Massacres took place. In l’Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs… (1797) Prudhomme attributed big responsibility for the prison killings to both Danton and Desmoulins, portraying them as aware of what was going to happen already on September 2, the day before they began:

September 2, at midday, I go, hearing the noise of the tocsin and the cannon of alarm, to my section de l'Unité.  People came to announce that the barriers had been closed. A general consternation was painted on all faces. At the news of the arrival of the Prussians in Paris, as well as of a conspiracy of the prisoners against the patriots (a vague rumor had been circulating about it for fifteen days), a number of citizens questioned me on this subject.  ”Your profession as a journalist should enable you to know something,” one said to me.  ”I know nothing,” I responded, ”but I’m going to visit someone who could tell me.” As I knew Camille Desmoulins since a long time back, I thought it a good idea to go to his house. I didn’t find him anywhere, one assured me that he was at Danton’s, minister of justice. It was about half past two in the afternoon, I went home to the minister, and told him: ”I have come, in the quality of pure patriotism and in my own name, to ask you what this canon of alarm, this toscin and the arrival of the Prussians to Paris.”  ”Calm down, old friend of liberty,” Danton responded, ”it’s the toscin of victory.”  ”But,” I told him, ”people talk about slitting throats.”  ”Yes,” he told me, ”we were all about to have our throats cut this night, starting with the most patriotic. All those arisocrat rascals, who are in the prisons, had been provided with firearms and daggers. At a specified time next night, the gates were to be opened to them; they would have spread in different quarters to cut the throats of the wives and children of the patriots who will leave to march against the Prussians. We addressed ourselves principally, above all, to those who had demonstrated the principles of freedom.” ”All this comes off as a bit made up to me,” I responded, ”but what means are to be employed to prevent the execution of such a plot?” ”What means?” he said. ”The People, irritated and instructed in time, want to do justice themselves to all the bad subjects inside the prisons.” At these words I was seized with horror; I told him that such a measure appeared to me unworthy of a people who claimed to be free. At this moment, Camille Desmoulins entered.  ”Hello there!” Danton said to him. ”Prudhomme just asked me what is to be done.  ”Yes,” I said, ”and I am heartbroken after what I have just heard. ”So you (tu) didn’t tell him that one won’t mix up the innocent with the guilty? Camille said to Danton. ”All those who will be claimed by their sections will be returned.”  ”Seems to me that we could take a less violent measure,” I responded. ”Spilling blood is an abominable act of which those who govern are responsible. The people will one day make those who make them commit this crime pay dearly. Let Paris march en masse against the Prussians. Send the wives and children of those who are to march at the enemy out of Paris to avoid them getting massacred by the prisoners, let us lock them up in fortified castles.”  ”Any kind of moderate measure is useless,” Danton said. ”The anger of the people is at its height, there would even be danger in stopping it.” His first anger assuaged, one could make him listen to reason.  ”But,” I say, ”if the Legislative body and the constituted authorities spread themselves through Paris, and harangued the people?” ”No, no,” replied Camille, ”that would be too dangerous; for the people, in their first wrath, might make victims in the person of their dearest friends.” I withdrew filled with pain. 

Exiting Danton’s house, Prudhomme adds:

As I passed through the dining room, I saw the wives of Camille, Danton, Robert, etc, Fabre-d'Eglantine, and other guests. I did not know what to think of the tranquility that reigned at the house of the Minister of Justice; everything led me to believe that it was indeed impossible to stop the resentment of the People, at the news of a conspiracy hatched by the nobles and priests. 

The next day, Prudhomme also claims that Théophile Mandar went over to Danton’s place, where he saw ”all ministers, with the exception of Roland, Lacroix, president [of the Assembly], Pétion, mayor of Paris, Robespierre, Camille-Desmoulins, Fabre d’Églantine, Manuel and several members of the so-called Commune of August 10. The presidents and commanders from each of the 48 sections had come as well.” Half past seven in the evening everyone sat down in Danton’s salon to discuss the means to save Paris, Danton staying firm in his conviction of what had just happened and was still happening as necessary.

On September 8, two days after the end of the massacres, the time had come for Camille to be elected to the National Convention. He did at first come under question for his friendship with the royalist journalist François Suleau, killed in the Insurrection of August 10. The journal Gazette nationale de France does however report that Camille after this ”was defended with a lot of energy and eloquence by M. Danton and his election was almost unanimous.” With that, Desmoulins became the sixth elected deputy representing Paris (Danton was the second).

In December 1792, Lucile returns to keeping a diary. On the 22nd she writes: ”I went to supper with little Brune at mde D(anton’s). How detestable she is!” It’s hard to tell if it’s Gabrielle or madame Brune she designates as detestable, and even harder to know what she had done in order to get called that… Two days later, December 24, Lucile documents the following:

We had dinner at mde D(anton's), mde R(obert), B(rune) and B(oyer) were there. After dinner the men asked themselves if they should go to the Jacobins. They said yes. We were asked if we would go. We say no. Madame D(anton) said to me: ”do you (vous) want to spend the evening with me?,” I said yes, but soon I did not know what to do. Brune suggested I go to the theater! It was very embarrassing. Madame Brune said aloud: “I have never been to the Jacobins, I would be very happy to go there.” "Well, I'm going with you," I tell her. Finally, here we are, all ready to leave, when I see Mme Brune and Boyer whispering in each other’s ears. I, like a fool, go to ask them what they’re saying to each other. Mde R(obert) told me that she was very embarrassed, that she would like to go with us to the Jacobins. I was very kind, I said a few words to her that meant nothing, then I went into the antechamber. She came there soon and told me to wait for her, that she was going to follow me, she came back near madame D(anton). Brune came and told me “let’s go”. I followed her saying: ”but mde R(obert) who wants to come?” Finally, we are hardly in the middle of the staircase when we hear someone who says “here they are, here they are!”, then we descend with astonishing speed, and when we are in the street we run even harder. We took a fairly long detour. God knows how we laughed! Nothing, too, was more comical.

Throughout the first two halves of January, Lucile goes to the Convention to follow the trial of Louis XVI every single day. If Gabrielle went with her to these sessions is not confirmed, but not disproven either. Danton was absent on a mission in Belgium for most of the trial, but on January 14 he returned to Paris and two days later he voted for death, just like Camille. One day after the execution of the king, January 22 1793, Lucile writes: ”I went to Robert’s. Danton came there. His jokes are as boorish as he is. Despite this, he is a good devil. Madame Ro(bert) seemed jealous of how he teased me…” Two days later she witnesses the funeral procession of the recently assassinated Michel Peletier from the window of Jeanne-Justine Boyer, an event which moves her deeply. Once all her guests have left for the evening ”I felt that I could not be alone and bear the horrible thoughts that were going to besiege me. I ran to D(anton’s). He was moved to see me still pale and defeated. We drank tea, I supped there.” A week later, January 29, Lucile reports that ”we had dinner at D(anton's), where I just laughed, because I was preventing Brune from eating by saying "poa, poa, poa". D(anton) too couldn't keep himself from laughing.” Four days after that, February 3, Lucile writes ”I went to see madame Danton. Sick.” Three days later, she goes back to see her friend — ”I went to see madame Danton… She is very ill.” Yet another three days later Lucile writes ”Madame Danton is ill. She has given birth to a girl.” and at last, the day after that: ”I had dinner with Maman. Madame Danton is dead.” Two days after the death of her friend, Lucile goes to visit Gabrielle’s mother together with madame Brune and Robert. Shortly after that, she and Camille do however leave for Essonne, the latter having been apointed to a mission there, while Georges returned to Paris after another mission in Belgium to receive the sad news. Lucile did however not forget about him, in a letter to her mother Annette dated February 16 she asks her to ”give us news regarding Danton.” Apropos of Annette eventually joining them in Essonne Lucile adds: ”I forgot to mention a facility that could be of use for you, it’s Danton’s carriage. No doubt he could still have it.”

On March 26 1793, Desmoulins and Danton were both elected for the so called Commission of Public Safety, alongside 23 others. The commission, which consisted of both fervent montagnards and fervent girondins, was however off to a rocky start, and already on April 6 it was put to death and replaced by the Committee of Public Safety. A little more than a month later, May 17, Desmoulins announced the release of his new pamphlet l’Histoire des Brissotins to the Jacobins. Danton’s name gets mentioned eleven times in it, but only one can be used to really say something about their relationship, and it’s when Camille on page 54 writes: ”Jérôme Pétion told Danton in confidence that ”what makes poor Roland saddest is the fact people will discover his domestic sorrows and how bitter being a cuckold is to the old man, troubling the serenity of that great soul.” This implies Danton went and shared Roland’s secret with Camille after Pétion had confided it to him. Two weeks later, on June 7, a ”member” is recorded to have voiced suspicion on Danton’s current sentiments — ”This deputy isn’t as revolutionary as he used to. He doesn’t come to the Jacobins anymore. He left me the other day to approach a general.” In response, Camille is recorded to have ”advocated Danton’s good citizenship.” In Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, au général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes released a few months later, Camille calls Robert Lindet, Robespierre and Danton ”the best citizens of the Convention.”

On October 30, 22 girondins were sentenced to death. In Les mysterès de la mère de Dieu dévoilès(1794) Joachim Vilate described a dramatic reaction from Camille’s part upon hearing the final verdict: ”hearing the juror's declaration, he suddenly threw himself into my arms, agitated, tormenting himself:”ah my god, my god, it's me who kills them: my Brissot dévoilé [sic], ah my god, it’s that which kills them.” If Dominique-Joseph Garat’s Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct, in the public employments which I have held (1795) are to be believed, Danton too was deeply moved by the fate of the girondins, to the extent it motivated him to, on October 12, ask for a leave of absence to go to Arcis-sur-Aube in order to recruit his health:

I could not convince myself that among all those who, since May 31, had retained great popularity, there was not one who did not still retain a little humanity, and I went to Danton. He was ill, it only took me two minutes to see that his illness was above all a deep pain and a great dismay at everything that was coming. ”I won't be able to save them (the girondins)”, were the first words out of his mouth, and, as he uttered them, all the strength of this man, who has been compared to an athlete, was defeated, big tears strolled down his face, whose shapes could have been used to represent that of Tartarus. […] When the fate reserved for the twenty-two [girondins] seemed inevitable, Danton already heard, so to speak, his death sentence in theirs. All the strength of this triumphant athlete of democracy succumbed under the feeling of the crimes of democracy and its disorders. He could only talk about the countryside, he was suffocating, he needed to escape from men in order to be able to breathe.

Danton’s absence did not go unnoticed. In a letter from Toulon written October 18, Fréron tells Lucile that ”I have been really worried about Danton. The public papers announce that he is ill. Let me know if he has recovered. Give him 1000 friendships from my part.” Through the next letter Fréron writes Lucile, dated December 11, we learn that Danton had a nickname within this inner circle of friends — ”I would like to have news of Patagon (Brune), Saturne (Duplain) and Marius (Danton).” It can be observed that Camille, as seen above, had likened Danton to Marius in Révolutions de France et de Brabant already in 1790.

Danton was however back in Paris again on November 22, when he is recorded to have spoken of ”the relief to be granted to abdicated priests” at the Convention. Two weeks later, December 5, he was accused of ”moderatism” by Coupé d’Oise for having opposed the suggestion of sending a group with a portable guillotine to Seine-Inférieure in order to deal with rebels fleeing the Vendée. Robespierre did however rise to defend Danton, saying that he had always seen him serve his homeland with zeal and ending by asking that everyone says what he sincerely thinks about Danton. Aside from Merlin de Thionville, who hailed Danton as the saviour of the republic, no one said anything, and Momoro therefore concluded this meant no one had anything to accuse Danton of. The discussion therefore ended with Danton embracing the president of the club amidst loud applause. Just two days later, the first number of Camille’s new journal, the Vieux Cordelier, was released. In the number, Desmoulins designates the session at the Jacobins on the 5th as the event that caused him to return to the journalistic pen: 

Victory is with us because, amid the ruins of so many colossal civic reputations, Robespierre’s in unassailed; because he lent a hand to his competitor in patriotism, our perpetual President of the “Old Cordeliers,” our Horatius Cocles, who alone held the bridge against Lafayette and his four thousand Parisians besieging Marat, who now seemed overwhelmed by the foreign party. Already having gained stronger ground during the illness and absence of Danton, this party, domineering insolent in society, in the midst of the most sensitive places, the most compelling justification, in the tribunes, jeering, and in the middle of the meeting, shaking its head and smiling with pity, as in the speech of a man condemned by every vote. We have won, however, because after the crushing speeches of Robespierre, in which it seems that talent grows in pace with the dangers of the Republic, and the profound impression he has left in souls, it was impossible to venture to raise a voice against Danton without giving, so to speak, a public quittance of guineas of Pitt. […] I learned some things yesterday. I saw how many enemies we have. Their multitude tears me from the Hotel des Invalides and returns me to combat. I must write. 

If Danton had a bigger role in the Vieux Cordelier than simply being part of the event that caused Camille to start writing it is debated. When Robespierre a little more than three months later was working out the dantonists’ indictment, he claimed that Danton had been the ”president” of the Vieux Cordelier, whose prints he had corrected and made changes to, and that Camille had been his and Fabre’s ”dupe.” In Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct… (1795) Garat claimed that Danton during his stay in Arcis-sur-Aube had been cooking up a ”conspiracy” with a goal to ”restore for the benefit of all the reign of justice and of the laws, and to extend clemency to his enemies,” and to which ”all of his friends,” including Desmoulins, entered into. In Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs… (1797) Prudhomme claimed that Danton, Lacroix, Camille-Desmoulins and Fabre-d'Églantine made up a secret party wishing to overthrow the Committee of Public Safety, and that Camille, as part of this plan, got charged with a ”moral attack,” leading to the creation of the Vieux Cordelier. Danton’s friend Edme-Bonaventure Courtois wrote in Notes et souvenirs de Courtois de l’Aube, député à la Convention nationale (cited in La Révolution française: revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine (1887), that ”it was in these painful moments that [Desmoulins] put to paper (in his Vieux Cordelier) the reflections that his indignation could no longer contain, and whose acrimony Danton, through his advice, softened in many places.” Finally, in  his Camille Desmoulins And His Wife: Passages From The History Of The Dantonists (1876), Jules Claretie included the following passage:

I know, through information given to me by M. Labat the elder, that one evening in that mournful summer of 1793, Danton and Camille Desmoulins had walked to the Cour du Commerce, along the Seine, by the quay des Lunettes, and, thinking of that 31st of May, which was to end in the events of the 31st of October, Danton pointed out to Camille the great river in which the rays of the sun, setting behind the hill of Passy, were reflected so vividly that the river looked like blood. ”Look,” said Danton — and, like Garat, Camille saw the tribune's eyes fill with tears — ”see, how much blood! The Seine runs blood! Ah! too much blood has been spilt! Come, pick up your pen again; write and demand clemency, I will support you!”

However, considering Robespierre’s notes had an interest in wanting to paint the ”dantonists” as a unified grupp (and perhaps also to absolve Desmoulins of some responsibility), while all the other testimonies were reported after the fact, its hard to be sure of anything. 

Danton went unmentioned in the rest of number 1, as well as number 2 (released December 10) of the Vieux Cordelier. When Camille on December 14 passed through the Jacobins ongoing scrutiny test, he regrettingly admitted that ”a well marked fatality willed that, among the sixty [sic] people who signed my wedding contract, I only have two friends left — Danton and Robespierre. All the others have emigrated or been guillotined.” In the Vieux Cordelier’s third number (released December 18), he wrote the following about Danton, apropos of underlining he was not asking for moderation:

In this duel between liberty and servitude, and in the cruel alternative of a defeat a thousand times more bloody than our victory, overruling the revolution therefore had less danger and was even better than remaining behind it, as Danton said, and it is necessary, above all, for the republic to secure the battlefield. […] Despite so many guineas (guinées) said Danton, name for me a single man strongly pronounced in the revolution, and in favor of the republic, who has been condemned to death by the revolutionary tribunal?

Danton went unmentioned again in number 4 (December 21), but in number 5 Camille brings him up seven times, writing that ”I said with Danton, that to outrage the revolution was less dangerous and even better than to remain within it; that, on the course taken by the vessel, it was better to approach the rock of exaggeration, than the sandbar of moderation,” insisting he has never ceased to ”conspire against the tyrants with Danton and Robespierre,” denouncing Hébert for having attacked him, Danton and nine other deputies and claiming to have heard Danton say that ”[Hébert’s] pipe resembles the trumpet of Jericho, when he has smoked three times around a reputation, it must fall of itself.” At one point he also accuses Barère of having discussed the arrest of Danton on June 2.

On January 7, Camille and Robespierre got into a fight at the Jacobin club after the latter had denounced the fifth number of Vieux Cordelier as counter-revolutionary, but insisting that its author had been ”led astray by bad company,” and therefore proposing that the Society forgive him and ”just” burn the latest numbers of the Vieux Cordelier. When Camille refused that ultimatum, exclaiming that ”burning isn’t answering,” the fight worsened until Danton stepped in to act as meditator between the two:

Danton: Camille mustn’t be frightened by the rather severe lessons Robespierre’s friendship has just given him. Citizens, let justice and cold-headedness always preside over our decisions. In judging Camille, be careful to not strike a deadly blow against the liberty of the press.

In a letter to Fréron dated January 13, Lucile regretfully reports that ”Marius is not listened to anymore, he loses courage and vigour.” Around the same time, her father was arrested and locked up in the Carmes prison due to a few objects decorated with fleurs-de-lys having been found in his home. On January 24 Camille protested against his arrest at the Jacobins, gaining the support of Bourdon d’Oise who asked that the Committee of General Security make a report about the case in three days. Danton did however object to this, but did make the more vague suggestion that ”the Convention consider ways to do justice to all the victims of arbitrary measures and arrests, without harming the action of the revolutionary government”:

I oppose the kind of distinction of privilege which would seem to be granted to Desmoulins' father-in-law. I want the Convention to deal only with general affairs. If we want a report for this citizen, we also need one for all the others. […] My colleague's complaint is fair in itself, but it would give rise to a decree unworthy of us. If we were to give priority, it would belong to citizens who do not find in their fortune and in their acquaintance with members of the Convention hopes and resources in the midst of their misfortune: it must be to the unfortunate, to the needy, that you should first hold out your hands. I ask that the Convention consider ways to do justice to all the victims of arbitrary measures and arrests, without harming the action of the revolutionary government. I would be careful not to prescribe the means here. I request the referral of this question to the consideration of the Committee of General Safety, which will consult with the Committee of Public Safety; that a report be made to the Convention, and that it be followed by a broad and in-depth discussion; because all the discussions of the Convention have resulted in the triumph of reason and liberty.

When Robespierre about two months later was preparing the dantonists’ indictment, he wrote that ”during this last visit [to my place], [Danton] spoke of Desmoulins with contempt. He attributed his deviances to a vice that is private and shameful, but absolutely foreign to the crimes of the conspirators to the Revolution. Laignelot was witness.” Robespierre used this as evidence Danton had ”an ungrateful and dark soul,” as he previously had ”highly recommended the last productions of Desmoulins.”

Both Danton and Camille were arrested in the night between March 30 and March 31. They were taken to the Luxembourg prison and placed in solitary confinement. On April 1, in his very last written letter, Camille regrettingly tells Lucile: 

How to believe that a few jokes in my writings, against colleagues that had provoked me, have erased the memory of my services! I do not disguise the fact that I die as a victim of these jokes and my friendship with Danton. I thank my assassins for letting me die with him and Philippeaux. And since my colleagues have been cowardly enough to abandon us and listen to calumnies that I don’t know, but must be the most vulgar, I can say that we die as victims of our courage to denounce traitors, and of our love for the truth. We can well carry this testimony with us, that we die as the last republicans.

It would however appear Lucile wanted to do something about the situation. We have the following anecdote published in Histoire de la Révolution française (1850) by Nicolas Villiaumé, which, as far as I’m aware, is the only known connection we have between the Desmoulins couple and Danton’s second wife Louise-Sébastienne Gély (married June 14 1793):

[After the arrest of Danton and Desmoulins] Lucile ran to Madame Danton to suggest that she come with her to go find Robespierre, ask him for an explanation, and recall the feelings of friendship which had attached him to their husbands. Madame Danton refused, saying that she wanted nothing from a man who had showed himself to be the enemy of her husband. (I obtained this particularity from Madame Danton herself, who was then pregnant. She gave birth fifteen days after Danton's death, but her child did not live.)

On April 2, Danton, Desmoulins and seven other deputies were brought from the Luxembourg to the Conciergerie prison. If Mémoires d’un detenu pour servir à l’histoire de la tyrannie de Robespierre(1795) by Honoré Riouffe are to be believed, the accused were kept in seperate cells here as well. He writes:

Danton, placed in a cell next to Westermann, didn’t stop talking, less to be heard by Westermann than by us. […] Here are some phrases I retained: […] ”What proves Robespierre is a Nero, is that he never spoke as kindly to Desmoulins as on the day before his arrest.”

Their trial began the very same day. For three days, the accused defended themselves (or at least tried to) against the charges of ”complicity with d'Orléans and Dumourier, with Fabre d'Eglantine and the enemies of the Republic, of having been involved in the conspiracy tending to re-establish the monarchy, to destroy the national representation and the republican government” side by side. It did however not go that well, and on April 5, Danton, Desmoulins and thirteen others were sentenced to death. The execution took place the very same afternoon. Contrary to the myth of Danton and Camille sitting next to each other in the same tumbril as they were driven to Place de la Révolution, number 561(April 6 1794) of Suite du Journal de Perlet reports that ”they were in three tumbrils: in the first was Danton, next to Delacroix; Fabre near the executioner; Hérault opposite Chabot. In the second, Phelippeaux [sic], Westermann, Camille Desmoulins, Basire and Launai d’Angers [sic]. […] Danton […]seemed to pay little attention to the crowd around him: he was chatting with Lacroix and Fabre. […]Desmoulins spoke almost continually to the people; the courage he affected seemed like a painful effort, he was an actor who was studying to play his last part well.”

After the death of Camille and, eight days later, Lucile, their son Horace was taken in by his maternal grandparents and aunt, who then permanently retired to their country house in Bourg-la-Reine. Danton’s sons Antoine and François-Georges were they too adopted by their maternal grandfather and uncles. In 1805, the two moved from Paris to Arcis-sur-Aube where they instead got looked after by their paternal grandmother. I have not been able to find anything indicating the families stayed in touch to process the grief or let the children come together, something which we on the other hand know Lucile’s mother did with Philippeaux’s widow.

[boosoonhao]

highways: in defiance

hoshi x reader 6.7k words dystopian au sexism and totalitarian regime warning

soonyoung figures out, quite early into your marriage, that you’re a pretty impressive actress. actress is not the world he should use, really; the female form of the masculine ‘actor’. one doesn’t use feminine forms of occupations anymore. but when he looks at you, at the massive shift in your attitude once the wedding is done and over with and you’re both situated in what used to be soonyoung’s home – it is still soonyoung’s, for all intents and purposes; you’re not allowed to own property, after all, but your presence is so huge, so imposing that it feels shared nonetheless – it’s the feminine form of the word ‘actor’ that comes to mind.

he’ll grant you that; that tiny, private nod of respect. illegal and dangerous as it might be, he can’t quite help it. in retrospect, that’s probably the first sign of what the high judges would call ‘suspicious influence’.

during the pre-marriage sessions; recorded meetings in dull, grey rooms at the center of the golden circle, you had seemed like the perfect picture of the kind of woman soonyoung’s supposed to be with. agreeable, pretty, good genes. demure, but not without personality; nothing of that dead, distasteful glare that seems a genetic trait of people from the middle districts.

where you’d been reserved but susceptible during the interviews, you are now cold; eyes shimmering with visible disdain as soonyoung comes in during the quiet, soft yellow hours of the morning. there’s a layer of sweat hidden beneath his trained exterior, a smell of gasoline sticking to his fingers. he glances at the clock right above the entrance to the living room. 5.15 in the morning. he hadn’t expected you awake already, had thought he’d be able to slip inside unnoticed and wash the evidence of his illicit nightly adventures off before falling under your scrutiny.

you’re observant, he’s noticed; quick to pick up on his habits and his preferences. you make him breakfast, cook him dinners; coffee ready on the table every morning, even though he can tell that you despise it. that your fingers twitch with the want to dunk the hot liquid that you’re not allowed to drink yourself right in his face.

he wonders if you think he’s cheating; that his nightly escapades are of the sexual nature. ‘men are creatures of the flesh’, soonyoung’s father used to say. ‘if denied their right in the home, who can blame them for seeking satisfaction somewhere else?’. soonyoung thinks this was meant as a jab towards his mother, who meant that women had one job, and one job only. in any case, the idea never sat right with him. not even now, not even when you sleep fully clothed at the very edge of your shared bed.

and if you do think that’s what he’s doing; do you care? does the slight downwards pull of your lips come from the idea of him entangled with someone else during secret meetings in the night, or does it come from the disdain of the walls that surround you on every side like a lavish, pretty jail cell?

soonyoung can’t tell which option he’d prefer.

(he can’t even tell if any of them are preferable at all.)

____________________

the scariest thing about you, soonyoung finds, is how outspoken you are. he’d heard about it, of course; about the silver tongued rebels of the middle districts. he’d always questioned it; like, would they not be easy to spot, easy to pluck from the normal people and place in their proper places of gallows and cells? evidently, such a line of thought was too simple, too idealistic; here you are, right in front of him, speaking in tones that could only be described as vulgar, illegal.

this thought, soonyoung admits with reluctance, is strangely exciting.

“you smell like whisky,” you murmur when soonyoung comes home from meeting his three closest friends. drinking alcohol is frowned upon, for sure, but not illegal. not for him. still, he feels a sort of guilt tug at his spine. a magical power of yours, that; making him squirm and question everything he’s been so sure of before. you divert your gaze, stare out the window. your voice is nothing but a murmur when you open your mouth again; “must be nice.”

bitterness does not make itself scarce in your expression, nor in your tone, and soonyoung’s jaw tightens. “do you want some?”

he surprises himself by being completely serious. you twist your head back to look at him, watches as he produces a half full bottle of burning, brown liquid from the bag slung over his shoulder. looking for the signs of a test, no doubt; for any traces of challenge. you blink, surprised to find none, soonyoung supposes. he steps quickly over to the cabinet, finds two glasses there and sits himself down on the chair left of yours. you do not take your eyes off of him, not as he shifts to make himself comfortable, not as he pours the liquid into the two glasses.

the only sound in the room is that of whisky being poured, the only smell the strong stench of liquor. he’ll break this one law, he thinks, without giving it too much of a thought. you’ve already presented your cards, already complained and opposed, already made yourself vulnerable. he hopes, with a thud of his heart, that you won’t make him regret this lapse of judgement.

you hum, reach for the glass, twirl the liquid around in the clear glass. “might as well,” you relent at last. “maybe alcohol is what it takes to make this district survivable.”

soonyoung chokes on whisky.

“you’re quite bold,” he murmurs, not without reluctant admiration in his voice. “what’s to stop me from reporting you to the enforcers?”

you tilt your head, watch him with dangerous eyes. “ah,” you breathe, lean your head against the knuckles of your hand. “to the rebellious future enforcer choi seungcheol?” you tap your fingers against your cheekbone, lip curling into something not quite – but close, very close – a smile. amber liquid swirls around the glass, splashes against the rims in something that soonyoung can’t describe as anything but a show of power. “or to boo seungkwan, future brainwasher in command?”

it could be a coincidence that those are the names you choose to mention, of course, but there’s cleverness visible in the arch of your brows, and when you sit back upright in the chair, it’s with the intimidating, powerful aura of any high judge soonyoung has ever met. people used to say – at least people say that people used to say – that men went for women who reminded them of their mothers. of course, people don’t say it anymore; men do not go for women at all, they let the soulmate system choose for them. but in that moment, soonyoung thinks he understands what people used to mean.

“leverage,” you tell him, chug down the last bit of whisky in your glass, looks very little like the image of a ‘proper lady’ that soonyoung has grown up with. you put the glass down on the flat surface of the table, bring your hands up in front of your face, curl your fingers into a fist and flick your wrists in a gesture that soonyoung recognizes only because he’s done it himself countless times. “vroom vroom,” you add, as if he needs the audio to understand what you’re implying. a shiver climb soonyoung’s spine, makes his head tingle. “that’s why you’re not going to report me to the enforcers.”

he stares, throat thick with something that feels a hell of a lot like fear. it’s not something soonyoung feels particularly often, not since he lived with his parents. not since they shut down his dance studio and interrogated him for suspicions of rebellion. he hadn’t been one, then. sometimes he wonders if that was what did it. maybe he’ll ask what you think; you seem to be an expert on the subject of resistance.

“don’t look so shocked,” you murmur, tone a hair’s breadth from mockery. “you always smell like gasoline.”

____________________

“my mother wants to have us over for dinner,” he tells you, watches as you try to keep your emotions under wraps. soonyoung might not have known you for very long, might not actually know you very well at all despite your name tattooed at the top of his wrist, but he recognizes your tells, by now. a twitch at the edge of your lips, a quick, tense rise of your shoulders. to your credit, you do not break eye contact.

things have been… different, since the evening he shared his whisky with you. for one, soonyoung can’t quite help looking over his back when he leaves to ride his bike, can’t help the feeling that you’re always watching. and second, you’ve been far less hostile, though still as loud and assertive in your trash talk. he wouldn’t call it friendly, would hesitate even over ‘amicable’. but he feels it is a win, nonetheless. third, it happens again. it becomes a pattern. for weeks, soonyoung shares his whisky with you, until the bottle is empty and the distance returns.

he knows this, though; there is no mistaking the wave of absolute disgust that paints your otherwise pretty face at the mention of his mother.

he imagines what she must represent to you; a woman born in freedom, who willingly, gladly traded her — and in some small part, every other woman in palatium’s — rights away for a place in the new elite. soonyoung’s father was a nobody before; barely even worthy of living in the high district. soonyoung’s mother, on the other hand, created the soulmate method of marriages. for that, she’s allowed some small, secret perks. books, food, alcohol. clearance to the golden circle. except, soonyoung suspects, it’s not as secret as the elite might think.

“why are you staring at me?” you question at last, defiance blatant and on display in both your tone and your expression. “surely i, the subservient wife, have no say in matters like these.”

“you’re anything but subservient,” soonyoung mutters, mostly to himself. the glare you shoot him is enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. he clears his throat. “i can make up an excuse,” he tells you; the reason he brought it up in the first place. a choice. soonyoung is starting to realize that even in his perpetual state of nodding his head and playing along, he’s taken his freedom for granted. “if you don’t want to go.”

you inhale through your nose, stare at soonyoung from your position by the kitchen counter. in truth, soonyoung had considered not even bringing the invite up, had considered just politely declining the offer and continue putting the inevitable encounter off. but then he’d remembered the bitter commentary you’d made during one of your illicit evenings of soft buzzes and heated almost-arguments; the biting comments about your lack of choices.

he kinda wishes he could have presented you with a better one.

“no,” you tell him, quieter than he expects. he never seems to quite get used to the few and far between moments where you don’t seem to get sick at the mere sight of him. “no, it’s fine,” you sigh, drag a hand through your hair, can’t seem to settle on somewhere to look. “let’s just get it over with.”

____________________

he catches you eyeing the bookcase in the hallway of his mother’s home; something that looks like a cross between envy and resignation ghosting over your features. he wouldn’t even have noticed, had he not been looking for it.

he hopes no one else notices.

“soonyoung, darling,” soonyoung mother enthuses, brings her arms around his neck to envelop him in a bone crushing hug. to the uninitiated onlooker, it must seem like a heartwarming reunion; a mother and a son together again. soonyoung knows better, though, has been on the receiving end of his mother’s overbearing affection enough times to know the truth behind it. soonyoung’s mother might not have a whole lot of power, despite her innovative ideas and her rows and rows of books, but she sure knows how to assert it.

the word for it used to be ‘matriarch’, he knows. of course, that word has disappeared into the box of forgotten things, just like ‘actress’ and ‘queen’.

“it’s good to see you again, my boy,” she goes on, pats soonyoung’s shoulders with long fingers, their nails painted red. a bold move, that, considering nail polish is supposed to be outlawed. then again, rules never seemed to work the same way for the people residing in the golden circle. “and your wife is here as well,” she says at last, notes your presence as one would make note of a new haircut, a new pair of shoes. specifically, a less favorable haircut. soonyoung clears his throat uncomfortably. you refuse to respond.

(it’s the start of a very slow, very painful dinner.)

soonyoung’s mother, despite her active role in the marriage, seems adamant in her blatant ignoring of your presence.

“how’s everything going so far?” she asks, eyes trained right on her son. soonyoung feels the need to hide, to fill his mouth with potatoes and steak and hinder himself from being able to talk.

“it’s going fine, mother,” he replies vaguely, cowers from her inquisitive glare. he glances instead to his right, where you’re picking at your own food, eyes fixed on your maltreated potato. soonyoung’s mother hums, as if that answer has something secret hidden between the words that only she understands.

“it’s been three months,” she goes on, swirls a glass of something that looks like red wine between her fingers. “can i expect grandchildren soon?”

never one for small talk, that woman.

soonyoung hears, somehow, how you stiffen in your chair, the very mention of children a sore, taboo subject between the two of you. you’ll talk, at length, about the unfairness of society and your distaste for the inner circle, but you tastefully avoid subjects that pertain to your marriage, or the expectations that come with it. a part of your newfound almost-amicable relationship, soonyoung suspects.

“only time will tell,” he murmurs, feels two sets of intimidating female gazes heavy on him. he takes a large gulp of his whisky.

she hums again. “she’s not getting any younger, you know. the true purpose of the woman is to provide the man with a child.”

soonyoung doesn’t dare looking over at you. he’s sure the expression he’d find there would be enough to make him sweat. he’s always known that his mother was a bit of an extremist, even as far as the elite goes. he knows his mother is the very definition of a true believer. somehow, these things had been much easier to ignore before. he opens his mouth – to agree? to protest? he doesn’t know – but his mother chooses that moment to address you, finally, directly.

“isn’t that right, dear?” she asks sweetly. the following silence feels sort of like a death sentence. soonyoung wants to intervene. he doesn’t.

“of course,” you reply, voice flat and submissive in a whole nother way than how he’s used to. your subservience has been a mockery, before, a sort of inside joke on soonyoung’s expense, a proof of your opposition. there’s nothing of that present now, and when he finally manages to force his gaze over to your seat, your face is deathly pale. you still have not touched your food, but you still have the distinct expression of someone with a bad taste in their mouth.

you do not speak again the rest of the night.

____________________

after the dinner at soonyoung’s mother’s, there’s a tangible, heavy silence hanging over the kwon jr. household. you won’t speak to him, not when he buys a new bottle of whisky and tries to lure you into the sitting room to join him, not when he starts dropping small hints about his adventures during the night.

not even when he wakes up extra early to try – and horribly fail at – making you breakfast do you say a word to him, though you do push him aside to try and salvage the burnt eggs stuck to the dark pan on the stove. soonyoung feels helpless, in a completely unfamiliar, overwhelming sort of way. he’s always seen himself as a pretty empathetic person, even when being empathetic was not a good thing to be. he buried it when he had to, but it was always there, tucked inside his ribcage.

he’s not sure ‘empathy’ is enough to adequately describe how he feels as he watches you flitter around the house like a ghost.

it seems to boil over inside of you, five days after the dinner. he returns from watching mingyu fight in the underground, the smell of gasoline and of cigarettes sticking to his clothing and tugging at his skin. he loosens his tie and slinks up the stairs towards the bedroom. he doesn’t expect you to be awake.

you twist your head around when he enters, look at him with the same dead sort of gaze that has been haunting him for days and days now. the familiar feeling that’s not quite empathy, that tastes an awful lot like guilt, tugs on his chest. he used to think you were very loud. maybe that’s just another one of those things he took for granted.

you rise from your side of the bed, dressed only in your pale, white nightgown, and take a few determined steps towards him. you grasp at the front of his shirt, fingers doing quick work of his top buttons. soonyoung panics at your sudden aggression, takes a rushed, clumsy step back, but you only follow, wordlessly, keep working on the buttons of his clothes.

“hold– hold on,” he stutters, tries to grasp at your hands. you only press further, until he’s backed up against the door, eyes focused on the shirt and on the skin revealed by every button you undo. “what the hell are you doing?” your head snaps up at that, gaze hard and mouth set in a thin line. soonyoung feels exposed, vulnerable, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“my job,” you reply, with a voice that sounds both eerily like your own and someone else’s entirely. you grip at the fabric of his shirt, try to pull it off of his shoulders. soonyoung’s own fly up to wrap around your elbows to stop you. “a woman’s only purpose is to provide her husband with children, and all that.”

“i don’t–” soonyoung starts, doesn’t quite know how to continue the sentence. i don’t think that. i don’t want that. somehow he doesn’t think any of the options would be particularly soothing, despite his efforts. your fingernails dig into his clothes, make crescent moons along the skin of his chest. it looks like you can’t decide whether to cry or to scream.

“do you know what happens to women who refuses to sleep with their husbands?” you ask, a sort of pathetic, fragile stuntedness to your voice. your fingers are still tightly clutched at the front of his unbuttoned shirt. they shiver; in fear or anger, soonyoung doesn’t know. “they get sent to the lower districts, branded for being ‘barren’.” soonyoung circles his hands around your wrists, tries to pull your hands away. your grip at his clothes tighten, and you stare him right in the eyes. “of course, most of the time it won’t come to that, because men have the habit of taking what they want whether the woman want it or not.”

there’s no word for it anymore, but the old one, the one that starts with an r, still echoes in the back of soonyoung’s head. he feels sick, feels the impulse to push you away from him and run away. his throat feels thick, mouth full of ashes.

“that won’t happen to you here,” he says, voice kept stable only by the conviction with which he says it. he presses his thumbs into your skin. your head is bowed; in shame or in disbelief, soonyoung can’t know. “nothing you don’t want will happen as long as i’m here.” he lets go of your wrists and they fall limply to your side. he takes hold of your face, feels ridiculously bold for doing so, guides your face up so you can see how much he means what he’s saying. somehow, he feels more honest than he’s done ever before. “i swear i’ll do anything to make you happy.”

in the old time, the time when you married someone you loved rather than someone whose genes matched your own, they used to have these beautiful ceremonies. soonyoung remembers overhearing talks about them during meetings when he was a child. something he always was especially entranced by was the concept of ‘vows’, of promises to keep and to honor. they got scrapped for something far more technical, of course, but the idea was especially appealing to soonyoung. this one will have to do, he thinks. there’s not a lot more he can promise, considering the circumstances. your eyes are wet. he finds that he wants to press his lips to your forehead.

he doesn’t. instead, he says, “i’ll sleep on the couch tonight. please get some rest.” and he leaves the room. he hears a sob through the door, and he swears something inside him cracks painfully.

and that is why he ends up in front of his mother’s bookcase once again a mere week later.

____________________

“what’s this?” you ask when he puts the book down in front of you on the table. soonyoung feels strangely disconnected to his own body; almost as if he’s standing in the corner of the room, watching himself present you with the book. people have gone to jail for less than this; people have been hanged.

but then, he participates in illegal races at night, attends betting matches in the underground once a month. he tells himself that’s why despite the rush of fear coursing through his veins, soonyoung does not hesitate once to give you the worn paperback. “it’s a book,” he replies lamely; knows it’s a mistake as soon as the words fall out of his mouth.

“obviously,” you bite back, the exclamation almost more a hiss than a word. soonyoung knows better than to talk down to you, by now, but he finds that old habits are hard to break. and you’ve been tense ever since visiting his mother, too, much easier to anger. he wonders if you still hear her words in your head when you close your eyes. the thought makes him nauseous. “what am i supposed to do with it? fold paper cranes?”

soonyoung blinks, gaze falling down to where your fingers lie curled and interlaced with each other on the surface of the table. you have pretty hands, he notice; prettier than he would have expected from the middle district. “can you?” he looks back up at your face, finds you squinting in his direction as if you’re loathe to even look at him. “i mean–” he amends, clears his throat. sits down on the chair on your left, folds his hands. he can’t quite look you in the eyes. “you want to learn to read, don’t you?”

you blink; scrunch up your nose as if in disbelief and mouth pulled down in a very distinct frown. soonyoung thinks you might be trying to play down how true his assumption is, but the light dust of red that appears at your cheekbones give you away. soonyoung feels awkward, as if his mouth is full of syrup. “i’ll teach you,” he tries, desperately needs for you to react in any way at all. when you don’t, he swallows, breathes out heavily. “if you want?”

it seems as if you’re silent for an eternity; trust still non-existent and doubt still lingering in every corner of your shared home and in every line of your face. hesitant fingers reach out to touch the front of the book, almost as if you’re afraid of breaking it. there a small twitch at the edges of your lips that might be a smile.

“thank you,” you whisper, and something in soonyoung’s chest seems to bloom.

(it becomes a routine. soonyoung points out letters, pronunciations, coaches you through the longer words and sentences. sometimes you’ll make attempts at reading entire pages out loud, eager to learn and thirsty for knowledge. sometimes he’ll read to you in bed, almost too distracted by the new sort of closeness and the way your eyes flit over the pages to even know what he’s reading.

it’s just a simple novel; a story he’d been obligated to read multiple times in school, but you eat it up, entranced by every word. one night you fall asleep with your head against his shoulder. that night, he’s supposed to meet up with seungcheol, mingyu and seungkwan for a race.

he finds that he can’t quite get himself to move.)

____________________

you’re a quick learner. much quicker than soonyoung was, much more proficient than he could ever hope to be. he tries to tell himself that the sense of pride that comes with your impressive learning curve is an innocent thing. tries to tell himself that the way he leans back and focuses fully on your voice, on the way your fingers clutch at the coarseness of paper doesn’t have anything to do with the soft tingle in the pit of his stomach.

“they work so hard to maintain this intellectual high ground over the lower regions,” you rattle on, uncaring for the fact that soonyoung can’t keep up even if he tried. probably you could make anything and everything into an hour long rant, he thinks, but not without affection. “‘the poor can’t be smart, they lack the education’, ‘women can’t be equal, can’t have any substantial thoughts; they can’t even read!’” you run a finger along the spine of the book. when soonyoung follows your finger, he notices that it’s shaking. your words sounds an awful lot like what he used to learn to be treason when he was a child; but then soonyoung is starting to realize that you commit treason with every intake of breath, every twitch of your brow.

then maybe he’s a traitor, too, for being so engulfed, so committed; for the way he hangs on to your every word as if they were holy. he’s surprisingly okay with that thought.

“but the elite are the ones keeping education away from us,” your finger stops moving, and soonyoung forces his gaze up to your face, pauses at the pinkness of your cupid’s bow, at the arch of your nose. every day, he’s finding details in your face that he wants to jot down in his journal, commit eternally to memory.

“honestly,” he murmurs. “even without the education, you’re probably ten times smarter than me.” it’s easier now, to spill sacrilege from his lips, to disregard his teachings for these secret truths between a man and his wife. sometimes he has to look over his shoulder before saying them, too scared of a housekeeper peeping or an enforcer storming the doors. it’s more worth it each time he does it; genuine smiles painted on your features as a reward for his morsels of genuiness.

you hum quietly, something dangerous flickering in your eyes. “that’s actually a pretty popular theory.”

“that women are smarter than men?” soonyoung finds the claim far less outrageous now than he would have six months ago. it’s impossible to be as staunch and sure as men are supposed to be in their own superiority, when he is so overexposed to your brilliance.

“no,” you reply with a laugh. “that i’m smarter than you. specifically.”

a joke, soonyoung registers. like the ones his father used to tell at dinners and during house parties. though, kwon sr. used to prefer the jokes about sex traitors, about women in high positions. soonyoung’s mother’s lip used to be very tight during these loud retellings. soonyoung finds that he prefers your joke; one that’s private and that puts you on a pedestal rather than pushes you down, that makes you refer to him as a friend rather than someone you’re stuck with.

he also finds that he wants to kiss you. that feeling he buries.

____________________

“soonyoung,” you murmur one night, quietly and carefully from your side of the bed. the divide has gotten smaller, for sure, but there’s still something invisible and terrible that seems to keep you sleeping with your back against him, that keeps him from daring to reach out and touch your hair while you sleep. he opens one eye, peers at you while you twist around in the bed to face him. he can barely make out your silhouette in the darkness, but he still knows exactly what you must look like.

“what is it?” he prompts when you seem to be hesitating. you exhale, and he feels the air on his face, resists the urge to shiver.

“you said–” you pause, shift slightly on the bed. he thinks you’re embarrassed, somehow. “you said you’d do anything,” you don’t finish the sentence, don’t need to. maybe the word ‘happy’ is too foreign on your tongue. soonyoung’s skin tingles. “did you mean it?”

“yes,” he replies, doesn’t even stop for a second to reconsider. truths never used to fall out of him so easily before. nothing is quite like before, he feels, with a sort of terrifying warmth at the pit of his stomach. you must be gathering up the courage to ask for something, he realizes. “is there?” he asks. “something i can do?”

silence. for one, two, three– “take me out,” you whisper, almost reluctantly; as if you have to force the request out of your mouth. “on your bike.”

soonyoung sits up, and you follow; the bed jiggling under the sudden movements. his first thought is to refuse, to protest. too daring, too dangerous, too many risks. but as his eyes adjust to the darkness and he’s able to see your face more clearly he sees the uncertain, bare expression that lingers there, and he finds that refusal is an impossibility. so instead, he whispers back, “okay. now?” watches with delight as the tension leaves your body and is replaced by relief.

“please.”

(he holds your hand as he drags you after him to the garage where soonyoung and his friend keeps their bikes, can’t help looking back every so often to remind himself how your fingers intertwined looks. something scary, something amazing sizzles underneath his skin. he knows what it is, but somehow he can’t quite remember the name.)

he doesn’t take you to the underground where the nightly fights are held, nor does he show you the streets everyone use for races. somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what you’re really interested in, even with how much you’ve probed him about it. instead, he takes you to a secluded hill, his private, secret little spot. it’s not much; nothing really is anymore, but it’s more than the house, more than the dull, brown walls you’re used to staring at.

your neck cranes backwards as you take in the sight; bends so far back that soonyoung has to instinctively put a hand at your back to make sure you don’t fall over. the stars are bright, here; twinkling and clear and alive in a way that soonyoung haven’t been able to spot anywhere else. sometimes you’ll gasp, or inhale as if you haven’t been able to breathe for months, and when you turn to thank him, the shimmer of your eyes seem to outshine every star in the night sky.

(love, he realizes, as you’re holding onto him, arms wrapped securely around his torso as you head back to the garage. the feeling is called love.)

“soonyoung,” you call after him when you’re back in the house, stopping in the middle of the hallway. soonyoung swears he’ll never get used to how his name sounds in your voice. he turns around, takes note of the uncertain look in your eyes. “i’m–” you frown, take a step towards him. for a moment, you seem to weigh your options, to ponder how to go about whatever it is you’re trying to express. an inhale, an exhale. “ah, fuck it.” and then–

then your lips are on his, his face pulled forcefully to meet yours. your fingertips claw at his face, body pressing itself against him, and for a second soonyoung thinks his brain might have exploded. you tug at his face again, urge him to either respond or pull away.

soonyoung chooses the first option. he grabs your hips, digs his fingers into the fabric of your clothes and pull at your body as if he’d die without the contact. your mouth opens, tongue slipping out to lick at his mouth, and soonyoung groans, feels the vibrations of it through his whole body. he takes a few steps, presses you against the wall, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. soonyoung can’t decide if the sensation is painful or pleasurable, he can’t remember his own last name. all he knows is that you rotate your hips, grinds against him in a way that makes him dizzy.

“upstairs,” you pant, and soonyoung takes the opportunity to explore your neck; bites and nibs at your skin and relishes in the reactions it gives him. your exhales are loud, shaky, and your fingers burrow into his shoulder in what seems more like a steadying action than anything else. “bed,” you add, as if you’ve forgotten how to construct proper sentences.

here, soonyoung falters. “you don’t have to–” he says, voice hoarse with something he can’t describe as anything but ‘lust’. another sin to add to the tally, he supposes. he pulls his head back, searching your face for anything to imply that you’re acting out of a sense of obligation. he finds your cheeks; reddened beyond anything he’s ever seen before. he finds your mouth; already swollen and hot pink against your skin. he finds your eyes; wild and alive and more than ever reminding him of the night full of stars.

he does not, however, see any doubt. still, he feels the need to reiterate; “i don’t expect anything.”

you laugh, at that, a breezy, easy thing that sounds almost like a symphony. you take his face between your hands, squish his cheeks and press a chaste, quick kiss to his lips.

“i know. i want to.”

and there’s something in the almost prideful way you say that, that you emphasize the word ‘want’, that makes soonyoung think he couldn’t ever deny you anything.

____________________

soonyoung stares. he leans on his arm, fingers splayed against soft linens and body cushioned by thick duvets. on the other side of the bed, you’re sleeping.

before – that is to say, before you realized that soonyoung was not your enemy, that he could even be your ally – you used to sleep with a body language so tight and rigid that soonyoung sometimes wondered if you ever actually slept at all. fully clothed in your heavy dresses and knotted corsets, arms stiff and legs curled at the very edge of the bed. it almost felt like sharing sleeping quarters with a heavy, big stone.

the sight that now greets him every morning before he has to leave to perform the mundane tasks that are expected of him, is something almost bizarrely opposite; something that makes his head spin even when he’s seen it time after time after time. your arms are stretched across the bed, reaching for the warmth of the space that soonyoung occupied mere minutes ago. sunlight puts an impossible sort of glow over your exposed skin and makes the back of soonyoung’s neck tingle. he reaches out, curls a lock of your hair around his finger.

a calculated mistake, so to speak. your eyes open. a slow, lazy action; even waking up has become a completely new, changed thing, unrecognizable in contrast to the eyes-wide-open, fully alerted way soonyoung has become accustomed to.

for a moment you just watch him, impassively; eyes barely open and fingers clutching at the white linens right by soonyoung’s thigh. you do not lean after his touch, nor away from it. this new, tentative closeness between you feels fragile at all times, and soonyoung worries, not for the first time, if he’s crossed a line.

“are you staring at me?” you ask, sleepiness tugging at your vocal chords. the sound makes soonyoung’s chest tighten with something he doesn’t quite recognize. it’s a warm, fuzzy feeling. the tip of soonyoung’s tongue tastes of the same illegal, dangerous thing that seems to surround everything involving you. soonyoung feels a surge of courage sizzling through his veins, lets his hand disappear fully into the mess of your hair. your eyes flutter close, a low rumble of a hum slipping past your lips.

“yes,” he admits, his thumb flitting along your cheekbone. your eyes open again, observe him carefully. soonyoung has known, probably ever since he started teaching you how to read, ever since you started letting your guard down and your mouth speak freely, that he is in love with you. he’d told you as much; that he’d do anything to ensure your happiness. he feels it now, though, harder and clearer than ever before in the pale sunlight and the soft glow that surrounds you both. it almost feels like peace, like freedom. “i love you.”

you inhale, raise your hand to glide along his thigh and reach for his burgunder tie. the silence feels overwhelming. and then you tug, almost forcefully enough to make soonyoung fall over you. he has to catch himself with his arms, cages you in between them, and your fingers reach, clutch at his face. he feels your breath over his mouth, and the anticipation is almost as deliriously wonderful as when your lips finally connect with his own.

the first kiss you shared, technically, was at your wedding. it was a standard procedure sort of thing; a nod back to other times where marriages were a free, voluntary thing. just the barest touch of lips against lips. you’d grimaced afterwards, and soonyoung had pretended not to noticed.

the second time– soonyoung can’t quite stop thinking about the second time. he finds that he struggles to put a name to it, to the rush of emotion and stress and confusion and relief, to the mess of it all. it had been a beginning, he now knows, though at the time he’d felt so overwhelmed that he’d thought it was an ending.

this; this lazy, casual press of lips, makes every nerve underneath soonyoung’s skin do somersaults. your arms wind around his neck, he lets himself fall against your body and against the softness of the bed, noses squished together and fingertips itching to touch. your own fingers move to ruffle his hair, to undo every attempt he’d made at making himself look presentable before leaving the house. he finds that he struggles to care.

“soonyoung,” you murmur, just a hair’s breadth away from him. he feels the vibrations of your voice through his entire body, shivers with the way his name sounds coming from your mouth. “i’m not–” here, you falter, and soonyoung’s throat feels constricted. you watch him, for a moment, fingers gliding along the skin of his face as if you’re trying to commit every line to memory. “i’m not bringing a child into this world.”

soonyoung’s breath stutters. even with the vagueness of the statement, the meaning is clear. he might have been the one to teach you how to read, but you’ve taught him how to read between the lines. hesitation twinkles in your eyes when soonyoung fails to immediately respond. he leans back in, presses his lips against yours; quickly, with an intake of breath. “i guess,” he murmurs, peppers your face with kisses. his hand clutches at the fabric of your shirt, right above your stomach.

“we have to make some changes to it, then.”

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: swearing, major mentions of death and violence, spoilers, death of children, mental illness, mentions of previous torture. 

a/n: with the hunger games resurgance, I want to continue writing for these characters. I absolutely loved this series so much, it was an innate part of my teenage years. 

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢ���      

🌿ESTP 🍁Slytherin 📜Chaotic Neutral 🔮Scorpio Sun, Aries Moon, Aries Rising  

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:    

Dance Me To The End Of Love by The Civil Wars (they featured on the song with Taylor Swift in the first movie)

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿  

・You were never reaped, and never knew the personal/immediate experience of having to kill someone. However, your oldest brother was in the Hunger Games, a few years after Johanna. So, you knew the pain of losing a loved one. 

・Helping each other transition into a world where the Hunger Games no longer exists

・In a world where the Capitol doesn’t rule with an iron fist 

・After the events of Coin’s death, Katniss and Peeta go to district 12 to live out their days in peace

・Johanna still plagued by the torture and trauma she endured, didn’t know what to do. 

・No family, no friends, so she hid herself in the apartment that Commander Paylor gave to her (all living victors were given an apartment. But the catch was that they had to go through therapy)

・Johanna refused to go to the appointments. She was adamant that it was stupid, it wouldn’t help. 

・And she drowned in her own sadness 

・It took her 3 months to begrudgingly go to an appointment

・It was a group therapy session. Katniss and Peeta weren’t there as they lived in District 12 and didn’t live off of Paylor’s generosity

・It was a small group, and when Johanna looked around at the other victors, she saw herself. Hurt. Broken...the feeling of something that was taken and they could never get it back

・You were apart of the healers. Not a therapist, but a protegee underneath Ms Everdeen - yes, Katniss’ mother

・She shined in the Capitol; given the best treatment for everything she suffered 

・And you were lucky enough to be her assistant. 

・Learning the art of healing wasn’t easy

・But the opportunity was too good to let pass by 

・Ms Everdeen was a quiet woman, but when she taught, there was a light that began to shine. With each comment, lesson, tutorial and experience - she began to glow and glow. 

・But you soon learnt that bringing up either of her daughters was... bad. Her light dimmed whenever their names were mentioned; even talking about the plants was difficult for her. 

・She loved Prim, her youngest who looked like her. Who never judged her, only had love in her heart for everyone. Katniss was so distant, it felt like a death

・Johanna felt safe with Ms Everdeen. It was an interesting dynamic. She somewhat... stepped into a maternal role for the young victor. A role that Johanna desperately wanted filled but would never admit

・That’s how you met Johanna; in all her hardened exterior. Someone unloved but not unlovable. 

・Your relationship started off very clumsily; she saw you as another therapist - therefore an enemy. 

・You didn’t take much of a liking to her either 

・It was a conscious effort to be curteous 

・And Ms Everdeen pushed you toward Johanna

・Call it a mother’s intuition 

・And that intuition spurred a tight friendship. Johanna eased into your company (not without a fight) 

・You showed her moments into your world and in response, she displayed glimpses into her own

・And then you formed a tight bond. Best friends. Always doing things together, eating, spending all your free time with her

・You even inspired her to go to the therapy appointments 

・And although there were a few hiccups along the way, Johanna started to heal

・From then on she wanted to know what this new world had to offer

・ You both explored what the new Panem was, how Paylor had changed the old ways into something new. A united nation, where everyone reaped the benefits of food, shelter and safety. 

・There were no games after the rebellion. Paylor made sure of that:

   “We didn’t let people sacrifice their lives for a world where we go on sacrificing. We are one now. Panem will never be the same.” 

・Now with a new sense of freedom, you saw a change in Johanna. You knew what it was - hope

・This newfound hope made Johanna realise that ... she could do whatever she wanted. There wasn’t a reason why she couldn’t. She had survived. 

・The very next hour, she had walked right up to you and kissed you fiercely 

・It wasn’t the best place to snog; right in front of Ms Everdeen, but when you pulled apart you glimpsed over at her and saw her smile 

・Being with Johanna is like the like winter. Having a fire to keep yourself warm is cosy but when it gets out of hand - it will leave you with nothing but ashes. 

・You moved in together, a three bedroom apartment that wasn’t too far from Ms Everdeen’s place. You both felt too guilty leaving her.

・Once there was a time that you invited Peeta and Katniss to come and stay, but Peeta wrote back that Katniss wasn’t ready. 

・As a partner, Johanna is hot-headed but also playful and teasing

・She loves ruffling your feathers (never too much though, she never wants to push you away)

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔  

Complete And Utter Badass, Rather Monstrous (Johanna) x Their Ray Of Light Who Has Them Wrapped Around Their Finger (You)

Confident & Flirty (Johanna) x Has Never Been Flirted With Before, Thinks They're Just Being Nice (You)

Snarky Power Couple That Can, And Probably Will, Destroy You

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆  

You Make Me Want To Be A Better Person

𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒆𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖

At first it was your last name. She would say it with such coldness, and unkindness. A forced tone that she used. On the outside she hated you, and yet on the inside... she had a burning passion for you. Through the progression of your relationship, you could tell how she felt about you with how she said your last name. 

𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆

Acts of Service and Quality Time. 

Johanna hates all that sappy lovey-dovey talk, and she’s still healing with the aspect of physical touch. So the way she shows her affection is through doing things for you and spending time with you. And then she starts to do those little signs of affection; kisses on the cheek, moving hair out of your face, wiping any food from your mouth etc. PDA is pretty much a no no. But when someone tries ANYTHING with you, then she will kiss you so hard, showing that you’re hers. She’s very protective ... well possessive, over you. 

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 🔞minors dni!

・The first few times you had sex with Johanna, it was angry sex. The kind where you barely kiss each other, and the headboard is banging, and it doesn’t last too long. Then afterwards it’s not spoken about

・It was difficult, in all honesty. Because you felt used

・But Johanna was trying to hide a part of herself. A deeper part that she’s hidden behind a wall of imenetrable steel. A wall only she can knock down. 

・So it took time - 

・But in that time, you expressed your discomfort at the lack of a deeper connection

・And your relationship was put on hold for a bit until Johanna could open up to you. 

・Your relationship progression made sex more and more softer, intimate, slower. 

・She wasn’t so rough

・And you realised she would barely kiss you during sex. But now, with her walls down, she couldn’t stop kissing you 

・Johanna’s lips were warm, but still with an edge of savagery. Nips here and there, she loves leaving marks, bruises, and hickies.

・She likes leaving them where other’s can see - 

・Johanna needs people to know that you’re taken

・A big thing with her is foreplay. She loves making you whine, beg for more. 

・SHE LOVES TO TEASE

・Sex toys? Yes. Vibrators, strap ons, dildos, anal beads etc. She would own the lot (and you guys keep everything in your ‘sex’ drawer)

[lostinthesoulsociety]

Setsuko Okada – Bleach Oc.

Name: Setsuko Okada;

Height: 5’9”;

Occupation: formerly, third seat of the Fifth Division; later, she became the co-lieutenant of the Eleventh Division; currently, Captain of the Ninth Division;

Age: her appearence is that of a girl in her early twenties, albeit her soul age is something more than 125-years-old;

Affiliation: as a Captain, she is loyal to the Gotei 13; however, unbeknown to her fellow Captains, she was sent by the Captain Commander to spy on Sosuke Aizen and worked by his side to be able to pass on informations to the Soul Society: to prove her loyalty to him, she was forced to fight along his army during the fake Karakura battle;

Species: soul, born from two inhabitants of the Rukongai;

Sexuality: straight;

Partner(s): formerly, undefined relationship with Shuhei Hisagi (actually, still going on); currently, married to Sosuke Aizen (although she visits Muken every single day asking for a divorce). Nobody knows if they really had and have genuine feelings for each other. Considering he helped her escape Rukongai, they did;

Eye color: Setsuko has heterochromia, making her left eye pale blue and her right one forest green;

Hair color: chestnut brown, fading into purple when she unleashes her bankai;

Zanpakuto: Shitsuren (失恋), unrequited love;

Personality: short-tempered, but she is still working on it. Setsuko is actually a polite and, deep down, caring person, who barely judges people’s choices. Morally grey, she rarely takes a side. She is brilliant and cunning and, sometimes, she could give off the vibes of a standoffish and punctilious woman when it comes down to work. In battle, she is unforgiving and sadistic, thus making her Captain Zaraki’s favorite companion for sparring. She is definitely a party person, though, and she gets quite flirty when drunk.

𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺.

BYAKUYA KUCHIKI: Too serious and uptight to strike up a conversation with. He’s too full of himself and would rather save his clan’s reputation than admit the laws are too retrograde to still exist. Ugh, stupid spoiled brat… Still, I like to prank him.

UNOHANA RETSU: Something’s off about her. No one is that terrifying and loving at the same time. I smell the blood of a pretty little liar. Overall, we get along, though… Mostly because Zaraki and I need her assistance after our training sessions.

JUSHIRO UKITAKE: He’s like the brother I never had. He doesn’t hesitate to scold me in front of the others, when I mess up. Yet, he can’t stay mad at me for too long. He’s such a sweetheart!

SHUNSUI KYORAKU: a partner in crime. He is pretty much my favorite person to share a drink with. We may have got in troubles together more than once and, maybe, our way of playfully flirting has gone too far once or twice. Nobody is going to know, right?

ZARAKI KENPACHI: My former Captain is a force of the nature. I admire that man so much! Sometimes I miss hanging around the Eleventh Division’s barracks. We still train together, though! We match scars on our eyes.

TOSHIRO HITSUGAYA: Arrogant kid. I don’t like him at all, but I guess he still needs time to mature. I pity Rangiku for keeping up with him every single day. Our relationship probably deteriorated because of his friendship with Hinamori Momo. To be honest, I don’t care.

GIN ICHIMARU: Too sneaky for my likings, but I am not easy to fool. He better watch his back around me. Not too bad to have a chit-chat with, but I can’t bring myself to trust him fully. Great shikai, though. When we were younger, he used to tug at my hair. I threw worms in his tub to get back at him.

SAJIN KOMAMURA: He’s a pure soul. Sometimes, we go to take strolls together in the Rukongai. He helps me to take care of orphan kids and never questions why my haori is stained in blood after I come back from ‘talking’ to the bastards causing problems in the districts.

SOIFON: Oh, right, Yoruichi’s dog. She’s a pain in the ass. If I catch her meddling into my business, I will tear her apart limb from limb. She’s not smarter than Omaeda, you know? Ugh, I hate her.

SOSUKE AIZEN: This man gives me migraines, but I owe him my life. He saved me from a life of misery. I love him, okay, I do. Yet, he is a bastard. Can you believe I married him? He’s a supportive partner to some extent and he’s great in be—. Uhm, he better rot in Muken.

MAYURI KUROTSUCHI: I heard a song in the World of the livings. It went like “Psycho killer. Qu'est-ce que c'est?”. Yep, that describes this freak. I mean, he’s a meanie and I don’t get along with him, but it can be interesting listening to him talking about his researches. Also, our zanpakutos are both based on poison.

YAMAMOTO GENRYUSAI: Respectable, but too keen to take matters in his own hands. All he does is giving orders and he doesn’t listen to anyone’s opinion. Still, he is the Captain Commander. I follows his orders, that’s all I have to do.

KANAME TOSEN: Justice here, justice there. Come on, has anybody ever told him to shut up? The world doesn’t revolve around justice. The world is unfair, so wake up to reality. There’s not such a thing as suprume justice. It’s all in his head, for God’s sake. Boring.

𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀.

Setsuko Okada is a soul born in a disreputable district of the Rukongai. She has no memory of her parents, supposedly murdered by a local gang for some trivial dispute. Growing up in the streets, fed by an old woman who realized she had a great spiritual pressure, she played around the district with the local orphans. Shuhei Hisagi, albeit a little younger than her, was among her best friends and she always stood up for him during fights.

The hunger among the kids who possessed spiritual energy was too big to be satisfied by some rice and bread and some of her friends decided to blow a fetch at the head of a dangerous clan who controlled the food distribution in the district. When they did not come back, Setsuko sensed something was off and left the old woman’s house to search for them.

Finding out her friends were dead, she got blinded by rage and stabbed the man responsible of their deaths right in his eye. Too little and fragile to properly fight back and escape, she was captured and, as a payback for her aggression, the man scarred her face. Hungered and enslaved by the clan, she spent nearly two years alone in a cell, until someone pulled her out of her confinement to sell her out in the streets. It was in that occasion that she met Sosuke Aizen, a young Lieutenant of the Fifth Division.

Sensing her Spiritual pressure, he bought her and took her into the safe walls of the Seireitei. Stitched up, she spent a few nights in the barracks of the Fifth Division until she enrolled to the Academy and studied there until her graduation. During the night, Sosuke offered her the chance to train harder and learn some other fighting techniques not taught to the new recruits.

In her mind there was only the thirst for revenge that consumed her. As soon as the graduation party ended, she paid a visit to the Rukongai district where she came from and killed the members of the gang who had hurt her one by one.

𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑨 — 𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑺𝑯Ō 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑺

• During a mission in the World of the livings with Shunsui, they ended up getting drunk and got arrested while in their gigai form. The shinigami sent to their rescue was Jushiro Ukitake, who signed a petition to ask Captain Yamamoto not to pair Captain Kyoraku and Captain Okada together in a mission ever again.

• During her time in Las Noches, she taught Ulquiorra some basics about human feelings and interactions. The Espada seemed to enjoy her company, however he never expressed his thoughts about their ‘friendship’, but gifted her a green hairpin, upon learning presents were a way to show gratitude among humans.

• She is kind with children and often visits the Rukongai to bring them food and gifts. If some kids have troubles with adults, she makes sure to keep them safe and handles the situation on her own. Most of the time, said people mysteriously disappear. Literally.

• When she left the Gotei temporary to follow Sosuke in Las Noches, Shuhei was the only one who did not believe that farce. To convince him she had made up her mind, she tossed him a necklace he had gifted her when they were kids and told him his own existance was a mistake. Those words hurt her more than they affected him.

• She is kind of a nerd and reads a lot of novels and manga from the World of the livings.

• The only two people who know she actually has feelings for Sosuke are Rangiku and Gin. Albeit they only married to establish a stronger hierarchy in Hueco Mundo, she actually did it for love. On the other hand, Sosuke cared for her and admired her a lot. He grew affectionate of her throughout the years, causing some feelings he despised to seep into his mind and heart. He denied them, but at the same time he refuses to set her free by agreeing on a divorce.

• When it comes down to food, she dislikes a few things, some of them being sushi, broccoli, savoy cabbage and strawberries. She has been addressed a picky eater by Shuhei more than once and he went to the extent to force feed her broccoli to shut her up during an argument. He was headbutted.

• Setsuko’s habit of picking scanty dresses irks Byakuya to no end and he constantly throws cloaks at her to cover up. Everyone knows about it and she got once dared to sneak into Byakuya’s chambers naked. His shouts could be heard in the entire Soul Society.

“You are shameless!”.

“Virgin boy”.

• She sold pictures of Ikkaku with the wig he had purchased in the World of the livings to earn money for the Shinigami Women’s Association. He never forgave her.

• Setsuko was and is the only one who doesn’t fear testing Sosuke’s patience with sassy and sarcastic comebacks.

“We haven’t discussed the chance to give the reign an heir”.

“That’s out of discussion. Fuck yourself and see if you get pregnant”.

• She loves going to concerts in the World of the livings and often asks Kisuke to buy her tickets for the events for when she visits Karakura. She makes sure not to tell Sosuke about it, or he would truly get free from Muken out of irritation.

• She is scared of millepedes and fainted in Jushiro’s arms, during a picnic.

• Ready to throw hands at any times, she loved wrestling with Grimmjow. Sosuke forbid them to indulge into such savages activities ever again, after spotting her straddling the Espada’s waist to tackle him down. Someone has jealousy problems. Naturally, he denied it all.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Our beloved Setsuko is ready and by that I mean ready to fight. Is there something more you wish to know about her? Ask right away through my inbox✨

Credits for the art: me;

Credits for the banners: @cafekitsune

[texasobserver]

From “‘Drag is so Healing’: Austin’s Queens Won’t Back Down” by Digital Editor Kit O'Connell, originally published in the September/October issue of Texas Observer magazine. Photography by Cindy Elizabeth:

In an orange prison jumpsuit and chains, a tall, lean drag queen writhed to a cover of “War Pigs” by Brass Against, which sounds like someone swapped Black Sabbath’s lead singer for a woman and added a highly caffeinated marching band. As she lip-synced, Hermajestie the Hung completed a dramatic strip tease down to an army fatigue jacket and fishnets, all to riotous cheers and a rain of dollar bills. 

It’s April at the Swan Dive on Red River in Austin’s club district, where “Tuesgayz” night LGBTQ+ gatherings—which include “Queereoke” sing-along sessions—are a tradition. For over a year, the Black-led drag troupe Vanguard, with an informal membership of about a dozen performers that includes both drag kings and queens, has opened each show with the same invocation:

“On our stage we proudly proclaim that Black lives matter, trans rights are human rights, no human is illegal, all bodies are beautiful, and my body, my choice.” 

Hermajestie—who described herself as a “postbinary, polyamorous, pansexual pot-smoking parent” and goes by “any pronouns but he/him”—explained later that she started each night the same way because she “realized that once I mention these things, the trash usually takes itself out.” 

(We are using performers’ stage names in this article to protect their privacy.)

Vanguard, she explained, serves as a “declaration and celebration of queer freedom, queer love, queer existence and queer solidarity.” The space she has created is often politically charged. Each night, she recounts the latest legislative attacks on queer rights, urging her audience to get involved. Tuesday’s routine culminated in her holding aloft the severed head of former President Donald Trump and hurling it into the audience (a similar stunt that earned comedian Kathy Griffin public censure shortly after Trump’s election). 

The members of Vanguard represent an evolution in drag. While elder performers were often cisgender, gay men, many of today’s queens are transgender or nonbinary and explore their identity through the art form.

Austin’s drag scene is thriving: From the heart of downtown to the Hill Country, patrons can attend events every day of the week, including late-night revues and brunches on weekends. One monthly show highlights new, amateur queens, another the elders of the community. Drag has made inroads in non-LGBTQ+ spaces as well—queens frequently perform at birthday parties, fundraisers, and, last year, at a new student orientation at the University of Texas at Austin. 

At the same time, drag is under attack. Senate Bill 12, scheduled to go into effect September 1, will levy fines against venues that host performances appealing to an ill-defined “prurient interest in sex” where minors are present; performers could also face up to a year in jail. The legislative affront goes hand-in-hand with protests and harassment from right-wing activists outside of nightclubs and on social media, where drag performers are frequently doxxed. While most performers remain defiant in the face of oppression, the growing pressure leaves them concerned for their future. 

(Editor’s Note: As of September 18, 2023, SB 12 is under a temporary restraining order while a judge rules on a lawsuit led by the ACLU of Texas.)

Read more at the Texas Observer.

[howlingday]

Ironwood: Court is now in session. Will the defendant please take the stand?

Ruby: (Whispering) Don't worry. Whatever strategy Weiss uses, we're ready for.

Nora: (Whispering) Got it. (Takes the stand)

Weiss: (Smirks)

Weiss: Truth... or Dare?

Nora: Uh...

Ruby: (Shrugs)

Nora: Truth?

Weiss: Did you... kill a guy with a hammer?

Nora: (Whimpers, Everyone stares at her) Uh... I'd like to change my answer to dare, please?

Ironwood: I'll allow it.

Weiss: Hm... I dare you... to kill the judge with a hammer.

Nora: (Gulps, Tapped on her shoulder) Huh?

Ironwood: (Hands his gavel, Solemnly nods)

Nora: (Takes gavel, Raises high)

Nora was acquitted of all charges because Ironwood died. Ruby was promoted to district attorney. Weiss went on to win the national Truth or Dare Championship. Ironwood is still dead.

[lasseling]

Judge Cannon Seeks Testimony From Agents Involved in Mar-a-Lago Raid

U.S. District Judge Aileen Cannon held a hearing on June 25, marking the fourth session in five days concerning former President Donald Trump’s motion for relief in his classified documents case.

[tomorrowusa]

The Donald Trump hush money trial starts today in NYC.

Jury selection is the first order of business. In normal trials that may take a day or two. With Trump's legal foot-dragging, that could go into weeks.

There had been some doubts about Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg's approach to this case. There is some new ground here. But Slate's Mark Joseph Stern, an attorney who initially had some reservations about the prosecution, is now "fully onboard" with it.

Over the past year, though, I have realized that my initial doubts about Bragg’s indictment were misplaced. It now seems clear that Trump’s New York trial, slated to begin this week, will be the former president’s only criminal trial before the November election. The other three strong indictments against him in other jurisdictions have unfortunately been delayed by a corrupt judge, a foot-dragging Supreme Court, and a district attorney’s questionable conduct in an already complex case. This, combined with Bragg’s excellent pretrial briefing, has substantially strengthened the case for this prosecution. It is important to American democracy that Trump be forced to defend at least some of his alleged criminal conduct before a jury of his peers in advance of Election Day. [ ... ] Shortly before the 2020 election, Trump wanted to kill a story about his alleged affair with Stormy Daniels, an adult film actress. So he allegedly directed his longtime fixer Michael Cohen to pay off Daniels, through a shell company, for her silence. Afterward, Trump funneled $420,000 to Cohen in installments. But he allegedly concealed the payments by listing them as legal expenses for a retainer that did not exist. Last year, I was uncertain whether this scheme, while sordid, rose to the level of a felony offense. I am now convinced that, if proved that he took these actions, it surely does. The falsification of business records is, by itself, a misdemeanor under New York law, but it’s a felony when it’s done with the “intent to commit another crime or to aid or conceal the commission thereof.” In his indictment, Bragg claims that Trump lied about the payments with the intent to violate election law, which is what elevates the crime to a felony. Initially, I was suspicious of this theory; what election law, exactly, was the former president attempting to violate? The district attorney’s initial statement of facts was hazy on this crucial point, raising the possibility that he couldn’t tie the underlying fraud to a state or federal statute. Turns out he could. Bragg has argued, convincingly, that the former president intended to violate at least two election laws—one state, one federal. First, Bragg asserted that Trump and Cohen ran afoul of the Federal Election Campaign Act by making unlawful campaign contributions (in the form of a payoff) at the direction of a candidate (that is, Trump).

As a criminal defendant, Trump has to be in court for the trial. And except for holidays, court will be in session four days a week.

So Trump will be in Lower Manhattan quite a bit for the next couple of months. The New York County (Manhattan) Courthouse is at 100 Centre Street. And he owns a major property at 40 Wall Street (modestly called The Trump Building) where he might occasionally be seen. Google Maps puts the walking distance between the two locations at 0.8 miles (1.28 km). So if you're tempted to exercise your First Amendment right to express your opinions to Trump...

[yogenderthakur]

District And Session Judge Office Kangra At Dharamshala Peon, Clerk, Reader Recruitment 2022

District And Session Judge Office Kangra At Dharamshala Peon, Clerk, Reader Recruitment 2022

District And Session Judge Office Kangra At Dharamshala Peon, Clerk, Reader Recruitment 2022 District And Session Judge Office Kangra At Dharamshala Peon, Clerk, Reader Recruitment 2022 | District And Session Judge Office Kangra At Dharamshala Peon, Clerk, Reader Application form 2022 District And Session Judge Office Kangra At Dharamshala Peon, Clerk, Reader Recruitment 2022: Applications in…

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Supreme Court Overturns DOJ's Use of Key J6 Felony Court

"Today's decision means Attorney General Merrick Garland and federal judges in Washington wrongfully prosecuted roughly 350 J6ers with the post-Enron felony"

JULIE KELLY

JUN 28, 2024 In a devastating but well-deserved blow to the Department of Justice’s criminal prosecution of January 6 protesters, the U.S. Supreme Court today overturned the DOJ’s use of 18 USC 1512(c)(2), the most prevalent felony in J6 cases.

The statute, commonly referred to as “obstruction of an official proceeding,” has been applied in roughly 350 J6 cases; it also represents two of four counts in Special Counsel Jack Smith’s J6-related criminal indictment of Donald Trump in Washington. 

In a 6-3 decision, Chief Justice John Roberts wrote that the “c2” subsection is tethered to the “c1” subsection that addresses tampering with a record, document, or “object.”

From the opinion:

Roberts was joined by Justices Clarence Thomas, Samuel Alito, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Ketanji Brown Jackson. Justice Amy Coney Barrett authored the dissent (!) joined by Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor.

Today’s decision means hundreds of Americans have been wrongfully prosecuted by Attorney General Merrick Garland as he insists his department is dedicated to upholding the “rule of law” and pursuing justice “without fear or favor.”

An Irreversible Black Eye for DOJ and Federal Courts in Washington

The matter originated in the case of Joseph Fischer, a Pennsylvania man who attended Trump’s speech and later went to the Capitol. According to court documents, Fischer briefly entered the building around 3:25 p.m., nearly an hour after the joint session of Congress to certify the electoral college votes had recessed. He exited about four minutes later.

In March 2021, a D.C. grand jury indicted Fischer on numerous counts including 1512(c)(2). The statute reads:

Whoever corruptly— 

(1) alters, destroys, mutilates, or conceals a record, document, or other object, or attempts to do so, with the intent to impair the object’s integrity or availability for use in an official proceeding; or 

(2) otherwise obstructs, influences, or impedes any official proceeding, or attempts to do so.

It is punishable by up to 20 years in prison.

Fischer, in addition to many J6ers facing the count, asked his judge to dismiss the charge. Judge Carl Nichols, appointed by Trump, dismissed the count against Fischer and two other defendants by finding the language in the post-Enron/Arthur Anderson statute covered tampering with records or documents not interrupting a meeting of Congress. The DOJ appealed Nichols’ decision.

In December, SCOTUS granted Fischer’s petition to grant cert seeking to reverse the appellate court’s mandate. Oral arguments were held on April 16.

Nichols is the only judge to have dismissed the count; 18 district and circuit court judges in Washington refused to dismiss the count. The judges essentially enabled the Biden DOJ’s unlawful pursuit of Americans who protested Biden’s election that day.

The List of Shame:

Judge Beryl Howell (Obama, former chief judge)

Judge James Boasberg (Obama, current chief judge)

Judge Rudolph Contreras (Obama)

Judge Trevor McFadden (Trump)

Judge John Bates (GW Bush)

Judge Amit Mehta (Obama)

Judge Dabny Friedrich (Trump)

Judge Royce Lamberth (Reagan)

Judge Richard Leon (GW Bush)

Judge Colleen Kollar-Kotelly (Clinton)

Judge Amy Berman Jackson (Obama)

Judge Timothy Kelly (Trump)

Judge Randolph Moss (Clinton)

Judge Paul Friedman (Clinton)

Judge Christopher Cooper (Obama)

D.C. Circuit Court Judge Florence Pan (Biden)—Pan wrote both appellate court decisions upholding 1512c2

D.C. Circuit Court Judge Justin Walker (Trump)

D.C. Circuit Court Judge Cornelia Pillard

There Goes Your Summer, Your Honor

The federal courthouse in Washington has been bracing for a flood of motions post-Fischer; a few judges have released individuals from prison in anticipation of a reversal. Roughly 110 J6ers have been sentenced to prison on 1512(c)(2) convictions; several J6ers were held under pretrial detention for being charged with the nonviolent obstruction count alone.

But despite the law’s legal limbo over the past year, U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia Matthew Graves, a Biden appointee, continued to indict J6ers on 1512(c)(2) while some judges continued to sentence those convicted to lengthy prison terms. Last month, Beryl Howell, the former chief judge who upheld the 1512(c)(2) charges for defendants in her courtroom, sentenced a Missouri man to 60 months in prison for the 1512 conviction and assault on police.

In January 2022, Howell gave the green light for her colleagues to support the DOJ’s use of the obstruction count. Here is what she said in denying a motion to dismiss filed by two J6ers:

“For over 200 years, the peaceful transition of power from one presidential administration to another has been marked with Congress's certification of the Electoral College vote; and this event has been respectfully observed by American citizens, but not on January 6, 2021. And I start with this historical fact because what happened on January 6th was a chilling new type of criminal conduct to which our criminal laws have never before had to be applied. Application of criminal laws to conduct never before seen, like what occurred on January 6, 2021, appropriately generates the kind of legal questions the defendants raise here about whether the criminal law fits the charged criminal conduct.”

The first judge to uphold the obstruction charge in J6 cases was Trump-appointee Dabny Friedrich. In 2021, she agreed that interrupting a meeting of Congress met the definition of “official proceeding” and that the statute’s broad language did not require the government to prove the conduct involved tampering with records or documents.

Ironically—or not—Friedrich is married to Matthew Friedrich, a former DOJ official who worked on the Enron Task Force alongside Andrew Weissman and current deputy attorney general Lisa Monaco. The 1512(c)(2) statute was a product of the Enron/Arthur Anderson investigation; Weissmann, as the lead prosecutor for Special Counsel Robert Mueller in the bogus Russiagate probe, pushed the DOJ to charge Trump with 1512(c)(2) while in office.

Retired judge Thomas Hogan recently warned how a SCOTUS’s reversal of 1512(c)(2) would affect the DC courthouse. Here is Hogan, who upheld the statute in J6 prosecutions, with former DOJ official and FISAgate mastermind Mary McCord:

Reacting to the SCOTUS decision, Geri Perna, aunt of Matthew Perna, told me this by email:

“When Matthew was unexpectedly charged with the felony of Obstruction of an Official Proceeding—after initially facing only misdemeanors—his world collapsed. The weight of a potential lengthy prison sentence bore down on him, filling his days with insurmountable worry and anxiety. At that time, there was no glimmer of hope that this severe charge would be dropped.

Matthew has now been dead for 28 months. In the wake of his passing, the Supreme Court of the United States is finally set to rule on whether the Department of Justice wrongfully applied 1512(c)(2) in January 6 cases. As much as I am hopeful for a just ruling in favor of the January 6 defendants, I am consumed by a profound sense of loss and anger. My nephew's death was both avoidable and senseless.

I feel cheated, and if that sounds selfish, then so be it. The pain of losing Matthew under such circumstances is a burden I carry every day. I fervently hope that those responsible for wielding this charge erroneously will be held accountable in a court of law. However, I am not holding my breath.”

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

The Supreme Court on Monday raised the bar for prosecuting Donald Trump, ruling that he has immunity for some of his conduct as president in his federal election interference case, but maybe not for other actions, adding another obstacle for special counsel Jack Smith taking the case to trial.

In a novel and potentially consequential case on the limits of presidential power, the justices voted 6-3 along ideological lines to reject Trump’s broad claim of immunity, meaning the charges related to his attempts to overturn the 2020 election results will not be dismissed, but said some actions closely related to his core duties as president are off-limits to prosecutors.

"Big win for our Constitution and democracy. Proud to be an American," Trump said in a post in all capital letters on his social media website Truth Social.

Chief Justice John Roberts, writing for the majority, said further proceedings are needed in lower courts to determine what conduct Trump can be prosecuted for. Among the conduct that the court determined to be core presidential powers and therefore subject to immunity are Trump's contacts with Justice Department officials. Trump is also "presumptively immune" from being prosecuted for his contacts with Vice President Mike Pence in the weeks leading up to the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol by his supporters, Roberts wrote.

The indictment alleged that Trump sought to pressure the Justice Department to investigate unfounded claims of widespread election fraud as part of a plan to keep him in power despite President Joe Biden's election victory. Trump also wanted Pence to refuse to certify the election results as part of his ceremonial role at the joint session of Congress on Jan. 6.

"The president is not above the law," Roberts wrote. "But Congress may not criminalize the president's conduct in carrying out the responsibilities of the executive branch under the Constitution."

What that means for the case going forward remains to be seen. Trump’s lawyer conceded in the oral argument in April that at least some of the allegations in the indictment concern private conduct that would not be protected by any immunity defense. Likewise, the Justice Department lawyer arguing the case for the special counsel said the prosecution could go ahead even if some official acts were protected.

At a minimum, there will be further proceedings before U.S. District Judge Tanya Chutkan to determine what, if any, of the other conduct alleged in the indictment is protected. Among the acts she will review to determine if they are subject to immunity are Trump's contacts with people outside of the federal government, including state election officials such as Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger, whom Trump pressured to reject results showing Biden victories.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[From Robert B. Hubbell’s Newsletter]

Fifth Circuit holds a biased and embarrassing hearing on the mifepristone ruling of Judge Kacsmaryk

         Federal district Judge Matthew Kacsmaryk issued an order withdrawing the FDA’s approval of mifepristone. A panel of the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals upheld Judge Kacsmaryk’s ruling and ordered that the ruling go into effect immediately. The US Supreme Court reversed the 5th Circuit and issued an unusual order that effectively told the 5th Circuit it could not ban the distribution of mifepristone until the Supreme Court ruled on the matter. In other words, the Supreme Court put the 5th Circuit on a “time out” for bad behavior.

         A panel of the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals held oral arguments on the merits of the appeal today. The hearing was an embarrassment. The judges acted like petulant children who were upset that they had been reprimanded. Worse, they made no pretense of maintaining impartiality or objectivity—or adherence to the rule of law. The obscene display of judges following personal religious convictions rather than the Constitution is explained by Mark Joseph Stern in Slate, The 5th Circuit is furious that the Supreme Court put it in mifepristone timeout.

         I highly recommend reading Stern’s article in full to get the full flavor of the hearing. Stern is at his best in this article. He writes, in part:

And here’s the punchline: Nothing these intellectual Lilliputians do will even matter. The Supreme Court has already decided that the 5th Circuit cannot be trusted with this case: In April, it froze the court’s previous decision stringently limiting access to mifepristone, expressly maintaining the freeze until the justices themselves take further action. Elrod, Ho, and Wilson are howling into the wind; they have no power to change a thing about federal regulation of medication abortion. The adults in the room have already put them in time-out. And rather than demonstrate that they can judge responsibly, they seized on Wednesday’s hearing to throw a combination temper tantrum/gaslight party. No lessons have been learned, no maturity acquired. This time-out probably isn’t ending anytime soon.

Ho read aloud random people’s criticisms of the FDA and made Ellsworth respond to them, then declared that federal courts should override the FDA’s scientific determinations because the agency isn’t trustworthy.

These are not serious people. This is not how real judges conduct themselves. This was barely a judicial proceeding. It was a struggle session in which three anti-abortion zealots yelled at attorneys who have already prevailed in this case once at the Supreme Court. Their rage should have been aimed at SCOTUS, but it’s not a good look for lower courts to trash-talk their superiors, so they redirected it to Harrington and Ellsworth instead. (Erin Hawley, wife of Sen. Josh Hawley, argued against mifepristone; the less said about her unceasing stream of shameless falsehoods, the better.)

         I also recommend Talking Points Memo, Right-Wing Judges Mulling Restricting Abortion Drug: Isn’t The Real Problem Here How Mean You All Were To Kacsmaryk?

         If we had a functioning Supreme Court that cared about the rule of law, it would castigate the 5th Circuit panel for its shameful display of bias, animus, and religious zeal.

         But, as Stern notes, the 5th Circuit cannot restrict the distribution of mifepristone. And the failure of the 5th Circuit to address serious legal questions—like the absence of standing by the plaintiff doctors—may doom the 5th Circuit’s opinion to a chilly reception in the Supreme Court. We can only hope.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Robin Opsahl at Iowa Capital Dispatch, via The 19th:

Many patients seeking abortion care in Iowa in the past few weeks were unaware that the state has banned most abortions beginning Monday, Planned Parenthood staff said. More than six years after the Legislature first attempted to pass the law, abortion became illegal in Iowa, with narrow exceptions, at 8 a.m. Monday. Kristina Remus, a Planned Parenthood patient services associate, said Friday that many people she is working with are unaware that Iowa’s abortion law was changing. “To say the last few weeks have been hard is an understatement,” Remus said. “People are confused and seeking clarification. And a lot of patients are unaware that there is a law banning abortion at about six weeks before many people know that they’re pregnant set to take effect so soon on Monday. We are having extremely difficult conversations in my department with patients.” The Iowa law bans abortions after cardiac activity is detectable in an embryo, something that can occur as early as six weeks of gestation. There are some exceptions to the ban, including for rape, incest and to save the life of the mother.

The so-called “fetal heartbeat” law was blocked from enforcement shortly after it was passed in July 2023. It was signed by Gov. Kim Reynolds in a special session after the Iowa Supreme Court ruled to uphold an injunction on a similar 2018 law. But in this June, the state Supreme Court ruled that a district court judge should lift the injunction on the 2023 measure, in addition to setting a lower legal standard for testing the constitutionality of Iowa abortion laws.

Iowa’s draconian 6-week abortion ban law HF732 is now in effect, thanks to the Republican majority on the state’s Supreme Court.