#maybe it has something to do with being the victim of a violent crime at such a young age

[call-me-maggie13]

Me, going to bed after listening to a horribly graphic true crime podcast: “god I hope everyone’s okay now… anyways… zzzzzzz…”

Me, going to bed after listening to a completely fictional horror story: *pocket knife clutched in my white knuckled grip* “what if the booglyboo tries to eat me while I sleep?”

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

It’s half past midnight as I’m starting this, who knows what time it will be when I finish it, let’s talk: Inej versus the Wraith.

Ok I’ve been thinking a lot about the distinction between Inej and the Wraith as a concept similar to the desperation of Kaz and Dirtyhands or Kaz Brekker and Kaz Rietveld, and I think I’ve noticed an actual trend in the books of using the epithet at certain times or in certain tones. For example, when the group find the pyre in chapter 19/20 and realise one of the victims is still alive, Jesper shoots them to end their pain. Kaz wanted Inej to do it since using her knives would be quieter than the gun, but she can’t bring herself to. In this moment, she is described exclusively as “Inej”. Later in chapter 20 she kills a parem-drugged fabrikator in order to save their lives, and is described as “the Wraith”. Not only is there the suggestion of a growing distinction between the two, but it is now being noticed by the characters as well as just the reader. For Kaz it’s really only the reader (and maybe Inej but I’d argue not to a full extent until Crooked Kingdom) who sees this distinction because we are closer to him than he lets anyone else get, we are the only people who really know what he’s thinking and see the two sides of his personality or the two potentials for who he could be. But with Inej it’s almost the exact opposite, we as the reader see the idea of the Wraith as an epithet invented by Kaz and an as empowering epithet designed to counter the dehumanising “Lynx” whilst still echoing the trauma of her past by linking very clearly to Inej’s descriptions of leaving her body behind and thinking “I’m already dead, I died in the hold of a slaver ship”, whilst the characters begin to almost refer to the Wraith and Inej as separate entities. I’m using Jesper as my example here since he’s the one to calll her the Wraith in chapter 20 - “trust the Wraith” - and the one to shoot the dying Grisha at the pyre, both to spare them and her from pain. It seems a sudden turnabout to go from a non-verbal or even any kind of communicatory acknowledgment that he needs to step in for her to expecting, trusting, and praising her for killing, but arguably that’s because he has seen a change in her during this short period of time.

It’s also worth noting that Nina almost always calls her Inej, in fact I don’t think she once calls her Wraith (at least to my immediate recollection, feel free to correct me) except when she uses the name to call Kaz out when he says “the Wraith can handle it” and she replies “the Wraith is a 16-year-old girl” and goes on to emphasise Inej’s injuries. But even in this scene, which is on the boat to Fjerda when it’s still unclear whether Inej will even survive and Kaz is talking about making her climb up the incinerator shaft at the Ice Court, Nina begins the conversation by saying Kaz can’t make Inej do that, and he comes back with “the Wraith can manage”. This suggests he sees a distinction between them as well, perhaps that Inej is a religious young woman who’s been left incredibly vulnerable but the Wraith is a hardened criminal with nothing to lose. By choosing to refer to her as the Wraith when he plans to put her through something so incredibly difficult, he is alleviating himself from the guilt of harming a vulnerable young woman by instead considering her as a hardened criminal. Nina calling him out in this shit (yeah I said it and I stand by it) clearly annoys Kaz or he wouldn’t have bothered arguing back to her, as he usually doesn’t. Arguably we could extend this to the idea that the others call her Inej when she’s the person they know and care about but the Wraith when she’s violent or commits crimes so they can actively choose to separate the image of warm, kind-hearted Inej from cruel or calculating Wraith.

Now everything I’ve said so far really comes down to perception so in terms of analysis it’s the kind of thing that you can say confidently and have accepted as accurate or at least as a reasonable interpretation, like when critics tell you that the dream sequence in Frankenstein can mean on of the following 5 things so you agree with them because they clearly know what they’re talking about. (Not that I’m saying the dream doesn’t mean one of those 5 things it can definitely be interpreted in those ways, it’s just an example of something in literature I’ve seen we kind of take as fact when it is, of course, all yo for interpretation). However, I want to be clear that what I’m going to say from now on can be considered a possible theory or interpretation of Inej surrounding her mental state and ptsd response. I’ve talked about it recently as part of other posts and I’m basically about to repeat myself word for word, but I wanted to compress this all into one post on the theme and include the stuff about the characters actually perceiving her that way too.

So first you we have a quote from the Crooked Kingdom Bathroom Scene™️, and what I’m going to say here is pretty much going to be exactly the same as what I wrote in my detailed breakdown and analysis of that scene, which if anyone wants to read is on my page or I can tag you if you’d like. The quote I want to talk about is: “I live in fear that I’ll see one of her - one of my clients on the street. For a while I thought I saw them everywhere”. Now I’m about to say there are 2 was to read this, but I mean this in a “I’ve read this is in two different ways” kinda way not in a “this can only be interpreted in these 2 ways” kinda way ok we’re embracing the de-classicising of literature here (I have no idea if that’s the right word or if that even makes sense but hopefully you know what I mean, I’m tired, bare with me) and we are open to any and all possible interpretations of things in any way they’re written so whooo if you read this quote in a different way let me know would love to hear it, these are the two ways I read it:

Firstly, that when she refers to “her” Inej means Heleen but edits her words as a continuation of this vulnerability she is forcing herself to share in this scene. If we exclude her being vulnerable with the reader, this is the most vulnerable we ever see Inej make herself - aka, this is the only time she allows herself to be deeply vulnerable out loud with another character. I think this closest other time we get is with Nina on the boat to Fjerda when Inej is trying to ward of flashbacks and she tells Nina why she doesn’t have the Crow Cup tattoo. However, that scene is written from Inej’s perspective and therefore gives her the opportunity to show the reader a lot more vulnerability than she shows Nina (eg when she has flashbacks the reader knows but Nina doesn’t because Inej is just egging her on to keep singing and distracting her; Nina knows something is happening but she isn’t being brought into the moment to share it because Inej isn’t in a position where she’s able to share her vulnerability) so our memory of this scene being particularly vulnerable is actually more about Inej being very honest with us, which of course isn’t an active choice, and less about her being very honest with Nina. Having the Bathroom Scene ™️ from Kaz’s perspective gives us the opportunity to have Inej’s openness and vulnerability in the scene far stronger since she has to say something out loud for us to know with certainty that she’s thinking it. Arguably if it had been a less vulnerable scene, Inej would have said “her clients” in reference two Tante Heleen as an added layer of the separation she practices, but here she changes it to “my” clients because she is forcing herself to be uncomfortable because she wants to be able to be more open with Kaz and she wants to continue this vulnerability that she’s allowing herself ti have with him. I feel like I just some variation on vulnerable like 20 times.

The second way I read it is linking back to our main theme of Inej and the Wraith as separate entities. “Inej talks a lot about how she would leave her body behind to exist only in her mind, in passages I find particularly reminiscent of passages in The Handmaid’s Tale (although please note soc is not very explicit whereas tht is incredibly explicit). But to take that idea further, I think there are certain hints, and I think this is possibly the biggest one, to imply that one of Inej’s ptsd responses it to actually view herself today as a separate entity from who she was during her indenture, effectively saying ‘yes these things happened to this body but they didn’t happen to this mind so that should make it easier’ to herself, which is massively self-destructive in nature because it almost creates this idea that she needs to get over who she once was and move on, very similar to the way Kaz Brekker represses Kaz Rietveld. Arguably, what she’s saying is the worst of it is this fracturing of the self that has been created by what they put her through and that she cannot seem to escape from.” (I put that bit in quote marks because I didn’t feel like rewriting it so that’s copy and pasted exactly from my Bathroom Scene™️ analysis post)

Ok there’s one other specific quote I want to bring up and it’s the end of Chapter 2 of Six of Crows, I did talk about it in my favourite quotes analysis of the chapter (which I am planning to continue btw chapter 5 up next if anyone wants to read these posts for the previous chapters let me know and I’ll tag you).

"Inej pitied the boy who might die alone with no one to comfort him in his last hours or who might live and spend his life as an exile. But the night's work wasn't over yet, and the Wraith didn't have time for traitors"

This I think, unless there are more I haven’t noticed/thought of yet is the only other time we get an suggestion of Inej perceiving herself and the Wraith as separate, and it’s arguably more concrete than the amendment of pronouns I just talked about for a ridiculous amount of time. To me, this quote shows Inej as being the girl she was, the girl she should have been, and the Wraith being a creation of necessity to aid survival. Inej is a religious young woman from Ravka who has been through far more than she should have done, but the Wraith was born and raised on the blood-soaked streets of Ketterdam and has every intention of surviving them - no matter the cost.

(That was also pretty much direct quotes from what said before)

It is now quarter past one in the morning. If you made it this far then thanks so much for reading I hope it made sense and was interesting, I feel like I’ve made enough “me rambling about grishaverse after midnight” posts that we can call it a series so if I think of a good name for it I’ll go through a tag them all so if anyone fancies trying to wade through all my middle-of-the-night-analysis nonsense you can find it all together because let me tell you something I never quite acknowledge just how much I’ve posted until I have to scroll back through to find stuff I’ve said in order to reference it in a new post. Anyway, thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed and if you have any thoughts linked to this or grishaverse analysis in general please comment or send me an ask I would love to hear it.

EDIT: sorry, correction, I just realised Inej didn’t kill the parem-drugged fabrikator she killed the parem-drugged squaller; the fabrikator was Nina’s childhood friend Nestor, he died from a combination of injury and the drug

[saym0-0]

what do you think the mechs would be avatars of? my first thought was slaughter for the group as a whole bc,, duh. but now that im thinking about it, i think they'd be more eye/end aligned. because their whole thing is stories and the part they clearly deem most important is the end right? theres all the blood and gore in the middle but the important bit is everyone dies at the end

individually though, not as a whole group they're all sorts of stuff i think

ashes would be desolation for sure with all the fire and the likes, and hades makes me think web too? they're the one behind the scenes pulling the strings (granted, usually for their own entertainment but who can blame em really)

toy soldier would be stranger, once again for obvious reasons. im not really sure if theres much crossover on this one really.

jonny i reckon would be eye and slaughter, mans cares for two things and its violent crime and a good story (amen!)

brian is SO lonely coded like?? its in the backstory song man,, also vague end-ness probably, though tbf they probably all have that end cloud by virtue of being the mechanisms. maybe vast too

tim would be slaughter too, he loves a good murder spree but i feel like theres something else and ive just forgotten like half the fears lmao OUGH hunt maybe? tim goes crazy is very hunt coded

ivy is SO immensely eye. she's literally an archivist. she gathers and stores aaallll that information but her emotional connection to it is reset every night. thats so eye!!

nastya is definitely lonely, at least towards the end but probably the whole time (from what little i know of cyberian demons) and maybe dark? that ones 100% vibes i have no explanation

marius has very spiral vibes i think. hes just a silly guy ur honour i think he deserves it. i cant really think of any other one for him tbh

and raph is quite stranger coded i think, idk the detachment from humanity that comes with being a mad scientist just feels very stranger to me? more so than the average mechs detatchment from humanity

i dont know why i made this post but ive been rotating end/eye mechs in my brain for a couple days just because i think the idea of s5 jmart stumbling across a domain thats kind of an accumulation of the various album aettings and music that can be heard from anywhere in the domain and victims living/reliving the parts of the characters is very very cool and i needed to word vomit it somewhere

[proxylynn]

…..Im starting to like Damon…please tell me some canon facts abt him and his personality.

[*cracks knuckles* Okay...Here's everything from his bio page.]

Name- Stalker (real name- Damon) Color- Red Age- 30 January 6, Capricorn, chinese zodiac: Rooster, 1993 Height- 194 cm Gender- Male sexuality- Pansexual and poly but only with MC and DG Horoscope- Capricorn Personality- quiet, forgiving, curious, clingy, caring but also violent when he loses his temper, gets jealous easily. Ability- Good sense of smell, strong bite force. He pretty much has ability of wolf. Likes- gardening, roses, meat, calm music, bees, MC, taking photos. Dislikes- loud noises, the feeling of loneliness, getting heart broken, rough/bad scents. Work- Florist Voice- Similar voice with Legoshi from Beastar favorite animal- Bees favorite food and drink- Meat and coffee/energy drinks Kink- knife play/blood play, biting, gentle and rough sex, teasing, sadism/masochism, hair pulling, praise.

Backstory- During his younger years Stalker had always been very quiet and awkward around others. He wasn't very popular during his school years and he was bullied heavily due to his shy nature. To stay calm he would carry a rose in pot with him, this would lead to even more bullying. Eventually he became used to being bullied but things became more difficulty when he developed a crush. Being so shy he didn't have the courage to talk to her so he started to stalk her in hopes of getting to know her better. When he finally got enough courage to talk to her and tell her about his feelings things didn't go so well. When she realized that he had been stalking her she became very angry and disturb with him. She rejected him and ruined the rose he tried to give her as a gift of his love. She told other people about what he did and from then on people started to call him Stalker. He didn't care about being called Stalker and over time he accept it as his new name. But being rejected by his crush hurt him very deeply. This rejection angred him so much that one day he killed her. He was never caught for his crime but people suspected him to be the culprit, however they thought he's was to weak to do something like that. He was still bullied and he did his best to avoided others. The bullying did stop when he lost his temper after one of the bullies attacked him and ruined his potted rose. In his rage he attacked the bully and brutally beat them. Afterwards his parents decided to move away to get a new start for him.

As an adult he continued to avoided people but his loneliness and depression became too much for him to bare. He yearned to find someone he could be close to and love but he was fearful of being rejected again. So he went back stalking people he developed an interest with. Even though he believed he won't find anybody he hoped that one day he would find the right one. And even though they were just crushes he would get extremely jealous if someone flirted with his crush. He would kill the ones who tried to take his crushes away. During one of his killing episodes he meet Delivery guy who was trying to find a new victim. Delivery guy was very interested in Stalker and wanted to get to know him better and eventually they became close friends.

-He had crush on Angel but since she is very popular he never really got a chance to get close to her and tell her about his feelings so when the times passed he slowly began to lose the hope that he could ever be her boyfriend what eventually end up to giving up and moving on with his life. It was tough for him but it hurt even more not being able to reach to her. (not to mention he doesn't like being constantly jealous. Which happens a lot when he had to watch others fawning over Angel.)

Extra- -He works at flower shop. -loves dancing. -He played piano when he was younger. -loves swimming. -Has sensitive ears. -He doesn't really know how to cook (maybe simple ones) but pretty much because of this he usually eats the meat raw. (He can eat raw meat without any problem. He won't get sick.) -He owns a big bee plushie what he usually hugs when he's sleeping or when he's feeling sad. -He likes to play games with DG even though he's not very good at playing. -He's only ok sharing MC with DG but he can get jealous if DG gets more attention than him. -Loves chocolate. -Damon has sometimes thought about getting help because there been times when people has told him to get help so he gets these thoughts that he should but DG doesn't like the idea and always tells Damon that he doesn't need it and those people who has said that are wrong and he's perfect how he is. DG tries his best to turn Damon's thoughts away from it because he worries he will lose his friend.

[rose-lunaire]

nbc hannibal characters: how do they sleep?

pairing: none

warnings: description of will’s nightmares

hannibal:

juggling psychiatry and being a the most refined serial killer isn’t easy

his job requires impeccable performance, so he really needs quality rest

hannibal is used to sleep less than 5 hours a day because of his tight schedule

after all these years, no case phases him to the point of losing sleep over

that being said, he tends to be quite the heavy sleeper

a person could be tied up in his basement, crying from the pain of having their arms cut off without anesthesia and he wouldn’t bulge

he needs his beauty sleep ok

hannibal is really confident in his work, he goes over every possible scenario of escape and prevents it masterfully

under his care there is nothing to worry about

the situation changes slightly with an s/o sleeping over

his ears are listening, always watching out for any danger

he would probably spend the whole night observing his lover’s features, drunk on their peaceful slumber

claims it relaxes him better than sleeping himself

will graham

sleeping though the whole night is no easy feat for will

no matter how many times he tried convincing himself that working for the fbi doesn’t phase him, it never works

the nightmares just never seem to go away

no pills or medicinal teas can put him to sleep

a long

he would wake in the middle of the night to the sound of violent scratching

half awake would look for his gun, hidden under the mattress

“maybe the killed followed my car from the crime scene? am i the next victim? or is he planting the evidence onto me?”

practically grabs a paper stamp from his desk, just in case

follows the sound to the door, his dog stops scratching the wood when he sees him

he pats pet’s head and braces for the shot

there is someone out there, will’s convinced the saw a movement though the keyhole

shoots blindly

to his own reflection in the mirror

will slumps weakly onto the floor, agitated from the dogs howling

he’s never alone, the nightmares and schizophrenia never leave his side

and when he wakes up from a bad dream, an even worse one is awaiting just a call away from jack

bedelia du maurier

perfect example of a light sleeper

she takes a while to fall asleep, busy reassuring herself no one can harm her

she strikes me as an over thinker, she can never trust any door locks or prison bars

has to check all doors and windows multiple times before going to sleep

would wake up to the feeling of being watched or police sirens in the neighborhood

what diferentes her from will, is that she wouldn’t overly investigate the source of the sound

just like with her patients, she convinces herself that everything is fine

at first melatonin helped a bit with the nerves, but not anymore

she drinks on weekdays, it helps fall asleep but also makes her dreams more vivid

bedelia though that seeing hannibal behind bars would change something, but it didn’t

at the end of the day the worries never leave her head

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

How many times did robespierre get an assassination attempts?

Because I remember his sister Charlotte robespierre says in her memoir maybe? That he had multiple assassination attempts not only Cécile-Aimée Renault who tried her luck.

And who is Cécile Renault and what is her story?

Charlotte speaks of attempts on her brother’s life in chapter four of her memoirs:

Since Maximilien Robespierre perished, a victim of counterrevolutionaries, his enemies’ rage has emerged in calumnies, lies, and furious diatribes against him; but before his death, independent of those means which have always suited them, they had another which was no less worthy of them: the dagger. A great number of assassination attempts were made on him. History has spoken of Cécile Renault and of Ladmiral, but it has said nothing of the many other assassins who came to my unhappy brother’s house in the intention of cutting his throat. We were one day gathered at M. Duplay’s house, when a man came and asked to speak to Maximilien Robespierre. My brother went to him and prayed him to say what he wished. That man replied that he could only speak to him in private; he was then shown into a neighboring room where my brother followed him. Some moments later we heard a violent movement. Right away we suspected the unknown man; we entered the room where he was with Maximilien, and we saw that he had seized my brother around the neck, that he had pushed him against the wall, and that he was strangling him!... the assassin was built like Hercules, and had an easy advantage over Maximilien, who was weak bodily and of a delicate complexion. We cried out piercingly; the assassin then let go his victim and took flight; entirely occupied as we were with succoring my brother, we did not think of cutting off his escape. Another time, two men came likewise to M. Duplay’s house to speak to my brother, who had gone out; we told them that he was absent. They insisted on seeing him. There was something suspicious in their countenances, in their miens, and even in their words; everything about them announced their malevolent designs; they were questioned on the object of their visit, and they cut themselves off, which succeeded in confirming our idea that those two men were nothing but criminals, who wanted to assassinate Maximilien. They said that they absolutely needed to speak to him, and that they would return. They did return, in effect, the next day at dinnertime when we were at the table; they did not enter together; perhaps they had made M. Duplay’s house a meeting-place to execute their crime. The first to arrive seemed embarrassed; he asked to speak to Robespierre in private; we replied that their vile plans had been discovered. At these words, he became troubled, mumbled a few words, and retired in all haste. Only a few minutes passed before his companion of the previous evening arrived. He was not given the same to speak; he was told that his accomplice had preceded him by an instant, that there was nothing more for him to do than to join him, and that their attempt had failed. No more was needed to destroy him; one might have called him a man struck by lightning; he fled as if being pursued. These two events, and many others as well, gave Robespierre the certainty that a gang of assassins had been organized to make attempts on his life.

Lucile Desmoulins also mentions an assassination attempt in a diary entry written December 12 1793, when recounting the events surrounding the Insurrection of August 10th four months earlier — ”On August 8, I returned from the countryside. Already the spirits were strongly aroused, someone had wanted to assassinate Robespierre.” While it’s tempting to assume this is one of the attempts Charlotte is describing above, this sounds unlikely to be true considering she hadn’t arrived in Paris by August 8 1792, yet claims to have been an eyewitness. I think it’s also a bit strange how, aside from the testimonies of the two women, we appear to have no other source for/mention of these three assassination attempts. Especially when we know the Cécile Renault one stirred up so many emotions…

As for her story, as told by Histoire du tribunal révolutionnaire de Paris (1880) by Henri Wallon, she lived on rue de la Lanterne (today Rue de la Cité) in Paris with her father and brothers. Acquaintances would later describe her as ”young, lively and nice, [someone who took] pleasure in conversation and loved finery,” and that her reserved father had a constant concern for  his daughter. On May 23 1794, at nine o’clock in the evening, Renault presented herself at the Duplay house on Rue de la Saint-Honoré, roughly two kilometers away from her home, and asked to see Robespierre, claiming to have been out looking for him for six hours. When Éléonore Duplay, who had received Renault at the door, told her Robespierre wasn’t home, Renault got surprised and responded ”that he is a public official and therefore should respond to all those who came to his house.” This got her arrested (it is unclear to me whether Éléonore was the one who called for it or not) and sent to the Committee of General Security. On her way there, the three men escorting her reported that ”[Renault] told us that during the l’ancien régime, when one presented oneself at the king’s, one could enter straight away. We asked her whether she would rather have a king, she responded that she would shed all her blood in order to have one and that these were her opinions and that we were tyrants.”

Once arrived at the CGS, Renault was interrogated:

What is your name, age, profession and recidence?

My name is Aimée-Cécile Renault, I’m twenty years old, I live with my father, paper merchant, on rue de la Lanterne, close to rue des Marmousets, in the Cité section.

Where were you arrested and by whom?

I was arrested at Robespierre’s house by men I didn’t know.

What was your motive for going home to representative of the people Robespierre?

To talk to him.

What did you plan to talk to him about.

That depended on whether I found him or not.

Had anyone ordered you to go talk to him?

No.

Did you have anything to present him with?

That’s none of your business.

Do you know citizen Robespierre?

No, that’s why I asked to get to know him.

What was it that determined you to get to know him?

To see if he was OK with me (s’il me convenait).

I ask you to clearly explain what you mean by these words: ”to see if he was OK with me.”

I have nothing to respond. Don’t interrogate me more.

When you presented yourself at citizen Robespierre’s house, did you not express anger over the fact he wasn’t there?

Yes.

Do you know of rue de l’Estrapade?

No, I don’t know of it and I’ve never been there.

Do you know someone named Catherine Théos [sic]?

No.

Do you know an individual by the name of Dom Gerle?

No.

Have you ever heard Dom Gerle or Catherine Théos [sic] speak?

I have never heard anyone speak.

Did you tell the citizens who came to arrest you at citizen Robespierre’s house that if needed, you would spill all your blood in order to have a king?

Yes, I said that.

Do you stand by it?

Yes.

What were the motives which determined and still determine you to desire a tyrant?

I desire a king, because I would prefer that over fifty thousand tyrats, and I only went to Robespierre’s house to see what a tyrant looks like.

When the CPG searched Renault, two small knives were found on her. It was also discovered that, before going to visit Robespierre, she had left a package to one citizen Payen. The package was opened before Renault, and was shown to contain a full set of women's clothing. The interrogation then continued as follows:

What were your intention in providing yourself with these various items?

Fully expecting to go to the place where I would surely be taken, I would be happy to have linen for my use.

What place are you talking about?

About prison, to from there be sent to the guillotine.

What usage were you planning to make of the two knives that were found on you?

Nothing, I wasn’t planning to harm anybody.

Signed: Voulland, Dubarran, Amar, David, Moïse Bayle, Vadier, Élie Lacoste, Lavicomterie, Jagot, Louis du Bas-Rhin. As for her, she refused to sign.

After this interrogation, Renault was sent from the Committee of General Security to the Conciergerie prison. The following day, May 24, she was interrogated by the president of the Revolutionary Tribunal, René-François Dumas:

What is your name, age, profession and recidence?

My name is Aimée-Cécile Renault, I’m twenty years old, I live with my father, paper merchant, on rue de la Lanterne, close to rue des Marmousets, section de la Cité. I have three brothers, one of which, a 32 year old, lives in the same house, and the other two have left, one with the battalions sent to the department of Eure, the other with the first requisition.

Do you have any particular liasions or associations?

No.

Who are the people who visit your father’s house with the most frequency?

Nobody.

What are your opinions on the Republic and the government?

I want a king, because I’d prefer the power to be in the hands of a single person rather than of forty or fifty thousand tyrants.

How can you suppose that the power of the people, exercised through itself,  its representatives or its mandataires to be tyrannical?

I don’t want to share my opinions.

Were your opinions inspired by anyone?

No, and I have no accountability.

Have your manifested your opinions in front of anyone?

No.

Have you in the revolution experienced any loss or been forced into any sacrifice that has been able to serve as a pretext for your opinions?

No, I want a king, I don’t have any other motives.

Do you have the hopes of bringing back a king?

Yes, and it doesn’t matter to me which one.

How do you imagiene the royalty could be reestablished?

Through the success of the armed coalition powers.

Do you have any reports or intelligence that put you in a position to base your hopes on the allied powers on something?

No.

Did you intend to contribute to the re-establishment of royalty?

Yes.

How did you intend to contribute?

I would have contributed with financial assistance and by all means that would have been in my power; I would also have contributed, depending on the circumstances, to destroying the government and those who exercise its power.

Have you made any attempt to carry out your plan?

No.

Have you written any anonymous letter against the government, or know anyone who has done so? 

No.

Have you presented yourself at the house of any representative of the people?

I presented myself yesterday at Robespierre’s house, around nine o’clock in the evening.

What was your plan in going to Robespierre’s house.

To talk to him in person.

What did you want to talk to Robespierre about?

I don’t want to give any response or explanation regarding this question.

Do you realize that your answers lead one to believe you had the intention of committing a crime, and that you must explain your intentions?

She does not want to explain further, and adds that she intended to ask him for instructions on the situation and the strengthening of the Republic.

Do you realize that your declarations and obstinacy to not want to explain yourself cannot be reconciled with such a plan, which is why I’m again asking you to explain yourself?

She persists in not wanting to answer.

Did anyone propose to you the plan of going home to Robespierre and did you tell anyone about it?

No.

Did you go to Robespierre’s house several times during day?

No.

When you went to Robespierre, did you have with you knives, and of which sort?

I had in my pocket two folding knives, one in tortoiseshell and the other in ivory, both trimmed in silver: the one made of ivory was given to me by my brother in 89, having found it at Prés-Saint-Gervais. The other was given to me by my grandmother three or four years ago. It was loaded with rust; I cleaned it and tried to remove the rust by scraping the blade with another knife, eight or nine days ago. I rarely use it.

Do you regularly carry two knives?

I carry the tortoiseshell one regularly, the ivory one showed up in my pocket, I didn’t know it was there.

When you went home to Robespierre, did you have the intention of using these knives to kill him?

No; that, moreover, we can judge as we please.

When you yesterday left your father’s house, did you tell anyone?

No.

When you left your house, did you carry with you a package containing clothes, and for what purpose had you brought this package?

I had taken this package containing clothes and linen, because I anticipated that by going to Robespierre I would get arrested.

End of the interrogation.

Renault’s house was searched the night between the 23 and the 24. Suspect things found included two paintings “bearing the effigy of the tyrant and his wife” hidden in a cupboard, ”several papers bearing the signs of feudalism” and two national guard rifles belonging to the father and son. Under the bed in Renault’s room was found a banner on which was crown surrounded by fleur-de-lis printed in large size. In her father’s room was also discovered the following letter to his son:

Paris, January 3, Year II of the Republic. I’ve seen the letter from your good mother, through which you show that the citizens of the province where you find yourself desire that the former king not be condemned to death. As of now, one can’t tell you anything, because nothing is over yet, but I think that, for the sake of the good and calm of the Republic, it would be desired if he was not executed. Renault. To M. Renault, corporal at the depot of the Théâtre-Français battalion, garrisoned in Berlemont.

The father was interrogated on the spot and revealed he had three brothers, two sisters, three sons and one daughter ”who left his house on 4 prairial around six in the evening and who he didn’t know the location of.” Soon, both he, his sister and his youngest son were arrested and seals placed on their belongings. Arrest warrants were also issued against the two oldest sons of the family, but with both away in the armies they escaped the fate of their relatives.

The Renaults’ neighbours were interrogated in order to find out more about them. One femme Papin, who made sure to underline she was not close to Cècile, had the following to say regarding her disappearance:

Citizen Renault, instructed of his daughter’s absence, appeared desolute, and went to his place to check if his daughter hadn’t taken anything with her. He came back saying that the trouble which agitated him robbed him of the ability to see if she had taken anything. Renault then closed his boutique and went to his place. [Femme Papin] went home as well, after having checked, by going home to citoyenne Gentilhomme, citoyenne Bouchot and others, that [Cécile] was not in the neigbourhood. She went to bed, and sometime after having fallen asleep, she was woken up by the son Renault who asked her to look after their cat. She accepted this without thinking about any consequences, without suspecting that in this moment, Renault was being put under arrest. The next day, femme Papin’s oldest daughter learned from citoyenne Besençon, baker, of the arrest of father and son Renault, and it was also said that fille Renault, having learned of the arrest of her brother and father, had fled the house to save herself from the same fate. Six o’clock in the morning, she found herself at the house of citoyenne Julles, talking with her about this arrest, when citoyenne Prévôt entered and told them that fille Renault had been arrested as well, and this while having wanted to kill Robespierre.

Femme Papin’s fifteen year old daughter also came forward, explaining that, on May 23:

Leaving her work and passing by Renault’s boutique, fille Renault knocked on the window, invited her in, and gave her the task of handing over 16 sols to citoyenne Julles. Then she chatted with her for about a quarter of an hour after which she went up to her place. Then she came back down and went out, saying she would not come back. Renault’s brother, not seeing his sister return, was worried to the point that he fell ill.

A girl who had come over to the Renault house to buy a pen declared that Cécile had told her that she had just bought a piece of muslin worth 25 livres from a dressmaker by the name of Sonnet, something which the latter’s wife confirmed to be true. The Renault’s maid declared that she had a bundle of Indian fabrics to redo a taffeta dress for Cécile, and Barbe-Françoise-Antonine Cruel, femme Martin, a different seamstress, reported that Renault had ordered a muslin dress made for her in secret, urging her to get it done as quick as possible since she had to attend the wedding of one of her cousins and because she could get guillotined before it. To that, femme Martin had responded that ”when one does no harm, one should fear nothing.” The revelation Renault possessed several expensive garments, along with information she had had contacts with a young man by the name of Admirat, believed to possibly be related to the Henri Admirat who had made an attempt on Collot d’Herbois’ life a mere day before Renault’s visit to Robespierre, were the main topics for the third interrogation with Renault, held on May 25:

What does your father give you in order to provide for your maintenance?

My dad provides for me, but he only gives me 15 sols per week for personal expenses. 

Is it your father or you yourself who buys your clothes? Does he give you a lot and does it vary between different seasons?

He gives me that which satisfies me, and he was the one who bought them. 

Do you consider that, holding the trust of your father and being the one who keeps the house running, it seems surprising that it was your father who bought your clothes; and that in general, these kinds of purchases are a thing of the past for women?

She persists in her former response.

Did you, a little while ago, buy different outfits, and do you in this moment have different clothes at the seamstresses?

I bought six ells of muslin, 25 livres per ell, from Sonnet, a haberdasher, living opposite my dad, and I owe him the price. I gave an Italian taffeta dress to citoyenne Dematin, seamstress, living on l’Île de la Fraternité, I believe in a street near the barracks, opposite or nearby an apothecary, and whose name I do not know, to make a sheath out of it for me. I also gave her a muslin sheath, and the six ells of muslin already mentioned, with the exception of the portion which was taken from it to make the garnish, by citoyenne Gentilhomme, linen worker, living with my father. I gave a pierrot de taffetas to lengthen my petticoat to my friend citoyenne Petit, living in Marché-Neuf, with a locksmith, on the fourth floor. My dad doesn’t want me to see her often, observing that she since about a year has been married to a chariot adjutant whose name I don’t know.

Do you understand that one cannot be convinced that, receiving only fifteen sols per week from your father, and this according to your own admission, he would provide you with such a big and beautiful wardrobe?

She persists in declaring that it was her father who bought her the various effects, except for the muslin, and adds that she owes citoyenne Petit, from Marché-Neuf, around forty livres.

Can you explain how, having only 15 sols per week to provide for your particular expenses, you intended to pay the six ells of muslin which you just declared to have purchased on credit, without your father's knowledge. Isn’t it obvious that you could not pay the price of this muslin without some other special resources?

The confidence the merchant, or better yet his wife, had in me, determined them to make this supply on credit and have me pay it off when I could, in ten or twenty years. I intended to ask my dad for fifty livres when I found the opportunity and give it to them.

Do you remember that in the interrogation held yesterday you declared that you would provide money to those who would help you in your counter-revolutionary projects to re-establish the monarchy in France?

I remember saying that.

How can you reconcile this offer of relief with the shortage in which you declare yourself to be?

I acknowledge the shortage in which I find myself, but I would have sold my belongings to provide for the expenses of the armies allied against the Republic.

How long has it been since you went to confession?

I have no accountability for this. Moreover, churches and priests were suppressed a long time ago.

Who was your confessor when the priests exercised their functions?

I have never been to confession.

Have you been to the house of any priest after they stopped holding office, and has any priest frequented your father’s house?

No.

Have you, since the supression, been at the house of the priest of la Magdeleine?

No, because I knew he was a firm patriot, and that he didn’t share my opinions.

Have you sometimes gone to the curé of Saint-Landry, or had any relations with him?

No, I don’t know him, I only know his name.

Do you know citizen Admirat, aged 16 or 17, who sometimes came to see the son of widow Joyanvad, marchande épicière, rue de la Lanterne, at the corner of rue des Marmouzets?

I’ve seen him five to six times only, but I have never spoken to him. I’ve seen him at my father’s house, which is next to that of citoyenne Joyanval.

Have you been to café Payen?

I have not gone into the café, but I left my package to citizen Payen and asked him where Robespierre lived. He sent me to the guardhouse of the firefighters, who gave me the adress.

Were you not surprised one wouldn’t give you Robespierre’s adress, and did you tell them you were going to see a man who today was a lot and tomorrow would be no more?

I might have, I don’t remember. But speaking to the fireman, I told him: ”Robespierre is somewhere.” The fireman having answered that he was president of the Committee of Public Safety, I replied ”So a king then?”

Have you considered that the various admissions made by you in the previous interrogations, together with those recorded in this one, announce that your visit to Robespierre had any other aim than that of discussing only government affairs?

She persists in her previous responses in this regard.

Are you on the point of marrying?

No.

When did you become a royalist?

I have always been one.

I ask you again what it was that determined you to go home to Robespierre was and what your plan was.

She persists in her previous responses, and adds that she would not say more about this; that moreover, it is up to us to guess the rest. (6 prairial, 6 o’clock in the morning)

Soon, Renault did however start having a guilty conscience over having denied her faith, and seven o’clock in the evening the very same day she gave the names of the two late priests that had been in charge of her communion to a judge of the tribunal. When asked if she since then had performed any religious act and who the persons who had made her do that were, Renault simply responded that that was a secret and she had nothing more to say.

During the trial of public prosecutor Fouquier-Tinville one year later, the registrar Wolff claimed that Renault was stripped of her own clothes, covered in rags and threatened during her interrogation:

To force her to make the confession that they wanted to extract from her, she was applied to a type of questioning so ridiculous that it should have made the justice system blush. As the taste of this young girl, who was quite pretty, was to be well dressed, she was stripped of her clothes and covered with dirty and disgusting rags, and in this state she was taken up to the council chamber where she underwent a new interrogation and where the same demands and the same threats were made against her; to which she replied the same way she had already done, adding jeers and mockery against the judges who had the pettiness to use such a ridiculous type of question against her. She was threatened with taking her father and her entire family with her if she did not confess to this alleged assassination.

As Renault was being interrogated, the city section where her family lived also carried out an investigation against them, and through it, even more compromising details came floating up to the surface. It was reported that the family, after the overthrow of the monarchy, had had the words ”the nation, the law and the king” on a cartridge box (giberne), words which they at first refused to delete, though they would eventually do so with the ”king” part. Renault’s father, speaking of the murder of Lepeletier in January 1793, was said to have had stated ”Well! One also wants the death of the king, that will cost them dearly,” while his son had openly lamanted the king’s and queen’s imprisonment in the Temple while serving as guard there. His statement had been reported to the rest of the guard unit, but he had ignored it, simply saying that he thought what he thought.

Renault’s three arrested family members — father, brother and aunt — were all interrogated on May 28:

Antoine Renault, 62 years old.

Do you know who the people are that your children frequent and have relations with?

I only know of indifferent relations to neighbors or relatives. A sister of mine, a former nun, called sister gray, came to my house and conferred with my daughter, without me remarking anything in particular between them. Said sister is very attached to religion.

Learning that we were writing down this part of his response, he wanted to cut it out.

Does your daughter have any fanatical prejudices and any passions typical for her age?

I haven’t noticed in my daughter any religious affections, she appears rather indifferent when it comes to this subject. There exists no clue she has any passions, on the contrary, she is watched over and never leaves the house alone, except for when she rarely goes to the market. When she goes out, I always accompany her. I add here that my daughter is very attached to her aunt.

How do you provide maintenance for your daughter?

I myself buy what is necessary for her.

Where were you the fourth (23rd) this month?

I stopped working (j’ai descendu la garde) at two a’clock, I had dinner at my place with my son and daughter. Five o’clock, being on the point of going to bed, my son and daughter engaged me to go out to relax. I did so, carrying with me 25 livres that he owed to a laundress. I returned home at eight o'clock in the evening, where I found my son and the fille Pepin (Papin), both in anguish, and the former troubled because my daughter, who had been gone since six o’clock, had not returned. They told me that before leaving, she had told them to wait for her, that she would return, without saying where she was going. I had as my plan to go see if my daughter was at her aunt’s house, so I left my house, but fearing to meet her on the way, I went inside and went to bed, as did my son, and we got arrested in the night. I don’t know what has become of my daughter since this moment.

He is asked about the small pieces of furniture (petits meubles) that his daughter owned.

I know of scissors, a bad knife with an ivory handle, which was given to her by her brother; another knife with a scale handle, from my dead sister. She does not usually carry them and often has neither.

Do you know what your daughter’s opinion is on the revolution?

She is a good patriot, she loves the republic very much.

Does your daughter miss the tyrant and has she shown that she desires to see a king reestablished in France?

No.

Have you yourself, in your house, sought to inspire your children with dispositions contrary to the Republic and the current government?

No. 

One shows him the letter dated January 3 1793 written by him to his son, the two portraits of the king and the queen found, the two small knives, scissors and a case that he recognizes as belonging to his daughter.

He responds to questions asked regarding the denounciations of which he has been the object. He has never heard his daughter talk about Robespierre or her plan.

Does your daughter know how to read and write?

No, moreover, my daughter has so little inclination towards fanaticism that she has never taken what is called first communion, and has never approached a priest to make what is called confession.

The same day, Antoine-Jacques Renault, 31 years old.

Did you know that the paintings were being kept in a cupboard?

Yes.

Have you served as guard at the Temple? 

Yes, two times.

He denies the conversation attributed to him by a denouncer. He is asked again if priests came to his house and if they declaimed against the Republic?

No.

Do you know Admirat? 

No.

When your sister went out, why were you so worried?

As my sister usually doesn’t go out, I was worried over not seeing her again.

Do you observe that the situation in which you find yourself does not indicate simple concern, but deep affection to dreadful events?

He persists in his answer.

Do you know that your sister planned to assassinate members of the Committee of Public Safety, and were you involved in the plot?

No.

The same day Edme-Jeanne Renault, 60 years, former nun, rue de Babylone, 698. 

Do you often go home to your brother, Antoine Renault?

I go there at least once every décade.

Which priests do you know?

I haven’t seen one in two years. 

Have you had any particular conversations with fille Renault?

I view her as my niece, without particularities.

Do you know someone named Admirat, and do you know that he was known to your niece?

No.

Did you know about your niece’s plan? Were you an accomplice? Do you know who inspired it? Did conversations hostile to the republic take place in your house?

No.

The same day her three relatives were heard, Renault was her too picked in by Dumas for a fourth interrogation:

Eight days before your arrest, did you not strongly press a seamstress to carry out work that you had given her?

Yes, and these works were garments.

Did you say to this worker that you were in a hurry for these clothes, and that you didn't know what could happen, and that you could get guillotined in eight days?

I may have said that.

How is it that eight days before your arrest, you could foresee that you could get guillotined?

I have no idea.

Did your family know that you were preparing for first communions?

Never.

How did you know that Blondeau, priest of Saint-Denis-du-Pas, died last Pentecost?

It is only too true that the good priest is dead, I do not want to say from whom I learned of his death.

Do you want to declare that it was he who suggest to you the plan that you attempted to carry out?

Nobody did.

Do you often see your aunt, the former nun?

About every fortnight, and not as often as I would have desired.

She doesn’t want to make more declarations.

She declares that she doesn’t know how to sign.

Signed only F. Girard.

Renault was not perceived as some ”lone madwoman” by the authorities. Instead, they viewed her alleged assassination attempt as part of a bigger conspiracy, connected first and foremost to Henri Admirat’s attempt on Collot d’Herbois life one day earlier. Admirat and Renault were in their turn believed to be accomplices of Baron de Batz, a royalist and former member of the National Assembly, who had since turned against the revolution and was currently in hiding. According to letter written by the Committee of General Security to the public prosecutor exactly a month before Renault’s visit to Robespierre, de Batz had tried to rescue the royal family from the Temple by pretending to serve a guard there, tried to rally a mob to save the king on the day of his execution, held an Austrian committee directed by Marie-Antoinette, tried to bribe the authorities, and had contacts with both William Pitt, the Vendée, Toulon, Lyon, Marseille and the émigrés, all with the goal ”to assassinate the national representation, the object of his constant rage.” The letter ended by declaring de Batz was officially outlawed and any means were allowed when it came to capturing him.

In the weeks following Renault’s arrest, she would be joined by more people would said to belong to this alleged conspiracy, among them de Batz’ mistress, lodger and secretary, a domestic and seamstress, a former marquis and his son, a banker, a confident of Fabre d’Églantine and Hérault de Séchelles, parisian prisoners de Batz was believed to have influenced, and even several men currently employed in revolutionary administrations believed to benefit the enemy. On June 14, the Convention unanimously decided to immediately send the total of 40 accused before the Revolutionary Tribunal, following a report on the conspiracy read by the Committee of General Security’s Élie Lacoste (the total number would however have been bumped up to 54 once the trial began). The main objective of the conspiracy had according to Lacoste been ”the abduction of Capet's widow, the dissolution of the National Convention, and finally counter-revolution.”

The trial started on June 17 and lasted only for a few hours (I’ve unfortunately not discovered the minutes for it). All of the 54 accused, with the exception of Admirat, denied having been involved in any assassination plan. That was however not enough to stop the tribunal to sentence every single one of them to death. They were executed at four o’clock the very same day, all dressed in red shirts, which the penal code of 1791 had proclaimed all condemned murderers were to wear.

Though Robespierre never so much as saw Renault or Henri Admirat, the assassination attempts are still often seen as a contributing factor to a decline of his mental health in the last months of his life. Already on May 25, he was the author of the following CPS decree, rather panicky in tone, asking Saint-Just, who was currently away with the armies, to return to Paris:

Dear collegue,  Liberty is exposed to new dangers; the factions arise with a character more alarming than ever. The lines to get butter are more numerous and more turbulent than ever when they have the least pretexts, an insurrection in the prisons which was to break out yesterday and the intrigues which manifested themselves in the time of Hébert are combined with assassination attemps on several occasions against members of the Committee of Public Safety; the remnants of the factions, or rather the factions still alive, are redoubled in audacity and perfidy. There is fear of an aristocratic uprising, fatal to liberty. The greatest peril that threatens it is in Paris. The Committee needs to bring together the lights and energy of all its members. Calculate whether the army of the North, which you have powerfully contributed to putting on the path to victory, can do without your presence for a few days. We will replace you, until you return, with a patriotic representative.  The members composing the Committee of Public Safety. Robespierre, Prieur, Carnot, Billaud-Varennes, Barère. 

The next day, May 26, after Barère in the name of the CPS had read a report to the Convention regarding the assassination attemps (calling Renault ”a royalist as fanatical as the most inveterate of couriers”) and using them as a weapon against the English, Robespierre mounted the roatroom and held a fiery speech — ”calumnies, treasons, fires, poisonings, atheism, corruption, famine, assassinations, have all lavished their crimes; there still remains assassination, and then assassination, and then again assassination.” He appeared at the Jacobins the following day but after that he didn’t speak in public again until June 8, the day of the Festival of the Supreme Being. The Convention deputy Joachim Vilate claimed in the pamphlet Causes secrètes de la révolution du 9 au 10 thermidor (1794) that Robespierre during the last months of his life ”spoke only of assassination, again assassination, always assassination. He was frightened his own shadow would assassinate him. One month before his overthrow I had only set foot in his house and was given worried and threatening looks.”

The assassination attemps are also commonly seen as a contributing factor to the creation of to the Law of 22 Prairial, passed by the Convention on June 10, which Renault and the other accused were also judged under.

[andypantsx3]

fingerprints | 3 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 3.5k of est. 20k words | 1 of 7 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.  

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

It turned out you had not hallucinated Todoroki Shouto in your animal shelter–or if you had, it had been a very prophetic hallucination–because not two hours later, Todoroki was indeed hosting a press conference. The affair was live streamed on youtube by a major broadcasting company, and was accompanied by the most deeply unhinged live chat you had ever seen in your entire life.

You’d made your way back home after your shift and propped yourself up on the couch to rewrap your bandages, unable to help tuning into Tododoki’s press conference curiously. The snippet you caught was deeply uncomfortable, especially with poor Yosihizuki Ayumi looking small and overwhelmed at the table next to Todoroki and some of his executive team. The sight of her made you feel kind of guilty, but Todoroki–and in particular his super terrifying agency manager–seemed to have things well in hand.

“--but the marks were soulmarks,” a reporter had been saying earnestly, when you’d clicked on the TV.

Todoroki leaned into the microphone in front of him, looking solemn and handsome. “Yes.”

“--and yet you don’t know who left them? I find that difficult to believe,” she continued.

Todoroki’s face went very carefully still, but before he had a chance to lean back in, his manager, a petite woman in the cleanest blazer and neatest pearl set you had ever seen, leaned in, wrapping an expertly manicured hand around her microphone to yank it closer.

“Maybe if you were on the field rescuing people instead of haranguing them with inane questions, you’d understand how adrenaline can interact with attention and recall. Shouto was busy rescuing people, not jotting down tasty bits of gossip to divulge to you later,” she said.

You let out a shocked laugh, so sudden and so violent that you accidentally jerked your bandage too tight where you were tying it off. You swore, wincing.

The reporter’s shoulders stiffened, but she refused to look cowed. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the live chat pick up into light speed, messages flashing faster than you could register them. Approximately seven thousand fire emojis flashed past in the blink of an eye.

Todoroki leaned into his mic again, and your eyes followed the shift of those broad shoulders as he did so. “I interacted with multiple victims, paramedics, police, and bystanders.”

“And what about the girl who shouted about Yoshizuki Ayumi? Running girl? She must have seen something.”

Todoroki seemed to hesitate for just the smallest millisecond. Fear suddenly lanced your heart, but he swept in smoothly. “She has been contacted. She was similarly swept up in the chaos of the moment and it seems she was mistaken. We ask that you do not attempt to contact her or any of the other victims or bystanders–the agency and police bureau are still taking statements and to do so would disrupt our investigation into the crime that took place.”

His tone was low, familiar and smooth, and the certainty of his answer relaxed the anxious set of your shoulders. You marveled at the fact that he hadn’t said anything untrue, all while disguising the real nature of the conversation he’d had with you today.

If you really hadn’t hallucinated it, that was.

The rest of the conference continued along the same vein, Todoroki and Ayumi eventually demonstrating via touch that neither was the other’s soulmate, their fingers coming away from the other’s skin pale and clean. Your eyes traced Todoroki’s fingers on Ayumi’s hand hawkishly, almost jealously, and you had to click the TV off, marveling at how absolutely insane you were being.

Even if Shouto was your soulmate–which, you were still processing, honestly–you had no rights to him. You didn’t even know the guy. You almost wanted to bop yourself on the nose for bad behavior, like one of the shelter pups.

By the time you’d finished rewrapping your bandages and had made a light dinner, it was deep dark out, the winter night having swept in swiftly. The apartment was silent, your roommate holed up at her boyfriend’s for the weekend—a silence suddenly broken by the buzz of your cellphone.

You glanced down, dropping your fork when you saw the name flashing across the screen: Shouto.

You fumbled to pick it up, almost accidentally hanging up on him as you did so.

“Hi,” you breathed, as you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Y/N,” Todoroki’s voice intoned on the other end of the line. The sound of your name in his mouth–which you suddenly realized you’d never told him–sent a strange, shivery feeling down all of your limbs, your grip on your phone suddenly feeling weak.

“Um, hi. Yes. Hi,” you said, cringing at how stupid you sounded.

There was a small pause, and when Todoroki’s voice came back on, he sounded almost amused. “We did not have much time earlier. I’d like to see you again,” he said.

Your heart did another wild somersault in your chest. He wanted to see you again! He wanted to see you again!

You tried to force your voice to remain even as you answered him. “That would be—yeah—I would like that.”

Todoroki let out a low, soft hum. A tiny little shudder crept up your spine.

You pinched yourself, trying to remind yourself that you did not know this man and your reactions were way too out of whack. He might have been hot beyond all reason, and noble and selfless and whatever—but you didn’t know him know him. Maybe he would be kind of a jerk once you got to know him, the way hot people sometimes were. Maybe you wouldn’t like him at all.

“What should we, um—how should we meet?” you asked.

You supposed it was too forward to ask to go to his place, and would probably come off the wrong way too. You didn’t just ask to go to a famous person’s house. There were too many implications to consider, and you were worried he would think you were like, scoping out his wealth or something else equally opportunistic.

But you also hesitated at the idea of Todoroki at your place. Your place was probably the opposite of his—tiny and cramped and stuffed with a wild assortment of mismatched furniture you’d stocked up on for free during university move out day, where everyone just left their unwanted things out on the sidewalk. College Christmas, they called it. Even your roommate hated the set up, but your animal shelter budget would only stretch so far, and it would have been unfair to ask her to pay for furniture all on her own.

You imagined Todoroki crammed into one of your ugly chevron chairs with the rip in the arm, and had to stifle a laugh. No—he could never be allowed to see the interior of your apartment.

It would have to be someplace else.

You tried to think of a place with no romantic connotations lest Todoroki think you were attempting to put the moves on him.

“There’s a coffee shop near me that’s pretty good,” you said. “Or if that’s out of the way, I can come to your office or something?”

Todoroki hummed again. “A coffee shop would be fine,” he said. "Are you free now?”

Your heartbeat spiked again. “Uh, um. Yes.”

“I’d like to meet you there, then,” he said.

Your stomach did a full turn, flopping around like it was being tossed around inside a washing machine. “Okay! I can text you the address?”

Todoroki agreed, and you bade him a quick farewell, hanging up before you could make a bigger fool of yourself.

You shot off the address, then rushed into your bedroom, frantically digging out a cuter sweater and a more flattering pair of jeans. You ran a brush through your hair, but stopped short of touching up your face—it might look too forward if you showed up working a red lip and a smokey eye—especially for a meet up that was specifically not a date.

You tugged on your hat and scarf and jacket, shoving your hands deep in your pockets and wishing your gloves had held out until at least next weekend, when you’d have your paycheck in hand and could run out and buy new ones. And then you let yourself out into the dark, snowy evening, trudging your way through the drifts to the coffee shop.

The cafe was usually open a couple hours past dinner but cleared out after mid-afternoon, only leaving a couple college students behind, frowning at their laptops and annotated texts, funneling coffees down like they were water bottles in the harsh desert.

You found a tiny table in the back, wedged into a corner, where Todoroki probably wouldn’t be noticed. The gesture soon proved to be useless, however, as an audible hush fell over the shop as he entered, covered up though he was. You really couldn’t hide a build that lean and strong, and especially not in the expensive, well-fitted clothes you were beginning to sense he always wore.

You could just tell the guy underneath all those clothes was going to be handsome.

He found you almost immediately, striding over to your table, the tiniest upturn at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi!” you chirped, resisting the urge to smooth your hair down.

“Hello,” he murmured in his deep tone. He sank down into the chair opposite you, long legs stretching out past yours.

“It’s um—good to see you again,” you said. Then, unable to help the way you needed to compulsively fill any silence: “I’m sorry about the press conference. I saw, um, some of it. I guess I didn’t realize the trouble it would put you through, and Ayumi, too. I….I panicked, I think. I’m—sorry. I’d like to, um, treat you to a coffee or something as an apology, at the least.”

Todoroki regarded you beneath lowered lids. “There is no need.”

You made a frustrated little sound. “There is a huge need, actually. That was—so invasive? So nerve-wracking? If I was Ayumi I would be plotting the most elaborate revenge, perhaps actual decades in the planning. And if I was you, I would probably, I don’t know, like roast me to a crisp, villain-style.”

Todoroki’s mouth twitched. “Villain-style.”

You waved a hand at him, undeterred. “Please just let me get you a coffee as the beginning of an apology.”

Todoroki watched you for a long minute. “As I said, there is no need. For an apology, as well. Neither of us were…prepared for the situation to unfold as it did.”

“Okay but one of us didn’t fling someone under the bus and book it,” you said.

Todoroki let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like it was hiding a surprised laugh. “I have media training, fortunately. And several years’ experience handling…unexpected scenarios.”

“And I have one guilty conscience and a desire to soothe it by obtaining you a coffee of your choice,” you insisted.

Todoroki smiled, then, a little white sliver that turned up both sides of his full mouth. Your heartbeat shot up so high it should have been medically concerning. He was so unfairly gorgeous.

“I will accept, but I’d like to look at the menu,” he said. Then he paused. “What do you usually have?”

“Oh, just a regular coffee. But at night a hot chocolate is best,” you informed him. Especially on a night as cold as this, though you supposed his quirk freed him from that type of worry.

Todoroki nodded and stood, going over to the counter. Instead of pausing to look at the menu, however, you watched as he leaned in and ordered immediately. Your mouth dropped open when he drew his wallet out of his back pocket and swiped a very intimidating-looking black card. He came back over bearing two cups and a plate with a slice of cheesecake, with fresh cream and three tiny sliced strawberries.

“Hot chocolate,” he told you as he passed you a cup, and then set the plate of cheesecake down in front of you too.

You gaped. “Did you just—? But I—”

Todoroki leaned in, then, with an expression that might have been called smug on anyone else. “I was already up.”

“You are such a little sneak,” you said, shocked. Had you just been played? Shouldn’t a pro hero have been more upstanding than this? Was the trustworthy number four hero actually a total fucking con artist?

“You are not the only one who can run off and do whatever they please,” he said blandly.

Your ears went hot. “Oh my god.”

Todoroki looked far too pleased with himself. You sensed, suddenly, that you had just met the real Todoroki—the man behind the number four image—and he was much more of a little shit than anyone might have accounted for. There was something else lurking behind that pretty facade.

“But I am supposed to be getting one for you,” you explained.

Todoroki looked unbothered.

“You can pay next time,” he said simply.

Your face warmed. Next time. There was going to be a next time. You knew you were being pacified, but it was working, goddammit.

“Fine, but I’m onto your tricks now,” you informed him, waving a finger at him. Todoroki did not seem threatened in the least. He put his mouth to his cup, taking a long, slow drink.

To your horror, you developed an instant fascination with the careful press of his mouth against the rim, the strong line of his throat working as he swallowed. You immediately looked away, face steaming.

Unhinged. You were totally unhinged.

“So, um, how do we do this?” you asked, for something to take your attention off of Todoroki. “How should we get to know each other?”

Todoroki looked contemplative. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

You blinked. Well, that was straightforward enough. “Okay. Um, you too then, I guess?”

Todoroki’s mouth pulled up again at the edge, and he leaned in, his bangs falling into his eyes a little. “What would you like to know?”

How that mouth would feel pressed against yours instead of his cup.

“Uhhh, I guess—something that I wouldn’t know from the media,” you said quickly. “Um, what do you like to do when you’re not saving people’s lives?”

Todoroki leaned back, drumming those slender fingers on the side of his cup. “Reading-–manga, mostly. My friend Sero—Cellophane—trades volumes with me often. I like seeing friends. Visiting my mother,” he seemed to think for a moment. “My sister Fuyumi has been teaching me to cook with mixed results.”

You laughed at the look on his face. “What’s your best dish?”

Todoroki considered this. “Rice,” he said seriously.

You had to clamp your mouth shut to stop from spitting out your hot chocolate all over the table. The silver of Todoroki’s right eye glinted, and you realized with some surprise he’d just made a joke, though his expression hadn’t changed.

Who would have guessed? The number four—not only a con artist, but a comedian too.

There really was a lot more to him than you had anticipated.

“Tell me about the pet shelter,” Todoroki said, looking at you over the rim of his cup as he took another sip. “Do you like working there?”

“It’s great,” you told him. “The animals are so good, even the crazy and nervous ones.” Or the nefarious little criminals like the orange princess. You couldn’t help but gush about all your faves, how you’d gotten into the job, and how you one day hoped to open your own rescue.

Todoroki listened quietly, expression polite, and he asked a bunch of follow up questions, seemingly interested. He even asked after the orange kitten, and you promised to send a picture when you were back on shift tomorrow.

After that opening, the conversation flowed, surprisingly. Despite his general quiet, Todoroki proved strangely easy to talk to. He was attentive, shockingly funny for someone so deadly serious-looking, and his answers to your questions proved him a devastatingly appealing man.

It seemed like he cared about his family a lot, spending time with each of them and looking after his mom closely. He spoke of his friends with such great affection that you had trouble reconciling who he was actually talking about—like bloodthirsty number two hero Dynamight—with the the friend he was telling tales about—who would crop up at Todoroki’s agency with leftovers he claimed were “going in the trash, fucking eat them you ugly fucking candy cane” except the leftovers in question would be perfectly arranged, with neat little garnishes and side dishes and everything.

It was clear Todoroki had good friends, cared deeply for everyone in his life, and evaluated everyone and everything with a quiet thoughtfulness that left you a little lightheaded just to think about.

The conversation only drew to a close when the barista announced the coffee shop was closing for the evening, and Todoroki followed you back out into the cold.

“Um, thank you for the hot chocolate and dessert,” you told him. “I definitely owe you next time.”

You tugged on your hat and scarf, before shoving your hands deep into your pockets, shivering. Todoroki’s eyes followed your hands curiously as you did so.

“Did you not bring gloves?” he asked lightly.

You startled, hesitating. If you told him you’d worn the last pair through to total deterioration this week, and didn’t yet have the funds to replace them, he might think you didn’t take very good care of your things or know how to budget well. He’d already seen your phone.

You didn’t want him to think badly of you. “Uh, yeah. Didn’t bring any,” you said vaguely.

He reached into his jacket pocket, tugging out a pair of extremely soft-looking gloves in a dark fabric, holding them out to you. His gloves. “I insist you wear them home.”

You stared at him. “Um, no it’s okay! It’s my fault for not bringing any—”

Todoroki did not let you finish. To your eternal mortification, he reached right into your pocket and took your wrist, gently tugging your hand back out, and started putting a glove on you himself. His fingers left smudges of color wherever they touched your bare skin, and your face instantly went so hot it warmed you all the way through your frozen fingers.

“I have a temperature quirk,” Todoroki informed you. “The cold will not inconvenience me.”

It seemed he cared for almost perfect strangers the exact same way he cared for his family and friends too. You were beginning to realize he was unbearably good, in a way that explained everything about why and how he’d chosen heroics as a career.

You stood there, completely frozen, as he finished tugging his gloves over your hands. They were as soft as they looked, some kind of silky lining on the inside that you instantly wanted to roll in.

“I–thank you, Todoroki—um.”

Todoroki leaned down a little bit, to look you in the face more fully. “It’s Shouto,” he said, eyes fixing on yours very intently.

It took all your determination not to look down from his insistent gaze. Slowly, you nodded. “Shouto, then. Um, thank you, Shouto.”

Todoroki–Shouto–hummed softly, that low sound again that made your spine feel all weird and tingly.

“I guess, text me when you get home safe?” you said.

This made his mouth twitch again, and he asked calmly, “Do you plan to come to the rescue if I do not?”

You sniffed, disliking how amused he was at the prospect. Even if it was probably clear to him by now that you had no quirk with which to defend anybody.

“No,” you said. “I plan to lift your scarf and hat off you too, if it comes to that.”

Shouto laughed, a low, surprised note that made you warm all over again. “I’ll be sure to throw them out of harm’s way, then, if needed.”

You smiled, unable to help the way his amusement pulled your own right out of you. “I mean it, though. Please, um, text. Just so I know that you’re fine.”

Shouto smiled, another boyish, unreasonably charming pull of that full mouth. “If you can promise the same,” he said.

You nodded. “I do,” you said.

Then you realized how I do sounded and what it was associated with, and you backpedaled wildly. “Uh, promise that is. To text. I will text, yes. Okay, have a great night!” You babbled, backing away from Shouto.

He watched you go, another weird look of amusement passing over his features. “Good night, Y/N,” he said quietly.

“Good night! Thank you again! Goodbye!” You shouted, and then you turned, rushing off into the night, head spinning with everything that had just happened.

A soft huff of a laugh followed after you, warm in the cold of the evening.

Your whole body ran hot the entire way home.

[acourtofthought]

About Az and his sexual perversions.

I always imagined that I liked one or two different things, nothing much.

And Gwyn has her past, but it doesn't and shouldn't dictate the kind of sex she should have and can't have X because she can only do everything gently.

And the fact that Elain did her first time with her ex-fiancé doesn't make her too experienced or tempted by kinky sex, nor does it say that Az doesn't need to be gentle with her.

For me, Elain and Gwyn can move on from being nice to whatever they want to do with their partners when they feel ready.

They are characters from a book but this thing about She can't because she needs this and that and so on...

Sarah won't match anyone with anyone if they don't match and there's one in the other's way.

I confess that this speech about Az and his sex life and how people treat it makes me want Elain and Gwyn far away from him.

Giving the impression that he can't be kind to anyone and can only be with someone who doesn't even need kindness at any time and has to have a thousand sexual experiences.

I don't even know if you understand, but that's it.

I also think people are making assumptions about what him being a freak in bed means. We have no idea what SJM considers a freak in bed. She could simply mean he uses his shadows in the similar way Dorian used his magic on Manon and really, that's not that freaky. Maybe Az likes to be tied up and that leaves him at Gwyn's mercy. Maybe he's into toes. It's amusing that some automatically jump to Az being the Christian Grey of the ACOTAR series complete with his own red room of pain especially when that would be completely out of character for him in terms of how he treats women. When around Elain he speaks "softly, gently" and "carefully" takes her hand in his own. He was bothered by the treatment his mother received. Yet they assume he's going to get Elain behind closed doors and leave welts on her ass from his flogger? Also, I think some fail to realize that when you break it down, Gwyn and Elain's experiences somewhat parallel one another. Rape is a crime of violence, control and power. Elain was first kidnapped then thrown into the Cauldron: Kidnapping is described as a violent crime of taking away someone against their will, and normally involves holding them in false imprisonment or confining them against their will. Do you know what Cassian said of Nesta being thrown into the Cauldron? "I don't blame her," Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. "She was - violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her." Then she was kidnapped a second time (both times had her gagged and bound). Both Elain and Gwyn are victims of being held against their will and having their bodies violated. I realize that some don't relate to Elain's trauma because there is no cauldron in real life but there is kidnapping and having something done to you (regardless of there being a cauldron or not) that is against your will is a violation to your body. Gwyn's trauma was a sexual violation but it's still a violation to her person just as Elain's was. So I'm not sure why some E/riels are convinced that Elain would be fine being held down by someone when that could very well stir up memories of being held down then forced into the Cauldron which led to the loss of everything she loved while being certain that Gwyn wouldn't be alright with it. At the end of the day, we have no idea what preferences any of these characters have but I can guarantee that SJM is not going to write Az as being so insanely kinky that he can't respect the needs of his partner, that he can't be gentle for someone's first time after their trauma (if that's what they desire because again, maybe that's not what THEY want). I guarantee that SJM is not going to write either female as incapable of embracing her sexuality and exploring when it's with the right partner. There's a lot of ridiculous arguments in the fandom but claiming Elain is more suited to Az in bed than Gwyn would be is one of top ones. It's also hysterical how they'll use Gwyn's SA against her, claiming she could never be right for Az while ignoring how we're told cruelty bothers Elain then pairing her off with the IC's torturer who knows how to draw out his work in a "symphony of pain".

[mariana-oconnor]

The Abbey Grange pt 2

So, last time we had a woman who claimed to have been assaulted by burglars who then murdered her abusive husband and her stoic and devoted maid.

I think that she killed him and used the burglars, who had apparently been in the newspaper, as convenient scapegoats, but I also think that was a good move on her part, so I'm fingers crossed that she gets away with it.

And Holmes spotted something weird with the glasses the 'burglars' had been drinking out of, then immediately dismissed it and left Stanley Hopkins, who seems to work purely on cases where the victim is an old and violent man who nobody likes, to hunt down the burglars.

During our return journey I could see by Holmes's face that he was much puzzled by something which he had observed.

I may have been wrong about Holmes realising it was the lady of the house. This does seem at odds with that.

"...on my life, Watson, I simply can't leave that case in this condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out against it. It's wrong—it's all wrong—I'll swear that it's wrong. And yet the lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration was sufficient, the detail was fairly exact."

Right, so no, he hadn't figured it out. The wine glasses do still vex him.

"...dismiss from your mind the idea that anything which the maid or her mistress may have said must necessarily be true."

That is, indeed, how you should approach every witness statement to every crime ever. Like, even if they're not lying, they might just be confused. The woman had a blow to the head (apparently) that discombobulates a person.

"Some account of them and of their appearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur to anyone who wished to invent a story in which imaginary robbers should play a part."

Precisely.

And my theory with the glasses is that she and her husband were having a drink. Or just her husband was having a drink. And she had to add a third glass to corroborate her story and that didn't match or hadn't been drunk out of. Maybe she drugged him so she could kill him, but that doesn't really fit with the way the body was found.

"The most unusual thing of all, as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair.”

Really, Watson? Why?

I mean... that seems fairly self-explanatory to me. Is it just because you could never consider tying a lady to a chair, in which case, I guess we know more about your sex life than we did, but really?

Watson is baffling me here.

“Exactly; but there was bees-wing only in one glass. You must have noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?”

wtf is beeswing?

beeswing. / (ˈbiːzˌwɪŋ) / noun. a light filmy crust of tartar that forms in port and some other wines after long keeping in the bottle.

(from dictionary.com)

Okay. I remember being told off for shaking a port bottle as a kid, so I guess that was what I was being told off about.

“That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression that three people had been here. In that way all the bees-wing would be in the last glass, would it not?"

Three things:

That's what I said.

Would none of the beeswing stick to the glasses it came from?

Why not just pour some more from the wine bottle? It has been specified that it wasn't empty.

Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to report to head-quarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the door upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute and laborious investigations which formed the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of deduction were reared.

He was crawling around on the floor like a worm again, wasn't he?

Then, to my astonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece.

Crawling and climbing. It's like a crime scene adventure playground. He must be having so much enrichment today.

“We have got our case—one of the most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime!"

Or maybe you could just... let her get away with it?

"Strong as a lion—witness the blow that bent that poker. Six foot three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers; finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction."

Was the lady's height specified? I feel like if she was 6'3" someone would have mentioned it.

So she got a friend to come and help her kill her husband? Good for him, too, I guess.

THough she was sitting down through the whole interview, so maybe she is 6'3" and it's just that no one noticed because she was sitting down.

“Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare to speak so if her brother had been there."

Ah, there we are. The missing piece is a brother. That makes sense.

“I have told you all I know.” Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. “I am sorry,” he said, and without another word we left the room and the house.

Ah, I think that, right there... was the point of no return. If you'd just told him, he probably wouldn't have done anything about it.

But now he's gonna do something about it.

The first officer, Mr. Jack Croker, had been made a captain and was to take charge of their new ship, the Bass Rock, sailing in two days' time from Southampton.

Not the brother? A friend from the ship? Modern travel times have made me forget that the time since the marriage probably isn't long enough for a message to get to Australia, let alone for her brother to receive one then get on a boat and come to the UK.

Unless he was already following her before that.

“No, I couldn't do it, Watson,” said he, as we re-entered our room. “Once that warrant was made out nothing on earth would save him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done more real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime."

Aw, Holmes, you're a big teddy bear really.

“I am very glad if I have helped you.” “But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far more difficult."

Yeah, he knows.

"The Randall gang were arrested in New York this morning.” “Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night.”

This entire conversation is gold.

“The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of a remarkable little drama.”

Cliffhanger time.

[oc-beehive]

Presenting Mamoru Wada, Ultimate EMT!

He's not a paramedic yet, he just needs a few hundred more training hours under his belt. If he was, that'd probably be his thing. He's used to long hours, last-minute shift coverage, and high stress environments. "High stress" in this case meaning that his whole job is being there when somebody is having the worst day of their life. He's experienced a lot of situations most people could never imagine - both the horribly traumatizing and the laughably comedic. The nature of EMT work means he'll be on call for 24+ hours at a time... And that's even when he's not covering for somebody else. He's not a natural night owl, so he usually gets back home at 3 AM and immediately crashes on the nearest soft surface.

... Speaking of getting back home, he's Yuuma Shiraishi's roommate. The two of them met at a crime scene - Mamoru was providing first aid for the victim of a violent attack, and Yuuma (who happened to be working the prime suspect's case at the time) wandered onto the scene. They ran into each other. Literally. Mamoru proceeded to give him the scolding of his life for walking into an active crime scene and getting in the way of EMS. You could say they started off on a bit of a rough foot.

Mamoru has some temper and anger issues, especially under stress; usually it's something he can keep in check (thanks therapy!), but he's quick to set off if things don't go according to plan. This can lead to him seeming a bit bossy or strident. Usually, he has a really clear plan of shit that needs to be done, and doesn't take kindly to interruptions. His groove is thrown off, if you will. This is actually a boon when he's at work - he's very good at taking charge and getting people to mobilize - but not as great when you're just trying to wash the goddamn dishes. (You're doing it WRONG!!!!)

Thankfully, Mamoru is just as much caring as he is passionate. Everything he does is driven by a desire to help other people as much as he can. It's something that makes him feel good! He truly enjoys knowing that he can be there for people in their darkest hour, even if it means sacrificing sleep and attaining heaps of vicarious trauma. He would never call himself altruistic - sure, maybe it's selfish to do EMT work just because it gives him the warm fuzzies. But it's his calling! There's nothing else he'd rather do.

Despite their initial incompatibility, Yuuma and Mamoru went out for an apology coffee after their chance meeting, on Mamoru's behest. Turned out that they were both having trouble with rent and commute, and the rest is pretty much history. As of "present day" (the time I usually depict them), they've been living together for 2-3 years. They've also been absolutely insufferably mutually pining for at least a year and a half. They have weekly romcom movie night cuddle sessions. Mamoru gives Yuu a kiss goodbye when he heads to work. They share a bed. Neither of them has said a word about it. It's painful to watch.

Hope you enjoy hearing about it though, because I can't shut up about them.

[paperstorm]

You say you wish Ronen (and presumably other Israeli Americans) showed the same outrage for the attacks on Gaza as they do for the attacks on Israel.

I’m curious, do you hold White Christian Americans do the same standard? When they remember the lives lost in 9/11, do you require them to mention the 70,000 civilian lives lost in the war in Afghanistan, which was started as a result of that attack? Does it put a ‘pit in your stomach’ when they don’t, or do you simply go about your day without thinking it worth mentioning?

Because as a Jew I’ve never supported Israel, but I’m starting to wonder why Israel is held to a far higher standard than any Western nation that retaliates against terrorism. The loss of innocent lives is terrible and should be condemned, but why is it worse than the innocent lives lost in Afghanistan? Is there something in particular about Israel that you and other left-wing Westeners don’t like?

As far as I can see, Ronen’s country was the victim of a terrorist attack. He reacted with sorrow and anger and supports his country as it seeks to punish those responsible and rescue those taken hostage. But why is he deserving of condemnation for an emotional response when Americans and Westeners can mourn and be angry about their citizens killed by terrorists without attracting any of the same vitriol? The West has done terrible things in the Middle East, and yet when the Middle East strikes back against its enemies only Israel and its people are not allowed to be angry.

Maybe you don’t have any answer, but if you do and are willing to respond I would like to know. What is the difference between an Israeli ‘coloniser’ responding to being a victim of terrorism and an American ‘coloniser’ responding to being the victim of terrorism? Why does one attract criticism and hatred and the other not?

I don't speak for anyone else but my personal answer to this question is yes. Unequivocally. I haven't been talking specifically about the Iraq/Afghanistan wars this week because that's not what's happening right now, but yes. People mourning/honouring victims of the 9/11 attacks should absolutely also be mourning the (by some estimates) nearly a million innocent people who died in the Middle East in the wars started as retaliation for that attack, in some cases in places like Iraq that had literally nothing to do with it at all. If someone feels sadness in their heart every day for the 9/11 victims and feels nothing for the innocent Muslim people who paid the price for something they had nothing to do with, I feel very comfortable saying that person has fallen prey to American imperialist propaganda campaigns or is just outright racist. The hoopla that followed 9/11 is almost beat-for-beat what is happening right now, all over again. We learned nothing. Once again our leaders are dehumanizing brown people, cheering on imperialism and violent colonial occupation, and using a terrorist attack to manufacture consent for war crimes. (Anyone wanting more info on how they do this should read The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein.)

The loss of innocent Palestinians is not worse that the loss of innocent Afghans. They are the same. They are both being murdered as payback for something they didn't do and their deaths were/are both being cheered on by the Western war machine because it makes money for defense contractors and because it's politically convenient to see brown people as expendable pawns in the game of Risk world leaders are always playing. So yes, I absolutely do condemn both and mourn for both.

Additionally, I know you didn't ask for sympathy but I know how difficult this is. I know it's a lot more complicated than white online leftists like to make it seem, and I know a lot of Jewish people personally who are struggling right now, as they have before, with their complex feelings for the state of Israel. I hope you're taking care of yourself, as best you can in these awful circumstances.

[intothewings]

I feel like a lot of women are lying about being lesbians but I also think some lesbians are corrupted too. What do you think of that? 

Oh yeah, some are corrupt for sure. I know quite a few myself.

Most women “identifying” as lesbians are doing so because of radical feminism or simply because they hate males or are sick of men’s bullshit. This is maybe TMI/overshare but it serves as PSA to women following me who assume or preach that all lesbians are are kind and safe to be around. A girl I dated at years ago, in a fit of rage, nearly choked me to death because she convinced herself I was sleeping with a male. All because I didn’t want to have sex with her, which is something she knew from the start. It was not the first time she had put her hands on me either, but it took her almost ending my life for me to take a hint and stop making excuses for her. At the end of the day, I had no business being with her type or trying to convince myself that I was fit to live in a Set It Off reality (lmao too adventurous and trying to be captain save-a-hoe) She had a history of thug activities, so I take full responsibility for what I got myself into and how I allowed myself to be a victim. This is a gold star lesbian btw and she’s since been to jail several times for beating on females and a multitude of other petty crimes/demonic activities. Last year, she apologized to me (7 years late girl) and admitted that she purposely gets herself sent to jail because she enjoys all of the female attention she gets there as a masculine female. Truly Pathetic and I regret not listening to my mother when she’d literally told me “that girl is a demon and you need to stay away from her.” My grandma said the same thing but I thought I was grown and ignored their advice.

The point is, some lesbians, even real lesbians, can be corrupted, violent, demonic. When I see those “uwu lesbians” posts, I usually assume that those people haven’t been in a friend group with homosexual women or are just anti social and haven’t been around many women in general. Although it’s predominantly heterosexuals, everyone has the potential to do evil, no matter their sex or what sexuality they claim to be, especially when for most people, only thing on their wretched minds is having intercourse and how they can brutalize their partner while doing so. All in the name of their pedophilic rapist kink fantasies.

A significant portion of the “Lesbian Community” has a laundry list of penises that they’ve been on or tended to, making me distrustful, disgusted, and uninterested in advocating for them. I believe that truly lesbian women are rare.

[nateofgreat]

I never stop being weirded out by how many atheist stories that make a point about being atheist imply that flirting with the end of the world is somehow good, as long as it means people will be less religious after the fact.

Or alternatively, portray horrific deeds as somehow less so as long as the victims are religious.

Pillars of Eternity (as revealed in PoE2's DLC): Has a really stupid atheist god recruit another atheist to cause a war between two countries who already had a troubled history with each other, all in the name of turning people against the gods after the fact.

Pillars of Eternity 2: The same stupid atheist god crushes his way through the world, killing hundreds, in the name of destroying the means by which the universe runs on the gamble that humans can rebuild one for themselves. Somehow portrayed as good because the new thing they built wouldn't be run by gods.

Fullmetal Alchemist: A regime stages a genocide on a religious nation and then portrays the sole survivor who comes back to kill the government agents who directly partook in the slaughter as a crazy zealot, even though the regime was and is still horrible. Yes, I know they half condemn the genocide but seem to think that because some of the people who did it feel bad, that that means the guy who's after them is wrong.

Said zealot only gets a redemption arc by having him become less religious. Because the author couldn't fathom the idea of a religious person doing the right thing I guess.

KOTOR 2: The villain wants to kill the Force which is connected to all life and kind of IS life in a way, which would thus kill everyone. All because the writer has a phobia of spiritual things. You might be thinking, "Wait that's the villain though. So her being wrong must actually be the point!" but you'd sadly be mistaken. The writers heavily imply she's right to think that way, and there's never an option to refute her that's not portrayed as your character being naive.

Ahsoka (2023): The genocide of the Jedi was brought on themselves because they were "dogmatic" or something.

Like for crying out loud man.

First off, a crisis tends to make people more religious, not less. So the goal wouldn't even be accomplished.

Secondly, if you really want to make atheism look appealing maybe don't portray religion as something to be violently exterminated? Or the people who believe in it as lesser beings, wherein crimes committed them aren't as bad as one of them killing an active participant in an actual genocide? Just saying.

Chris Avellone crowds the field here I know but he's easy pickings.

[bongo-clash]

I Want To Break Free

Ectober week prompt: Six Feet

'When three members of Casper High’s football team make one mistake too many, they’ve got no choice other than to bury the evidence. But, both fortunately and unfortunately for them, dead doesn’t mean gone, and they’ve been living in a ghost town for years.'

(Content warnings in tags || fic under cut!!)

-

For all that Amity Park is the poster child for widescale property damage, the crime rate is practically nonexistent. There’s something about finding a common enemy in the violent ghosts ravaging their town that wards off that willingness to go against another human being’s interests like that; murder, in particular, has been shoved off the table since the moment the victims started coming back to haunt them. It’s common knowledge that if you kill someone in Amity Park, everyone is going to find out.

This is exactly why three A-listers are shitting themselves right about now. 

Look, they hadn’t meant for it to go this far. It’d been such a harmless thing in theory- or, well, maybe not harmless, but it shouldn’t have gone any further than humiliation and maybe a bruise or two. They should’ve known it only takes a bad fall. They’re footballers- they should’ve known. But it’d been thoughtless, a split second decision made in the incredibly brief time the opportunity had been presented to them. All Dale had said was ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if you tripped him?’.

And it had been funny, until he hadn’t gotten up again. Now Danny Fenton is dead on the shower room floors, and every single one of them is guilty. 

There’s a long time where none of them know what to do. God, they’ve just killed someone, is this second-degree or manslaughter? There certainly wasn’t any express malice, but they’d definitely thought about swiping his feet out from under him without considering that he might hit his head; that could definitely been seen as implied malice. But they hadn’t meant to! They’d never wanted to, it was never supposed to go this far, and it was especially never supposed to go this far here. 

‘Here’, as in some place at the end of the school day, when the buses were about to leave and the teachers weren’t waiting up for them, having let them lock up before and having been willing to do it again. ‘Here’, as in Casper High in the first place, that had already seen tragedy in a fire taking almost the entire student body in the fifties, and had now witnessed a murder in its reconstructed halls. ‘Here’, as in Amity Park, the ghost town, where there’s a non-zero chance of this literally coming back to get them. 

The silence charged with the smell of deodorant and a wet body already beginning to self-digest is broken, finally, by Dash- the one to trip him, and the first one to back away when he’d felt Fenton’s limp hand for a pulse and found nothing. 

“What the Hell do we do?” He whispers, voice barely reaching anyone else in the room, but you could hear a pin drop beneath the still-running showerheads, and everyone was straining to hear it, desperate to divert their attention. My dad’s a lawyer, he thinks, is there any chance he could save us from this?

As if reading his mind, and said like the instigator that knows they’ll be thrown under the bus for suggesting this in the first place, Dale interrupts the train of thought with a sturdy “We can’t go to the police.”

“Dude, are you insane?” Kwan splutters, barely able to keep his gaze from flitting back to the crime scene. And holy shit, this really is a crime scene. “Dale, we can’t just try and bury this, that’s so much worse.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re a witness!” Dale snaps, looking overwhelmed but outsourcing it to aggression, eyes wide and afraid but brow furrowed. “You’re really gonna let us take the fall like that? We’re your friends.”

Kwan, to his merit, is standing his ground, despite looking incredibly green around the edges. In fairness, all three of them probably look that way. “I’d rather be a witness than an accomplice! I can’t- we can’t-!”

“We’re the only people here.” Dash interrupts numbly, and this is probably the second most awful thing he’s ever done apart from actual murder, but all that’s running through his head right now is I can’t go to jail. His life can’t be over with one dumb mistake even if Danny’s is. “Who’s to say it wasn’t you who did it? All the teachers have seen how we act around the school; we work as a group, always. They’re not gonna believe it was just one of us. They’re gonna believe it was all of us.”

This is his best friend, and he’s convincing him to help hide a body by threatening him, because Dash accidentally committed murder and this does not in the slightest feel like something that’s actually happening to him right now. The whole world feels like a smudged trail against the lens of a window pane. There are tears in Kwan’s eyes.

“I’m never fucking talking to any of you again.” Kwan spits, voice damp with distress. “You- You’re monsters for this. It stops being an accident the moment you start trying to cover shit up, I just- this is horrible.”

The realisation that he’s never heard his friend swear before is a thousand miles away, back in some world where Dash’s biggest problem was getting detention for making Mikey late to class on Tuesday. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t sad. “But you’re gonna help us.”

His expression is the picture of helplessness, but he doesn’t say a word in retort. Silently, the agreement is made that no one is going to know. 

Figuring out what they’re supposed to do with the body is a completely different ball game, though. Kwan had enough of an interest in forensic science (wrenched from him completely two minutes ago, but he can’t erase what facts he already has) to know that dead bodies are apparently heavy as Hell, and the woods is too far to carry one towards. It’d be a terrible idea to bury the body under or near the football field- the disturbed soil would be way too noticeable- but to get to any other place with easily accessible ground, they’d have to transport the body through town and none of them could drive. That doesn’t leave them with a lot of options.

“Behind the bike shed.” Dale exclaims suddenly. “The gap between the shed and the hedge is so tiny no one even goes there to make out- no one’ll even notice the difference.” 

“But won’t people look around the school if someone got murdered here?” 

Dale looks to the showers nobody bothered to turn off, and down at the body with glazed eyes. “They won’t know it was here if all the blood’s down the drain.”

There’s not much to argue with there. Dale has the forethought to go outside and make sure the coast is clear while grabbing a sheet of tarp from the equipment shed, bringing it back into the room with lips pursed into a hardset line. 

Kwan keels over and spills his guts into the shower drains the moment Dash lifts the body, blood and water congealing at the back of Fenton’s head and spilling onto the floor, but no one says a word about it, they just wait until he’s finished. They wrap the body in the tarp until only the ends of his hair and the tips of his shoes are visible, and Dale directs the showerhead to wash away the gore. He tries not to squirm at the knowledge of what he’s holding in his hands right now, because if there’s any time to freak out it’s not now. Not when there’s still stuff left to do. 

When they’ve gotten to the spot behind the shed, there’s already three shovels leaning against the back. Dash puts the body down underneath the hedge, and grabs a handle. 

“Six feet.” He says. “And no one’ll have to know.”

-

It’s probably the most stupid thing he’s ever done other than trip Danny Fenton in the showers, but that same night, he goes back to the place they buried the body. 

He doesn’t know why he thought it was a good idea. He hadn’t, most likely, but still, a piece of him felt like he needed to go back, that dumb part of his brain where all the morbid curiosity comes from and all his meanest ideas go. Regardless of the cause, though, at two in the morning not eight hours after they’d tried to flatten the soil, Dash is back at the grave. 

His heart still aches with everything Kwan had said, begging them to just go to the police and come clean, because no matter how much he doesn’t want his life ruined he knows it already is. There’s not going to be any coming back from this- whether anyone finds the body and discovers their part in it or not, this is going to follow him for the rest of his life. That soil disturbed amongst the grass from upturning, wedged between the bike shed and the hedge, the ground shaking with motion. 

…The dirt. The dirt’s moving. Why’s the dirt moving?

All at once, he jumps back about five paces and freezes stock still, gaze transfixed towards the soil rumbling like the epicentre of a personal earthquake. His mind is terrifyingly blank as he watches, hearing more and more coming from beneath as the time passes somewhere between a good few minutes and an eternity, something like muttering or moans permeating the earth. 

A hand grasps for purchase as it breaks through the top layer of the soil- pale, grimy, and fuzzing at the edges with translucence. The palm finds flat ground some centimetres away, and with a sound like a grunt or a cry, the corpse pulls itself out of the ground. 

Danny Fenton stands in full form before him, brown blood smudged across his temple from the back of his head and dirt caking every other inch of him. The tarp is sticking out from the ground like a tongue. “Hey Dash,” Fenton sighs, like he hadn’t just crawled out of his own unmarked grave alive. “What are you doing here? It’s… oh man, it’s totally past curfew. My parents are gonna kill me for sure.”

It’s that comment in particular that snaps him out of his stupor, catching the weird look in the other boy’s eyes. “Fenton, what the fuck?” His voice is half-wheezing with disbelief, surprised he’s able to breathe between it at all. This is impossible, shouldn’t be happening, but, this is Amity. The dead come back to haunt them all the time. 

“What?” He asks blithely, before tilting his head to look back at the mound in the dirt, the hole that had been filled to hide him. “Oh, that? Don’t worry about it. No one comes back here anyway, and it’s not like they’ll care if they do.”

He can’t for the life of him process the calm in Danny’s voice. “You were dead.” He says. “I killed you. We buried you.”

“But you didn’t report it to the police, huh?” Not knowing how else to respond, Dash shakes his head. “Yeah, makes sense, they never do. Still, guess that gives me less issues to deal with in the long run, and I can’t really complain about that even if the morality of the whole thing bugs me. You really should tell people about these kinds of things before they find out on their own, y’know? Oh, but Dash?”

Fenton has his back turned by now, having stretched his limbs out and began to walk off during his talk, but he turns his head just a little, then. Just enough that Dash can see the glint of sharp teeth underneath his lips. Just enough for his eyes to catch green under a light that doesn’t exist. 

“No one’s gonna believe you.”

…

(When Kwan and Dale come to school with him the next day like nothing’s wrong, and they spot Danny Fenton talking with his friends by his locker like any other stupid day, they don’t say a word. They don’t make fun of him when he falls asleep in class after claiming to have had a ‘long night’, and they don’t tell their friends why they weren’t at Star’s house by eight, and they don’t ask Kwan to talk about it when they go to bathroom together at lunch and he has a panic attack over the sinks. Because Danny Fenton being alive is not possible, but if the dead won’t tell their secrets, then neither will they.)

(Neither will they.)

[noxiatoxia]

Please do not take photos or videos of people without their consent. Even if they're your friends, even if they're your kids, even if you think they were being a jerk. And especially, do not post those photos online. Yes, filming (I will be using "film(ing)" as a catch all for photos and videos for simplicity) someone without their knowledge or consent is legal in many areas of the world. Just because it is legal doesn't make it correct. I'm sure you can think of several laws that exist right now, or are trying to exist, that you feel should not be made legal. Legality has nothing to do with if it's "good" or "bad".

Even if you think it is harmless, even if you yourself wouldn't mind being filmed in that position, respect other people's privacy. It is a matter of consent. It is not hard to ask somebody if you can film them beforehand. It is not hard to ask somebody if you can post or send a film of them to somewhere else beforehand. You want to capture a film of your friend reacting to a surprise without them knowing? Tell them as soon after you finish filming, and give them the option to delete it. Better yet, you can discuss with said friend how they feel about such an occurrence if a future situation like that were to ever arise.

It's a small thing, but a big one to a lot of people. Some people have religious beliefs when it comes to being filmed. Some people have mental disorders that can cause them to react violently to the idea of being filmed/watched. Some people just like their damn privacy!

I know I can't force anybody to heed this. It's just a suggestion. Just to make the world a little kinder.

I understand the importance in filming crimes. If you witness someone committing a crime, such as police brutality, or endangering another, there is a legitimate and enforceable purpose behind that filming. Being, "this person is committing a crime, this film is to be used as evidence to bring their crime to justice".

But a good 90% of films of other people posted online are not that. It is people who are doing something "weird" or wearing something "funny". It is the filmer bothering people in public. It is someone who is injured, in distress, or having a mental breakdown. It is someone filming another person yelling at somebody else.

Being an asshole isn't a crime, by the way. Yes, that person yelling at the McDonald's worker is an asshole. But realistically, what is filming them and posting it online going to do? It isn't "getting back at them" because having thousands of people harassing them is a worse act of assholery than what they had done. Besides, not to be that guy, but shit can be taken out of context. That "crazy lady" yelling at the waiter was maybe filmed 5 seconds after the waiter had said a very sexually harassing statement. Maybe the teenager yelling at the store clerk just lost his best friend. Of course, this is not an excuse for acting violently, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is neither is the violating of their privacy as a means of revenge. Two wrongs don't make a right, as they say. (And do you think the perceived victim in the situation-- the clerk, the employee-- want to be filmed and posted without permission as well?) And even if it happens to be a situation of an entitled asshole being entitled, filming will do nothing. Opposition will just make them double down. People who are entitled like that won't think twice seeing those videos online, because they think they're in the right. All this trend does is send innocent people into a panopticon.

Though it's just a public thread, I think hearing the words of everyday people with experiences like this can help illustrate how big of an issue this is within our current digital climate.

Again. I cannot force any of you reading to think or act a certain way, nor do I want to force anything. I'm just hoping this will, at the very least, make any of you inclined to film others think twice before doing so.

[tenaflyviper]

I need to talk about something.

Conservatives are in hysterics over "drag shows for kids", and their concern is nothing but a transparent excuse to freely express their bigotry while appearing self-righteous about it.

Now, I believe venues that are not making sure their content is age-appropriate need to reevaluate. HOWEVER, the very few cherry-picked incidents showing kids at these shows (and often including a falsely-labeled clip of what is clearly a topless woman, and which was proven to have come from South America) does NOT prove that this is a widespread thing, nor that drag performers pose any threat to kids. There is also a post circulating claiming a performer exposed himself to children, which is a lie. There were more mass shootings in January alone than incidents of kids at drag shows--does that mean all gun owners are violent? Clearly not.

These people assume anyone criticizing anti-drag legislature somehow wants children to be at adult-oriented performances. No--the problem is that false claims are being made against an already-marginalized community (which has led to an increase in anti-LGBT hate crime), and some of the proposed legislature would criminalize simply being in drag in public, regardless of time or place.

This hysteria led to not only armed protestors showing up to events for children, but a hate group also stormed into one, screaming slurs and accusations at the reader. The kids were in tears--they genuinely thought they were about to be shot, because that's unfortunately something they have to be taught can happen to them now.

Many of these same people are religious, yet never have anything to say about the fact that sexual abuse of kids in churches has been going on for over 400 years--since the first recorded incident in 1629, in Rome--and continues unabated. One recent incident had 28 victims. Imagine how many there have probably been over the course of 4 CENTURIES.

Ironically, these are the men expected to lecture to kids about "morality" from a book that's over 3k years old.

They insist merely seeing a man in drag will "traumatize" kids--but not being made to think they were about to die, right? Kids on TikTok challenge each other to watch Cannibal Holocaust, and these pearl clutchers think men in dresses will destroy them. Zero common sense.

Ultimately, if a child sees something a parent doesn't like, that is 100% the parent's fault. No one is bringing anything to their doorstep.

These people do not care about children if learning that there is not the threat they were led to believe only makes them angrier. They seem to almost WANT kids to be assaulted by drag queens, because it would validate their own personal hatred.

I'm not even going to get into accusations of "grooming", since we all know parents are the most frequent creators of child sexual abuse material, and drag queens make up maybe 3% of the population--and that's being extremely generous. Meanwhile, I've seen 3 people just today conflate drag with being trans, which only exposes their ignorance.

In the end, this is no different than the "Satanic Panic" was. There was never a single incident of ritual sacrifice of children, but they wanted so badly to believe it that they bought into it--literally. It became a multimillion-dollar industry to keep scared, ignorant fools afraid of something that didn't exist. Today's version is circulating lies on social media to get clicks to your monitized account and YouTube videos.

Anyway, drag queens don't deserve this bullshit, and it can't end soon enough.