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sentientcave · 10 months ago

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Heavy Weighs the Crown

Sometimes a Bearimy is many moons, and sometimes it's just a couple days! Do not expect this sort of pace to continue though this chapter was most of the way finished when I posted the first one.

Chapter 2 - Familiar and Forgotten

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Noncon kissing, Alcohol mentions, Smoking mention, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through.

~5.2k words

You don’t say much for the rest of the journey.

It’s not far, really, only an hour or two from the bridge in the woods, and your anxiety seizes you so completely that you can do little more than smile wanly at Kyle’s jokes and Johnny’s attempts to flirt with you. Ghost stays as quiet as you do, a comforting spectre of familiarity walking by your side.

The city is much like you remember it, but there’s life now, where a grim shadow hung over the people before. Windows are thrown open, laundry hangs on lines spanning between houses, brightly coloured clothes flapping in the breeze like flags. Children play in one of the alley’s you pass by, kicking a ball between them, although they stop to watch you pass, eyes growing big, collecting at the edge of the street so they can stare for longer. People begin to gather at the peripheries everywhere, the gentle roar of many hushed voices drowning out all else. It seems that the people here still recognize you, although you’re not sure if it’s by your face or the company that escorts you along.

The castle looms over the city, tall, imposing walls made a little friendlier with blue and silver banners hung from the parapets, the oppressive air lessened, but not entirely erased. You think that nothing could make the castle look truly welcoming— It never has been to you, not even when you did call it home.

Ghost looks at you as you approach the dark stone walls, and puts a big hand on your thigh. “Olright?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing thickly as Nox’s claws scrape over the wooden drawbridge. It feels like the palace means to devour you whole, the shade of the main courtyard matching your somber mood. It’s greener than you remember, a raised garden bed full of flowers and a few small trees sits in the center of things now, directing traffic coming in around in a circle rather than every which way. There are gardens on the flat roofs of some of the outbuildings too, where they can catch more light despite the looming walls.

Nox stops in front of the stairs up to the main door, and Ghost lifts you down easily. When you look up, you notice there are people gathering around the main courtyard too, a gentle susurrus rising up around you like the wind. A stable hand approaches to take Kyle's horse, stumbling over his feet, too busy staring at you to watch where he's going.

"Standin' around with their gobs open," Johnny grumbles. "S'like they've ne'er seen a princess before."

Kyle thanks the stable hand when he passes the reigns to him, and offers his arm to you. "Are you ready, sweetpea?" His smile strains at the corners when you look at him. Your own face must be grim indeed.

"I'll have to be," you say, curling your hand around his arm, gathering your skirts with your other hand. You feel small and plain as you ascend on Kyle's arm, dressed simply in clothes you sewed yourself, glad you were wearing your second best skirt at least. Why that bothers you now you couldn't say-- Its not as though you're concerned with making a good impression.

Kyle leads you into the hall of judgment, where your father used to take petitions and settle disputes. It's different here too-- There are benches for supplicants to sit while they wait, and a few desks set to one side of the ante chamber, where clerks speak to citizens in hushed voices, helping speed along the process. There aren't very many people there really, it's not the tired crush of hollow eyed people clamoring for attention from a disinterested king now. Its organized, efficient, fair-minded. You can't help but approve.

John Price sits on the dais, listening to the man in front of him, but his stone-faced attention breaks when he looks up and sees you. He stands and hops down the steps, touching the man's arm. "I will send a hunting party to deal with your manticore problem," he promises. "But if you'll excuse me…" his blue eyes lock onto you, sweeping down and back up to your face.

You feel pinned in place by the intensity of those eyes, Kyle's presence by your side not enough to melt the cracking ice that settles around you.

"Princess!" John greets you enthusiastically, arms wide as he strides across the hall, meeting you in the middle. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? It's a nice day for a ride through the countryside." He looks good, although there's silver in his beard and glittering by his temples that was never there before, and a plain silver circlet on his brow. He dresses the same as you remember, for comfort and practicality rather than for fashion, and he still fills out his clothes in much the same way, his broad, powerful body unchanged despite his new vocation.

"A better day for tending to the garden," you say. "But Sir Garrick rather insisted on the ride."

John smiles at you warmly, and Kyle wordlessly pulls away from you, leaving you standing before John alone. You're pulled into an embrace before you know what's happening, oak-solid arms crushing you to his chest. He pulls back enough to look at you, but he doesn't let you go. The pleasant tobacco and warm spice scent of him engulfs you, caged in his arms while he studies your upturned face. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he says. "It's good to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but he seizes the opportunity to kiss you. Not a chaste press of lips to your cheeks, which would have been an appropriate greeting between two people of your status, but a kiss, a real one, his mouth slotting over yours like you were reuniting lovers rather than near-perfect strangers.

He kisses you for a long moment, lips moving against yours possessively, long enough for the room to grow unbearably silent around you, shame twisting with a childish flame rekindled the instant he put his hands on you. You push against his chest, and he finally comes to his senses, not releasing you or giving you more space, but at least ending the kiss, letting you breathe and sort out your conflicted feelings.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, voice low and breathless, even if you would prefer to shout it, or perhaps punctuate the question with a slap.

“Because I wanted to,” he says pleasantly, smiling in that infuriating, cheeky way he used to when he caught you watching the knights practising from the palace windows. “I think it was long overdue, don’t you?”

“No!” You don’t want to admit, considering your age, that he’s stolen your first kiss, like it was something owed to him instead of yours to give when you chose to, and you certainly don’t want to admit that you liked it. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the people still watching either, which is undoubtedly why he chose this as the place for your first meeting, where you would be cuffed by propriety, giving him advantage over you. Kings didn’t have to worry about propriety— Who was there to scold them for bad behaviour?

Had John ever worried about that sort of thing? Perhaps that was why your father had so militantly kept him away from you, not because of the threat to the crown, but the threat to your virtue. A man that would so casually waltz past all social convention would find no resistance from a sheltered, shy princess. Perhaps if you had been more bold— Perhaps if you were more bold now you would be able to tell him off.

“I don’t appreciate being plucked from my home and manhandled by you and your knights,” you hiss, plucking courage from thin air. You push against his chest again, and this time he lets you go, but it only makes you angrier, because you both know he only did so because he chose to. “What do you want, John? Let’s attend to business so I can leave as soon as possible.”

He glances behind you, at his knights, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you certainly aren’t going anywhere tonight, are you? We can chat properly over the evening meal.” He sweeps you along, a hand between your shoulders, where his thumb touches bare skin, toying with the edge of your shirt. “I’ll show you to your room, hm? You can wash up and change, if you’d like. Although I must say, this country mouse attire looks rather sweet on you.”

“I don’t think any of my old clothes will fit anymore,” you say tartly. You’re certainly not the weak, spindly thing you used to be, the sapling struggling to grow in your father’s shadow. Your time with Kate has done you good, made you stronger and filled out soft curves. Joy is expansive, and it takes up space that you never would have dared to occupy before.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve had new things made for you. Gaz’s sister reached out to Kate for your measurements.”

“Why would she— You had no right to ask for such a thing!” you say hotly. Now that you’re alone in the hallways, you feel more at ease speaking your mind.

He’s unperturbed by your anger, still smiling. “Perhaps not. But I thought it important to stand ready, should you ever decide to come home.”

“This is not my home any longer.”

John hums, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer to his side. “This will always be your home, princess,” he says matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for argument, the way he sees it.

He tries to follow you into your room, but you quickly shut the door in his face, nearly hitting him. He manages to jump clear, and you can hear his laughter on the other side. You’re getting a bit tired of these men thinking that it’s funny when you hold your ground against them, but you’re not yet sure how to get them to listen when they (and especially John) are so used to getting exactly what they want. It strikes you that you’ll probably have plenty of time to figure it out, since you don’t think you’ll be going home as soon as you'd like.

Kyle and Johnny seem like your most likely allies. And perhaps Ghost, since he told you more than he was supposed to already. Anyone else would be too worried about drawing the king’s ire and getting in trouble or losing their jobs, but those three aren’t just his knights. They’re his friends too.

And as far as you’re concerned, friends don’t let friends keep women imprisoned for indeterminate amounts of time.

You wash up, and parse through the closet for something to wear, frowning slightly at your options. There’s nothing wrong with any of the dresses you find— Everything is beautiful, elegant, well-made, in colours that suit your complexion, made of gorgeous, rustling silk. But they also all have closures at the back, long rows of delicate buttons that will be a nightmare to do up yourself. After so many years living independently, you resent the idea of someone having to help dress you. Perhaps that was why John tried to follow you, so he could be there to offer a hand.

How altruistic of him.

You fantasize about kicking him hard in the shins with the work boots that you sadly left at home, and choose a dress in a deep plum colour, getting as dressed as you can. You consider waiting to ask whoever comes to collect you for dinner, but you suspect that that might be John. You’re just about to wander out into the hallway to see if you can find a member of the castle staff to aid you, when you hear a shout outside, and laughter.

You press one hand to you chest to keep the dress from falling away from your skin inappropriately, and peer over the edge of the balcony. Johnny, Kyle and Ghost are in the courtyard below, Ghost and Kyle sitting on the fountain edge, and Johnny doing a dance that seems to be entirely hopping and kicking, while balancing a knife’s point on the tip of his finger.

“Excuse me,” you call down, smiling as prettily as you can muster. Johnny stops dancing and drops his knife entirely, but blessedly doesn’t try to catch it. “Could one of you give me a quick hand? This dress has so many buttons.”

They look at each other for a moment, and volunteer as one, Kyle and Ghost immediately falling into bickering over who should help you. Johnny looks at the ground and up to you a few times rather than fight with the others, and takes a running leap, fingers catching on the balcony floor. He swings a few times before popping up, catching the railing and clambering over with surprising grace. “I would be happy to help ye, sweetpea. An’ Ah’m sorry abou’, er, lickin’ yer wrist earlier. Was a wolf awl mornin’, cannae always shake the compulsion straight after a shift.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, reaching up with both hands and scratching the stubble under his chin gently. He leans into your palms with a groan, letting you guide him down to your level so you can kiss the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a good boy, Johnny. You were just excited.”

“I was,” he admits, cheeks turning a little pink. “They awl met ye before, and they talk about ye sometimes, ye ken? An’ yer even nicer an’ bonnier up close. Ah’m glad I didna try to lick yer face. Ye didnae look very happy with Price doin’ it.”

“He was very forward. It’s not the sort of thing I appreciate. I don’t intend to let him walk all over me just because he’s the king now.” You release Johnny’s jaw and turn so he can get to work on the buttons, pulling your braids out of the way over your shoulder. “It seems like he’s a little too used to getting his way.”

“Ah, weel, he’s stubborn as awl hell, sweetpea. No’ really his fault, he’s just righ’ more of’en than no’, ye ken? An’ when yer never wrong, ye never learn ta compromise.”

“Surely he’s not always right,” you say. “No one’s infallible.”

He laughs, fingers stalling against your back. “Yer righ’ of course. But Ah’m never the one to catch the old man bein’ wrong. So I dinnae ken if he admits it. I would be surprised.”

“Do you know what he wants from me?” you ask. “It seems odd that he let me live in peace all these years, only to drag me back now.”

“I dinnae ken awl the details, princess. Figure it’s sommat ta do with yer cousin raisin’ an army over across the western border, aye? Probably wants ye to scold the wee rascal for him.” He continues buttoning, and then stalls again. “Aw shite. Missed one.” You feel him begin to undo the buttons he was just working on.

You press your fingers to your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”

“Aw no, I dinnae mind none. S’nice ta talk ta ye. Always thought princesses’d be all stuck up and snooty. But yer no’ at awl. Ahve been ta yer story hour at the market once or twice too. Think it’s nice ye take pity on us buggers that cannae read well. An ye choose good stories.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you say.

“Usually go in on four legs. No one minds another mangy dog, so long as I don’t get too close or growl at the bairns. Can hear better tha’ way too, aye? Blacksmith always let me lay down beside his shop.” He marches two fingers across your shoulder playfully. “Awl done.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You turn to look at him again, regarding him thoughtfully. It doesn’t take much to turn him from a large, dangerous man to an eager to please puppy. Something to tuck into your pocket for later.

“Ye can call me Soap, if ye like. The lads do, most of the time. An’ the boss man. But Johnny is good too. Like hearin’ it from ye.” He looks a bit bashful, twisting his fingers together absently now that he has nothing else to fuss with, bright blue eyes cast down and half hidden by his long, dark lashes. “Ah ken it’s no’ what yer hopin’ for, but I hope ye stay a while. S’nice. Feels like there’s an empty space around here, and ye’d fill it an’ then some.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say. “I’m sure it mostly depends on how angry your, um, boss man makes me.”

“He’s no’ a bad sort.” Johnny instantly leaps to John’s defense, a touch of anxiety colouring his voice. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, another useful something to know. “Been good ta me, when lot’s of folk think I’m no’ much more’n a monster.”

“I’ve never heard of a werewolf that can shift at will like you do,” you muse. “You must have remarkable self control.”

Something dark flits across his face, but he does his best to hide it behind his crooked grin. “Naw, no’ really. S’a story, but no’ one I want ta tell righ’ now.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him gently, placing your hand on top of his. His knuckles are rough, scarred from a lifetime of hitting things hard. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do want to talk.”

“Yer goan ta turn me intae a big softie at this rate,” he says, waving off your words with a laugh. “Come oan, Sweetpea. I’ll walk ye ta dinner. Figure ye know the way, but Ah’m told it’s polite to escort a lady.”

“Very polite,” you assure him, placing your hand on his offered arm. “Thank you, Johnny.”

His grin is infectious, and he puffs up his chest slightly, pleased as punch to receive your approval. You descend the stairs, picking up your skirts with your other hand so they don’t drag, and John appears at the bottom of the steps, his expression turning carefully, diplomatically blank when he sees you on Johnny’s arm.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was just about to come get you. Thank you, Soap, I can take her from here.”

“How very kind!” you return, gripping a little tighter to Johnny’s arm so he doesn’t run off just yet. “Johnny was nice enough to help me with my dress. All these buttons— I had no idea that button closures were the style these days.”

John’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit, like he’s not sure if you’re being earnest or not. “Nor did I,” he says evenly. Liar.

“It can be so hard to keep track of these things.” You send Johnny another bright smile. “Will you be joining us?” you ask sweetly.

Johnny looks at John uneasily. “Oh, n-no, I dinnae think—”

You curl into him slightly, placing your hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you and away from the disapproving frown that’s beginning to form on John’s face. “Oh, nonsense. In fact, would you mind fetching Kyle and Ghost as well? We all had such a pleasant afternoon, and I feel like we’ve only just begun catching up.”

Johnny’s fingers catch on the lace hemming your trailing sleeve, his cheeks pink and eyes focused on your face. “Oh, aye, anything ye like, princess.”

“Thank you so much Johnny. You have been so helpful today. I really appreciate it.” You release him, and he dashes off without a second thought or glance to John for approval. “What a sweet boy he is,” you say to John as you flit to his side, all innocence, well aware that Johnny can still hear you. “Shall we?”

John gives you a searching look, still not certain if you’ve disrupted his plans on purpose or just by being far too sweet. “I had intended for dinner to be just the two of us.”

“Now John, that would hardly be appropriate,” you lightly scold. “The two of us, alone without a chaperone? What would people say? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to put me in a compromising position.”

His lips twitch under his moustache, the ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. “Perish the thought. Didn’t think of the implication, is all.” He opens the door to what had once been your father’s private dining room, but hesitates in the doorway. “Perhaps we should wait for the lads,” he says thoughtfully. “Since you’re concerned with the optics of being alone with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “They’ll be along in a moment, no? I’m not sure what you think could happen in a few minutes, but I’m sure you’re capable of behaving yourself for that long.” You sweep past him, unconcerned, and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him, the latch clicking shut loudly in the otherwise silent room. You cast about for a conversation that you can fling up between the two of you like a flimsy shield, your tongue suddenly heavy again. John has a way of sucking up all the air in a room, and he feels nearly as large and imposing as Ghost in a confined space like this. You don’t feel safe like you would with Ghost. You feel like a wobbly-legged fawn caged in with a blue-eyed wolf.

And you would feel less like that if you were in here with the man who really is a blue-eyed wolf. You don’t think the man standing before you will melt with a few kind words or a soft touch. He’ll only take it as permission to push you further.

“Your inexperience is showing,” John says conversationally, taking a step toward you.

You take a hasty step back. “How so?”

He takes another step forward. You take another back. The pattern repeats until he has you backed up against the mantle. “A lot can happen in just a few minutes, sweetpea.” His thick fingers curl around your jaw, forcing you to face him when all you want to do is sink into the floor or vanish entirely. “Could do anything I liked to you, alone like this. You’re right to be cautious.” His hand slides lower, callouses brushing your skin, raising goosebumps along the back of your neck and prickling all the way down your spine. His palm rests on your throat, so he can measure the nervous flutter of your pulse. You swallow nervously, and you know he can feel it.

Still, he doesn’t squeeze, and there’s no threat in his eyes. Worse, there’s a promise, and heat that could spark into a blaze with the slightest provocation.

“It’s a good thing you’re a man of honour, then.” You mean it as a challenge, a reminder of the rules of engagement. You came prepared for a game of chess, and he’s knocked all the pieces onto the floor and lunged at you across the board. Your words come out whisper soft, plaintive instead of confident.

“A good thing indeed.” He takes a step back, and then another, his hand falling away, leaving you standing by the mantle, clinging to it for support.

It was a good thing the fireplace is cold, this time of year, or you might be tempted to throw yourself in just to save yourself the embarrassment of being so completely set off balance.

“Here.” John returns to your side, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe, and offers you a glass of wine. White wine, like he remembers your preferences somehow. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, and you try not to shake from the force of whatever it is that he stirs up in you.

It’s too vast to identify, and threatens to engulf you, swallow you whole. It’s an ocean, as deep and blue as his eyes, and you’re already struggling to stay afloat. You feel like the only things keeping you from drowning are your righteous anger and sense of self-preservation. But recognizing the danger he poses to you, to your freedom, if not your life, doesn’t pluck you from the water or save you from the circling shark. You don’t know how to do that. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I should apologize,” he says gently. “For greeting you the way I did earlier. I’d dreamt of our reunion so many times that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, kissing you like that. I should have better kept myself in check.”

You sip your wine. It’s sharp and not too sweet, just the sort of thing you used to like, and many times better than what you’ve had for years now. But the taste only reminds you of things best left forgotten, sour remnants of a life you wished to leave behind. Even this room, redecorated to another man’s preferences, feels as oppressive as your father’s presence in life.

Maybe it’s the weight of the crown, that bends and twists even the most upright men, because you already see the makings of a tyrant in John. So used to getting his way already, he expects you to fall into line, do as your told, take your rightful place at his side, on his arm.

In his bed.

“Are you going to?” you ask.

He’s confused by that, a frown settling between his brows. “Going to what, sweetpea?”

“Apologize. Saying you should apologize is not the same as actually being sorry.”

He’s entirely taken aback by that, rendered speechless. It’s probably been years since anyone checked him like that, and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be the one to do so. He has the advantage in this battle you’ve waged against him— He’s larger and stronger, he claims authority that you’ve rejected, he has allies where you have none— but you’ve still managed to strike a blow, with honesty as your only weapon.

The other three men finally join you, snapping the tension in the room, clearing it away like cobwebs.

Well, most of the tension, anyway. You sit between John and Ghost, rather than take the chair opposite John. You have no desire to be forced to bear that heavy stare for the entire meal. Kyle and Johnny sit opposite you, and you maintain light conversation with the two of them. Ghost sits to your right, his mask tipped up enough for him to eat, his scarred mouth and jaw visible to you for the first time. His gloves are off too, revealing broad, powerful hands littered with fine scars, and a few deep ones too. Most of them are obviously blade wounds, but there’s a particularly deep one, a chunk of missing flesh between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand that keeps drawing your eyes back.

“Me’n Nox ‘ad a misunderstandin’ when we first met,” he says, unprompted, noticing your glances. “She took a chunk outta me. Was a good thing she was still small, or I’d’ve lost my whole ‘and.”

“Small!” Johnny says with a snort. “The wee beastie was bigger than me!”

“You were a runt,” Ghost chuckles, “but I s’pose she was still plenty big. Got ‘er talons sunk pretty deep in my thigh too. Got ‘er to listen to reason in the end though. She din’t know I was tryin’ to ‘elp.”

You see that same darkness in Johnny’s eyes as earlier, so you change the subject, asking about a burn on Ghost’s wrist. He starts in on a tale of hunting an outlaw mage, with plenty of interjections from Kyle, and then Johnny as well, until he gives up trying to tell it, and lets the younger men take over.

You feel his attention on you for a while after that, like he knew what you did and why.

John is pensive, still ruminating on what you said, quiet over the meal. It must not be that great a change from usual, because it doesn’t seem to bother the other three in the least. He insists on walking you to your room once the hour grows later, however, and leans against your door frame.

“You’re right,” he says, catching your hand so you can’t go inside and shut the door in his face for a second time that day. “I didn’t apologize. And I’m not sorry. I know I should be, and I won’t do it again, but I can’t say I feel all that badly about it.”

It’s something, at least. A concession, if not an apology. “Thank you, John.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, and his thumb is rubbing distracting circles over your knuckles. “Is there something else?”

“We never talked business.”

“No. But I know what you want, John, and the answer is no. I want to go home, I have a life to return to, and I don’t belong here any longer.” The disappointment is clear on his face, but he only nods. You continue, encouraged by his silence. “I will, however, make a public statement of support, in whatever way you need. I imagine my cousin will wish to send a witness, to ensure I’m not being coerced. I will stay until then, and then you will allow me to go home. Is that sufficient?”

He thinks about it for a moment, his thumb tapping against your hand now. “I suppose it will have to be.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight, John.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough to keep you anchored to him.

“Wait.” He tugs you a step closer. “May I kiss you?”

You roll his request around in your mind for a moment. He’s willing to accept that you won’t marry him, without so much as a fight. You can’t deny that you want to say yes either, and you have just enough wine in you to make you bold, but not reckless. “One kiss,” you reply. “No more than that. And then I am going to bed.”

He cups your face and stoops to meet you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, without any of the brash possessiveness of earlier. Just sweet and slow, coaxing you to open up for him. You relax into his touch, parting your lips, a soft little whine escaping your throat, pulling an answering groan from him as he licks into your mouth. You have to grip his wrists just to stay upright, the sound turns your knees and resolve to jelly, the taste of good whiskey and smoke from his after dinner cigar lingering on your tongue as he pulls away.

His eyes are fever-bright, and his breathing ragged as you release each other. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slip into your room and lean against the door, knees still weak, desire simmering inside you. The kiss had been a bad idea, because all you can think of now is asking for another, and another, and another.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem reader #141 x reader #heavy weighs the crown #Uh oh sweetpea

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tamamita · 20 days ago

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I love that you have derogatory supplications, reminds me of hearing my mom say Andrew Jackson may he burn in hell

One of the foundations of belief (Furu al deen) in Twelver Shi'ism is Tabarrah, which roughly translates to dissociation. But the gist of it is that is it incumbent upon a Shi'a Muslim to dissociate from (and even curse) a person who is shown to be tyrannical, oppressive and an enemy of the Prophet (sawas), his household (a) and the Shi'as. Interestingly enough, the concept of dissociation was mainly attributed to Muslims who opposed Imam Ali (a) and his household, but can also be applicable to non-Muslims.

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somepsychopomp · 22 days ago

Text

Alright monster fuckers, come get ur food

This is a rough draft of the first part of my Nosferatu AU, it's sort of like a prequel for what's to come. (Short summary: this is an AU where Poseidon is an undead eldritch being that's been pursuing Odysseus all his life, haunting him with nightmares and whatnot)

Mainly I would really appreciate some feedback about how fucked up crazy nasty ugly to make Poseidon. Like if he's an otherworldly being risen from the depths, should he be super ugly like Orlok or should I betray the original source material by making him sexy?

I'm mostly conflicted because this is an AU where he's still kind of the god of the seas, but is more of a Cthulhu-esque entity that was slumbering at the bottom of the ocean before being awoken by Odysseus' prayers.

The bedroom was dark and silent, save for the unsteady breathing of a nervous child. With trembling hands, he stood before his open window and struck two stones together until enough sparks flew to light the wick of his candle.

The wind coming off the sea at this hour was frigid and biting, raising pebbles across the boy’s skin as he watched the candle’s flame rise high before setting and giving off a small circle of orange light.

He wasn’t supposed to be awake at this hour. If anyone caught him, surely his mother and father would reprimand him in the morning.

Odysseus knelt on a woven wool mat before the lit candle and raised his palms to the moon in supplication. Keeping his head bowed, he closed his eyes and prayed to the gods.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice shaking from the cold of winter’s night. “Please, hear my prayers. My father grows old, my sister is too young. Please, send me a companion, a guardian. Someone to keep me warm at night and to play with during the day…a friend.”

The boy continued his prayers to the gods, ignoring his knees growing cold and stiff and his fingertips numb. Even so, he continued to pray.

“Send me someone to fill my days and nights,” he asked the gods, unsure of how much time had passed since he began his prayers.

Odysseus sniffled in the dark and the cold. Beyond his desire for companionship, he was assailed by shame. Was the love of his mother and father not enough for him?

What of Ctimene and the way his younger sister loved to follow on his heels?

His father’s hunting dogs, his old nursemaid?

Odysseus did not understand why the company he had was not enough for him. He only wanted someone who knew him deeply, someone who knew him as if they were one.

Without warning, a harsh gust of wind swept through his room. Odysseus gasped. Through his sealed eyelids, he found himself plunged into an oppressive darkness and knew his candle had gone out.

Then… a new sound. It was similar to the wind’s groan, but not quite.

This was deeper, raspier, more like a draft flowing through an underground cavern. It reminded him of the sound of stone grinding against stone.

Odysseus opened his eyes and raised his head.

A dark figure obscured the moon and stars, engulfing the boy in its shadow.

Odysseus fell backward, a scream tearing from his throat.

The figure uttered only one word.

“Hush.”

And Odysseus fell silent. He did not climb to his feet so much as an invisible force lifted him from the floor.

The thing in the window, whether it was man or beast, said nothing more as it turned away and vanished. Odysseus swayed on his feet, his mind lost to a dense fog.

Slowly, his body began to move on its own.

He found himself wandering through the halls of his parents’ home, seeing the world through half-lidded eyes as he undid the servant’s door leading to the courtyard. He stepped outside, barefoot and without a cloak.

Odysseus thought he was dreaming as his feet carried him down the beaten path to the beach, where the ocean shone like obsidian. Dark clouds began to fill the sky, obscuring the moon and blinding Odysseus to the darkness. Even so, he continued walking.

The sound of the lapping waves grew deafening as Odysseus stood at the very edge of the icy waters. The figure was waiting for him. It was impossible to determine if the being was submerged in the water or standing over it. They were large, so much bigger than Odysseus was.

A voice said to him, “Do you swear to be mine ever-eternally?”

Odysseus’ lips parted, though he could not say if it was of his own volition.

“I do.”

All the wind died at once as a monstrous wave swallowed the figure. It surged forward, looking to Odysseus’ young eyes as if it were large enough to take all of Ithaca with it. He did not even think to flee.

The water fell upon him with such force that all the air was pressed out of his lungs. The relentless surf tumbled him, dragging his body across the coarse sand and pulling him into the ocean.

Odysseus kicked and flailed, his body attempting to swim for the surface, but the current was too powerful. He felt no ground beneath his feet, was he already swept out far enough to drown?

Open your eyes.

A voice spoke within his mind as if it were his own, compelling him to do as it commanded.

Odysseus found himself floating in the black water, his face inches from a set of glowing eyes. Unlike any creature he’d ever seen before, these eyes did not blink as they gazed upon him. They weighed Odysseus down with their piercing gaze, the pupils slitted like a snake’s.

As Odysseus’ body began to relax, as he felt compelled to take a breath and allow the water into his lungs, he had only one thought.

That the eyes upon him were such a beautiful shade of bright blue.

Then two arms grabbed him around the torso and hauled him to the surface. A hand patted his back, forcing him to cough up the saltwater that’d gotten in his mouth.

“Oh, my poor boy! My Odysseus!”

It was his father. Laertes clutched Odysseus to his chest, floating on his back as he used his other arm and his legs to swim them back to shore. Odysseus clung to his father, fear flooding his heart as he shivered in the terrible cold.

He had very nearly drowned.

Laertes pulled him out of the water and hauled Odysseus high up the shore before stopping to check on him. A few guards were waiting for them, bearing torches to light the darkness. They huddled around Odysseus, one of them shedding his cloak to wrap it around the boy’s shoulders. Laertes took his son’s hands and rubbed them between his own, blowing hot breath onto them to get Odysseus’ fingers to stop trembling.

One man lowered his torch and Laertes instructed Odysseus to hold his hands near the fire. The king moved onto his son’s feet, rubbing and squeezing them to encourage circulation.

He said, “My son, what happened to you? Why in the world would you go wandering out in the dark like this?”

Laertes found cuts on the bottom of his child’s feet. He couldn’t tell if they were from the rough stone path or the beach.

Odysseus tried to answer his father, he really did. But his lower lip wouldn’t stop trembling. He sucked in a breath, then another, and began to cry.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I’m sorry…”

Laertes decided enough was enough. It was too cold for any of them to be outside at this hour, especially his soaking wet son. The king took Odysseus into his arms, and though he was also dripping sea water, Laertes hardly felt even a chill in the air as he carried his son home.

Odysseus buried his face in his father’s shoulder. He was cold and embarrassed to be crying when he thought of himself as a big boy by now.

He just had his seventh birthday.

Open your eyes.

The voice compelled Odysseus to look up. Far away, a strange and tall shape floated in the water, a black shadow that slowly sank below the surface. Odysseus squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t open them again until he was back inside, where his mother’s arms awaited him.

#poseidon x odysseus #epic the musical #vampire au #nosferatu au #odysseus of ithaca #poseidon epic the musical

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umtxqwa · 11 months ago

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السلام عليكم و رحمة الله و بركاته

أخواني وأخواتي الأعزاء!

Please remain consistent in supplicating for the oppressed ummah. Perhaps among us, there is someone who holds a special place in the sight of Allāh ﷻ. Make sure to aid and support your brothers and sisters in Palestine to the best of your ability and boycott the products of companies owned by those who support the Zionists.

بارك الله فيكم

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reverthelp · 2 months ago

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The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Beware of the supplication of the oppressed, even if he is an unbeliever, for there is nothing to block it.”

Musnad Aḥmad 12549

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lilgreeneyes71 · 1 month ago

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There is an internal peace that only God can give

John 14:27 Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

Psalm 29:11 The LORD will give strength unto his people; the LORD will bless his people with peace.

2 Thessalonians 3:16 Now the Lord of peace himself give you peace always by all means. The Lord be with you all.

keep your mind on Christ and his promises

Isaiah 26:3 Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.

Psalm 119:165 Great peace have they which love thy law: and nothing shall offend them.

If you get stressed for any reason

1 Peter 5:7 Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.

Troubled with burdens or oppressed

Matthew 11:28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.11:29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.11:30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Philippians 4:6 Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.4:7 And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Romans 15:13 Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.

Isaiah 26:12 LORD, thou wilt ordain peace for us: for thou also hast wrought all our works in us.

#sermon #christian inspiration #christian art #animation #scripture #christian quotes #jesus #faith in jesus #bible verse #christian #christianity

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wrappedinamysteryy · 1 year ago

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From the supplication of Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ):

« اللَّهُمَّ نَجِّ الْمُسْتَضْعَفِينَ مِنَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ »

(Allahumma najji-l mustadhafeena mina-l mumineen)

O Allah! Save the weak and oppressed ones among the believers.

📚: Sahih Bukhari 4598 & Sahih Muslim 675

#free palestine

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fluffy-appa · 6 months ago

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FRIDAY REMINDER ☁️✨

‣ Recite Surah al Kahf

‣ Send blessings upon the beloved Prophet ﷺ

‣ Perform Ghusl.

‣ Dress well and apply perfume.

‣ Proceed to the mosque early.

‣ Sit closer to the Imam. Listen attentively to the Friday sermon.

‣ Make du'a in the last hour (i.e., after Asr, remember the oppressed Ummah in your supplications)

- Do Some charity

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aysufs · 3 months ago

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Abu Dardā’ رضي الله عنه said:

“O son of Adam!

Act as though you are being watched,

count yourself amongst the dead,

and beware the supplication of the oppressed.”

ابن آدم, اعمل كأنك تراه، واعدد نفسك في الموتى، واتَّق دعوة المظلوم

[Iqtida al-‘Ilm al-‘aml, no.18]

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muntasireen · 14 days ago

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You'll find among the ansar and muhajirin many shocking stories of sacrifice and steadfastness.. and you probably assume the normal scenarios expected in these fields of trials like a sister who's husband gets slain in battle, or a mother who's son gets slain, or a brother gets injured and loses a limb etc..

But have you been told of the sister who's child's head was severed in baghuz and she held his body up to the sky saying "this is for Your sake, ya Allah!"

And have you heard of the sisters who's husbands were paralysed or injured with broken bones and severed limbs not able to run, their husbands would tell them to leave them in their state and save themselves and their children, while the fires were actively engulfing the surrounding areas, they stayed by their husbands' sides and refused to leave them to burn alive,

Have you been told of the brothers who would find only leaves to feed their families so they would go hungry themselves in order to have their wives and children be fed to their fill even though they needed strength to go fight?

Has the story reached you of the brothers and sisters who fought to defend the land of the muslimin to their last breath while being injured and bleeding out their eyes and ears and noses, limbs barely hanging on their bodies by their torn skin, some dragging themselves while holding onto their r i f le s because they refused to surrender?

And there are mothers who have given forth from their children many shuhada, sending them off one by one or altogether and receiving the condolences of every child leaving her with no man left in her family to take care of her, yet she carries on in this path despite all the difficulties and wouldn't have it any other way, and would send more children if she had any left for the same cause.

And the prisoners have been sacrificing every moment of their lives while in captivity, bearing the taunts of the enemy and oppression and betrayal from those close and far. Having their loved ones ripped away from them and being deprived of their presence or even contact, not knowing what their state is and whether they'd see them again, ever. Yet every day in captivity is more beloved to them than to live a life of misguidance and humiliation, not having given anything for the sake of this deen.

There are many more real life stories of the brothers and sisters and what they endured for the sake of Allah in this path, and its by the Grace of Allah and then their sacrifices that this cause stands and remains because it is the supplication of the oppressed, the tear of the bereaved, the screams of the prisoners and the hope of the orphans.

So the question for you is, are you ready and willing to tread the same path? Are your claims truthful or is it only fueled by the adrenaline you get from listening to nasheeds and watching videos highlighting the glorious parts of this path only? When we say this path requires patience, we mean the type that you bite down onto with your teeth with every last bit of strength in you, we mean the type that you hold onto as if it's a pair of hot coals in between your palms, brothers and sisters, be serious about this cause, for if you are not firm upon the correct principles the beasts of this dunya will devour you and spit you out as mere bones. However if you strengthen your heart and put your trust in Allah, working to please Him alone and seek the Home of the Akhirah, then you will be knights of steel unshakeable in the face of tribulations like the brothers and sisters who preceded you.

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agirlwithimaan · 11 months ago

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"Beware of the supplication of the oppressed, for there is no veil between it and Allah." [Bukhari] 🤲🏻🇵🇸

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santoschristos · 8 months ago

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Ishtar Queen of Heaven, the Goddess of the Universe

In Her capacity as life-giving Goddess Inanna is all about fertility and abundance. This is the aspect of Her that today we most associate with the Goddess as Venus.

Inanna is the Queen of Heaven, her celestial manifestations being the Moon and the planet Venus. Like Isis in Egypt the star Sirius is sacred to Her as are the constellations Virgo and Scorpio.

Prayer to Ishtar 1. Unto Her who renders decisions, Goddess of all things, Unto the Lady of Heaven and Earth who receives supplication; Unto Her who hears petition, who entertains prayer; Unto the compassionate Goddess who loves righteousness; Ishtar the Queen, who suppresses all that is confused. To the Queen of Heaven, the Goddess of the Universe, the One who walked in terrible Chaos and brought life by the Law of Love; And out of Chaos brought us harmony, and from Chaos Thou has led us by the hand. --Babylon, Eighteenth to Seventh Century BCE

Prayer to Ishtar 2. Queen of Heaven, Goddess of the Universe, You are the holy one of women and men. The one who walked in terrible chaos, And brought life by the law of love, And out of chaos brought us harmony, And from chaos She has led us by the hand. Woman of women, Goddess knows no equal, She who decrees the destiny of people, Highest Ruler of the Worlds, Sovereign of the Heavens, Goddess, even of those who live in heaven. With Ishtar, there is counsel and wisdom. The fate of everything She holds in Her hand.

Joy comes from Her every glance. She is the power, the magnificence. She is the Spirit that guides. Be it maiden or mother, Women remember Her, And call Her name, O Shining One. You stop the anger of all other deities. You care for the oppressed and the mistreated, Each day offering them your help. You are the one who gleams the brightest, In the midst of all other deities. --written 1600 B.C.

Inanna is the Sumerian goddess of love, fertility, and war.

Ishtar Queen by Mahaboka

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 1 year ago

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How aware/supportive were the CSP of the fusillades at Lyon?

The first letter to the CPS carrying any news about the repression in Lyon (Commune-Affranchie) that I’ve been able to find is dated November 7 1793, written and signed by Collot d’Herbois only. Fouché, he writes, has not arrived in the city yet:

[The Military Commission] has had several shot. The court is firmer, but its progress is slow; it had not yet done much.[…] The public spirit is null and always ready to turn in the opposite direction of the Revolution. Even the executions do not have the effect that one might have expected. The prolongation of the siege and the daily perils that everyone ran inspired a sort of indifference for life, if not quite contempt for death. Yesterday a spectator, returning from an execution, said: It's not that hard. What would I do to get guillotined? Insult the representatives. Judge how dangerous such arrangements would be in an energetic population. This is the state of things. New home visits this evening. They resulted in new arrests and three thousand more rifles, the number of those who have been returned currently being nine thousand. […] The mine will speed up demolitions, miners started work today. Within two days the buildings of Bellecour will be blown up. I will immediately go to wherever the means are practicable when it comes to the prohibited buildings. Public accusers will work faster. Yesterday, the tribunal started to go by three per day.

After this, the testimonies of executions follow each other in rapid succession:

…We have given the tribunals and commissions a very lively march. Yesterday, six guilty [persons] received death. A new tribunal will be set up in Feurs. The guillotine, necessary to consummate these judgments, was ordered yesterday and will be sent over without delay. The mine will hasten the demolitions. Letter from Collot d’Herbois to the CPS dated November 9, received November 14

The shadow of Chalier is satisfied; those who dictated the atrocious order of his demise have been struck by lightning (ceux qui dictèrent l'arrêt atroce de son supplice sont frappés de la foudre) and his precious remains, collected by the republicans, have just been carried in triumph through all the streets of Commune-Affranchie. […] The people will be avenged; our severe courage will respond to its just impatience; the ground which was reddened with the blood of patriots will be turned upside down; everything that vice and crime had raised will be destroyed; and on the remains of this superb and rebellious city, which was corrupt enough to require a master, the traveler will see with satisfaction a few simple monuments, erected in memory of the martyrs of liberty, and scattered cottages in which the friends of equality will rush to come and inhabit, to there live happily with the benefits of nature. Letter from Fouché, Collot and Laporte to the Convention dated November 10

Convinced that there is nothing in this infamous city but he who was oppressed or put in irons by the assassins of the people, we are in defiance against the tears of repentance; nothing can disarm our severity. They felt it well, those who searched to startle you, those who have just extracted a decree of reprieve from you in favor of a prisoner; we are on the scene, you have invested your trust in us, and we have not been consulted. We must tell you, fellow citizens, indulgence is a dangerous weakness, capable of rekindling criminal hopes at the moment when they must be destroyed: we have provoked it towards an individual, we have provoked it towards all those of his species, in order to make the effect of your justice illusory; we do not yet dare to ask you for the report of your first decree on the annihilation of the city of Lyon, but we have done almost nothing so far to execute it. The demolitions are too slow, faster means are needed due to Republican impatience. The mind explosions and the devouring activity of the flame can alone express the omnipotence of the people; its will, like that of tyrants, cannot be stopped, it must have the effects of thunder. Letter from Collot d’Herbois and Fouché to the Convention dated November 16. It was read there on November 22 and published in the Moniteur on November 24.

It is important Lyon is no more, and that the inscription you suggested (Lyon made war on liberty; Lyon is no more) becomes a great truth. […] We have created two new tribunals to judge traitors; they are active in Feurs. The two who are here have gained more strength and activity since our arrival. Several times twenty culprits have suffered the penalty for their crimes on the same day. This is still slow for the justice of an entire people who must strike down all their enemies at once, and we will occupy ourselves with forging the lightning. Collot d’Herbois in a letter to Robespierre, November 23

It is up to you, Couthon, to develop these ideas; I have already spoken to Robespierre about it. Consult with him to finish the decree concerning this commune which cannot exist without danger. It will be easy to make the dismissed population disappear, and to say with the truth: Lyon is no more. It is more urgent than ever to use great severity, so we are going to deploy it. We tried to excite new movements in the army and among the very large number of workers engaged in demolitions. […] The receivers, the organization of everything, the supervision of five to six departments, such is the daily work; and I am not speaking, as you see, of the revolutionary measures which are continually meditated upon, put into action, and which must consummate the great event of the destruction of this rebellious city, and the annihilation of all the traitors. Collot d’Herbois in a letter to Couthon, December 1

It is liberty that they wanted to assassinate by immolating Chalier; his executioners confessed to it before falling under the sword of justice. We heard from their own mouths that they died for their king, that they wanted to give him a successor. Judge the spirit that animated this corrupt city; judge the men who controlled it by their fortune or by their power; judge whether a reprieve can be granted with impunity. No indulgence, fellow citizens, no delay, no slowness in the punishment of crime, if you want to produce a salutary effect. Kings punished slowly, because they were weak and cruel; the justice of the people must be as prompt as the expression of their will. Letter from Collot and Fouché to the Convention, read there on December 1

Terror, salutary terror, truly is the order of the day here; it compresses all the efforts of the wicked, it strips crime of its clothes and its gold. Letter from Albitte, Laporte, Fouché and Collot, read at the Convention on December 16

We have revived the action of republican justice, that is to say, prompt and terrible as the will of the people. It must strike traitors like lightning, and leave only ashes. By destroying an infamous and rebellious city, we consolidate all the others. By putting the scoundrels to death, we ensure the life of all generations of free men. These are our principles. We demolish with cannons and mine explosions as much as possible. But you clearly feel that in the midst of a population of one hundred and fifty thousand individuals, these means encounter many obstacles. The popular ax had brought down twenty heads of the conspirators every day, and they were not frightened. Précy still lives, and his influence was felt more and more every day. The prisons were overflowing with his accomplices. We have created a commission as prompt as the conscience of true republicans who judge traitors can be. 64 of these conspirators were shot yesterday, in the same place where they fired on the patriots; 230 will today fall into the ditches where these execrable redoubts were established which vomited death on the Republican army. These great examples will influence doubtful cities. Letter from Collot d’Herbois to Robespierre’s host Maurice Duplay, December 5

But as can be seen, only the first and the last letter actually mention that shootings were part of the repression (and of the two, only the one to Maurice Duplay indicates that they were used against an excessive number of the condemned), opening the door to the possibility the CPS and the rest of Paris didn’t know about them at first. Such is the version of events presented by Barère in his memoirs, only he goes even further than that by claiming only Billaud-Varennes, who alongside Collot d’Herbois was in charge of the correspondence between the CPS and the representatives on mission, had known about the Lyon letters (with the presumed exception of the personal ones Collot sent Robespierre and Couthon). Barère writes he only learned about what was going on when reading a letter dated December 5 from the representative Ronsin that was also published in several journals, revealing that ”the guillotine and the shootings brought justice to more than 400 rebels. […] in a few days, the grapeshot fired by our gunners will have rid us, in a single instant, of more than 4000 conspirators.” Reading this letter, Barère writes he got in a hurry to warn the rest of his committee colleagues about what was happening in Lyon, resulting in Collot being recalled from there:

I knew not what occurred at Lyons, for Billaud alone was occupied with the correspondence of the representatives on missions. In the meantime I received through the post the dreadful proclamation issued at Lyons when the grape-shot firing was performed. This document was signed ��Ronsin, General.” I was told by the letter that these facts ought to be submitted by me to the committee, otherwise it would never know them and could not cure so much evil. After having read this proclamation, which was written in a barbarous style, I ran to the committee. At midnight, when the meeting commenced, I read the letter and the proclamation. The committee was unanimously indignant at it. They thought that Collot should come forward and give an account of the events at Lyons, and of the execution of the Convention’s decrees. Billaud wrote immediately to his friend Collot. The latter came to Paris in a few days, but, instead of coming to give his account to the committee, he left them ignorant of his arrival during the whole night. He saw but Billaud, who was also silent. At last he appeared at the Assembly at eleven o’clock, and begged the Assembly to hear the account of the work of the commissaires of the Convention who had been sent to Lyons for the execution of its decrees. It was thought that Collot, a member of the committee, had just come from it and had made his report to it. So he was heard, approved, applauded. The printing of his speech was voted. The Convention even went farther, it declared that the conduct of the representatives and commissaires sent to Lyons was good, and approved of it. Collot, proud of his success, and regarding the members of the committee, and myself especially, as his enemies, because he himself was very passionate, got the secretaries of the Convention to issue immediately a copy of the decree given in his favour and in favour of the other commissaries, his friend Ronsin included. Armed with this decree he appeared unexpectedly in the committee-room where we were deliberating. He advanced with blazing eyes and threatening attitude, and threw a terrifying glance on me. ”Read this decree,” said he. “The Convention knows my conduct, and has approved everything done by its commissaries and representatives at Lyons. I do not know why the committee recalls me, but I will answer the denunciations when necessary.” I thought those last words referred to me, and I replied: “I have read an atrocious proclamation signed by Ronsin. I would consider myself guilty of high treason to humanity if I did not send it to the committee as soon as it came to my knowledge. I have never denounced anyone. Billaud, who must have informed you, can say if I have pronounced your name. I have exposed Ronsin’s work. I have done my duty as a man and a citizen; I fear nothing.”

In the chapter Le Retour à Paris of Collot d’Herbois: légendes noirs et révolution (1995) Michel Biard does however throw a lot of doubt on the authenticity of Barère’s account. First off, no letter from the committee asking Collot to return can be found, and a letter written by his colleagues Fouché, Albitte and Laporte on December 4 does instead suggest Collot has left them for Paris on his own initiative, and not because he has been recalled. Such was also the version of the story presented by Collot in his defence one year later. Collot is also proven to have worked at the CPS (signing the same decree as Barère!) on December 19, a whole day before he read the report to the Convention Barère above claims is what announced his return.

The reason Collot left Lyon is according to Biard instead because he wanted to get there before a group of petitioners on their way to denounce the city’s repression apparatus. They presented themselves before the Convention on December 20, a session for which we know at least Couthon and Robespierre were present. The Moniteur reports that the spokesperson for the petitioners ”accuses the Revolutionary Commission of not following the judicial forms enough. He paints as an inhumanity, of which, he says, the most barbarous peoples do not compare to, the measure taken to shoot the condemned instead of destroying them by the ordinary instrument of public executions.”

One day later, December 21, Collot presented himself at the Jacobin club and gave his own account regarding Lyon, dismissing the petitioners as counterrevolutionaries but also admitting to the brutality with which some of the condemned had been executed:

One has examined with attention the way in which the counterrevolutionaries died; one likes to put forth that they didn’t die by the first blow… Well! Jacobins, did Chalier die by the first blow? If the aristocrats had triumphed, do you think the Jacobins would have perished by the first blow? And the Convention that would have been put outside the law by these scoundrels, would it have perished by the first blow? […] We had 200 of them struck down at once, and it is made a crime for us. […] The popular lightning strikes them, and like that of Heaven, it leaves only nothingness and ashes.

The same evening (21 December) Collot also showed up at the Convention to there reveal the following:

Everything commanded an inexercisable and prompt severity, prescribed moreover textually by the decrees. The cannon was fired, only once, on 60 of the most guilty, of whom there was not a single one who had not bathed in the blood of the patriots.

Right after Collot’s intervention, the Moniteur reports that the Convention orders the printing of his report, ”too interesting to be subjected to the laws of analysis” and that it, like Barère writes in his memoirs, ”approves the measures taken by the representatives of the people in Commune-Affranchie.”

Assuming Barère was telling the truth at least when claiming only Billaud read the letters from Lyon describing the repression, here we have three testimonies from Lyon all mentioning the shootings which added together makes it for me is hard to believe the CPS member would have been kept in the dark about them from at least late December and forward. The idea is further complicated by the fact Collot returned to work at the committee after this.

Collot coming back from Lyon did however not mean the executions slowed down. According to Biard, around 3/4 of them were carried out after his departure, and it wasn’t until February 10 that the last shooting took place. The most detailed descriptions of the killings do however appear to end with Collot’s departure, I could at least not find any mentions of the shootings in letters gathered within Recueil des actes du comité de salut public, whether they be adressed to the Convention (letters dated December 24, December 27 (received January 1), February 13 and February 18) or the committee itself (letters dated dated December 11 (received December 19), (December 16 (received December 24), January 10 (received January 16), January 12 (received January 20). The last letter which reached the committee before Fouché was recalled (dated March 11 and received six days later) mentions that there still some exists some conspirators that need to be dealt with, but that “justice has soon completed its terrible course in this rebellious city” and that ”the feast of Equality” has been celebrated in the city two days earlier with much energy, leading Fouché to write that ”it is therefore not baseless that we dare to announce to you that the people of Commune-Affranchie shall soon deserve to be counted among the children of the Republic and return under its laws.”

As for the committee’s attitude, on January 8 we find two letters, both written by Robespierre, one telling the representative Albitte, who is on his way to leave Lyon for Paris, that before going there he ought to visit the departments of Mont-Blanc and Ain — ”better than any other you will be able to join to the measures taken by your colleagues in Commune-Affranchie those which are necessary to give the revolutionary government all the strength and activity that it must have in accordance with the law of 14 Frimaire.” The other letter is to Petitjean, representative to the Army of the Alpes, telling him that ”the representatives of the people in Commune-Affranchie, using the powers the surrounding departments have confused to them, have already carried out the purification of several administrations in the department of Allier. So consult with your colleagues by stopping by Commune-Affranchie. The instructions that Fouché acquired in relation to the department of Allier, where he resided for a long time, will be all the more useful to you because, animated by the same principles, the same effects must result from your common energy.”

Two days later, January 10 1794 we find a letter to Fouché, written and signed by Billaud-Varennes only, where the very first line is the following:

The Convention decreed on 1 nivôse that it approves of the orders and all the measures that you’ve taken in Commune-Affranchie, we have nothing to add to this statement.

Then finally, on January 29, a letter written by Collot d’Herbois and signed by him and Billaud-Varennes urges four representatives on mission ”to consult and correspond with your colleagues Fouché, Méaulle and Laporte, who are at Commune Affranchie. It would be a great benefit if, step by step, the representatives on mission in the Republic could establish an invariable unity of movements.”

The CPS decrees (don’t know why there’s two of them) recalling Fouché from Lyon, dated March 27, do not indicate the shootings have anything to do with it:

The Committee of Public Safety decides 1, that citizen Reverchon immediately travels to Ville-Affranchie to organise revolutionary government and that he, together with Méaulle, takes all the measures that the interests of the republic need. 2, that the representative Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie 3, that all procedurs against the popular society in Ville-Affranchie, and especially against the patriots that were subjected to persecution under the reign of Précy and the federalistes, are suspended. The representative Reverchon and his colleges will severely persecute the enemies of the Republic, protect the true friends of the Republic, help the patriots in need and assure the triumph of liberty through a constant and inflexible energy.

The Committee of Public Safety, alarmed by the fate of patriots in Commune-Affranchie, considering that the oppression of a single one of them would be a triumph for the enemies of the Revolution and a mortal blow to freedom, orders that all proceedings against the Popular Society of Commune-Affranchie, and particularly against the patriots who were persecuted under the reign of the federalists and Precy, will be suspended: it further orders that the representative of people Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie.

As for if there exists pieces provning the support/rejection of the repression for the individual CPS members as opposed to the committee as a whole, I only really know of Robespierre, for whom we have the following two secondary sources, one written in 1794 by Collot d’Herbois claiming Robespierre thought the repression hadn’t gone far enough, the other forty years later by Charlotte Robespierre claiming he was outraged by the bloodshed and the shootings in particular. Since for both authors, pushing an agenda of Robespierre as a good/bad guy was a bigger priority than the actual truth, I would say they more or less cancel each other out, though I would also add I think Collot’s version, in particular the part about Robespierre being worried about ”oppressed patriots,” matches slightly better with the things Robespierre is confirmed to have openly said regarding Lyon (1, 2, 3), as well as the decree recalling Fouché, written in his hand:

Robespierre murmured a lot about the forms that we had established in Lyon for the execution of decrees: he constantly repeated that there was no reason to judge the guilty when they are outlawed. He exclaimed that we had let the families of the condemned go free; and when the commission sent the Convention and the committee the list of its judgments, he was not in control of his anger as he cast his eyes on the column where the names of the citizens who had been acquitted were written. Unable to change anything in the forms of judgment, regulated according to the decrees and approved by the committee, he imagined another system; he questioned whether the patriots of Commune-Affranchie were not vexed and under oppression. They were, he said, because the property of the condemned being specially intended, by article IV of the decree of July 12, to become their patrimony, we had greatly reduced their claims, not only by not judging only a quarter of the number of conspirators identified by Dubois-Crancé on 23 Vendémiare, or designated by previous decrees, but also by establishing a commission which appeared willing to acquit two thirds, as it happened. Through these declamations Robespierre wanted to entertain the patriots of whom he spoke, with the most violent ideas, to throw into their minds a framework of extraordinary measures, and to put them in opposition with the representatives of the people and their closest cooperators: he made them understand that they could count on him, he emboldened them to form all kinds of obstacles, to only follow his indications which he presented as being the intentions of the Committee of Public Safety. Défense de J-M. Collot, répresentant du peuple. Éclaircissemens nécessaires sur ce qui s’est passé à Lyon (alors Commune-Affranchie), l’année dernière; pour faire suite aux rapports des Répresentants du peuple, envoyés vers cette commune, avant, pendant et après le siège (1794)

It is known well enough in what way [Collot and Fouché] conducted themselves [in Lyon]; it is known that they made blood flow in torrents, and plunged the second city of the republic into fright and consternation. Robespierre was outraged by it. […] I was present for the interview that Fouché had with Robespierre upon his return. My brother asked him to account for the bloodshed he had caused, and reproached him for his conduct with such energy of expression that Fouché was pale and trembling. He mumbled a few excuses and blamed the cruel measures he had taken on the gravity of the circumstances. Robespierre replied that nothing could justify the cruelties of which he had been guilty; that Lyon, it was true, had been in insurrection against the National Convention, but that that was no reason to have unarmed enemies gunned down en masse. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 123-124

As for the other CPS members, I’m far from an expert, or even familiar, with all of them, but at least in Biard’s words, excluding memoirs such as Barère’s, ”not a single serious [testimony] exists” showing they disapproved of the repression.

#frev #collot d’herbois #robespierre #fouché #barère #french revolution #ask #barère you little shit #you should sign up for the ”don’t lie in your memoirs about stuff that can be disproven through contemporary sources” course #alongside charlotte

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