#shout out to my lovely commissioner

[bucketsofmonsters]

The Morning After

(A Sequel to Ace in the Hole)

A commission from the lovely @spoczkot :)

Cw: miscommunication, insecurity, gambling, oral sex, vaginal sex, tentacles, double penetration, sensory deprivation

male shadow monster x afab reader

Some beautiful art of our lovely shadow monster

Word count: 5k

Most days, you woke up suddenly, to an alarm or a nagging feeling that there was something you needed to do. 

You absolutely hated it. The sudden shift from sleep to the waking world. It always left you feeling anxious and restless. 

The best way to wake up in the morning was the was you were waking up now. Slowly, barely able to tell where your dreams ended and where the light, silky blankets began. You drifted slowly, softly, back into consciousness, and finally, when you were good and ready, you opened your eyes.

All you could see was black. 

You blinked, confused and disoriented, half convinced you’d just forgotten to open your eyes. 

When the darkness persisted, a spike of panic ran through you. 

You wanted to reel backwards but you didn’t know where you were or what was blocking out your vision. 

You felt a warm presence at your side and pulled away from it, sending yourself tumbling off the edge of the unfamiliar bed. 

The bed. You could see it now, sprawled across the floor, tangled up in a blanket you’d ungraciously taken with you in your panicked frenzy.

A low voice grumbled from the bed, you presumed disturbed by the newfound lack of blankets and the sound of someone falling to the floor beside him. 

You managed a sheepish smile as you gathered your bearings, the events of the night before surfacing in your mind. 

You were here, with Nocturne. 

A pitch-black face peeked over the edge of the bed as he rose from sleep more gracefully than you had. 

“You having fun down there?” he asked, his morning voice a little gravelly.

You nodded, pushing his blankets back onto the bed as you clambered to your feet. 

“Didn’t take you for that much of a clutz,” he said, a teasing lilt ever-present in his voice.

You smiled, sliding back under the covers. “I’m not really, I just don’t usually wake up blind. I feel like that’s excusable.”

He was so hard to read, his void of a presence difficult to gather coherent facial expressions from if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but you saw him tense for a moment before turning to the clock at his bedside. 

“Fuck, I’m late.”

He rose from the bed in a hurry, haphazardly grabbing clothes from his closet and throwing them on, you all but forgotten in his bed. 

You took the hint, rising beside him to grab your own things, admittedly in less of a hurry to leave than he seemed to be. 

He paused, shifting to look over his shoulder to look at you as you gathered your things, pulling your clothes on quickly. 

He shook his head. “No, you don’t have to leave. You can stay as long as you want.”

You knew he didn’t mean it, that he didn’t actually want you in his apartment on your own, but you appreciated the sentiment nonetheless, that he was at least being as gracious as he could.

You waved him off, working quickly towards making yourself scarce despite the feeling inside your chest tugging at you, pleading with you to stay. 

But you didn’t want to stay, not really. Not with him gone.  

Upon seeing that you were set on leaving he slowed, his frenzy calming seemingly to ensure he could leave with you. 

It was a considerate gesture yet still it pulled a thread of guilt tight inside you, at inconveniencing him, holding him back from whatever he had to do. 

You left at the same time, him being a perfect gentleman for you all the while, holding the door open for you and giving you a gracious nod as he headed on his way.

You spent most of your day debating whether or not you should show up at the casino that night. Would it look desperate? It probably would but to be honest, it wasn’t that far from the truth. Would he want you there? 

When you got particularly nervous you couldn’t help but imagine him turning you away, deciding he was done with you, or pretending not to know you at all. You weren’t sure which would hurt worse. 

But in the end, you couldn’t keep yourself away. It would take more self-control than you had on hand

You’d never been so nervous walking in before. It felt like everyone was looking at you. When you looked up, you saw Nocturne. His lack of features did nothing to disguise the fact he was staring at you. 

You settled at his table, and he dealt cards while looking straight at you, his face entirely unreadable. 

You had gotten no better at poker, despite his ‘lessons.’  In fact, you’d say you’d gotten much much worse. 

You lost all your chips incredibly fast, not pacing yourself like you normally did, far too frazzled for that. In about an hour, your entire budget meant for your next visit was gone. 

Part of you hoped maybe you’d be familiar enough with him soon that you wouldn’t need to come here every other week anymore. But maybe that was wishful thinking. 

Everything in you wanted to go get more chips so you could return to his table with an easy excuse but you were already running ahead of what you should have spent this week. 

So instead you waited, hoping he’d come up to you when his shift was done. 

And so you sat, with about two hours ahead of you, waiting for midnight to come and for him to get off work. 

You didn’t have much to do in the meantime. Normally you headed out as soon as you lost but part of you thought, or maybe just hoped, that he’d come talk to you. 

Even if nothing came of it, you couldn’t leave without at least talking to him. 

Not after last night. 

You were incredibly bad at looking busy, it seemed, stirring a drink you didn’t want halfheartedly as you waited. 

You tried not to feel too self-conscious. Other people were idling around you, you were far from the only loiterer, but you just felt like you were doing it wrong. 

As long as you didn’t look too out of place, you supposed it didn’t matter. 

And so there you sat, staring at the little whirlpool you’d formed in your drink as you waited, trying not to look up too much. You imagined it would only serve to make you look more nervous and flighty. 

This determination to keep your head down meant that when someone cleared their throat next to you, you almost jumped out of your skin. 

Your head jerked up to find a familiar, dark face.

He leaned back a little, looking almost sheepish. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to say I’m sorry about this morning. I thought maybe you could come over again and I could make it up to you?”

“More lessons?” You weren’t sure if you were more excited or nervous about this turn of events. 

What did he want? Just a repeat of last time? Probably. You set yourself on being grateful for it either way. 

“Whatever you’d like.” He reached out to take your hand before clearly thinking better of it, pulling back as you followed him out of the casino and back to a familiar apartment. 

The mood was decidedly different from the night before. 

He shuffled off towards the kitchen immediately, looking back at you standing near the door. 

“Come in,” he said, beckoning you forward. “What would you like?”

“What?”

He gestured back towards the kitchen. “To eat. I’m afraid I was a terribly rude host last night, I didn’t make you anything.”

You shook your head dismissively. “You weren’t rude.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Anyways, what do you want.”

“You really don’t have to-” you tried to insist before he cut you off. 

“And yet I’m going to. You’re not going to decide anything, are you? That’s fine. Do you like pasta?”

You gave him a small nod and he immediately started pulling out pots and boxes and fresh ingredients faster than you could keep track of them.

You wanted to help but you didn’t know where to start. He moved so swiftly and fluidly through the kitchen that it felt like any attempt to assist would hinder him more than anything. 

You hesitantly moved to his side, asking a quiet, “What should I do?”

He gave you an amused glance. “Nothing. I’m making it for you, your job is just to sit back.”

You frowned, a crinkle forming between your brows. “I want to help.”

“You really don’t have to.” His voice was soft and low and you could feel your cheeks heat at the sound of it. 

“But I want to,” you said, giving him what you hoped was a winning smile. “Now what are we making?”

He let out a fond little sigh and then put you to work. It was not lost on you that he was giving you the easiest tasks but you didn’t mind, you were happy with the compromise, so long as you were being helpful. 

What made less sense to you than his insistence that you let him do most of the work was the way he made a point to stay away from you, keeping a careful distance as he moved gracefully about his tasks. Whenever you drew nearer to him he always found a convenient excuse to move to the other end of the kitchen. 

At one point you reached out to grab the handle of a pan at the exact time he did and he pulled back before your hands had a chance to meet, almost like he’d been burned. You couldn’t help but worry you’d done something to upset him and that was why he was keeping his distance. But then why would he invite you here?”

So you tested the waters, intentionally bumping into him a few times, trying to make it as casual as you could.

He seemed nervous about it more than anything, almost leaning away as you got close to him. 

You felt him go completely stiff as you brushed up next to him, your arms barely touching. 

“You should be more careful,” he said, and you pulled away, embarrassment coloring your face. 

But he hadn’t asked you to stop, he’d asked you to be more careful. Surely if he wanted you to stay away, he’d tell you as much. 

So you pressed on, brushing up against him on occasion, desperate to figure out what was clearly making him uncomfortable so you could fix it. 

The problem with touching him, which you wanted nothing more than to do, was it rendered you functionally useless. If you so much as bumped against him you were left grasping blindly for utensils and sticking your hands out in front of you to try desperately not to bump into anything. 

It made you feel like an idiot. When he had to grab your hand to avoid you smacking it right into the hot stove that you would’ve sworn was feet away, you sheepishly stepped back from him, determined to stop making a fool of yourself. 

But as soon as you both strayed far enough away from the stove you were back at his side, brushing against him again. 

Your hand shifted around, feeling for a spoon in the dark, refusing to move away from his side as he just stood there. He wasn’t pulling away for once, you weren’t about to ruin this. 

It wasn’t entirely unselfish. You wanted to touch him, you liked having him close. At least when he wasn’t desperately pulling away from you. 

You heard a low chuckle and then a voice right next to you said, “Open your mouth,” his words moving hot air over your neck. 

You did, patient and trusting, and were rewarded with a mouthful of warm food, delicious on your tongue.

“It’s amazing,” you declared, determined to show him how much you appreciated everything he was doing for you. 

“Good, I’m glad.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. 

And then he pulled away and color bloomed back into your vision, leaving you feeling more disoriented than when it had been black.

“So what did you get up to today?” you asked, leaning back against the cold marble of the countertops.  

He shrugged. “Nothing much, mainly just working.”

“Oh.” You’d hoped he’d at least pretend to have a reason he’d rushed off this morning. 

You shouldn’t be here. You weren’t really sure why he’d invited you over at all. You’d clearly misread the situation, at least some part of it. He didn’t want to be close to you, had lied to you. All the evidence felt overwhelming. You were being a fool. There was nothing to figure out, you were taking advantage of his hospitality. He didn’t want you here, of course that was why he was pulling away. What other reason would there be?

His head cocked to the side. “What did I say? You look like a kicked puppy.”

“No, it’s fine, I can take a hint. I really didn’t mean to impose, now or this morning.”

He froze. “Oh my god, I forgot. This morning I was… I… No, you caught me, it was an excuse.”

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “Right, understood. I should go.”

He reached out to grab you and then stopped, pulling back again. “Don’t go,” he settled for instead, sighing out the words with both of his hands firmly at his sides. 

You shook your head. “I really don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not. It wasn’t an excuse for me.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t… I just wanted to give you an out.”

“An out? You were the one who left, you said I could stay.”

He sighed. “Not from my apartment, from me.”

You flinched back. “I get it, I understand not wanting some stranger to stick around, I promise in the future you can just tell me that. You didn’t have to lie.”

He groaned. “No, it’s not like that. I like you, I really do. You’re sweet. I thought you’d stick around just to be kind, I didn’t want to make you think you had to stay just because we slept together.”

You started to laugh as soon as he got the words out, unable to control the instinct. He stared at you in clear confusion until you managed to force out the words between giggles. “I was thinking the same thing about you. You know, I was trying so hard to be casual, I guess I fooled you a bit too well. Why would you think I wanted to leave anyway? I was clearly crazy about you. I was there constantly fawning over you and you thought I wanted to leave?”

“It’s not that crazy. I saw how scared you were when you woke up. I know I’m not exactly a convenient person to be around. Plenty of people are attracted to me, sure, it’s cool and sexy to be stuck in the dark like that, but it’s not something people want forever. People try blindfolds on for a fun, kinky night, they don’t do it every day. You can’t hold hands with me on walks, would have to avoid touching me if you wanted to do basically anything. I’ve been here before, the novelty wears off fast and I get left behind with it. Figured it was good to give you an out. And sometimes, maybe, it’s a little easier to leave first. Hurts less that way.”

You froze for a moment, unsure what to say. You leaned forward a bit, half intent on hugging him but as you watched him tense up once again, you leaned back into the counter. 

“You know,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “I had the biggest crush on you for ages. It wasn’t just about your quick fingers and card tricks, although I have to admit, they didn’t hurt,” you said with a smile. “I first came there, to see you, because my friend said you were sweet. She said you made sure she felt safe there, that you kept a guy who was bothering her away. But more than that, you made her laugh afterwards, cheered her up. I had no idea how right she was. You always paid attention to me, made me laugh the whole time I lost, and let me hang around after.  At first, I thought it was some sort of tactic, a way to get better tips, and I didn’t mind. But you never really seemed to pay that much attention to anyone else and I thought that it was awfully considerate of you to at the very least make sure I didn’t see when you did, to try and make me feel special, because surely that was all it could be. And even that gave me butterflies. You were so sweet and funny, but it couldn’t be anything more than that. So when you decided to take me home last night I was so excited not because it was some fun fantasy, but because it was you, and because you wanted me. You’re not a blindfold, you’re a person. And I can get gloves for walks or you can help guide me or.. I don’t know, I haven’t had much time to think about it, but I’m sure we could figure something out. If you wanted to, that is, I don’t…”

And then his mouth was on yours and the words you’d been saying faded away entirely.

His hand rose to cradle your cheek, holding you close, as he pulled you with him, slowly and steadily leading you somewhere, your mouths never parting. 

The two of you fell back onto the couch and you didn’t even flinch at the movement. You trusted him, he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

In the position you’d fallen into, you were on top of him, pinning him to the back of the couch. 

He didn’t seem to mind, two of his tendrils snaking around your hips to pull you even closer, his hips just barely bucking up, begging for friction. 

You gave it to him, grinding down on him as his tongue grazed the seam of your lips and you opened them to allow him inside. 

He deepened the kiss eagerly, thumb stroking your cheek gently, sinking back into the couch to bring you further over him. 

And then you smelled burning. 

You pulled away from the kiss, trying to look towards the kitchen before realizing that you couldn’t. 

He rose to try and meet your lips once more, tendrils trying to pull you back towards him. 

You resisted the urge to give in to him, instead muttering a quiet, “Do you smell that?”

He flew off the couch and was in the kitchen in a second, taking the delicious food that had been basically finished and that you’d barely gotten a taste of off the stove. 

He took a quick peek inside and you could tell in an instant that it was ruined as he dropped it into the sink with a sigh.

His hands rose to cover his face as he looked back at you, sitting disheveled on the couch and you swore if he were human, he’d be a bright red right now. 

“I just wanted to make you dinner, oh my god,” he said, his voice muffled by his palms. “Some date this is.”

You perked up instantly. “This is a date?”

His fingers shifted open so he could look at you. “Maybe. If that’s alright with you.”

A delighted laugh escaped you, unbidden, before you were throwing yourself at him again, lips crashing together as you pulled his hands away from his face. 

He took it in stride, hoisting you up onto the counter, which pulled a surprised little squeak from you.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down impatiently. You lifted yourself a little on the counter to allow him to pull them down, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh as he did.

“At last one of us should get to eat,” he muttered, nipping playfully at your thigh as you giggled, hands falling to tangle themselves in his hair. 

It really was a shame, you decided, that you couldn’t admire him like this, between your thighs. 

You whined out a quiet “please,” and he buried his face in your core in an instant, wasting no time and mercifully, making you beg no further. 

He ate you out like a man starved, hands firmly pressed into your hips, holding you close, keeping you unmoving as you tried to buck into his face. 

His tongue was longer than that of any man you’d been with before, snaking inside you before withdrawing so he could suck on your clit dutifully once more. 

He didn’t so much as come up to breathe, lapping relentlessly at you. You were sure most of his face was covered with your wetness at this point and he couldn’t seem to care less. 

You came like that, on his counter, his mouth working you over tirelessly. 

Your back arched, shifting into him even further, practically fucking his face as you came. 

Even as you came down from your orgasm he didn’t stop, tongue pressing deep inside of you as you let out whines of overstimulation. 

You tugged him back by the hair and didn’t need your vision to be able to imagine the smug little self-satisfied look that was plastered across his face, You’d seen it more than enough times. 

You shifted to move off the counter and his hands met your hips, pulling you off and making sure your feet reached the floor safely. 

You smiled at him as he led you back towards the couch and you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. 

“My turn,” you said, leaning down before a tendril wrapped around your chin and pulled you back up. 

“No, stay up here with me.”

You gave him a teasing grin. “Come on. I mean, you were supposed to feed me.

His grip on you remained unrelenting. “Please. I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice softer.

Who were you to deny him that?

Nimble fingers moved down, gentle and careful with you as they pushed inside you, and his lips met yours once more. 

He tasted of you, a little sweet, moans escaping him as you licked into his mouth, desperate to feel more of him.  

His fingers pulled out of you soon after he’d begun touching you and you couldn’t help but whine in displeasure.

Almost instantly his fingers were replaced by something thicker. He held tight to you as he pressed inside, slowly, until your hips met. 

The tendril inside you now, the one that sat right between his legs, refused to stay still, squirming around in your tight heat, pressing against you perfectly, your back arching up at the movements. 

He buried his head in your neck, his hands and tendrils alike keeping you close to him, as close together as two beings could be. 

“God, you feel so good, so good for me. My perfect girl.”

Your hips bucked up, try to get movement, to get more. 

He pressed soft kisses across your face as you hurtled towards a second orgasm, approaching much faster than the first. You were too far gone to kiss him back properly but he didn’t seem to mind. 

Everything was messy and disorienting and you couldn’t be more content in it all, gripping onto him, wanting everything he’d give you as long as he’d stay close like this. 

You were more than happy to let him do the work, to surrender to the sensations

As his hand absentmindedly stroked your lips, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, you took his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them dutifully, wanting as much of him as you could get. 

“If you wanted your mouth filled so badly you can have it, you just have to ask nicely. 

You let out a pleading noise. Talking felt impossibly hard, your thoughts moving slowly but desperately towards things that felt much more important than words, reaching for him again. 

In a moment, that was no longer an issue, a thick tentacle entering your waiting mouth, pressing down gently on your tongue, almost caressing as your mouth hung open. 

You came a second time like that, with one of his tendrils in your mouth as he thrusted in a steady rhythm inside of you. 

It was less slow and soft than the last one, hitting you suddenly and quickly, leaving you with nothing to do but hold onto him. You let out a cry and gripped him hard enough to leave bruises on any human as he fucked you through it.

The tendril currently in your mouth squirmed and you could practically feel him trying to keep it from pushing further inside, 

You moaned around it, unable to do much more than that as he thrusted hard and unforgiving into you, the rocking of his hips moving you in time with him. 

His arms held you as more and more of his tendrils snaked across your body, wanting to touch as much of you as they could, endlessly greedy. 

He grunted out the word “close” and as soon as he did, your mouth was suddenly empty again before impatient lips pressed against yours. You swallowed down his moans as he came inside you. His grip on your hips remained tight and you thought it just might leave marks. You hoped it would, wishing you could leave any on him in return. 

He pulled out of you with a little hiss and moved to walk away before your hand swiftly reached out, pulling him back toward you as quickly as you could. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” you said as you tugged him into a tight embrace. 

He chuckled. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I should clean us up.”

You leaned back into the couch with a huff before suddenly and without warning, you were being lifted. 

You sunk into his embrace, more than happy to be carried around. The sound of a tap turning on came from beside you but you ignored it, leaning into Nocturne’s chest. 

And then, unceremoniously, you were dropped onto a familiar, soft bed. 

Your vision returned for barely a moment before it was gone again, a warm cloth being stroked across your skin as he sunk into bed beside you, quietly cleaning both of you off as you snuggled into the covers. 

He tugged at your shirt and only now did you realize it was still on. It had been all but forgotten during sex but now he pulled it off indignantly, like it was a barrier too much. Like he needed to be able to touch you. He pulled it off with a little of your help, throwing it unceremoniously to the floor and burying his head in your neck. 

“No running off tomorrow morning, right?” you asked as your fingers carded through his hair. 

“Of course not,” he said, his breath tickling your skin as he spoke. “I think I owe you breakfast.”

You gave a content little hum, hoping breakfast tomorrow was at least a little more successful than dinner had been. 

Or maybe, upon reflection, you wouldn’t completely mind a repeat of tonight.

But then, you wouldn’t mind a cozy breakfast either. Wouldn’t mind eating across from him, not touching for a while so you could have the time to admire him. Wouldn’t mind eating in the dark so you could lean against him as you ate. 

No, you thought. You wouldn’t mind any of it. 

His tendrils snaked around your arms and waist to hold you close, all but trapping you against him, pulling you into a little cocoon of warmth as one grabbed the blankets and tucked them carefully around you. 

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss into the closest one. 

He let out a quiet groan, the tendril reaching to caress your face. 

Amidst the nest of tendrils you found yourselves cuddling inside of, you felt his hand reach for yours, your fingers entwining with his. 

“Next time,” he muttered, “I’m going to make you the best dinner you’ve ever eaten, mark my words.”

You felt your heart swell, holding him tighter as he spoke. 

Next time.

[frenzyarts]

Recent pfp commissions I did 🥰 trying to actually post my comms for once!

[pillowzilla]

Navigator and her butlers :]

[averageludwig]

I am sooooooo grateful about how nice all my commissioners have been :") its also been so neat seeing and drawing peoples Ocs and concepts and pairrsss ahhhhhh

[yuri-is-online]

Criminally Smooth (Floyd Leech x Yuu)

Floyd might have a concussion, but that doesn't mean he can't recognize true love when he sees it, and that halo the bisexual lighting of this cop car is giving you makes him think he might have a chance.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, based off a meme I saw and the song Bonnie and Clyde by Dutch Melrose. Vaguely modern au, hints of a mafia au? Yuu and Floyd are implied to be adults and full of bad decisions. More fic can be found on my masterlist.

“Hey baby, what's your name?” Floyd's teeth are sharp and his smile is weirdly wide, like he's trying to display his mouth for you. “You come here often? I swear I've seen ya somewhere before…” You take a deep breath trying to ground yourself, the metal of the handcuffs should be painful enough to do the trick but the ridiculousness of Floyd asking that question when you're both going to jail is overriding the discomfort.

“We've met before, yeah.” You grumble trying to shift to get a bit more comfortable as Floyd's eyes get wide as saucers in a way that would be cute if that meeting hadn't been him shaking you down for “interfering” with Azul’s business model.

“Really?” He sounds so happy, and tries to move his hands to do who knows what but gets stopped by the cuffs, which wipes away the facade of kindness as he glares down at them. “Well I must have introduced myself-”

“You did yeah.” You try to cut off whatever it is he has to say and try not to die of embarrassment when it doesn't stop him from babbling.

“I've got your number then right?” Floyd begins wiggling to reach for his back pocket and glares when Officer Clover tells him to knock it off. “You're just so fucking pretty please tell me that wasn't just a dream and I got your number.” Are you even talking to the same person?

“I don't think so?” He whines, whines! When you say that and looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “We uh. We weren't. Didn't get much of a chance to talk.” You shouldn't be flustered by this. Shouldn't be thinking that it's sort of cute how he presses up against the bars separating you in the back of the cruiser to try and get as close to you as possible.

“Aww well let me do it again please?” You nod and try not to fluster when he brings back the dreamy smile places his cuffed hands against the bars. “I'm Floyd, sorry I totaled your car, baby.” It wasn't your car but you know better to say that in something rigged for audio. “You free this Saturday? I wanna make it up to you and I know a real great place-”

“I don't think either of you are going to be free this weekend,” Officer Clover isn't even hiding how much he's enjoying this you really wish you could get away with punching him “sorry Floyd.”

“Ignore Sea Turtle, oh hey I don't know your name do I?” Surprisingly Floyd isn't annoyed at all, he's still keeping his mouth wide and gets even more excited when you begin to subconsciously mimic him. “C'mon what's your name pretty?”

“It's Yuu but you kept calling me-”

“LITTLE SHRIMPY!!!” He shouts so loud Officer Clover slams on the brakes out of shock, Floyd laughs as he tumbles around and you try to brace against the wall. “Dawww ya should have just led with that baby, I wouldn't have rammed ya. Not with a car anyway.” The police cruiser lurches again as you feel the tires hit something, slamming Floyd against the door and tumbling you towards the floor. He bites down on the metal of his cuffs making sure to keep eye contact with you as he chews through the metal, winking like he's putting on some sort of show and not at all surprised or afraid that your ride is spiraling out of control. “Remember, Saturday ok? And don't worry about dressing nice I'll take care of it ♡” His door flies open as Officer Clover scrambles for his radio and Floyd jumps out of the tank into an awaiting vehicle laughing the entire time, yelling a few choice expletives at the police commissioner as he goes. You curl yourself into a tiny ball and chew on the inside of your cheek as you try to process what just happened over the angry squaking you hear on the radio.

There's no way a judge is letting you make bail after this.

[sokoneedsagun]

Pt 2 of batfam as things me or my friends have said

Steph- “if you ever refer to my mother’s relationship as ‘doomed yuri’ again I’m mauling you.”

Tim and Dick- “why is it staring at me-

Don’t call a baby an it??”

Cass- “you couldn’t beat that information out of me, actually no you couldn’t shoot it out of me”

(For context this was said while baking cookies)

Jason and Roy- “well for one thing it’s incredibly hot

The temperature kind or the other kind?

The temperature kind you fucking dumbass.”

Damian and Tim- “it looks like we’re gonna have to kill this guy.

IM THE GUY???”

Tim- “I’ve gotta give up my 15 year old (I’m 17) in the divorce with a man I’m not married to”

Duke- “you know something gives me the feeling that the speed limit isn’t *70*.” (This was in a 45)

Duke- “(Bruce)’s new thing is telling people that if they don’t take care of their kids he will, and when I asked him about it he looked at me and said ‘I’m already doing it with you.’ so I think I got adopted-?”

More under the cut

Jason- “did people say anything else about my brother?

Apparently he made a bunch of people be gay

what”

Jason and Dick- “Courtney Love is my favorite problematic blonde woman

Really I thought it was your mother?”

Tim- “I’m not a twink I’m just trans”

Talia- “so you’re a mom against cat boys?

Yes. In every sense of the meaning.”

(Shout out to my mom for saying that👍)

Commissioner Gordon- (in the most exasperated voice) “don’t go jump off the roof.”

Barbara- “it is 45 degrees(Fahrenheit) and 7:45 am. Shut the fuck up.”

Bruce- “now what’s shit do you want that’s on Amazon so Santa can contribute to capitalism?”

Damian- “white people food tastes like olive oil and depression”

Cass- “listening to a woman scream into a microphone and call it music is very therapeutic to me”

Bonus-

Constantine- “my advice, if you’re sad, alone, and gay, summon a demon it worked for me”

[lavendermage]

Lost in Inazuma 10

Characters: Ayato, Thoma, Gorou, Kazuha

Genre: Sagau

TW:Blood, implied torture, sexual implications (like one sentance)

2.1k words (these keep getting longer)

AN: I’m back baby! Just started college and I feel like I’m in a rom com. My life is a joke, but an entertaining one this time. Working on another longer Childe fic. Shout out to Orah-s, I love you so much. Mwah.

“Thoma, it’s fine.” You laughed as he fussed over your outfit, layers of beautiful silk that Ayato had coaxed you into. Gold thread wove throughout the fabric in a beautiful pattern. You had tried to reject it, but he didn’t let you. This was a diplomatic meeting, he argued. You should present yourself in the best light. It remained unsaid that you only had one chance to prove your divinity, something you didn’t even fully believe. No matter how much you laughed or joked, the weight of it suffocated the room. 

You had chosen people who weren’t loyal to the shogun, those who had fought her tyranny before. Beidou, Kazuha, Kokomi, Gorou. People who would believe you. People who could keep secrets. You took a deep breath.

“Goldie, are you alright?” Thoma brushed your hair out of your face.

You nodded. “I’ll be fine.” You thought for a moment before leaning into him.

“Goldie! What are you…” His arms were held out awkwardly, he seemed scared to touch you.

You sat up, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He tugged you back to him, his hand feather-light on your shoulder. It was barely enough to pull you off balance, something you could easily resist if you wanted to. You didn’t. You fell back into his warm chest. His heart beat quickly next to your ear; he must be nervous too. His hand drifted down to rest on your back. The weight was comforting. His scent tickled your nose, cinnamon and tea.

“You smell nice.” You mumbled absent-mindedly.

“Huh?” 

You looked up to see his wide eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing…” His face was red as he looked away. “It’s just… nothing.”

“Alright then.” You laughed before sitting up and fixing your hair. 

There was a knock on the door. You shot up and looked towards the sound, even though a screen blocked the view. You could hear Ayato’s footsteps as he walked toward the door to open it.

“Welcome.”

A woman’s voice greeted him, deep and rough. Beidou. “Commissioner! Kazuha here was excited for the meeting so we arrived a bit early. Hope it doesn’t throw off the schedule.”

“Any particular reason?” Ayato asked. There was a slight edge to his words,

Kazuha spoke softly, a smile in his voice. “The wind told me there was a visitor at the estate. I was looking forward to meeting them.”

Silence, while Thoma scrambled to arrange your hair and clothes. He was quiet, but you were sure that Kazuha could hear.

Another knock at the door.

“Greetings, commissioner. This discussion seemed important, so we arrived early.” The sweet voice must have belonged to Kokomi.

“So everyone is here already.” Ayato paused. “I’ll consult the other participant.” He walked around the screen and leaned down to your ear. “Are you alright with starting early?” He asked. His hand reached out to adjust your mask but he decided against it.

You nodded. “Might as well get it over with.” 

Ayato offered you his arm and you accepted. You walked out from behind the screen. The guests’ faces turned to look at you. 

You bowed deeply. “Thank you for your attendance.” 

Your movement seemed to make Ayato uncomfortable. “No need to bow, Goldie.” He placed a hand on your back. “Please.” 

Beidou smirked. “Awfully kind of you. Is this your fiance, Commissioner?” She laughed loudly. “But he’s right. There’s no need to be so formal.”

Ayato stiffened next to you. You waited a few seconds but he didn’t seem to have a response.

You held back a laugh, surprised he was caught off guard. “No, captain. Our relationship is purely business.” 

Kazuha smiled as he looked between the two of you. “This is the first time I’ve seen you at a loss for words, Kamisato.”

He coughed. “Let’s focus on the purpose of the meeting.” He gestured at the tea table at the center of the room. “Make yourselves comfortable.” 

With a rustle of fabric everyone was seated. You looked around. Kazuha sat to your left and Gorou sat at your right. You and Ayato were at either end of the table. The two women sat next to their subordinates.

Gorou looked at you suspiciously. “Why do you feel the need to hide your face?”

“That’s no way to talk to them.” Kokomi chastised him before speaking to you. “I apologize. He’s a general, not a politician. I must admit, I am also a bit curious.”

“No need.” You waved off her apology. “It’s a reasonable question. I am hiding from the tenryou commission.”

Kazuha looked concerned. “Why?”

“My face.” You reached behind your head to untie the string of your mask. It fell softly into your lap. “They call me an imposter.” You felt naked with your face uncovered.

Kazuha was the first to speak. “The wind whispers about you. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” He bowed and pressed his lips to your hand. “I am at your service.” 

You felt your face flush. “No-no need to go that far!” You glanced at the others at the table. Kokomi was deep in thought while Gorou stared at you. You felt your heartbeat quicken. “I can prove I’m not lying!”

“How?” His voice came out too fast, too harsh. Disbelieving.

You reached under your collar. There was a flash of metal. A knife. Ayato jumped to his feet. He was too far, all the way at the other end of the table. The metal glinted. Your hand shook as you brought it to your forearm. A hand grabbed yours and the knife fell. You looked up and saw Gorou. 

His eyes were wide with shock. “What are you doing?!” 

“Showing you proof!” Your voice shook. 

“I don’t need any.” 

You just stared at him. “But- if you think I’m lying…”

“It doesn’t matter whether you are the creator or not. Watatsumi Island doesn’t punish those that look like the creator.” Kokomi explained. “We view it as a blessing.”

Beidou sighed. “Most places are like that, apart from a few extreme sects. Inazuma’s archon just happens to follow one of them.” 

You nodded. “So you won’t hurt me?” You hated how shaky your voice was. You hated how tears threatened to fall. Now was not the time for weakness.

Kazuha reached for your other hand and gently uncurled your fingers. You hadn't even realized that you had squeezed it into a fist. “Of course not. It is my duty to protect you.” 

“Your duty?” 

“I truly believe you are my god.”

“Why?” You asked. Kuki recognized that you looked like the statues, but that didn’t convince you. You had read the records. You were far from the first person to have this face. Your blood was enough proof for the Kamisatos’. Not that you understood why. You could think of several reasons for the color. 

“The wind whispers about you.” He held your hand in both of his. “It sings your praises.”

“What does it say?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

"It tells of soothing teas and healing touches." He paused, “It sings of golden blood and purple scars." He tapped your bandages. "May I?"

You nodded and he carefully started to unwrap the fabric. It fell away from your arm, revealing angry purple scars that branched around your arm. He uncovered his own hand and placed it next to yours. "Electro is a particularly volatile element." He looked up. “I know what it’s like to be burned. I know what it’s like to be a criminal through no fault of your own. Please, trust me.”

“Promise.” You knew how childish the request was, but you couldn’t help yourself. You needed that reassurance. “Promise that you won’t hurt me.”

“I swear on my life.” He said, a hand over his heart.

You nodded slowly, accepting his words. You were so tired, spent from all the stress. Ayato and Kokomi lead the strategizing, while Beidou butted in every one in a while to offer advice. You stayed silent. You didn’t have the energy to participate fully. Absent-mindedly you started to stoke the blanket next to you. Maybe it was a rug. It was soft. You fought the urge to doze off. 

“Gorou, you haven’t spoken in a while.” Kokomi noted. It was true, he had stayed silent for an uncharacteristically long time. 

He sat straight as a pin, his eyes fixed on the table. “I-I guess so.” 

“Are you nervous?” You asked, too tired to watch your words. “You look nervous.”

“Well..” He coughed. “You are petting my tail right now.”

Your eyes widened as you looked down at the softness by your hand. He was right. Your hand was on his tail. You quickly snatched it away as you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I swear, I thought it was a blanket or something.”

He blushed. "No, it's fine."

"I thought you didn't like when people touched your tail."

"Well no… I mean usually but… this is a different situation." He said as confidently as he could.

You nodded pretending to understand. "Can I pet your ears then? They look soft." He was silent a moment too long and you opened your mouth to try to take back your words.

"Yes." He didn't look at you. He just leaned towards you slightly. You reached out and gingerly stroked his ear. 

"...soft." You mumbled under your breath. You had forgotten how sensitive his ears were. He must have heard you as his cheeks started to turn pink. You heard a giggle to your right. Kazuha had heard as well. 

The conversation continued. Kokomi put a hand to her chin. "Gorou and I could take you back to Watatsumi island. The shrine maidens would be honored to take care of you."

You shook your head. "That would risk war. Your island is already in a precarious situation I-" You paused, fiddling with the sleeve of your kimono. "I couldn't put your people through that again. It would be-"

A cup of tea fell to the floor with a clatter as Gorou jumped to his feet, one hand on his bow the other reaching to his quiver. "Someone is outside."

The fear was back with a vengeance. Your heart beat at your ribs, desperate to escape. You felt a hand on your shoulder. Kazuha. You could feel his breath on your ear. "I will stay by your side, your holiness." A light breeze brushed your face. You nodded, shuffling closer. 

You looked over to Ayato. His face was a mask as he directed Gorou and Beidou to follow him. You shivered at his coldness. It wasn't out of character, but you had gotten used to the awkward kindness he showed you. To see him like this was - unsettling. 

  They slipped out of the room. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Silence that allowed your mind to run. It was interrupted by a loud thud and a scream. It was quickly cut off. There were four sets of footsteps when they came back. 

Ayato dragged in a woman. Her nose was bleeding and her uniform was ripped but you recognized her. Chiyo. Ayato shoved her to the ground. There was something unsettling about the way he stood there. Silent, like still water, an ocean with no wind. 

 You didn't bother to put on your mask. She had seen anything there was to see. It only took a few steps to reach her, but the whole time your body was screaming at you to do something. To hit her, to run, anything. You resisted the urge and crouched down to her level. There was a hatred in her eyes you couldn't understand, so deep it threatened to drag you under as well. "Why were you watching us?" You asked, surprised by the strength in your voice.

"How dare you." She growled. "You come here with no qualifications, no references, nothing, and you get a job here. You do nothing all day and you still get treated like royalty. The Lord treats you like you hung the stars in the sky." She spit at you. 

"There are circumstances you don't understand." I argued.

She leaned in, and smiled. A smile so full of hatred it sickened you. "You have the face of a god. Lord Kamisato must like it."

"Like what?" 

You could feel her breath on your face as she got even closer. "He must love having someone like you in his bed."

You startled and pulled away, the heat rushing to your cheeks. You weren't sure how to respond. You glanced at Ayato.

His jaw clenched and he grabbed the woman by her collar. "Do not speak of them that way."  He looked up at you. "I will bring her to the interrogation room. Will you be alright without me?"

You nodded.

Ayato left with the woman and you were alone with the guests. You felt someone tug at your hand. You turned to see Kazuha.

"You should rest."

I laughed. “And how would I do that?”

He pulled his scarf from his neck and folded it before placing it in his lap. He gestured at the make-shift pillow. “Rest your head.”

Beidou laughed behind you. “What a gentleman!”

Kazuha smiled politely at the comment. “Only if you are comfortable, of course.”

You nodded before lowering your head onto the pillow.

By the time Ayato returned you had fallen asleep. He was grateful for it. You had not slept well before the meeting and you needed your rest. There was a second, more selfish reason. He hadn’t fully gotten the blood out from under his fingernail. He couldn’t stand to show himself like that in front of you. So impure. 

Tag list (interact with this if you want to be added, bolded means tumblr won't let me tag you.)

@severeoperatorhoundclod @extremelytoastybread @moratalys @cruxnova26 @thesilverarmada @irisxiel @chocogi @hellonies @milkylammy @uemiie @code-roevember @genshinimpactsme @mr-rottenflesh @estherlily @no0neshere @allblognamesaretaken13 @anxiousgrayshrimp @astra-nomical-ly @nebulabunni3 @w1s-t3r1a @kota412 @doumalove @ji-woonhaksimp @amidst-the-tempest @hellotherecumrade @jcrml @gooberq @0rah-s @frickfrackanxietyattack

Masterlist

[written-with-blue-ink]

Hi, may I ask you about Ayato x reader who is strong and independent, but she/they like when their partner is protective about them? Be strong and independent is good, but sometimes I think that people right now forgot how comfortable it's feeling when you have person which you can trust and who will take care of you when you have bad day or you feel more fragile etc. I have this problem that I put on myself pressure that I need to be strong 24/7, no place to rest, cry etc, but deep inside I want have opportunity to feel more fragile sometimes. I hope you understand what I want to say. Have good day <3

I got you, i took it in a more literal sense but I think you might like this <3

My Savior

Ayato X Reader

There was something to say about the relationship between the Commissioner of the Kamisato Clan and his Personal Bodyguard. People knew the two were dating but most didn’t know how the two of them came to be except their close proximity. 

The Commisioner, as the most eligible bachelor is Inazuma, was a very indirect man. Born to a well-off family and in a position of power, Ayato was always quiet and silver-tongued when it came to his position.

(Y/N) on the other hand was born to a poorer family, but their expertise in all sorts of combat quickly had them climb up the ranks of the Shuumatsuban. Almost the opposite of their partner, they must’ve been the most straightforward person in Inazuma who was unafraid to speak their mind or get into a scrap over it. 

The two together though were a sight to behold. Ayato pleasantly watches as (Y/N)'s fights in tournaments or (Y/N) subtly shows her disdain for someone's idiotic idea and the two share a look. Silent communication as partners was ingrained into their relationship

The day started off like many others, Ayato and (Y/N) went to the far edge of Inazuma city to scope out the location for a festival in a few weeks. You could faintly see the outline of the old fox shrine off in the distance and the statues that dotted the landscape were perfect for the remembrance put on by the Grand Narukami Shrine and the Raiden Shogun.

(Y/N) played with the cryo vision that hung around their neck as Ayato inspected the land. Eyes glancing at where the stalls would go versus the game stands, neither noticed the shadows moving closer.

“Hey-Mph,” (Y/N) stated as someone grabbed their arms, restricting their movement and causing Ayato to turn around to see nobushi, at least eight of them walking up. Two of them held onto (Y/N)’s arms as they stood still, glancing at Ayato in surprise.

“Well well, Commissioner,” the leader, a kairagi in purple armour, stated coming out from behind his henchman with a deep, booming voice. “Now, I don’t want to hurt you or your little partner here. Just put your hands up and come with us. You’ll be fine till we get the mora for your return.”

Ayato’s attention was never on the kairagi, always on (Y/N) whose eyes met his with a sense of confidence and the slightest, almost imperceivable nod. Quickly and without a word, (Y/N) swung their legs up, contorting their body to knock out the nobushi on their left, a ray of frost seemed to coat the impact on his chest. 

Taking the opening, Ayato swiftly moved forward, summoning his blade and slashing the nobushi on (Y/N)’s right so they had full range of motion. 

Stumbling forward, (Y/N) caught their partner’s shoulder to catch themselves. Summoning their catalyst with their spare hand, a sweet smile appeared as they muttered, “Thank you.”

Ayato simply nodded, eyes glancing at them for a split second to meet admiration and love in their eyes. Shifting the attention back to the armed enemies, he watched as they pulled out their blades and got into position.

Raising his sword, Ayato analyzed his enemies for an opening…. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long.

“Okay, time to pay, assholes,” (Y/N) shouted, running up and decking one of the ronin’s noses and knocking the hat off her, covering it in ice and frost before throwing another punch and landing another blow right in her abdomen. 

Letting out a small chuckle, Ayato released his stress as he rushed forward, taking out two of the disgraced samurai in a single attack.

Both focusing on the battle, Ayato barely saw the kairagi lift his blade, preparing to strike his partner’s back without their knowledge. Instinct kicking in, he left the nobushi and put himself between the blade and his love.

The sound of metal on metal rang in (Y/N)’s ears. Before they could even turn, they heard Ayato’s voice mutter, “Mind the deluge, my love.”

Drops of hydro energy fell from the sky, landing in their hair, they understood the opportunity this made. Pivoting onto their right foot, (Y/N) went around Ayato’s left. They leapt, landing their foot in a small opening of the kairagi’s armor and the combination of the cryo and hydro froze the man in place.

(Y/N) continued to pummel the frozen man, breaking the ice before refreezing him after each strike. They only stopped when the body fell to the ground, ice shattering as the man lay there knocked out cold. 

Turning around, they saw their love over the rest of the nobushi who were also on the ground. Letting out a sigh of relief, they stumble forward and rest their forehead on his collarbone, wrapping their arms around their side. Taking a second to inhale the scent of clean linens and cypress, "Thanks for saving me.”

“Of course,” Ayato cooed, returning the gesture and kissing their hair softly, “I’m just glad you are safe.”

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

hebert had a wife and daughter?

Indeed he had!

Hébert’s wife’s name was Marie Marguerite Françoise Goupil. I haven’t found better information regarding her birth more than that it happened in Paris in ”the first days of 1756” (she was in other words one year older than her future husband). I also haven’t found out which of her three names was her first name, though all texts I’ve checked settle on Françoise, so I’m also going to call her that.

Françoise, according to Paris révolutionnaire: vieilles maisons, Vieux papiers (1903) was the only child of Jacques Goupil and his second wife Marie-Louise Morel. The former had been the owner of a not very successful lingerie business which his wife then took over after his death. When Marie-Louise died as well, on July 16 1781, she had for a while lived with and worked as a nurse for the abbot Vaudair, who it is possible her daughter then turned to when she a while later started working for religion. Françoise became a nun of the Couvent des Filles de la Conception on rue Saint-Honoré, the same convent where Élisabeth Duplay claimed she and her three sisters took their first communion.

In June 1790, municipal commissioners presented themselves at the convent to hear its inhabitants’ declaration on whether they would stay there or leave. Out of the 24 nuns, only Françoise responded that ”she could not make up her mind at the moment,” the other 23 declaring that ”faithful to their wishes, they wanted to live and die in their state as nuns.” A year later, July 1 1791, Françoise’s name no longer featured among the convent’s inhabitants, meaning she had left it, be that out of free will or her sisters kicking her out for what she had said the previous year.

Hébert’s fellow journalist Louis Marie Prudhomme claimed in his l’Histoire générale et impartiale des erreurs, des fautes et des crimes commis pendant la Révolution (1797) that it was while at La Société Fraternelle des Patriotes de l'un et l'autre sexe Françoise for the first time met her future husband. Their wedding was held in the parish of Saint-Gervais on February 7 1792 (see the image below). After the marriage, the couple settled on Rue Saint-Antoine.

According to the same Prudhomme, Hébert was however not heads over heels in love with his wife:

[Hébert] married more to appear to have carried out an act of good citizenship than out of esteem and love for his wife. Nevertheless, they got along quite well, although she was ugly. It was a large spider that came out of the convent of the Assumption or the Annunciation. […] A wonderful revolutionary frenzy took hold of the couple, and they were faced with the people, who shouted bravo!

Hébert’s own letters would however appear to contradict this:

My situation, although difficult given the immensity of occupations with which I am responsible, becomes happier every day. I must inform you, my good friends, of the alliance that I am contracting with a very amiable young lady of excellent character. It would be enough of these advantages and were she devoid of all resources, the one I love would not be any less dear to me; but to fill my happiness I find enough fortune with my wife to be reassured about her fate if death separates us. I therefore ask you, my dear sister, to give me your approval and to ask the same from Boissierre. […] I am very assured that you will sympathize with my lovable pretender. She is very spiritual. Speaking in the old style I would say that she is comme il faut, but as I have been assured that you are as patriotic as me I only use constitutional expressions. This demoiselle is called Goupil: she has spent her entire life in the convent up until now. By her personal qualities and by the advantages she enjoys she could claim to someone much richer than me; but my good fortune gave me preference over several competitors. You see, my good friend, that not everything in life is bad and that fate has finally tired of persecuting me and through consistency I have been able to create a pleasant and lucrative position for myself. Hébert in an undated letter to his sister, written somewhere in 1791

I am healthy and very happy. United with a woman who combines all the good qualities with the charms of the mind, whose education is completed, whose character is perfect, I lead the sweetest and most peaceful life. Hébert in an undated letter to his sister, written somewhere in 1792

Réné Desgenettes, who in his memoirs claimed to have met Hébert in late 1791 (though it was most likely early 1792) also hints at a loving relationship:

After my return to Paris, by the end of 1791, I had met at la Grave, or rather under the Saint-Jean arch, my fellow patriot and almost fellow student Hébert, who showed me with satisfaction his feelings over seeing me again, how much he had often regretted that I had been absent from the capital during the first days of the revolution. ”You would have surely played an important role,” he told me, ”but now that you’re here everything is almost over. I live pretty close to this place, rue Saint-Antoine, opposite the passage of this name, which leads to rue du Roi des Deux-Siciles. My little apartment is on the third floor at the front. I have not at all forgotten your constant kindness or what I owe you. I want to speak of money so generously lent, because I would not dare to recall and could not count how much you often gave me at the traitors of the rue de la Parcheminerie, de Mâcon and de la Grille du Carrousel. Without you and the honest patriots from rue des Noyers, I would have starved to death… I can’t say, monsieur, which hours I will be at home, where I still dine everyday, and where I would consider myself both happy and honored to find you. But you will be sure to always find my wife there, because I’m married. Madame Hébert is a former nun from Conception-Saint-Honoré, young and very spiritual. Despite her burning patriotism, she has kept a lot of piety, and considering I love her so much, I never contradict her on this point, contenting myself with a few jokes.” I never answered to this invitation, nor did I find the occasion to see Hébert again after the end of 1791.

From the summer of 1792, we have two letters Françoise wrote to her husband’s sister, which they too seem to indicate a happy marriage:

To mademoiselle Hébert the older in Alençon Paris, 24 July 92 We were firmly convinced, my husband and I, that you received the newspaper as well as Mr. Desnos. M. Hébert had taken all the necessary means for this; but we had the misfortune of associating ourselves with the biggest rascal in Paris, who deceives us in every way. It is therefore not surprising that you were deprived of the papers he was responsible for sending you. We are ready to leave him and you will receive what you want without fail, I hope. We would already be on top of our affairs without this man, hardly worthy of a partner as upright as my husband, who has been fooled ever since he started working; but whose well-known probity and frankness made an infinitely honest young man desire his association. So we will work through new charges and I hope that this time we will not be unsuccessful. If M. Hébert is good enough to make his happiness consist in having me, it is indeed me, mademoiselle, who without grace can certify that I am perfectly happy with he who never ceases to everyday give me new proofs of his tenderness. I have carried a precious token of him in my belly for three months now, he wants the child to look like me, and I want it to look like its father, this, mademoiselle, is the continual subject of our differences. We agree more willingly on the desire to have you as a witness of our love, it will not be up to us unless it happens soon. You are very worried about the dangers of the fatherland. They are imminent, we cannot hide them: we are betrayed by the court, by the leaders of the armies, by a large part of the members of the assembly; many people despair; but I am far from doing so, the people are the only ones who made the revolution. It alone will support her because it alone is worthy of it. There are still incorruptible members in the assembly, who will not fear to tell it that its salvation is in their hands, then the people, so great, will still be so in their just revenge, the longer they delay in striking the more it learns to know its enemies and their number, the more, according to me, its blows will only strike with certainty and  only fall on the guilty, do not be worried about the fate of my worthy husband. He and I would be sorry if the people were enslaved to survive the liberty of their fatherland, I would be inconsolable if the child I am carrying only saw the light of day with the eyes of a slave, then I would prefer to see it perish with me. I gave Mde Pelletier the papers for you that I haven't through up much since M. Desnos left. I have the most ardent desire to see you. Mademoiselle and dear sister Your very humble servant Goupil… Hébert My husband tenderly embraces you as well as your sister, whom I beg you to accept the assurance of my very sincere feelings.

To Mademoiselle Hébert the older.  Rue de la Mairie, Alençon, département de l'Orne.  Mademoiselle and dear sister-in-law, I don't know what to attribute your long silence since last time I had the pleasure of writing to you; but it surprises and distresses me, I would have already complained if my since five months back very bad health would have left me that possibility. My husband, who was chosen by his section to serve as city commissioner on the night between August 9 and 10, has run the greatest of risks. He had the pleasure of rendering services to his fatherland, and always with that noble disinterestedness that you know from him. He has done and still does good without respite, he has seen and still sees intrigue rise up, and modestly remains Père Duchesne, a poor newspaper seller. He stood for election and was undoubtedly well worthy of becoming a member of the Convention; but he believed he had to hide nothing of the truth, more than once he made the intriguer who enjoyed a great reputation turn pale, he seemed too pure and too formidable to those who had influence in the nominations, and to the great astonishment of the brave sans-culottes, he himself is still a brave sans-culotte, which is enough for my happiness. Satisfied to know my husband was worthy and capable of doing anything to be satisfied, his hands remained pure like his soul and were not soaked in the blood that flowed in the prisons. For my part, I suffered from such a great horror that I almost lost my life; I believe that the law alone can strike down the guilty, and until then I will cover them with my body. All that can console me in this tragic event is that the names of those who are its authors are already in execration and that history by transmitting them to posterity will justify the people of Paris who has lost nothing (it must be said) of its urbanity. You would oblige me infinitely if you could tell me if the former Viscount the huntsman Lord of Carrouge has emigrated. I suspect that he has and if I was certain of it I would put an opposition against his property as he owes le 600 livres. My husband, who loves you very tenderly, says a thousand tender things to you and to your sister, and I ask you to believe me, both of you, with a very sincere attachment. Mademoiselle and dear sister-in-law . Your very humble, . Servant G... HÉBERT. My address from now on will be: Cour des Miracles rue de Bourbon Ville Neuve.

A few months later, Réné Desgenettes claimed to have run into Hébert and been invited to dinner yet again, and this time he did follow through with it, resulting in this very long anecdote:

On February 24 1793, I spotted him, on rue Saint-Honoré, part of the procession bringing the remains of Pelletier de St-Fargeau to the Panthéon. […] Hébert, who had noticed me as well, dispatched himself from the group, approached me, shook my hand roughly and said: ”Where in the devil’s name do you live?”

”Rue du Paradis au Marais, n. 3.”

”I have important things to tell you and still live on rue St-Antoine.”

I still refrained from visiting Hébert. However, after a very few days, I learned that a gentleman of fairly good appearance, well dressed and calling himself substitute deputy of the Commune, had come to ask for me, and that he seemed upset for not having met me. Thinking there was no way to back down, the next day, around five o’clock, I went home to Hébert, where I found his wife, the former sister Goupille [sic], who, while waiting for her husband, occupied herself with preparing a rather delicate dinner, because the orator loved good food. Madame Hébert received me very well and told me her husband so many times had spoken of me with affection, that we were two old acquaintances. I approached to contemplate an engraving based on the beautiful painting by Titian or Paul Veronese, showing Jesus Christ with two of his disciples at Emmaüs’, when I noticed that Hébert below it had written: the sans-culotte Jesus dining with two of his disciples in the castle of a ci-devant…

”Here you see,” Madame Hébert told me, ”one of these bad jokes my husband often allows himself to make against religion, as a result of a detestable habit I have no hopes of curling him from... I am, monsieur, very much attached to Christianity… It’s our religion at its most beautiful, because I don’t subscribe to everything… I preach to the Jacobins, in the society of our sisters, the same doctrine that abbot Fauchet preach to our brothers at their reunions. He is a great and true apostle who inspired me with a perception of the enthusiasm which animates him, and I have reason to believe that he is also not dissatisfied with the zeal with which I seek to imitate him. I know all the advantages that the Bishop of Calvados has for me; he owes them to nature and to his superior talents, because he is a very handsome man, and everyone agrees that he is also very eloquent.”

Hébert arrived at six o’clock. Before sitting down at the table, where we then stayed for three hours, he took from a secretary a certain number of gold francs, which he handed over to me like an old debt with a thousand thanks. […] 

Let us [said Hébert] speak a bit about Alençon and the first time of our youth. Madame Hébert will see that I have hidden nothing from her about the time of my life when it has been claimed that I was a scoundrel. You surely remember, monsieur, that upon leaving college, where I quite simply had the well-deserved reputation of being lazy and mischievous, I had the misfortune, or perhaps the good fortune, to fall out with la justice? 

R.D.G: I remember it well. 

Madame Hébert: But that is always very grave. 

Hébert: This was also very grave, because the bailiwick of Alençon condemned me to banishment; but I appealed to the parliament of Rouen, which did not confirm the sentence of the first judges.

Madame Hébert: I’ve only ever known of this in a rough and very imperfect way.

Hébert: Well, you will know, my good friend, that in the town where monsieur and I were born, women have always had a great reputation for gallantry. Now the widow of an apothecary, who had been accused of bigamy, had in turn many lovers. In the front line there was a doctor who was very handsome, and after him, living under the same roof as the lady, was her premier garçon, as they expressed it then, and then finally the man who managed the very busy pharmacy. A rivalry which existed secretly between the doctor and the pharmasist broke out one day with so much fury that the doctor murdered his rival...

Madame Hébert: The horror! How did he kill him? 

Hébert: The doctor took an iron or copper pestle, and delivered several strong blows to the head and across the face of my poor friend L..., who was on the point of being trepanned. However, even before public rumor got around, the king's prosecutor was seized as suspect in this criminal matter, it was dormant or rather stifled by a transaction which was attributed throughout the city to the conciliatory spirit of M. Desgenettes, your respectable father. Doctor Cl.... however, had aggravated his crime, because he was closely pursued, it is true, sword in hand, by the brother of L..., employed on the farms, he had tried twice to kill him. Outraged with rage upon learning that just revenge was going to elude the L... brothers and their friends, I drew up a note which was posted at the doors of the main church, the commissary, the courts and other places.

Madame Hébert: What did it say on the note? 

Hébert: It said: ”Sentence rendered to the Supreme Court of Honor which condemns Doctor Cl... to the pillory of infamy, for compensation, etc. Then I drew two bloody knives in a saltire, with this motto: Olim veneno, nunc cultro.”

Madame Hébert: Which means? 

Hébert: Formerly with the poison, now with the knife.

Madame Hébert: Is that right, M. Desgenettes?

R.D.G: Yes, madame, and if you want a different version: ”He has replaced the knife with the poison.” Nevertheless I must have the honor of observing to you, as your husbands already knows, that the doctor did not use the knife.

Hébert: The knife made Cl... more odious, and that's what I intended. The assassination is therefore tolerated by a court which had just hanged two unfortunate people, for having burglarily stolen forty sous from a church trunk, which I would happily call provocative, since it jutted out onto a main road. The veil of oblivion is extended over a crime that was to be punished by the torture of the wheel, and here I am, for a placard which repaired the wrongs of justice, extraordinarily prosecuted, and decreed for personal adjournment . This is not yet enough, and both God and the devil are invoked against me.

Madame Hébert: You are aware, my friend, that all justice emanates from God; but the possible intervention of the devil in a judgment rendered by men is a superstition that I reject, although you have sometimes regarded me as superstitious. Monsieur, she said, addressing the author of these Memoirs, I am not superstitious, but no one is more penetrated than me by the power of God and the ineffable benefits of the religion of Jesus Christ... Is it not the Savior who said to men: You are the children of the free woman? I have never blushed over my [connection to] the first estate, and admit it in front of everyone. I still keep, and you have it before your eyes, the bed that I had at the Assomption; when it becomes that of a mother, it will change in neither shape nor color... My principles are still the same as those of Sister Goupile [sic]. But, tell me, Hébert, please, how was Satan brought into your business?

Hébert: Because it was brought before the official of Seez, and the general vicar and canon of the cathedral, who presides over this ecclesiastical tribunal, launched a monitory against me. This act fulminated in the sermon in the parish church of Notre-Dame d'Alençon, with an apparatus and ceremonies borrowed from the inquisition, which filled the common people with terror, and part of the population barricaded themselves in their homes, at the the onset of night, while the proud men of the city, and especially the armed butchers, searched everywhere for the werewolf. You know, monsieur, that they are a brutal and even ferocious type of man. The fanaticism of butchers has long been maintained in our city, by making them appear with their cleavers and their dogs in the procession of the little Corpus Christi, in memory of the assistance they had given, in 1500, to the Catholics against the Calvinists, then very numerous and very powerful in our country. Do you remember, monsieur, seeing this ceremony?

R.D.G: Yes, monsieur, and to have seen at the head of the butchers, with his sword raised and his arm bare, a Malêfre. This gentleman who, I believe, lived in Seez and had a stronghold at the gates of Alençon, was descended from the one who first commanded the butchers in this ceremony. The dogs had been removed, because they bit those of the assistants who stepped on their feet, and because they howled in a terrible manner when the culverines of the castle came to shoot to salute the Blessed Sacrament.

Hébert: If the butchers, who were pleased by my known cheerfulness, had suspected me of being the author of the placard, I would have been very uncomfortable, and if they had been convinced of it, I would perhaps have been treated like the werewolf that they wanted to skin like a calf... Barricaded at the house of my poor mother, who borrowed books for me from all directions, I acquired this profound knowledge of history that deigned to grant me. My misfortunes in Alençon, repaired a little in Rouen, led me to Paris, and you know, very roughly, what the rest of my life was like.

Madame Hébert: It was during your debut in Paris, my dear friend, that you were the most silent…

Hébert: However, I had no reason to keep silent about the fact that for a long time I had struggled with the devil by the tail, even up to the time when I obtained a small job as a tobacconist at the Théâtre des Variétés. Yes, I suffered from hunger, thirst and cold for a long time. You are not unaware of the services rendered to me by Monsieur; I also had many obligations to the Parisot hairdresser on rue des Noyers, as well as to his wife. This graceful couple reminded us of the wigmaker, the Love of the Lutrin, and his wigmaker... We still had charming neighbors, the two daughters of the butcher across the street from Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais... Then, close to that of the English, this woman who loved you so much...

Madame Hébert: Is it so, monsieur, that you also have a good friend (girlfriend) in the quarter? 

R.D.G: No, madame, but I often chat with a rather laughable old woman, who ran a tobacco shop and housed two or three students. The house, which was no more than fifteen feet wide, as deep, and yet five stories high, had belonged to the father of J.-B. Rousseau, who was born there on April 6, 1671.  The good woman in question, who daily and naively repeated that she had once been young and had always haunted minds, had written on her door: This is where Rousseau was born.

Arriving quickly at the first days of the revolution, Hébert began to talk about how he had determined to write in a genre which was neither in his taste nor in his habits, but which he considered as having a powerful effect on the popular masses. Everyone believed that Père Duchesne was an essentially crude man; one will believe that by reading his papers, and one will be wrong, because he was, on the contrary, very polite. The conversation, which changed subject at every moment, because Hébert had little consistency in ideas, focused on Louis XVI and his family, whom the substitute of the commune had seen very often since August 10 at the Temple. At first he spoke of the dethroned monarch as a vanquished man who did not inspire him with any kind of interest. However, the day when Garat the younger, as minister of justice, and Grouvelle, as secretary general of the executive council, notified and read the final judgment to Louis XVI, he shared the emotion that this great misfortune caused them... He attended the execution, and recounted the circumstances with marked infidelity... After believing for a moment, he said, that he was going to persuade the people, Capet showed the greatest cowardice and began screaming like a calf... He had to be dragged to be placed under the blade…

R.D.G: What you say, monsieur, is in complete opposition to what thousands of men have seen and heard... The resignation of Louis XVI is a historical fact which cannot be altered, and we will not forget this resignation more than the sublime words of Father Edgeworth, which must have inspired him. 

Madame Hébert: This is true, and if Louis Capet, like we believe, was a tyrant, we must today, and after his death, consider him as a martyr to his position, and I too would perhaps invoke him.

Hébert: My good friend, what extravagances... Women almost never listen to anything other than imagination and rarely to reason. Anyway, he said (and he pulled a bloody handkerchief out from his pocket), look at his blood… I gathered it while it was flowing from the scaffold… I won’t believe, monsieur, in the success of the revolution, until I’ve seen that the Swiss have been disarmed and had their throats cut, that the statue of Henri IV has been toppled and the head of Louis XVI off. […] In desiring, monsieur, to have the honor of speaking to you, I was moved by a motive more important than the subjects of which we have spoken so far. My gratitude to you makes it my duty to warn you of what is happening regarding Mr. de V..., your uncle, and his friends. You are perhaps aware that they have declared themselves enemies of the municipality of Paris, which has little fear of them and accepts combat, even to the death.

R.D.G: Monsieur, I am not in my uncle's political confidence... He has the rigidity of a Cato, and I cannot tell him anything.

Hébert: The statesmen, sir, have spoken of our heads... The municipality will ask for theirs, if necessary, and the people will grant them.

R.D.G: I thank you, monsieur, for your communications, but I cannot use them and consider them useless.

When we seperated, it was more than nine o’clock, and I never saw Hébert or his wife again.

In his testament, François Chabot, who was among the ”indulgents” executed on April 5 1794, claimed that Françoise was ”very close with [Joseph] Delaunai's [sic] mistress for more than two years as far as I’m aware, and my brave colleague Forestier saw them together occupy themselves with my trial at the time when the faction doubted my will to serve it…” How much truth there is to this is probably impossible to know.

On March 14 1794, four a’clock in the morning, Jacques-René was arrested and taken to the Conciergerie prison. Françoise stayed behind at their apartment, watched over by a guard as seals were placed on her husband’s papers. However, at six o’clock the same evening, she too was arrested and brought to the women section of the same prison as her husband. Before leaving, she handed over her watch and a pair of earrings to her ”woman of trust” Marie Gentille.

I’ve not been able to track down the arrest warrant for Françoise, but I suppose it was issued by the Committee of General Security, as I couldn’t find anything in Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public. The act of accusation proclaimed her suspected of being ”conspirator with her husband, immediate agent of the system of corruption imagined by the horde of foreign bankers against a few unworthy representatives of the people, accomplice of Kock, du Frey, Despagnac.” The draft of the public prosecutor's indictment did in its turn state that ”The widow Hébert has, I do not say perverted her husband, whose immorality has been demonstrated to you, but supported with all her means the liberticidal projects of this monster.”

Ten days after the two had been arrested, March 24 1794, Jacques-René was executed alongside 17 other ”hébertists.” In Paris révolutionnaire: Vieilles maisons… there is to read (though without any source cited) that with her husband dead, Françoise asked to go back to their child, but that this request was ignored. Two weeks later, April 9, Françoise was joined at the Conciergerie by the fourteen years younger Lucile Desmoulins, who had been arrested on the fourth and widowed just a day later. The two women supported each other and became friends despite the antagonism their husbands had held for one another while they were alive:

A few days later we saw her arrive, [Desmoulins’] widow so lovely and so gentle, she was still inside the vertigo and pain, she walked and watched like Nina. Oh what bizarre a game revolutions are! The widow Hébert and the widow Camille Desmoulins, who’s husbands had just been sent to the scaffold, often sat together on the same stone in the heart of the Conciergerie and cried together. Mémoires sur les prisons (1823) by Honoré Jean Riouffe, page 66.

I saw at the registry of the Conciergerie, the day after their appearance at the hearing, and the very day of their trial, the wives of Hébert and Camille together. Hébert’s wife said to Camille’s wife: ”You are real lucky, you, there was not a single statement against you yesterday; no shadow of suspicion cast upon your conduct; you are no doubt going to go out by the main staircase, while I will be sent to the scaffold.” The wife of Camille, no doubt imbued with the atrocity of her judges, did not raise her eyes, showed neither fear nor hope, but modestly awaited her judgment. She went up a few minutes later; the debates had been closed the day before; the hearing was held only for the pronunciation of the judgment; she was condemned like the others and executed. I recall this conversation as precious, because in coming from the mouth of the wife of Hébert, in the presence of several people, it has a character of truth which gives an idea of ​​the innocence of the wife of Camille, and of the barbarism of the court.  A witness during the trial of Fouquier-Tinville 1795. Cited in Histoire parlementaire de la Révolution française… volume 34, page 427

Françoise and Lucile were both part of a group made up of 26 people, all accused ”of having, in complicity with the infamous Hébert, Clootz, alias Anacharsis, Ronsin, Vincent, Mazuel, Momoro, Camille Desmoulins, Danton, Lacroix and others, already struck by the sword of the law, conspired against the liberty and security of the French people, by wanting to trouble the state through civil war, by arming the citizens against one another, and against the exercise of legitimate authority, as a result of which, during last ventôse and current germinal, conspirators were to dissolve the national representation, assassinate its members and the patriots, destroy the republican government, seize the sovereignty of the people, and give a tyrant to the state.” Their trial began on April 10, and continued for three days. Looking over the protocol, these are the only times I’ve found where the proceeding concerned Françoise:

Louis-Claude Adnet, cavalry captain, testifies that, during Momoro's arrest, the latter told him that Barras was a good citizen; that Hébert’s wife was asking for news the day before it; that it is absolutely true that this Barras should have been made lieutenant-colonel of the gendarmerie, as a price for his crimes, and that he bragged about it to several people.

These facts are denied by Barras and Hébert’s wife, who are convinced by other statements to the same effect.

[…]

Finally, from the last depositions in this affair, it appears that about two months ago Chabot said: You are complaining about the scarcity of provisions, about their lack of arrival. If you sincerely want to put an end to all these evils, to bring back abundance, arrest the leaders of the conspiracy, who are Hébert, his wife, and Baron de Batz. The same witnesses declared having found themselves at dinner with Hébert and his wife, and having heard them utter the most atrocious insults against Robespierre and the Committee of Public Safety; that Hébert’s wife in particular indulged in the most indecent rants against the Committee of General Security and all kinds of authority; that in a session at the Cordeliers, where the question was raised as to whether the Rights of Man would be unveiled; on the petition of Collot-d'Herbois, representative of the people, sent commissioner on this subject, she said to the people placed near Hébert, on the questioning made to her relating to said Collot-d'Herbois and his patriotism: This Collot is nothing but an intriguer, an actor who comes to try his talent for theatrical stunts; he is paid by the Jacobins to demand the uncovering of Rights of Man; but we who are not millionaires do not pay; finally the same witnesses said that the wife of Hébert daily preached the sation and subversion of the most sacred principles, and spoke about the revolution as being the first of its declared enemy. 

Hébert’s wife was content with denying all these facts; she claimed to have never known her husband to be a conspirator, if he was he would have died by her hand; and the witnesses for their part persisted in their statements against Hébert’s wife.

Immediately after this last deposition, the debates were closed and sentences handed out. The tribunal found Françoise and 18 of the other accused guilty of being part of a conspiracy attempting to ”trouble the state through a civil war, by arming the citizens against each other and against the existence of legitimate authority, as a result of this, as a result of which, in the course of the last ventôse, conspirators were to dissolve the national representation, assassinate its members and the patriots, destroy the republican government, seize the sovereignty of the people, reestablish the monarchy and give a tyrant to the state.” They were sentenced to death and to have their belongings confiscated by the state. 

Shortly after the sentences had been passed, Françoise did however declare herself to be around three months pregnant:

Second year of the French Republic  24 Germinal, half past four in the afternoon. On the notice given to the public prosecutor that the widow Hébert, who has just been condemned to death by today’s judgment, had a pregnancy declaration to make, we, François Joseph Denizot, judge at the revolutionary tribunal, assisted by Robert Wolff, clerk commissioner, in the presence of Citizen Nautin, one of the public prosecutor’s substitutes, are transported to one of the rooms of court house of the Conciergerie where said widow Hébert had been brought. She declared that her name was Marie-Marguerite-Françoise Goupil, widow Hébert, and that she is approximately three months pregnant. She signed with me, the aforementioned Clerk and the other aforesaid. / Widow Hébert

This claim was however quickly dismissed and/or disproven, and Françoise got driven to the scaffold the very same day, dying at the age of 38. The execution got described the following way in number 146 of the journal Nouvelles politiques et étrangères (April 15 1794):

The conspirators condemned by the Revolutionary Tribunal were executed yesterday [sic] at a quarter to seven [in the evening]. Chaumette, sitting next to Gobel, replied with a smile of rage to the reproaches of atheism that were made against him; Gobel was gloomy, silent, downcast; pale Dillon sat beside Simon; the actor Grammont next to his son; the widow of Hébert and that of Camille Desmoulins, elegantly dressed and maintaining composure, were chatting together. Gobel and Chaumette were the last to suffer their ordeal. Chaumette's head was shown to the people, to the sound of applause and cries of "Vive la République.” The wife of Hébert and the wife of Camille Desmoulins were the first to climb the scaffold, they embraced each other before dying.  Françoise left behind the following effects (cited in Camille Desmoulins and his wife: passages from the history of the dantonists (1874), page 443): ”350 livres in assignats, a knife with a horn handle ornamented with silver, a pair of scissors, and a portrait of the traitor Hébert set in gold.”

The Héberts only child, Scipion-Virginie, was born in February 1793. Her birth record (cited within Mémoires de la Société historique, littéraire et scientifique du Cher) goes as follows:

February 8, 1793, birth of an unbaptized female child who one wishes to call Scripion-Virginie, born on the day and time of yesterday, at 11 a.m, in Paris, Cour des Miracles, daughter of Jacques-René Hébert, man of letters and substitute for the Commune prosecutor, and Marie-Marguerite-Françoise Goupil, his wife. First witness: Anaxagore Chaumette, man of letters and prosecutor of the Commune, living in Paris, rue du Paon n 3. Second witness: Scipion Duroure, man of letters and municipal officer, living in Paris, rue de Buffaut, faubourg Montmartre, n° 506, designated godfather. Third witness: Marie-Jeanne Doity, widow of Paul-François Maillard, living at Grande-Rue, faubourg Saint-Martin, n° 37, designated godmother. Signed, M.-J. Doisy, Scipion Duroure, — Hébert, — Bourner, — p. g. Anaxagore Chaumette. 

According to the article La Fille d’Hébert (1947), Scipion’s godfather (who, as it can be seen, was also the one she was named after) was imprisoned just four days after her parents (he would however escape the guillotine and be set free on September 27 1794). After the death of her mother and father, Scipion-Virginie was therefore taken in, not by him, nor  by her godmother, but instead Françoise’s older half brother J-J Goupil. On March 12 1795 we do however find a decree handing tutorship over to ”Jacques-Christophe Marquet, printer, Rue de Vaugirard,” and it was under the eyes of him and his wife Anne (married August 29 1794) that Scipion-Virginie grew up. On October 7 1808, at age 15, she got baptised in a religious baptism as seen by the following decree:

On December 9 1809, at the age of 16 years and ten months, Scipion married the nine years older priest’s son Léon-Frédéric Née from Bohain. She was by then working as ”institutrice” at the home of a priest by the name Masson. Scipion and Léon-Frédéric moved to Marsauceux, where the latter exercised the functions of ”minister of Saint Evangile” and where they had six children, half of which died while in infancy. Of the surviving children, Paul-Emile-Frédéric died in Paris in 1829, aged 17, Timothée died in Marsauceux in 1843, aged 19 and Frédéric-Auguste died in 1877, aged 63. The latter was the only one to marry and have a child, a son born in October 1841 that lived for less than a year. As a result, no decendant of the Hébert lineage exists today. Scipion-Virginie herself died on July 11 1830, aged 37, one year younger than her mother. Her husband remarried six years later, but did not have any more children. He died himself in 1856.

[hellzeldagirlsfanfic]

My Dearest Friend Part 1

[Next]

The day when the previous head of Kamisato Clan and Yashiro Commissioner died was the last time (F/N) saw her best friend and the boy she loved. She didn’t really understand at the time why he couldn’t make time for them to hang out. It was only when she took over running the shop from her sister did she somewhat understood how busy the Commissioner could be.

But, sometimes when finds a quiet moment to herself she lets her mind wonder what her life would be like if her friend’s father hadn’t died when he did and was still life now. Would they still be friends? Would they be more than friends? Or she would be in a situation where someone you barely know is asking you to marry them? Like what was currently happening to her.

Yusuke Kaneko, a sailor, seemed to be a nice boy but his presence began to creep (F/N) out.

“I’m sorry Yusuke-Kun, I can’t accept your proposal,” (F/N) told him as she cursed herself for cornering herself at the end of the docks.

The Ritou’s docks were a lovely place for to have lunch whilst reading her new light novel.

Yusuke’s face dropped when he heard (F/N)’s reply. His face remain calm but she could see the fury burning in his hazel eyes.

“Why?” He angrily asked. “I have a job, a house and even have some mora save up,” He ferociously ranted to her.

His sudden anger scared (F/N). She cursed herself again for isolating herself at the end of the docks. (F/N) began to eye the salty water beside her.

“Those things are nice but I promise my father I would marry for love and not anything else,” She told him.

It seemed like that comment had made Yusuke enraged.

“You rather marry for love than stability!” He raised his voice at her. “I’m sure you could learn to love me if you gave me a chance!” He shouted at her.

As Yusuke shouted he moved closer to (F/N), making her take a step back seeking to distance between them.

(F/N)’s (H/C) eyes darted to the sea debating whether or not she should jump into it to escape this situation. She was a decent swimmer.

“Hey! Are you listening to me!?” Yusuke yelled.

“Yusuke listen-” (F/N) tried to say Yusuke cut her off.

“No. You need to listen!” He yelled again.

“Hey! Everything alright here?” A cheerful voice called to (F/N) and Yusuke.

Behind Yusuke stood Thoma with his signature smile but he wasn’t giving off his usual warm aura, the air around him was tense.

“The Kamisato’s housekeeper,” Yusuke said but it came out like as a snarl. “What do you want?” He asked said the housekeeper.

Thoma continued to smile even if Yusuke’s attitude towards him was unpleasant.

“I was hoping I could pick up the new kimonos that were ordered for the state’s staff but Ogura-chan hadn’t returned from her lunch break and I didn’t want to disturb her father and brother from their work,” He explained.

“Oh! I’m sorry Thoma. I’ll be right there,” (F/N) apologised to Thoma.

(F/N) quickly gathered the remained of her lunch and light novel. She darted pass Yusuke, who tried to grab her arm but was stopped by Thoma’s spear.

“Thoma!” Yusuke snarled. “Don’t get in my way! We were still talking!”

The blond raised an eyebrow at the other man’s behaviour.

“In your way?” Thoma echoed. “From what I heard your’s and Ogura’s discussion was over,” He told Yusuke.

Yusuke growled at Thoma but allowed him and (F/N) to leave.

Thoma dismissed his spear not before giving Yusuke a stern look and then leaving the docks with (F/N).

(F/N)’s pace back to the shop was fast. Her heart was still racing from her encounter with Yusuke causing her to walk faster back to the shop with Thoma trailing behind her.

When they go to the shop (F/N) fished Obi and let her and Thoma into the shop.

Thoma shut the door behind them as (F/N) dumped her lunch and novel on the front counter.

“Are you alright?” Thoma asked her as he watched the young woman take a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down.

“I’m fine,” (F/N) told him once she clammed down. “And thank you for saving me from Yusuke,” She thanked him.

“No problem,” Thoma smiled. “What kind of retainer would I be if I allowed my Lord’s dearest friend to be trapped in that kind of situation,” He told her.

Thoms’s words caused (F/N) to blush a bit.

“ ‘Dearest friend’ ” She mumbled. “He still considered me as a friend even though we haven’t talked since he became Commissioner,” She added.

“Of course (F/N)-chan,” Thoma reassured her. “No matter how much time passes m’Lord will always see you as his closest friend,”

(F/N)’s flustered state became worst as the pink hue on her cheeks became red. Seeing the state that (F/N) ad become by his words, Thoma decide now was the best time for him to leave.

“Wait!” (F/N) called Thoma when she noticed him leaving.

The blond Mondstater stopped at the door of the shop. He looked over his shoulder to see (F/N) darting the shop’s front counter and out of site. Thoma stood there awkwardly for a moment before (F/N) came back with a couple of kimonos in her arms. The blond looked at the clothing with a bewildered look on his face.

“It would look weird if you came to get some kimonos and didn’t leave without any,” She grinned.

Thoma laughed.

“I guess it would,” He replied.

He took the kimonos from the arms.

“Just bring them back in a couple of days saying that they were the wrong size,” She told him.

(F/N) opened the door for Thoma.

“Thank you for choosing Ogura’s Kimonos,” She said to Thoma like he was any other customer, (F/N) even bowed to him like she did with all customers after they finished their business with the shop.

“The pleasure was all mine Ogura-san,” Thoma smiled. “Thank you again for providing kimonos for the Kamisato Clan and Yashiro Commission,” He thanked her with a bow of his own.

With the Kamisato’s housekeeper gone (F/N) was able to shut the door of the shop and let all of the attention that she was holding in. She pressed her forehead against the wooden frame of the door and let out a sigh.

‘I hope there are no more surprises,’ She thought to herself.

***

The sound of the door sliding open alerted Ayato to someone entering his office.

“I’m back m’Lord,” Thoma announced himself.

The blond kneeled in front of Ayato as the Commissioner finished his paperwork.

“Welcome back Thoma,” Ayato greeted him. “How was your trip to Ritou today?” He inquired as he continued with his paperwork.

Thoma placed his hand on his chin as he thought of a way to explain what happened today.

“Well, it was quite an eventful trip this time,” He said.

“Oh, really?” Ayato commented, not looking up from his work.

“Yes,” Thoma confirmed. “I met (F/N)-chan today,” He told his Lord.

Said Lord briefly stopped his brush when he heard the name of his beloved.

“You did?” Ayato asked.

A tiny smirk appeared on Thoma’s face when he saw Ayato faltered for a moment before he became serious.

“Yes,” He confirmed. “It seems like she likes to read light novels at Rituo’s docks whilst she having lunch,” Thoma told Ayato. “The docks don’t seem like a romantic place to proposal,” He added.

“What…?” Ayato looked up from his work.

“Oh, Yusuke Kaneko proposal to (F/N)-chan. He was adamant about getting her to say yes,” Thoma finished.

“Yusuke Kaneko,” Ayato repeated the name that Thoma said. “Isn’t he the one we suspect of being a Fatui informant?” He asked.

“From what I and Shuumatsuban could gather, yes,” Thoma answered.

The air inside Ayato’s office became suffocating.

What would the Fatui want with a shopkeeper? Whilst Ogura’s Kimonos were successful, they mainly catered towards the everyday people of Inazuma. It would make more sense for the Fatui to associate with Ogura’s Kimonos’ sister company Ogura Textiles & Kimonos which catered to more wealthy and influential clients.

Unless their targets weren’t the shop or their clients but (F/N), then the Fatui’s end game was him. Using one of the people he care for the most but the only person he didn’t have under his protection. He thought she would be safe outside the Yashiro Commission where many have tried to take his life.

‘I guess it’s time for me to bring her into my protection’ Ayato thought.

“Thoma,” Ayato called to his housekeeper.

“Yes my Lord,” Thoma answered.

“Clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon,” He ordered.

“Of course my Lord,” Thoma confusedly said. “May I ask why?”

“So I can pick up my fiancee,”

[flying-jukebox-01]

Bob Dylan - Desolation Row👍🎶

They're selling postcards of the hanging, they're painting the passports brown The beauty parlor is filled with sailors, the circus is in town Here comes the blind commissioner, they've got him in a trance One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker, the other is in his pants And the riot squad they're restless, they need somewhere to go As Lady and I look out tonight, from Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy, "It takes one to know one, " she smiles And puts her hands in her back pockets Bette Davis style And in comes Romeo, he's moaning. "You Belong to Me I Believe" And someone says, "You're in the wrong place, my friend, you'd better leave" And the only sound that's left after the ambulances go Is Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden, the stars are beginning to hide The fortune telling lady has even taken all her things inside All except for Cain and Abel and the hunchback of Notre Dame

Everybody is making love or else expecting rain And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing, he's getting ready for the show He's going to the carnival tonight on Desolation Row

Ophelia, she's 'neath the window for her I feel so afraid On her twenty-second birthday she already is an old maid To her, death is quite romantic she wears an iron vest Her profession's her religion, her sin is her lifelessness And though her eyes are fixed upon Noah's great rainbow She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood with his memories in a trunk Passed this way an hour ago with his friend, a jealous monk Now he looked so immaculately frightful as he bummed a cigarette And he when off sniffing drainpipes and reciting the alphabet You would not think to look at him, but he was famous long ago For playing the electric violin on Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world inside of a leather cup But all his sexless patients, they're trying to blow it up Now his nurse, some local loser, she's in charge of the cyanide hole And she also keeps the cards that read, "Have Mercy on His Soul" They all play on the penny whistles, you can hear them blow If you lean your head out far enough from Desolation Row

Across the street they've nailed the curtains, they're getting ready for the feast The Phantom of the Opera in a perfect image of a priest They are spoon feeding Casanova to get him to feel more assured Then they'll kill him with self-confidence after poisoning him with words And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls, "Get outta here if you don't know" Casanova is just being punished for going to Desolation Row"

At midnight all the agents and the superhuman crew Come out and round up everyone that knows more than they do Then they bring them to the factory where the heart-attack machine Is strapped across their shoulders and then the kerosene Is brought down from the castles by insurance men who go Check to see that nobody is escaping to Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero's Neptune, the Titanic sails at dawn Everybody's shouting, "Which side are you on?!" And Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting in the captain's tower While calypso singers laugh at them and fishermen hold flowers Between the windows of the sea where lovely mermaids flow And nobody has to think too much about Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday, about the time the doorknob broke When you asked me how I was doing, was that some kind of joke All these people that you mention, yes, I know them, they're quite lame I had to rearrange their faces and give them all another name Right now, I can't read too good, don't send me no more letters, no Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row

[beardedmrbean]

“To be honest with you, I hate guns,” Peter, 76, shouted over the sound of gunshots Saturday afternoon as his wife took aim at a target at Gun World in Deerfield Beach. “But it’s better us than someone else.”

The Jewish couple had arrived for their Intro to Handguns lesson with Florida Firearms Training about noon. Peter, who asked to keep his last name private for safety reasons, had shot a rifle decades ago; his wife had never shot a gun before. By the end of the day they would be returning home with one.

So would Justine Youngleson, 58, and Sandi Lazar, 65, a South African Jewish couple from Lauderdale-by-the-Sea, and Jackie Rubin, 64, a former orthodox Jew who converted to Christianity, who wore a T-shirt with a giant heart on it and described herself as a “very peaceful person.”

Across South Florida, Jewish residents are buying guns and learning to use them, many of them older, more liberal-leaning people who never thought they’d touch a gun in their lives. Spouses are dragging each other to lessons, children are going with parents. Introductory shooting classes are booked up months into the future, even on the Sabbath, because people are so desperate for slots.

Still others are buying security cameras, taking self-defense classes like Krav Maga, the Israeli martial arts that focuses on surviving real-life scenarios, contemplating leaving jewelry at home, and removing mezuzahs from their doors, as they speak of a fear they have not felt before.

‘A huge blip’

On the door leading into owner Kim Waltuch’s office at Gun World, a picture of a menorah reading “Happy Chanukah” sits adjacent to a sticker of a Glock.

Her office is similarly cluttered: Piles of papers, a mug reading “Boss Lady,” sound-canceling headphones, and a box of chocolate ammo cover her desk. On the wall are children’s drawings next to a framed picture of Hebrew word for love. The kids make the drawings while they wait for their parents to be done shooting, Waltuch explained.

In the last month, Gun World has had a “surge” in interest in guns, Waltuch said. So many people want lessons, they began offering double the amount per week.

“As soon as the guns have been going in, they’re going out,” she explained.

As she spoke, people kept popping in to say hello; the store was crowded. One of the customers was Broward County Commissioner Michael Udine, an outspoken supporter of Israel who reiterated the same motives as everyone else: “I just thought, with everything going on in the world, it’s better to be educated.”

Florida Firearms Training has had so many requests for the Introduction to Handguns course that it is booked all the way into December, said Will Farrugia, the company’s director of training, who led Saturday’s lesson, which was also on the Jewish Sabbath.

In an average week, FFT sees about 40 students in its intro class, Farrugia said. Now they’re looking at 80 to 90 students.

“There’s definitely a blip on the graph, a huge blip of just an influx of new shooters,” he said. “Of which I would say fifty to sixty percent are Jewish.”

The students are not gun nuts, or even necessarily conservative. Many know little to nothing about guns.

These are “people that have never thought of buying a gun, that are now saying ‘I need a gun,'” Farrugia said. “It’s all for the same reason. There’s that concern of, ‘Can something happen here? Can something happen to my family? I need to have a way of defending my family and my home.’ Sad, but that’s where we’re at.”

On Saturday, students spoke of their dislike for guns at the same time as they prepared to buy them, their own shooting targets in their hands.

Lazar said that she still thinks guns are bad, and she does not believe she should have them while driving around or in the supermarket, an opinion that did not change Saturday.

“She’s the neurotic one,” Lazar said, gesturing to Youngleson. It was Youngleson’s idea to buy the gun, and Youngleson said that she was going to do just that, but Lazar needed to know how to use it if it was going to be in the house.

“This is not what you think you’ll be doing at 58,” Youngleson said.

Need for self-defense is critical

The heightened fears aren’t present only in gun-training classes.

Lazar and Youngelson have bought Ring cameras and lights for their home. Growing numbers of Jewish residents are looking for situational awareness or self-defense classes like Krav Maga, said Carson Nightwine, the director of community security for the Jewish Federation of Palm Beach County.

“Never has the need for self-defense been more critical,” reads a Facebook post from the Ruth & Norman Rales Jewish Family Services, advertising a Krav Maga class in early November.

The owner of AIKMO Krav Maga in Oakland Park, who asked not to be named for safety reasons, said that he had seen a small uptick in the number of students in his own classes, as well as a larger increase in synagogues asking for workshops.

While they’re warming up, students trade stories of having their cars slapped at stoplights or being told to “burn in hell” for putting up posters of Israeli hostages, he said.

He tries to keep the class positive but practical, in the spirit of Krav Maga, which is meant to address real-life threats. At synagogues, AIKMO teaches kidnapping prevention, self-defense, knife and gun defense, forced entry and active shooter drills.

“I hate to say it’s become necessary and timely,” the owner said. “If we lived in a better world I’d be happy to be put out of business. This would be the new yoga; we’d do this for fun.”

Rising antisemitism threat

Since Hamas terrorists massacred over 1,400 Israelis on Oct. 7, national and local officials began warning the public of the heightened potential for antisemitic incidents and hate crimes. But those early statements turned increasingly ominous as hatred brewed and the Israel-Hamas war stretched on with a bombing campaign that has killed thousands of Palestinian civilians.

In one week, a Jewish cemetery in Vienna was sprayed with swastikas and set on fire. Stars of David were spray-painted outside of buildings in Paris. And in Dagestan, Russia, a mob of protesters stormed a plane from Israel and searched a hotel, looking for Jews.

On Tuesday, FBI Director Christopher Wray told members of Congress that the terrorism threat to Americans, already elevated in 2023, had increased “to a whole other level” due to the war and warned of “historic” levels of antisemitism.

For residents of South Florida’s predominantly Jewish neighborhoods and cities, already on alert, a different kind of fear followed Oct. 7.

“This is the first time I really feel unsafe in the U.S.,” said Michele Lazarow, a Hallandale Beach city commissioner who is Jewish. “Maybe it’ll finally be when I get a firearm.”

The chabad houses that pepper Hallandale Beach always used to make her feel safe. Now she wonders if, like herself, the city is a target.

“I don’t even want to say it,” she told the Sun Sentinel on Tuesday. “There’s a very large Jewish community.”

Already, stirrings of hate have emerged in South Florida; in Parkland last Saturday, a group of masked minors shouted threats at Jewish congregants as they left synagogue, according to deputies and Rep. Jared Moskowitz, who belongs to the synagogue.

Palm Beach County has seen an uptick in reported incidents since Oct. 7, said Nightwine, the community security director. At the same time, rumors, false threats and hate speech have exploded online, which add to people’s fears.

He spends much of his time trying to distinguish misinformation from real threats.

“Just getting to what is actually credible and providing the community with a sense of safety, and the amount of just utter hate speech, and these threats, it’s a colossal work,” Nightwine said.

Islamophobic incidents and hate crimes have also risen nationwide since the attacks. In Illinois, a landlord is accused of stabbing a 6-year-old Palestinian-American boy to death, shouting “you Muslims must die.” The Council on American-Islamic Relations has reported the largest wave in incidents since 2015, when then-presidential candidate Donald Trump called for a ban on Muslims entering the United States.

But as home to one of the nation’s largest Jewish populations, South Florida has long contended with antisemitism. Over the two years prior to 2023, antisemitic incidents had already sharply increased in South Florida, though they were largely perpetrated by right-wing, neo-Nazi groups, according to the Anti-Defamation League.

Almost 60% of all religion-based hate crimes in the U.S. in 2020 targeted Jews, more than any other group, despite the fact that they account for only 2% of the U.S population, according to the FBI.

Since the Oct. 7 attacks, antisemitic incidents across the country have increased nearly 400%, mostly attributed to pro-Palestine and anti-Israel sentiment and protests. Antisemitic rhetoric has also increased on the right; the ADL reported an over 1,000% increase in “the daily average of violent messages mentioning Jews and Israel” on right-wing extremist Telegram channels.

On Thursday, when Florida Attorney General Ashley Moody visited the Florida Department of Law Enforcement office in Boynton Beach for a confidential security meeting, a reporter asked whether she thought Palm Beach County was vulnerable.

“It’s no coincidence we chose to come to South Florida to make sure we’re imploring our communities to stay on guard,” Moody replied.

‘We’re Jewish, we don’t feel safe’

Kayla, 22, went to a gun range with her parents last month at her mother’s request. Her family had shot guns once, in Israel, where the recent college grad, who asked to keep her last name private for safety reasons, was supposed to move on Oct. 10. The plans are now delayed indefinitely, though that has not spared her family worry as antisemitic incidents unfold across the world, including the U.S.

“We were like ‘okay, we don’t really feel safe anymore,'” said Kayla, who lives in Hollywood. “We want to arm ourselves, especially because we’re visibly Jewish and we go to synagogue. Every aspect of our daily lives is Jewish: The supermarket, the restaurants we go to, and the neighborhood we live in.”

Related Articles

Crime and Public Safety | Antisemitism reportedly spikes in US amid Israel-Hamas war

Soon after submitting her request, she got a call from Steve Triana, a local firearms instructor who works for Florida Defense Training and runs his own company, Triana Training Concepts.

When Kayla, her mother, and her 63-year-old father arrived at the range for their lesson, he asked them for their back story and why they chose to learn, as he does every lesson.

“If you’re coming and you’re over twenty-one, my question is, ‘why now?'” he explained, referring to the legal buying age in Florida. There’s always a reason, something that makes the person feel unsafe in a way they hadn’t before.

Reluctantly, Kayla shared hers.

“It’s always kind of scary to tell people ‘We’re Jewish, we don’t feel safe,'” she told the Sun Sentinel. “I told him anyways, ‘We’re Jewish, we’re really not feeling safe.'”

Triana, it turned out, was also Jewish. He told Kayla’s family that they were not the first to call.

His evenings have been booked with students like them since Oct. 7. In the last two-and-a-half weeks, he told the Sun Sentinel on Tuesday, he has had 18 students, 14 of whom are Jewish, what he estimates is a 90% increase in Jewish students since before the war.

He knows they’re Jewish because he asks, but also because many are openly orthodox. Some have told him they’re rabbis; others come in with yarmulkes on. Like those in Saturday’s class, many are older, often couples.

For Triana, the influx began four days after the war broke out, when the company he works for, Florida Defense Training, began sending a large number of new students his way.

The fact that most of them were Jewish and Triana is also Jewish was a coincidence, said Carlos Gutierrez, the company’s co-owner. But word has since spread to others in the community; Kayla told Triana she’d share his contact information with her synagogue.

For Gun World, word-of-mouth in the Jewish community has also brougth new business. People in the community want to support a Jewish-owned business, Waltuch explained, even though, she added, “as a nice Jewish girl who owns a gun range, I like to go under the radar.”

A political shift?

The new interest in guns perhaps signals a broader shift since Oct. 7 and its aftermath as Jewish South Floridians re-examine their politics.

On the right, Gov. Ron DeSantis has used his pro-Israel stance as a selling point, sending law enforcement officers to protect synagogues and schools, decrying left-wing protests on college campuses and criticizing the Biden administration for sending aid to civilians in Gaza.

Rabbi Mark Rosenberg of Miami-Dade, a chaplain for Florida Highway Patrol, thanked DeSantis publicly on “behalf of the Jewish community” at the news conference in Boynton Beach on Thursday, saying that “Florida has emerged as a leader during troubled times.”

But many of South Florida’s Jewish voters have leaned away from DeSantis and the right, where antisemitism has also mobilized extremists.

“A lot of my friends who are liberal Jews are very, very confused right now,” said Triana, the firearms instructor. “They are struggling to make sense of the world. The world they saw on 10/6 is not what they’re realizing is the way the world worked.”

Commissioner Lazarow, a self-proclaimed liberal, said that she, too, had recently begun to question her political leanings.

“I used to say I vote Democrat, woman, Jewish,” she said. “Now I vote woman, Jewish, maybe Democrat.”

Before the war, Lazarow’s Jewish identity was rarely foremost in her mind. She would have mezuzahs on her door and wear a Star of David around her neck and think nothing of it. Now they are conscious decisions.

“This is the first time in my life I’ve ever worried about wearing the Jewish star,” she said incredulously. “Now I’m wearing it as a resistance. As a symbol of resistance.”

By the end of class on Saturday, some students described a sense of empowerment mixed into their fear and aversion to guns.

“That’s good, honey!” Peter said Saturday, as his wife hesitantly lifted her paper target, the bullet holes a bit off from the center, but still very much within the silhouette. “Don’t worry, you would stop them.”

Each time Rubin finished her turn shooting, she was so nervous that her hands shook. But as class neared an end, she appeared more determined.

“I think I know what I want,” she said, walking over to where some of the other students were sitting, repeating it out loud as she scrawled it on the back of her target: “A Smith and Wesson, nine millimeter.”

The 64-year-old says her friends think she’s crazy for buying a gun, but her Jewish family doesn’t. And even though she no longer practices the religion, Rubin said, she is still a Jew, she doesn’t know what is coming next, and she wants to protect herself.

[writingsofwesteros]

yes this anon is speaking utter facts https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/748484287844745216/aegons-bestie-has-come-close-to-a-scandal-only?source=share

I think she channeled her inner Nora hehe- it was probably someone making comments about Aegon and the siblings' "closeness". Since they're like her family, she takes it really personally.

"Fuck- look at those tits, you think they're real?" She heard a voice behind her say. "Her sister too- Seven Hells, mate." His friend replied. "It's pity they're a pair of brother-fuckers, those two." The guys said, gesturing in Nora and Helaena's direction. "Aegon clings to them like a fucking pussy," The guy snorted. "Wouldn't you, if your sisters were that hot?" His friend replied, and they laughed. Bestie turned around fuming, and snapped, "What the fuck is your problem?"

"Easy, love," One of them chuckled. "You don't know anything about them, you assholes," Bestie glares at them. "Just shut up." "Look at you, defending those incest loving freaks. They only get away with shit because they're rich. Especially Aegon, if he didn't have all that money he'd be a fucking-" He got cut off when bestie slaps him and hisses, "Shut. the. fuck. Up." The guy's friend grabbed her wrist roughly, and she heard a voice shout, "Hey! Let her go!"

She heard Aegon's voice behind her, as he, Hel, Nora and Aemond came with him. "What the fuck? Are you okay?" Aegon asked her worriedly, and Nora looked between them and said to her, "Sweetie, what did they do?" "She's a fucking psycho," The guy's friend said. "Fuck you," Bestie spat. "Easy, honey, it's okay," Nora said to her. Security came over, about to escort bestie and the two guys out, when Nora stepped in front and said, "I'm sorry, do you know who I am? Those two men harassed my friend, and you wanna throw her out? My family owns this building, if you like your job, you'll have those two assholes taken down to the police station." "I'm sorry, Miss Targaryen," One of the guards stammered, as Nora narrowed her eyes at him. "But we have to take both parties off the premises, it's standard-" "Excuse me?" Nora asked. "She did nothing, and if you lay a hand on her trying to group her in with these men then you won't just lose this job, you'll never get another one. I'm sure you're familiar with the Police Commissioner, Harwin Strong? My Uncle?"

The guard's face paled, and he said, "Yes, Miss Targaryen, of course." And he led the two guys out of the building, Nora turned around to hear the entire story from bestie. Of course, the entire thing got filmed, of the guys taking shit, provoking bestie, then her slapping them. Scandal central...poor bestie stays on social media for a while, but the gifts from Aemond do cheer her up...poor Alicent too, she needs to start a PR firm just for her kids atp (Bestie is her honorary daughter)

ALL OF THIS! UM, POLICE OFFICER HARWIN, please and thank you!!!!!! just get in trouble on purpose

Aemond doesn't know when to stop the gifts either, because he's so bad with words

Bestie is her honorary daughter) BABY GIRL

[steampunk-swift-arrow]

Fanfic: F-it! Un-Tom King's Your Riddler!

(Since AO3 has been down due to attacks, here's a fic that I wrote a while back and just haven't posted yet)

Summery: I really hated Tom King’s Riddler origin story so I wrote my own. Skips over the actual origin and just talks about the current time. Somewhat hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of cancer, chemotherapy, and fear of death.

Characters: Riddler and Batman

Word count: 2090

“Hey, my daughter really liked that last one,” the guard bringing him lunch informed him. “‘What’s got a bottom at its top?’ She’s been running around saying it and shouting out ‘Legs’, real cute.”

Edward was a flight risk, his cell was never allowed to be opened. It felt demeaning to sit at the door and then pull in the tray of food like an animal. “I thought the cleverness of that one might resonate with some people,” he commented. “She sounds like a smart little girl.”

“She is,” the guard was more than happy to talk about his daughter for a minute. A proud father. Edward was a little envious. “Got any others like that? Y’know, dirty but like kid-dirty. She loves a good fart joke.”

“I can’t say that any springs to mind but I’ll think on it,” Edward told him. “I don’t have much else to do right now.”

~-~-~

“A straightjacket? Really? Commissioner Gordon, I feel I should remind you that I have a history of escaping those, in case you actually expect that to work, I don’t want to disappoint you,” Edward said as he eyed the white jacket. Why was it always white? Was it really too much for them to make straight jackets in colors?

Arkham put him in one often enough he was pretty sure they owed him a fully customized one, green with purple accents and an actual challenge to escape. Maybe he’d have it made and sent to them for next time.

As much as he was annoyed with the jacket, at least it wasn’t a tranq gun or knock-out drugs.

“We’ll start with rubber bullets,” Gordon said.

“That won’t be necessary, I have no intention of fighting you,” Edward assured him. “I’d very much like to talk to Batman, if you’d be so kind as to call him.”

Gordon paused and seemed to study him for a second. “I’ll call him if you agree to wear the straightjacket,” he bargained.

Edward sighed. He really didn’t want to let someone get close enough to put that on him, not right now, but there wasn’t an actual choice. “I accept your terms,” he agreed.

He was definitely going to be late for his appointment and he desperately needed it.

~-~-~

It wasn’t fair. The treatment was supposed to help him but it left him feeling just as tired, if not more tired, than when it started. It took every fiber of strength that he had, more than he thought he even possessed, to try to hide the pain and fatigue he was going through. He didn’t want to appear weak in front of Batman. He’d even over-done it on the green makeup so that it would hide the bags under his eyes.

He was idly playing basketball when he heard the tell-tale woosh of a cape off to the side of the court. Batman had arrived.

“Gordon said you wanted to talk with me,” Batman said, unmoving from the shadow he’d found.

Edward let the ball roll back over to him and picked it up. “I did, I do,” he answered. “I-...” he stopped, finding himself unable to say what he wanted -no, needed- to say.

“If you’re at a loss for words, it must be something big,” Batman stated.

“Something like that,” Edward muttered, playing with the ball again. He didn’t feel that he had the strength to throw it but he could still dribble it or just hold it.

“I was also told that after Gordon called me the first time and asked me to meet you here, you escaped with a desperation he’d never seen in you or anyone before,” Batman continued. “He said it was like your life was at stake. You’ve been behaving oddly well according to the guards at Arkham. I’m told you normally drive them crazy with mind games or escape your cell just to mess with them, but you haven’t at all during your last stay.”

“I’ve told a few riddles,” Edward shrugged. “One of the guards said his daughter’s been getting into them, I made up some for her.”

“Making up riddles for a kid is not the same as your usual brand of crazy.”

“I suppose not. Can we move this conversation over to the benches?”

His body felt like he was about to drop over, he was glad Batman followed him to the benches so he could sit down and get the pain to lessen.

“There’s no easy way to put this and not many people to ask how to, but…” Edward paused and sighed. “I’m quitting the whole crime thing.”

Batman seemed surprised by that.

“It was fun, telling riddles to lead you to my next crime, throwing obstacles in your path to slow you down but knowing you would still be right behind me, knowing that any person who was involved was safe because you wouldn’t let them be hurt, the priceless items I stole, and of course the attention of media, it was all fun.”

“But you’re quitting?”

“It’s been losing its charm, the pattern has become a rut. I can’t… I don’t want to fall into a rut like that.”

Batman was quiet for a second. “You’re in pain,” he observed. Even resting, the pain was catching up with him, he had as good a chance of not getting caught by Batman as he had of escaping the pain. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“Yes,” Edward admitted. “And not just in my usual way. A good therapist can’t help with this, not that there are any of those in this city. Thankfully we have several dozen hospitals, I was able to find help in one of them but I’m not sure it’s working.”

Just rip off the bandaid and say it. Quick and painless. It doesn’t have to be drawn out.

“I… I have cancer,” Edward said, finally telling someone about it for the first time. “Stage three, it’s not looking all that promising.”

He didn’t even need to look at Batman to know that he moved closer, he felt his presence next to him on the bench in an instant.

“It’s hard to get treatment and be a super criminal, I suppose,” Batman muttered. “That’s why you decided to quit and wanted to see me, right?” he checked.

“Part of it, yes,” Edward answered. “Look, the doctors said it doesn’t look good, they told me to get my affairs in order. Easiest task I’ve ever done, I don’t have loved ones to call, I know the police are just waiting to seize everything I have and lock it all away in an evidence locker, no one would really care if I died… except for maybe you and the daughter of a guard at Arkham. If anything else, I figure you were the most fun to interact with so if I had to tell anyone, it might as well be you.”

“I had a friend growing up, he lost his mother to cancer, we drifted apart over the years but I vividly remember the struggle she went through before passing, I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone in the entire world, no matter who they are or what they’ve done.”

“I’m not a good person, I always figured I’d die from someone getting revenge, from pissing off another rogue or a hero who doesn’t have a no-kill policy, something that would be quick and deserved. But this… this is nothing like that. It’s slow, it allows for time to tie up loose ends, and while it’s slowly breaking down my body, it’s killing my mind. Even if I wanted to continue to be a criminal, I literally can’t. I tried to do a crossword while in chemo today and just couldn’t do it. Some rogues can do the spontaneous criminal work but that’s just not who I am…”

“As much as I want to see you give up being a criminal, I want it to be because you decide to try a different path in life, not like this,” Batman said.

“I know I always said I didn’t care about death, that if I died I’d finally solve the greatest riddle of all but…” Edward trailed off as he tried hard not to start crying. “I… I’m scared.”

“I know. I’ve faced death enough times myself to know the feeling. But you can relax because you’re not dying.”

“How can you be so confident?”

“Because if you die, who’s going to provide me with the challenge that you think I need? Who’s going to take your place? The Joker? Jokes and riddles are similar but not that similar.  You said yourself, you’re not a good person, but you could be. Remember how you were a private investigator for a while?”

“I have a near perfect memory, or at least I did before the cancer, of course I remember.”

“That just proves you could be a good person. You never killed anyone, scared them mostly but you said you knew I’d save them.”

“I’m really not sure what you’re trying to say anymore.”

“You’re not dying because I won’t let that happen,” Batman said. “I know some of the best doctors in the world and out of it, I know people who can literally do magic, you’re not going to die. After you beat cancer, which you will, we can talk about the whole quitting thing again.”

“You seem awfully confident,” Edward said with a slight hum. “Just in case you’re wrong, can I ask for a small favor? I promise to take it to my grave.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve had a hunch for years and I want to know if I’m right. Who are you under the mask?”

Batman was still for a minute, long enough Edward figured he was probably waiting for him to start talking about something else and move away from the identity thing. To his surprise, Batman simply pulled the mask away like it was the hood of a jacket.

“I was right,” Edward uttered in shock. “You’re Bruce Wayne.”

“You figured it out before, I figured the likelihood of you getting it right the second time was high enough I can just tell you. Besides, I know you’re not going to do anything with the information.”

“Because I’m dying.”

“No, because what good is a riddle that everyone knows the answer to?”

“I suppose that’s also a good point,” Edward hummed.

“Edward,” Bruce began. Without the cowl, he sounded completely different, like his voice and mannerisms were also part of his mask. “I know you think no one would care if you died but you’re wrong, there are people who care about you, I care about you, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

~-~-~

In the months that followed that, both men researched as much as they could to find any form of a cure, the cancer continued to get worse.

During that time, Edward had put together collections of his riddles into books and published them: ‘1,001 Riddles for Young Geniuses’ and ‘the Riddler’s best Riddles’. He signed a copy of the first one and sent it to the guard for his daughter, he didn’t see anyone’s reactions but he was told by Bruce that they were thrilled.

Bruce walked into the hospital room where Edward was currently reading a book while doing chemo, an IV tube hooked into his arm and slowly releasing the medication. In order to keep a low profile, Bruce had put on a ‘disguise’, mainly glasses and an outfit he wouldn’t normally wear in public.

“That’s your idea of a disguise?” Edward asked with a slight laugh.

“Don’t knock it, it’s actually a really good one, I learned it from a friend of mine,” Bruce said. “Clark used to confuse people all the time whenever he lost his glasses, you’d be surprised how big a difference they can make.”

“I highly doubt people are actually going to fall for-”

A nurse walked in to check on something and paused, looking straight at Bruce. “Hello, who might you be?” she asked.

“A friend,” Bruce answered. “Just wanted to come see how my friend’s doing. You’ll need a ride home after this, right?”

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Edward agreed. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Bruce waited until the nurse left and they were alone again. “I think I found a cure.”

“There’s no cure, I’ve been looking.”

“You’ve been looking at the records of scientists, I went beyond that,” Bruce corrected him. “Have you ever heard of the Lazarus Pit?”

[waveridden]

I hear what you’re saying about the appeal being smaller but I am dying to know how you think yugioh narratives would translate into blaseball. What’s up with Yubel? Does Pegasus’ mind reading leading him to destruction work like the precog trio? Does having access to the physical world but having to play a blood sport make Noah any less cranky?

hedge i completely love this. let's get into it

i have a couple different pitches for yubel! the first is that they were a prehistory player, probably not A Vault Legend but a pretty powerful one (like an abbott wright or smth) that just got totally forgotten by history, and when they come back they're fucking pissed. you could also even make them the parker maccy analogue complete with them being a vindictive firewalker.

yubel pitch number two is that yubel is linked to an item/mod somehow, which has a couple subpitches: the first is that it's a kennedy loser-shannon chamberlain situation (shannon got stuck permanently haunting ken) where yubel is haunting jaden. the second is that it's a non-mechanical haunting situation, sort of tugging on the thread of @polyboros's fics about jesus and tyvi and scorpler - to me a key part of yubel is that they are haunting/possessing people and so the idea of an item that also carries the spirit of a dead legendary player is really fun to me. this one def also allows the most flexibility in terms of yubel being able to haunt other people. but also lastly i HAVE to shout out jaden yuki pgr talking to the parasite (yubel is the parasite) (perhaps this is also the parasite mod. who can say) (like you know how tiana takahashi had the parasite jersey? that)

pegasus time! mind reading actually feels to me like a houston spies thing although i would take it a step further and pitch to you blaseball commissioner pegasus who is fully aware of the woes of prehistory and is doing this anyways. it starts out as kind of a coin boss situation where he is kind of a bitch and cunt about it but there's a lot of genuine empathy and before long he's more of a parker

as for noah. would bloodsports make anyone less cranky, really

no my real answer is (with a grain of salt bc i don't remember this arc super well) i don't necessarily think the virtual world and bloodsport are mutually exclusive (and there's something freaky/fun to me about the idea of only being able to be corporeal during blaseball games) but there's some more built in solidarity and love in blaseball and i think that would go a long way

[sanddusted-wisteria]

12/24: Andy & Yan

Also on AO3 | Index

A/N: This one focuses more on Andy and Wis (and also goes a tiny bit over 1000 words), but honestly I love it too much to really care 😂

---

Wis groaned when she saw a letter from the Commerce Guild in her mailbox. The best thing that Yan could ever say was nothing at all. Skimming the letter with a sigh, she ignored all of the pointed, unwarranted insults towards Mi-an, just trying to find what he really needed Wis for.

“Smarmy son of a bi—”

“Howdy!”

Wis hadn’t yelled so loud ever since the incident with Matilda at the Little Woods planting. She whirled around to find Andy standing a few paces behind her, looking fairly pleased with himself.

“Andy, what the heck!” Wis yelped, trying to regain her composure. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Andy only let out a laugh. “Heard ya got someone in need of…stickin’ to?”

Shit. He didn’t hear her swear, did he? Not that he didn’t know what swears were, probably. He was raised by bandits for a year or something. She let out a snort. “Wh…what are you talking about? Just got a letter from Yan, and he sucks. Nothing more than that. Just a Tuesday, really.”

“Exactly! My expertise is sniffin’ out slimeballs! An’ my service is doin’ them a service! If ya know what I mean, heh.”

Wis pursed her lips, tapping the corner of the letter against her chin. “…Ohhh! You’re gonna…extort him or something?”

“Maybe…” A grin creeped up the sides of Andy’s face. “One option. Depends on how ya wanna make that slimeball feel. I got a…very particular set o’ skills at your disposal, if ya get my drift.”

Wis returned his amused look. “Uh-huh… What’s the rate of your services, O Master of Mischief?”

“Already thinkin’ about payment, are ya?” Andy rubbed his hands together. “Now that’s jus’ grand…”

———

The rosy dawn once again draped its light over the humble roofs of Sandrock. Dew on the golden rocks glistened as the wilds awoke, or settled down after their night of prowling.

Jensen stood dutifully at the station, perhaps the only person awake at this hour, waiting for the morning train as usual.

Another beautiful, tranquil, Sandrock morning. One to steep in and admire.

…Swiftly destroyed by some unholy screeching on Main Street.

Justice looked up from his morning patrol, his horse Truth even stopping in his tracks. He frowned. Who on earth would be screaming bloody murder this early in the morning if not for some…well, bloody murder?!

He nudged Truth along a little faster. It sounded like it was coming from the other side of the square…

The noises still continued, just as horrified-sounding, albeit quieter. Justice quickly realized that it was coming from Commissioner Yan’s house. He stopped Truth and hopped off, turning upwards to shout. “Yan? YAN?! Did I just hear you screamin’? Everythin’ alright?!”

He could still hear Yan yelling incoherently through the upstairs window. He didn’t seem to hear Justice at all. Justice ran up to the front door and banged a couple times. “Hello?! Civil Corps! What’s goin’ on in there?!

No answer.

“If–If I don’t get an answer in 10 seconds, I’m gonna have to bust in! Someone’s in trouble here!”

He could still hear Yan from upstairs, and lots of clattering and commotion. Cursing under his breath, he took a step back and aimed his foot at the door handle. With two powerful kicks, one after the other, he managed to finally open the door to find—

—eggs.

Dozens, no—hundreds of eggs, white, brown, and blue, scattered all over the floor. Coating the floor, even. Not a single inch of floorboard or carpet could be seen. The force of the door opening already broke quite a few of them, gooey insides spilling out.

“What the hell…?”

Justice took one tentative step inside just as Yan finally came into view, seething with rage yet still trying to delicately step around and push aside the eggs that had been placed on the stairs(?!). Every inch of him and his PJ pants from the knee downward were completely soaked with freshly-cracked egg.

“Don’t take another step!” Yan screeched. “Whaddaya think you’re doing?! Get outta here!! Go find the little stinker that did this! That’s your job!!”

“Well hey now, Yan,” Justice said, reaching out a placating hand. “Jus’ makin’ sure you were okay first… Sounded like you were gettin’ murdered!”

“My clothes are murdered! My sheets are murdered!! Fine silk, all of ‘em!!”

“Okay, okay… I’ll help you fill out a property damage report in a sec, jus’—”

 “Will ya go out and throw that booger Andy in the slammer already?!”

“Okay, alright! I’m goin’, I’m goin’…” Justice turned around, but not before pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

What a morning.

———

“So what happened after that?” Wis leaned in, eager for details of sweet, sweet retribution.

“Aw, I gave ‘em the ol’ ‘Ya think I had the time to do that?! Where’s yer evidence of my crime?!’ Didn’t really work, but honestly? Bein’ grounded ain’t that bad. Don’t think anyone was all that fussed ‘bout Yan. Heh heh.”

“And they never figured out where you even got the eggs?” Wis chuckled, glancing across the yard at the chicken coop with her 6 darling, hardworking little birds.

“Nope!” Andy beamed. “They scratched their heads over it a ton but they ain’t never considered you! Everyone got a real earful full o’ Cooper when they blamed him, though…”

Wis laughed, reaching down to pull out Andy’s prize. “Well for that, I think we can say…job well done?” She set a bag of candy down on the garden table between them, full to the brim with sweets from Sandrock and even Atara and Highwind.

Andy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Yeah…job well done…”

Wis held up a finger. “And! Just because you went through all that…” She pulled out a small stack of gols from her pocket. “…Some spending cash. Think of it as a tip.”

Andy’s eyes ping-ponged between Wis, the candy, and the money. “R…really?”

Wis gave him a simple nod with a smile.

The brightest, toothiest grin lit up Andy’s face as he snatched up his hard-earned due and ran off with a whoop. Just as he burst out of Wis’s gate, he turned back to shout one last time over his shoulder.

“You’re the best, Aunt Wiiiiiiiiiiiiis!!”

Wis froze in place from where she was waving.

Aunt…Wis.

She chuckled a little to herself. She quite liked the sound of that…