#comrade louis | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

0nerd-at-heart0 · 3 months

Text

The Stress of a Case

Harvey Specter x Female Reader

Please Read: Hello! It's been a hot minute since I have published anything. Have been currently studying for my LSATS and have been a busy bee but after being obsessed with Suits for the past 2 years and waiting for more Harvey stories to be published I decided to create my own little storyline. What started off as a storyline in my head is now on paper. I have this idea to create a mini-story/universe: how the reader got hired, when she first met Mike, her first case with Harvey, her first date with Harvey, etc. I guess I just want to see if people are interested. It's been a while since I had written anything that wasn't an academic paper and my writing skills have changed drastically. This is one of the first the fics of the universe I am building in my head that I have written so I decided to publish this. I hope yall enjoy it, please give feedback.

Warnings: Talks about not eating (due to stress), food mention, panic attack details, fainting, Harvey being an ass, cursing I think? if I am missing anything please let me know

Word count: 5.6k

Taglist: @happy74827 @princessvader15 @hashcakes @yiiiikesmish @malfoys-demigod

I tagged those who commented under my last post I hope that's okay and if you aren't interested in being tagged let me know and I will remove you sorry.

As you entered the corridors of Pearson Hardman, they were alive with the usual buzz of legal minds at work, but this time, a distinct tension hung in the air. You didn't even get a few steps into the associates area before hearing the straining voice of Louis Litt yelling that there was an emergency meeting.

You scrambled behind, stuffing your mouth with the banana nut muffin you thought you would eat peacefully at your desk this morning. You knew what this meeting was about, everyone knew. The case against Amir Jackson, the firm's ex-lawyer turned adversary, had everyone on edge.

The briefing room was filled with hushed whispers as everyone settled in, and even the confident strides of Harvey Specter and Louis Litt carried a subtle weight.

Harvey, impeccably dressed as always, stood at the head of the conference table, his piercing gaze flickering between Jessica Pearson and the gathered associates, and maybe it was your imagination but it might have lingered a little longer on you. Snapped out of your imagination when he spoke, "Listen up, people. This case is different. Amir Jackson knows us inside out, and he won't hesitate to use that knowledge against us. He's playing dirty, and we need to be ready for anything."

You never got to meet Amir Jackson, but oh the stories. The firm had no problem doing what they needed to do to be successful, but there was a line they never dared cross and Amir crossed it.

Jessica leaned forward, her hands planted firmly on the table. "Amir's betrayal when he left this firm was bad enough. Now, he's trying to take a piece of us with him. We can't let that happen."

Louis chimed in. "I've seen my fair share of dirty plays, but this guy is in a league of his own. We need to be one step ahead, or he'll bury us."

The gravity of the situation was sinking in, associates exchanged knowing glances. They understood the magnitude of the challenge ahead. Amir Jackson wasn't just a legal opponent; he was a former comrade who knew their strengths and weaknesses intimately. The fact that there was a meeting needing to be held just told how much this case was about to get tricky. Usually the inner circle dealt with these cases: Harvey, Louis, Jessica, Mike and maybe sometimes Rachel.

Your role as the go-to person for legal paperwork kept you in the thick of it. While Harvey Specter had his famed right-hand man in Mike Ross, he knew he could rely on you for drafting contracts with a precision that went beyond mere proficiency.

You might not have been Harvey's drinking buddy or his confidant like Mike, but there was a unique dynamic between you both. It was a quiet understanding that transcended the formalities of the workplace. You knew you would never be his protege, and that was perfectly fine with you. What you brought to the table was a specialized skill set that complemented Harvey's legal prowess, if you do say so yourself.

His voice thundered through the briefing room as he adjusted his cuffs, “I am building a specific legal team to help bring down Amir Jackson”.

Of coure Harvey was going to pick Mike Ross, Mike was worth more than 8 associates. How much more help does he need? Who else could he need? Harvey's eyes scanned the room filled with associates. His gaze settled on you, and he flashed a sly grin. "You, Y/N. You're on my team for this one.”

Harvey and you had worked together various times. He always knew he could count on you for legal paperwork. As much as he depended on Mike Ross, there was one thing you were that Mike wasn’t and that was that you had a talent when it came to drafting contracts. But I believe that there was some respect, one might even say in a blossoming friendship between you and him. You got a spark of it when he teasingly picked you out of the bunch of associates to be part of his team for his takedown of Amir Jackson.

“You know, Y/N, if paperwork were an Olympic sport, you'd be a gold medalist," Harvey remarked with a wry grin, “And I expect you to bring the gold home for Pearson Hardman”

“I won’t let you down Sir”, you gave a weak smile as all eyes were on you.

You hated the attention, yet you couldn’t help the small heat you felt on our cheeks as Harvey stared at you. Drawn to playing with the bracelet you wore as you slightly cringed at yourself for the words that came out of your mouth. Sir? Really. Stupid, you thought.

Harvey moved past it and called out the name of 2 more associates and asked if anyone else wanted in on the case had to draw up a proposal. He only wanted the best of the best and trust him, he would get the best of the best.

You made your way to Harvey’s office as the meeting was dismissed. And you reminisce on the first time Harvey complimented on your legal work.

“ Are you a sorcerer”, Harvey asked as he made his way to your cubicle. It was late one night and you were stuck on an email. You had this need to overachieve and be perfect and it showed in everything you did. But if you were being honest it was exhausting.

You glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Harvey, someone has to make sure the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed. Can't let you walk into a negotiation with a misplaced comma, now can we?"

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Maybe it's the lack of sleep or the fact that you had 4 coffees. But the confidence was there and to your surprise, Harvey chuckled.

You swear you saw a twinkle in his eye as he responded, "You're practically the Mozart of legal documents. I half expect those contracts to start singing a symphony when I open them."

You smirked, setting aside the email you were currently writing, swiveling your chair to face him, "If you want a soundtrack to your legal victories, Harvey, I'm sure I can find a way to make that happen."

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Now that's the kind of innovation I like to see. Who needs background music at a negotiation? Just cue in Y/N legal masterpiece."

You couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the idea. "I'll be sure to add it to the list of services I provide, Harvey. Background music, legal counsel, and a dash of flair."

Harvey straightened up, his signature confidence in full force. "Flair is your middle name, isn't it? The 'Legal Maestro with a Touch of Flair.' Has a nice ring to it."

You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. "I'll have to update my business cards. But let's be honest, Harvey, you appreciate the flair. It's what sets my paperwork apart from the rest."

Harvey smirked, leaning in. "You're not wrong. But don't let it get to your head. I can't have you drafting contracts with a crown on, declaring yourself the Queen of Legal Documents." He turned to leave right after and you could have sworn you were asleep and that any moment now you would wake up from this dream.

You yelled out, “Don't worry, Harvey. I'll keep the royal proclamations to a minimum. Wouldn't want to overshadow your crown as the King of Closing Deals." And you could have sworn he let out a hearty laugh from down the hall.

“Y/N, nice of you to join us”, Harvey said. Jessica and Mike were already in the room as the other associates were already screaming. They had been given their assignments and were off to work.

“What can I do”, you spoke above a whisper, feeling small as the eyes were all on you. Jessica knew your history, she knew you struggled to be the shark of a lawyer you could be. But she hired you anyway, your interview with her wasn't the best. But she saw something in you, something that reminded her of herself when she was starting off. She was gonna build and mold you to a shark. But for now she let you be. A shark wasn’t born overnight.

“ I need one of your flawless contracts for Amir. I need no loopholes. Nothing he can use against us”, Harvey spoke in a harsher tone then he meant.

All you could do was nod your head and swiftly leave the room to do the research needed. Leaving Mike, Harvey and Jessica to chatter. As you walked down the corridor you saw Louis making his way to Harvey’s office with Rachel in tow. All hands on deck indeed, you thought to yourself.

The first night working on that draft through the dim glow of the late-night office lights illuminated your determined face. The rhythmic tapping of the keyboard was accompanied by the occasional crunch of Hot Cheetos.

Proud of your work, you compiled the neatly typed pages and confidently walked over to Harvey Specter's desk. As you placed the document in the designated spot, you felt relief wash over you. It’s currently 2:00 am, no one is here but you but you really wanted to prove your worth.

With only 5 hours asleep, the next day, you walked into the office, a little pep in your step. You made yourself some crappy coffee. And were about to head into the bullpen.

Harvey, engrossed in his own work the minute he stepped into the office, took a moment to glance at the papers. His stern expression, usually unreadable, twisted into a scowl as he noticed a small Hot Cheeto stain near the corner of the document. And called you down to his office. Your pep was gone once you heard his tone of voice as he called your name. Turning on your heel you headed towards his office. Donna was expecting you and let you by. One foot through the door is as far as you got before Harvey had something to say.

"Do you see this?" Harvey's voice was sharp pointing at the small stain.

Panicking slightly, you stammered, "I'm sorry, Harvey. I must have missed that." It was an easy fix, just print another copy, you thought to yourself making a mental note.

Harvey's gaze shifted from the stain to the content of the contract. He began circling errors with a red pen, his frustration apparent. "And these mistakes? This is what you place on my desk and yet it isn't up to my expectations”.

As he pointed out the errors, your pride in their work crumbled. The Hot Cheeto stain seemed to just make Harvey go on a power trip.. Each correction felt like a blow,"I expect better from you," Harvey remarked, his tone cold and unforgiving.

You nodded, unable to muster a response. Maybe the growing friendship you thought of was truly in your head. As Harvey returned to his own work, you retreated to their desk, determined to rectify the mistakes.

You admit your first draft wasn't the best. And you shouldn't have eaten near the paperwork. You were currently starving as you finished up the last paragraph. It’s been 6 hours since Harvey scolded you but this draft was perfect. And after you turned it in you were going to treat yourself to a nice dinner. Probably the Mexican place down the road. You were zoned in for the past 6 hours. This was the only case you were working on and it needs all your attention. But your attention was quickly zoned into the associate that was stumbling through the door.

Mike comes waltzing in, barely having any balance. You and Mike haven't really talked much. But he didn't look well.

“ Hey, Mike. You okay?" you asked, concerned in your voice.

Mike attempted a nonchalant smile, but the wavering balance gave away his inebriated state. "Yeah, just...you know, a little tired."

Observing Mike closely, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story. "Are you sure about that?"

Mike hesitated before confessing, "Okay, fine. Maybe a bit more than tired. Harvey and I went to meet someone about the Amir Jackson case, and things got a bit...out of hand with the drinks"

Your concern shifted to a mix of annoyance and frustration. While you had been tirelessly working on the second version of the contract, Harvey and Mike were out getting drunk. "Seriously, Mike? We have a case to win, and you two are out here partying?"

Mike scratched his head, a sheepish grin on his face. "We thought it was a good idea at the time. Maybe it was a bit impulsive."

Determined to express their frustration, you headed towards Harvey's office, the door slightly opened,. Knocking lightly, you entered and handed Harvey the second draft of the contract. The faster you gave it to him the faster you could leave.

"Here's the updated version, Harvey," you said, trying to mask your annoyance. After all, he is still the boss.

You sped walked out of there and back to your cubicle. Mike was there still, with his head on his desk.

“Go ask Donna for some pain killers, you still have a long night ahead of you”, you told him.

Mike just nodded and stumbled as he stood up to go to Donna. You were packing your bags, ready to call it an early night. When your computer dinged. You sat down to respond to an email quickly when you felt the tension of the bullpen change drastically.

“What is this, Y/N ?" Harvey's tone was sharp, his blue eyes piercing into mine.

You frowned, confused by the unexpected hostility. "It's the contract you asked for, Harvey. I double-checked everything, and it's all in order."

He scoffed, he took out a red marker from his pocket and started circling stuff with his red marker again, "This is subpar, even for an associate. I don't have time for amateur hour."

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach, a mix of frustration and disbelief. "Harvey, I don't understand. I followed the protocol, and the contract is flawless. What's the issue?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, cutting tone. "Flawless? If this is your definition of flawless, we're in trouble. I need precision, not this half-baked attempt at legal work."

The comments were like a punch to the gut. Harvey's relentless standards were known, but this seemed different. You couldn't fathom what had triggered such a harsh reaction. Was he too tipsy? Doubt crept into your mind, questioning your abilities despite knowing that the document was, by all standards, impeccable.

As you scrambled to gather my thoughts, Harvey continued. "If you can't handle the basics, I don't know why I bother keeping you around. Maybe it's time for a reality check, Y/N."

His words hung in the air, a heavy weight on my shoulders. The bullpen fell silent, and your colleagues exchanged uneasy glances. You knew how people judged women for being emotional in the workplace but you could not help the tears welling in your eyes.

Harvey turned on his heel and walked away without a second glance, leaving you with a sinking feeling of inadequacy. You stared at the perfectly crafted document, now dismissed and devalued by Harvey's cutting words. It was a moment of doubt, a crack in the confidence you had built in your work. Goodbye nice dinner, you thought to yourself as we sat at your cubicle, back to square one.

It's been about a week since Harvey yelled at you. You couldn't sleep, you couldn't eat. Doubt was eating you. You were always proud of your writing skills, that was what you were known for. This is what got you hired at Pearson Hardman. What if you weren't good enough for this job anymore? Did you speak? Your mind was racing and you were lucky enough to talk yourself down. You were currently working on your fifth version of this contract. Every draft before that had him taking out his red marker. A part of you could have sworn he was just circling things at random, but who are you to question the great Harvey Specter. It was 2:00 pm and you thought maybe you deserve a snack so you headed to the breakroom. Who do you happen to run into Mike Ross? He had no faults but just happened to be the unwitting recipient of your frustration.

You stormed up to Mike barely containing the anger that had been building for weeks. "Mike, we need to talk," I blurted out, not bothering to hide the frustration in my voice.

Mike looked up from his sandwich, surprised by the intensity of my tone. "Sure, Y/N, what's going on?"

You took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "It's just... Do you ever feel like you're stuck in someone's shadow? Like no matter how hard you work, you're always one step behind?"

Mike furrowed his brow, sensing the gravity of my emotions. "What happened? Is it Harvey?"

You nodded, my frustration bubbling over. "It's always Harvey. He treats you like a partner, his drinking buddy, his go-to guy for everything. Meanwhile, I'm drowning in his shadow, drowning in rewrites and unreasonable expectations."

Mike leaned back, a sympathetic expression on his face. "I get it. Harvey has his moments. But you're great at what you do. Maybe he just doesn't see it."

"That's the problem, Mike. He doesn't see it. I'm just the person who writes and rewrites, constantly trying to meet his impossible standards. Did you know I can't even eat at my desk because once there was a Hot Cheeto stain on one of the drafts, and he lost it?"

Mike's eyes widened, realizing the extent of my frustration. "That's harsh, Y/N. Look, I know I have a different dynamic with Harvey, but it doesn't mean he values you any less. Maybe you should talk to him about how you're feeling."

"It's not that easy, Mike. I'm tired of being the one in the background. I can't handle the pressure anymore." you confessed, your voice laced with a mix of anger and vulnerability.

Mike sighed, understanding the weight of your words. "I can't fix everything, but I can listen. And I am truly sorry"

“NO, NO, no I am sorry Mike, I am not mad at you or at Harvey. I guess I am mad at myself. I am just going back to work on my fifth version of this document”, you said as you felt the hunger take over. But you pushed through. You had to push through.

As you walked out of the break room, Mike became an unexpected ally. He went to his binder Harvey put together and looked for the fourth version of the contract knowing Harvey had put it all in the file to look over. The document was perfect, no one could have done it better.

Mike took in your look when you came bargaining in here. You looked awful. And what it was barely a week working on the case. Mike had heard about Harvey yelling in the bullpen but it had caused you so much disarray that Mike knew Harvey took it too far. He knew you and he didn't talk as much but Rachel adored you and he had to do the right thing and get Harvey to apologize.

Donna saw Mike striding towards Harvey’s office and knew what was coming. Donna knew Harvey was wound tight. That this case was getting the best of him and taking it out on the lovely Y/N but lord forbid she say anything. The last time she tried she nearly got her head chewed off too and Harvey right now needs to know he isn't alone in this case.

"Harvey, you're being too hard on Y/N. The contract she wrote was perfect, and every draft since then has only improved upon perfection. You can't keep circling random stuff just to make her rewrite it," Mike asserted, his tone firm as he entered Harvey’s office. The fourth version of your contract in his hand.

Harvey shot him a sharp glance. "I demand the best, and if she can't deliver, then maybe she's not cut out for this."

Mike shook his head. "It's not about delivering, Harvey. It's about you being stressed out over the case and taking it out on her. She's doing her best, and you need to acknowledge that."

Before Harvey could respond, Donna chimed in. "Mike's right, Harvey. I've seen the way you've been treating Y/N, and it's not fair. You've always had a soft spot for her, even if you won't admit it.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "A soft spot? Donna, you're reading too much into it."

Donna crossed her arms, "Harvey. I am Donna and I know everything. I also see everything. Harvey. Remember the time she was sick, and you made sure she had everything she needed? Or how you personally chose her for the team during the Jackson case? You compliment her skills and skip past everyone else you named for your team. You've got a soft spot for her, whether you admit it or not”

Mike nodded in agreement. "You can't deny it, Harvey. There's something about her that you can't ignore. Maybe it's time to acknowledge it and cut her some slack."

Harvey sighed, he didn't appreciate Mike and Donna ganging up on him but the fact that they were meant they maybe had a point, "Fine. Maybe I've been too hard on her. But she needs to know that mediocrity isn't acceptable."

Donna shook her head. "Harvey, there's a difference between pushing for excellence and being unnecessarily harsh. You owe Y/N an apology."

Reluctantly, Harvey nodded. "Alright. I'll talk to her. But this doesn't mean I'm going soft."

Donna smirked. "We wouldn't want that, Harvey."

Harvey made his way to find you. While Donna and Mike exchanged a knowing look. He made his way down to Rachels office, knowing that's where he will find you at these hours. He was taking the elevator and he thought about the last time both of you were in the elevator. It was the day the Amir Jackson case got handed for the first time. Harvey was on his way to meet with Amir for the first time in a long time to talk over the case, get under his skin.

The elevator doors closed, enclosing Harvey Specter and Y/N in a small, confined space. The tension from the Jackson case was already weighing heavily on Harvey, evident by the way he impatiently tugged at his perfectly knotted tie.

"Harvey, relax. You're going to strangle yourself with that tie if you keep pulling on it," you quipped. You realized the stress coming off him and the words just flew out of your mouth before you could think.

Harvey shot them a sidelong glance, his usual stoicism momentarily replaced by a flicker of amusement. "Maybe I'd be better off without it."

A small, unexpected laugh escaped Harvey's lips, surprising both him and Y/N. It was a rare sight to witness Harvey Specter, the embodiment of seriousness, letting his guard down even for a moment. Specifically with you.

" This isn't your first time easing the tension, I see the way you calm Rachel down when she gets in over her head. You always find a way to lighten the mood. What's your secret?" Harvey teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You shrugged, a smile forming as you too let down your guard "Maybe it's just my superpower. The ability to make even the mighty Rachel and even the mysterious Harvey Specter crack a smile."

Harvey's expression shifted back to his usual cool exterior, but a subtle warmth lingered in his eyes. "Careful, now you might start thinking you're irreplaceable."

As the elevator continued its ascent, the banter between you quieted down and Harvey and you started to go back to normal. Back to the quietness and coldness.

But before the elevator opened to the floor, Harvey sneaked in, “Well, don't let it get to your head. You're not the comedian Pearson Specter, just the document wizard.", his smile lingered a little before the face of the closer returned to its hard exterior.

If you were there longer than Rachel or she was busy running around the office she allowed you to work in her small office room. It was currently 4:00 pm but Louis had yelled at all the associates and dismissed them for the day for being useless. Only those working on the Amir case were still here, plus Donna and Rachel. Rachel was off trying to get the emails of old associates of Amir. You thought that Mike probably went off with her after your little breakdown to him. You knew Harvey was in the office and that you were typing on your keyboard like there was no tomorrow. You meticulously worked on the revised legal document, determined to prove to Harvey Specter that you could meet his standards and trying to prove yourself that you could melt your own standards. The door swung open abruptly, and you hooked up to see Harvey's stern expression.

"Y/N, we need to talk," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that another reprimand was imminent.

Your pulse quickened, and your breath caught in your throat. The anxiety that had been simmering since Harvey's earlier criticism surged to the surface. You felt a tightness in my chest, your hands trembling as you tried to compose myself.

Harvey noticed your distress, as his expression softened, and he took a step closer. "Hey, relax. I just wanted to talk about earlier. I think I may have been too harsh."

The words barely registered as your panic escalated. Your mind raced, and suddenly, you found it difficult to breathe. The walls of the office seemed to close in on you. Before you could respond, the edges of your vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness overcame you as you sat at the desk, gripping on to the edge for support.

Harvey's concern deepened as he watched you struggle. "Hey hey hey, whoa, take it easy. You are okay, everything is okay”

But you couldn't catch your breath, and panic tightened its grip. Your hands shook uncontrollably, and you gasped for air. In the midst of the chaos, Harvey acted swiftly. He made his way around the desk kneeling down to be at eye level with you.

"Deep breaths, Y/N. In and out," Harvey instructed, his voice a soothing anchor in the storm of panic.

As you continued to struggle, Harvey, without hesitation, he took your hand and placed it over his heart. "Feel my heartbeat? Match your breaths to it. In, and out”

His heartbeat served as a rhythmic guide, and slowly, your breaths synchronized with its steady cadence. The panic began to subside, replaced by a sense of calm that washed over you. As the storm within you quieted, exhaustion set in, and the world around you blurred into darkness.

Harvey caught you as you passed out. Guilt swept over him because he knew he was the cause of this. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile, the last time you ate, the last time you lit up a room. You were giving your all in this case and by doing so you were giving away parts of yourself too. He moved you onto Rachels couch so you could lay down properly. He knew you passed out because of panic and the lack of eating, he noticed these things about you. He noticed a lot about you actually, damn it Donna, he thought.

He took his pocket square and wet it with your water bottle. He adjusted himself to the couch, moving so that your head was on his lap as he placed the cool rag on your forehead.

The aftermath of the panic attack had left both of you in a vulnerable state. Yet Harvey couldn't deny the flutter in his chest as he gazed down at you. Was it concern for your well-being, or was it the proximity that had him on edge? He shook off the thought, focusing on steadying his own heartbeat.

In the midst of the stillness, the door creaked open, and right on cue Mike Ross cautiously entered. He took in the scene, the concern etched across his face.

"What happened?" Mike asked, his eyes shifting between Harvey and your unconscious state, ready to fight Harvey if he did you any physical harm.

Harvey, in his usual commanding tone, snapped, "Go to the Mexican restaurant two blocks down and get two number 5's."

Mike, taken aback, stammered, "But—"

"Just do it," Harvey insisted, his gaze never leaving you.

Mike quickly exited, leaving Harvey alone with his unconscious colleague. He had so many questions but Harvey’s tone told him everything he needed to know. Minutes later, the door swung open again, revealing Mike with bags of Mexican takeout in hand.

"Here," Mike said, handing the bags to Harvey. "I'll take off early for the night. Rachel and I were thinking about grabbing dinner. You got this, right?" A little weary to leave you, feeling like he should tell Rachel, Donna or even Jessica. But the look in Harvey’s eye told him he had nothing to worry about.

Harvey nodded, a silent acknowledgment of Mike's understanding. As Mike left, Harvey couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and guilt. He knew you hadn't been eating well, and by the looks of your under eye bags you also hadn't been sleeping and the panic attack had been triggered by the stress of the Jackson case, a burden he bore on both their shoulders.

As you began to stir, Harvey glanced down at the bags of Mexican food. The aroma filled the room, and he hoped the gesture would, in some small way, make up for the turmoil he inadvertently caused.

"You're awake," Harvey remarked as you slowly opened their eyes.

You ignored everything around you as you slowly sat up with the help of Harvey. A blush rushing on your face realizing how close you were to Harvey. But all that faded when you saw the food, "How did you know this is my favorite?"

“That’s the first thing you ask?’Harvey raised an eyebrow.

Your body slowly turned to face him.The headache and body sores had you wincing in pain. Harvey’s eyes held much guilt and sadness in them even as he tried to suppress them and act strong in front of you. This was about you and not about what he was feeling.

“I am a simple girl. I get easily distracted by food”, you let out a small laugh even though you are exhausted, “Now answer my question”

Harvey hesitated, the words lingering on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to say that it's because he knew you. But Instead of admitting the depth of his knowledge about you, he chose a simpler response. "Who doesn't love Mexican food?"

You hummed as he moved the desk closer to you so you wouldn't have to get up from the couch. The food was spread out and he took a seat next to you. A silence took over the room as you both began to eat. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension, the events of the panic attack still lingering in the air.

Harvey cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy silence. "Look, Y/N, I wanted to apologize for the unnecessary pressure I put on you. It was out of line, and I shouldn't have let it escalate to the point of causing a panic attack."

You glanced up from your plate, a mixture of exhaustion and forgiveness in your eyes. "Harvey, it's not entirely your fault. The case is stressful, and I should have handled it better."

Harvey's expression softened at your words. "That doesn't excuse my behavior. I should have been more considerate. I don't want you to feel like you have to carry the weight of the case alone."

You sighed, pushing the food around on their plate. "Harvey, I forgive you, but on one condition."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

" I can't keep being treated like an outsider, I know I only got hired because of my writing skills but I want to do more, be more. I want to be more than just the person who drafts contracts. I know I can be a kick ass lawyer if given the chance."

Harvey took a moment to absorb your words. The realization of the impact of his actions sank in, and he nodded. "You're right”

“Did those words really just come out of your mouth”, your eye grew wide as a smile danced on your lips’’

“Just, can you just shush for a moment”, he said as he placed his fork down.

“ Jessca told me when you were hired that you were born to be a shark. I guess I got so caught up in your skills that I haven't really even given you the chance to dominate the courtroom. I shouldn't have overlooked that."

You saw something in his eyes you had never seen before. Was it hope?

You both continued to eat in subdued silence, the tension in the room shifted. The unspoken feelings between both of you simmered beneath the surface. This was forever changing the dynamic of your professional relationship.

So where do you all go after this? The case of Amir Jackson isn't over, there is much more left for you both to do. This isn't the end. This is only the beginning, leaving both Harvey and you to navigate whatever comes next.

#harvey specter x reader #harvey specter x you #harvey specter #suits #suits usa #suits tv #mike ross #donna paulsen #Pearson Hardman

280 notes · View notes

jqnsfw · 10 months

Text

Seeing S/O in Lingerie Reaction

From a request in my main blog, this has no smut but VERY SUGGESTIVE so... yeah ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sebastian Moran, William James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, and Louis James Moriarty

Tag/s: Historically inaccurate lingerie

Sebastian Moran

The man whistled as soon as you entered his field of vision.

He looked like a kid in a candy store.

Straight up GRINNING from ear to ear.

If you're showing him a variety, he'll inspect every single one of them.

It's almost alarming how focused he looks.

Little do you know, he's thinking about how to use whatever lace or strings your outfit has to his advantage in the bedroom.

The minute you're within his reach, Sebastian pulls you to his lap to get a closer look.

He takes his time to take in your figure while his hands roam through your body.

Even as you walk away, his eyes never leave your figure.

Like you were one of his targets on missions.

He would definitely tease you, wanting you to get riled up as much as he is.

What's more annoying is he wants you to say that you want to do it before he continues.

He's torn between taking it off or just doing the deed with it still on you.

Whatever position you're in, he definitely has a good view of you.

A mirror might be involved.

"I'm back-" Sebastian abruptly stopped as your eyes met in the mirror, wide in shock.

His eyes traveled down to your new short silk nightgown and stockings, going up and down before smiling.

"You could have just said so," he chuckled, removing his coat as he walked up to you.

You quickly grabbed whatever was closest to you, in this case, a hairbrush, and pointed it at him as you kept a distance.

"Oh no, you don't! Last time, I chased the target through the city with a limp!" you muttered, keeping your distance as your eyes never left him.

"Do you have a mission tomorrow?" Sebastian innocently asked, making you pause.

"...No...?"

"Then that settles it," he smiled, quickly hugging your waist.

"SEBASTIAN!"

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle. Wouldn't want your pretty outfit to rip, now do we?"

William James Moriarty

When you asked him to come with you to go underwear shopping, he was shocked, to say the least.

But he quickly recovered and agreed.

You definitely have his attention now.

While his eyes kept following you while he drank his tea, his smile was different than it usually was.

It was more... devious, so to speak.

While he keeps his composure, a lot has happened in his mind.

While you were picking some things, William acted like a perfect gentleman.

Holds the clothes you picked, heartfelt compliments to boost your confidence, over all the best boyfriend you could ask for.

Almost too good to be true. And it was.

He might have thought of a few scenarios on how the two of you could get away with it in the store.

It helped that it was a pretty private dressing room, considering the store was made just for the nobles, where it was just you and him.

Even the workers were far from earshot, attending to the other customers at the front.

But he didn't continue since he saw you enjoying your little date and didn't want to ruin your good mood.

It didn't help that you would ask him for help to put some of them on, though... Or take them off.

Besides, he has the whole night planned just for the two of you, and he's making sure no one would bother you two.

You hummed happily as you swung the bags in your arms, satisfied with your purchases.

"I'm surprised you agreed to go shopping with me, Will!" you mused as you turned to William, "Didn't you have a meeting later with everyone? Wouldn't you be late?"

William gave you a smile as he grabbed your hand, "The meeting was moved since some of the professors were out sick,"

"Is that so..." you trailed off, shrugging off his response.

William quietly chuckled, remembering the surprised expressions his comrades had when he said the meeting was canceled and assigned a new mission to everyone.

The manor was now empty until morning.

"Well, whatever! I can't wait to try these at home," you beamed, looking down at your new haul.

"Indeed," William agreed, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Sherlock Holmes

He never saw the appeal of the lingerie until he saw it on you.

Now, lace is his favorite thing on your body.

The first time he saw you in lingerie, it was like he shut down.

He didn't say a word, but his eyes were glued to you as he reached his hand out to you.

When you walked up to him, he eyed every inch of your body, engraving the image of you in his mind.

To him, you looked ethereal.

Like beauty personified.

When he did speak, it was soft and breathless, as if you rendered him speechless.

And when you did it, the sight of you in lingerie and covered in hickeys he left is now his favorite thing.

He gets more possessive whenever he sees you in lingerie.

And surprisingly more gentle and slow, wanting to enjoy every second of it.

Now, every time you buy a new set, he likes having a private fashion show.

When you bring him to a lingerie store, he is not embarrassed at all.

Hell, he'd even pick out a few things for you.

You can tell his compliments are genuine with how serious his expression is.

"Sherlock?" you called out, slowly walking up to him.

His eyes were completely wide as he looked at you.

"Sherl?" you called out again, but no response as he continued to stare at you.

You bit your lip as you covered yourself, feeling self-conscious wearing nothing but a bustier with matching underwear.

"Don't,"

"Huh?" Sherlock quickly grabbed your hands, pulling them down to your side.

"Don't hide it. You look beautiful," Sherlock breathed out, mesmerized by your outfit as his eyes slowly looked up at you.

You felt your face flush as you looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You're staring too much,"

"I disagree,"

Louis James Moriarty

You almost gave the man a heart attack.

He was not expecting to see you in lace and sheer one night after a long day of house chores.

Was it an unwelcomed surprise? No. Definitely not.

That night, he was just hoping to have some downtime with you after working the whole day.

So when he saw you by your dresser half-dressed putting on stockings, it was like the man turned into stone.

Minutes later, Louis came back and saw you in your robe, relieved to see he was okay.

His face became completely red when he remembered what happened and apologized for walking in on you.

Even though you forgave Louis, he's still scolding himself for liking what he saw.

What's more, his eyes would gaze over your robe when it would slip.

Explaining why he slammed his head on the table was interesting, to say the least.

So when you told Louis it was okay for him to look, he was still shy. But you would catch him stealing glances your way.

He tries to compliment you, say anything coherent for that matter. But he just mutters something while looking at the ground.

However, the moment he got more confident, his hands would not let you go.

Suddenly, he's fluent in dirty talk and knows just what to say to get you in the mood.

And he makes sure you know just how beautiful and alluring you looked that night.

"I truly apologize..." Louis muttered, a cold towel over his head as you chuckled, tying the robe tightly around your waist.

"Don't be. I'm just surprised," you reassured as you removed the towel, making Louis meet your eyes.

You weren't sure, but you swear you saw his eyes tracing your robe down to your chest.

His face turned completely red instantly, making him turn away.

You breathed out a smile as you hugged him tightly, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm really not mad, Louis!" you giggled, swaying side-by-side.

"Besides, that was for your eyes only, you know?" you grinned, making the man freeze as steam came out of his face as you snickered.

"Please don't tease me..."

#yuukoku no moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty smut #moriarty the patriot smut #sebastian moran #sebastian x reader #ynm sebastian #william james moriarty #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #ynm sherlock #louis james moriarty #louis moriarty #louis moriarty x reader

757 notes · View notes

anotherhumaninthisworld · 6 months

Note

Can you please give an explainer on the friendship between Robespierre and Desmoulins and what their dynamic together was like? I know they were at school together as kids but were they really as close as movies usually portray them as? Was Robespierre better friends with Saint-Just?

Bonus: What's the story behind Desmoulins using Roussaeau against Robespierre?

Merci!

That’s an interesting question considering how often their relationship, as you say, has gotten dramatized.

The good days of the relationship

Both Robespierre and Desmoulins started attending the boarding school of Louis-le-Grand at the age of eleven, the former in 1769, the latter in 1771. We don’t know when exactly they first ran into and/or got to know each other, nor exactly just how close or not they actually grew to be while at college. To me, the following two statements do however suggest that their relationship back then was at least better than ”mere acquaintances”:

Oh, my dear Robespierre! It is not long since we were sighing together over our country’s servitude, since, drawing from the same sources the sacred love of liberty and equality, amid so many professors whose lessons only taught us to detest our land, we were complaining there was no professor of cabals who would teach us to free it, when we were regretting the tribune of Rome and Athens, how far was I from thinking that the day of a constitution a thousand times more beautiful was so close to shining on us, and that you, in the tribune of the French people, would be one of the firmest ramparts of the nascent freedom! Desmoulins in number 15 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant (March 8 1790)

I knew Camille in college, he was my study companion, he was then a talented young man without mature judgement. Since then Camille has developed the most ardent love of the Republic;... one must not look only at one point in his moral life, one must take the whole of it; one must examine him as a whole. Robespierre defends Camille at the Jacobins December 14 1793 (only time he ever admitted to a college friendship with anyone at all)

Liévin-Bonaventure Proyart, who worked at the college up until 1778, would give the following description of the relationship Desmoulins and Robespierre had back then in his La vie et les crimes de Robespierre: surnommé le Tyran… (1795):

In his lower classes, and however young he had been, [Robespierre] was very rarely seen sharing the amusements and games which most please childhood. His cold and misanthropic heart never knew those outpourings of lively and frank joy, natural signs of candor and ingenuity. Of all the noisy and endlessly varied amusements which make the public recreation of a college such an animated scene, none pleased him, and he preferred dark reveries and solitary walks. If someone, at these moments, approached him, he received him with a cold gravity; and answered him at first only in monofyllables. If he took it upon himself to praise his style and his scholastic productions, Robespierre did him the favor of striking up a conversation with him. But, however little one ventured to thwart him, one instantly became the object of some harsh and virulent trait. Camille Desmoulins, who lived at the same college, and whose impetuous and untidy character did not adapt well to the philosophical arrogance of Robespierre, had from time to time grapples with him, but from then on as since, the champions did not fight on equal terms. Always more reflective than the opponent who provoked him, and more master of his moves, Robespierre, watching the moment, pounced on him with all the advantage that cold prudence has over temerity.

Fellow students Beffroy de Reigny and Stanislas Fréron would in the latter half of the 1790’s similarly make the contradiction of stating both that the young Robespierre didn’t have any friends at school and that the latter and Desmoulins had been college comrades (Beffroy writing that Robespierre was ”his (Desmoulins’) comrade and mine” and Fréron that Desmoulins was Robespierre’s ”childhood comrade”). Though given the time these texts were written, I think this might should be read more as these Robespierre-dislikers wanting to have the cake and eat it too (ergo they both want Robespierre to have killed his childhood friend and to have been so repulsive he had no friends at all) than as full blown evidence Camille was Robespierre’s ”only friend,” as the latter puts it in La Terreur et la Vertu.

Finally, Marcellin Matton, when writing a short biography over Camille in 1834, stated the following regarding his college days:

It was [at Louis-le Grand] that Camille got to know Maximilien Robespierre. They differed in character, but both had this passion which always distinguishes men of genius — love for liberty and for independence. The fully republican education one gave to young people born to live under a monarchy contributed a lot to their character. Without stop and in all forms, one presented them with history of Gracchus, Brutus, Cato. Camille was always together with Robespierre and their conversation most often revolved around the constitution of the Roman Republic.

While this certainly sounds like it could just be romantizing, we do know Matton was friends with Camille’s mother-in-law and sister-in-law, and it it’s therefore possible it’s them (who in their turn would have gotten it from Camille) who have given him this account of a close college relationship.

It’s sometimes argued that Robespierre and Desmoulins can’t have been friends while at school since they were never in the same grade, and it therefore would have been really hard for them to socialize. And indeed, when looking over the school regulations that were in motion during their time there, that does indeed come off as quite a hard thing to do — students were to stick to their ”quarter” both in dormitories, during classes, study hall, on Sunday outings, and at table (at first I thought maybe these ”quarters” weren’t neccessarily made up of students who all came from the same grade, but this other piece seems to rule out that possibility). This leaves the thirty-minute recesses as the only places where students from different quarters would have gotten a chance to interact with one another (bc they all seemed to have recess at the same time according to the schedule…). I do however think Robespierre and Desmoulins’ own testimonies weigh heavier than this. Desmoulins would also go on to admit college friendships with other students we know for a fact can never have been in the same grade as him.

In 1774 and 1775, both Robespierre and Desmoulins’ names featured on the list of students that had been awarded annual prizes for their hard labors, which means that they, according to the regulations, got presented before the bureau of administration by the principal ”to there receive praise and rewards due to their work and the success of their studies” together.

After graduating (Robespierre in 1781, Desmoulins in 1785) the two seemingly lost sight of one another, at least we don’t have any evidence they corresponded or in other ways kept up contact. Two pieces do however show us they did not forget about each other entirely. The first is a letter dated spring 1786 Camille adressed to the aforementioned Beffroy de Reigny, who in January the same year had openly thanked his ”former study comrade Robespiere [sic]” for sending him two of his works as a gift.

It was noticed lately, as a misfortune attached to the house where we were brought up together, that none of those who had distinguished themselves there fulfilled in the world the hopes that he had first given, that you alone seem happier right now, and we rejoice in your many subscribers. Although the subscribers are your dear and beloved cousins, we can clearly see that you have not forgotten the rest of the family, nor lost sight of the mountain where we were the first to applaud you. The advantageous manner in which you have spoken of M. Robespiere [sic] has charmed us all; up to now, M. Jéhanne has missed only one opportunity to provide you with the occasion of doing him justice as well. The joy with which you gave well deserved praise to a comrade reproached me for my conduct towards you, and obliges me to retract.

In 1793, Robespierre did in his turn admit to before the revolution have read a poem (that according to Camille had been written in 1787), and felt proud once he realized who the author was:

Remember that at a time when the monarchy was best established on its foundations, Camille, a simple individual, without support, without advocate or patron, a lawyer without a cause on the fourth floor, dared to put into verse the proudest principles of the most determined Republican. Then, in the depths of my province, I learned with secret pleasure that the author was one of my college comrades.

Interestingly, Robespierre’s younger brother Augustin started studying law at Louis-le-Grand in 1784, one year before Camille graduated from said program, although neither would claim to have known the other while at college.

On May 8 1789, Desmoulins authored a letter to his father, telling him about the opening of the Estates General at Versailles three days earlier. Lamenting the fact he himself didn’t get elected for it, he writes: ”one of my comrades has been more fortunate than I, it’s de Robespierre, deputy from Arras. He has been wise enough to plead in his own province.” The fact Camille was able to recognize Robespierre eight years after their separation (and care about it enough to write it down), could be read as yet another sign their college relationship had at least mattered somewhat, especially since this letter is from before Robespierre had made any kind of name for himself politically. How exactly Camille found out Robespierre had been elected (did he recognize his face in a crowd, accidentally run into him or just see it written down somewhere?) is however unknown.

After the ceremony, Camille did however head back to Paris, while Robespierre would remain at Versailles up until October 1789. On July 23 1789, the latter writes to his friend Antoine Buissart that he has been shown the stormed Bastille, suggesting he’s taken a short trip to the capital, but there’s no evidence he saw Desmoulins during it, or even that he knew he had been the one inciting the storming at this point.

In the beginning of September, Camille released Discours de la Lanterne aux Parisiens, the first of his works which he mentioned Robespierre in:

I would at least congratulate Mr. de Robespierre for opposing with all his strength the release of the Duke of Vauguyon. Mr. Glaizen opposed it in an even more eloquent manner. Member of the criminal committee, he resigned immediately. The speaks of conviction. Honor to MM. Glaizen and Robespierre!

Later the same month, Camille went back to Versaille after having been invited by Mirabeau, and the day after his arrival (September 20 1789) he could write to tell his father: ”If you hear bad things said about me, console yourself with the memory of the testimony that MM. de Mirabeau, Target, M. de Robespierre, Gleizal and more than two hundred deputies gave me.” Camille stayed with Mirabeau for two weeks before returning to Paris, but there’s no proof he saw Robespierre any more times during his stay.

When Robespierre too went to Paris soon thereafter, he settled in an apartment on Rue de Saintonge, today a 45 minute walk away from Camille’s erstwhile home on Rue de Tournon 19. Despite finally living in the same city again, it’s not until March 6 1790 I’ve discovered something more concreate tying the two together. It’s a note from Desmoulins to Robespierre, found listed in Mémoires de l’Académie des sciences, agriculture, commerce, belles-lettres et arts du département de la Somme (1907) as one of many Desmoulins related text published in Journal de Vervins during the summer of 1884. Unfortunately, I can’t find this journal online anywhere, so I don’t know what the note was about.

In November 1789, Camille founded his very first journal — Révolutions de France et de Brabant — that would run until the fall of 1791. Searching for the term ”Robespierre” in the seven digitalized volumes of the journal, I find Camille talking about him around 85 times. The first time is in number 4 (released December 19 1789), where he makes sure to underline the fact that he and Robespierre had been ”college comrades”:

…If my dear college comrade, Robespierre, had said the same thing to the viscount, he wouldn’t have been able to respond like Saint Peter.

This was the first in a long series of homages Desmoulins’ journal would pay Robespierre. Throughout the years, he called him among other things ”The last of Romans and my hero” (number 41, September 6 1790), ”So pure, so inflexible, the peak of patriotism” (number 46, October 11 1790), ”the living commentary on the Declaration of Rights” (number 65, February 21 1791) and ”immutable” (number 76, May 9 1791). Desmoulins was also second in giving Robespierre the famous nickname ”the Incorruptible.” Not even Robespierre’s erstwhile boyfriend brother in arms Pétion, where Camille still admitted it was impossible to speak of one without thinking about the other (number 55, December 13 1790) got the same almost saintlike treatment. While Robespierre got praised by several journals positive to the revolution, I don’t think it would be that unfair to say Desmoulins was his cheerleader number one during at least its first few years. Several times, Robespierre also sent Camille speeches and letters of his which the latter willfully inserted into his journal (1, 2, 3).

I’ve found only one time Révolutions de France et de Brabant had something negative to say about Robespierre, and it is in number 27, released on May 31 1790, and conviently enough, the next piece of information regarding Desmoulins and Robespierre’s relationship that I know of:

I wasted my time preaching the republic. The republic and democracy are now down, and it is unfortunate for an author to shout in the desert and to write pages as worthless, as little listened to, as the motions of J. F. Maury. Since I despair of overcoming insurmountable currents, tied for six months to the bench of rowers, perhaps I would do well to regain the shore, and throw away a useless oar. I should leave Garnery, continue writing Révolutions de France et de Brabant at a discount, without attempting with my librarian, the unequal struggle of Tournon with Prudhomme. But I hear Robespierre call my discouragement corruption, and exclaim that I am sold like the others to the King's wife and to the ministerial party. I must undeceive my dear Robespierre, I must give new proofs of my incorruptibility every week, show that I am as proud a republican as he is, and that when the number of patriots, which is diminishing prodigiously every day, would be reduced to one or two citizens, it is I who would like to remain the last of the Jacobins. […] How is it that I was accused of being a sold-out journalist, and that I saw Robespierre and L... among my slanderers, when it is so difficult to find proofs of corruption against me? […] So I could not have my neck wrapped in a handkerchief and complain of esquinancia without being reproached for argyrancia as well. Ungrateful Robespierre!

A week later, June 7 1790, Robespierre authors the following letter to Desmoulins, in response to something the latter has written about him in the number of his journal released right after the one quoted above:

Monsieur, I read the following passage regarding the decree from May 22 on the right of war and peace in your (votre) latest number of Révolutions de France et de Brabant: On Saturday, May 22, the little dauphin applauded a decree Mirabeau had put forward with a good sense way beyond his young years. The people applauded too. It led back in triumph Barnave, Péthion [sic], Lameth, d'Aiguillon, Duport, and all the illustrious Jacobins; imagiening itself having just won a great victory, and these deputies had the weakness to maintain it in an error which they enjoyed. Robespierre was more frank, he said to the multitude which surrounded him and stunned them with his beating statement: ”Well! gentlemen, what are you congratulating yourself on? the decree is detestable, detestable to the last bit; let's let the brat clap his hands at his window, he knows better than us what he's doing.” I must, monsieur, point out the error in which you have been led on the fact which concerns me in this passage. I told the National Assembly my opinion on the principles and consequences of the decree which regulates the exercise of the right of peace and war; but there I stopped. I did not make the statement you cite in the Tuileries garden; I didn’t even speak to the crowd of citizens who gathered in my path as I crossed it. I believe I must disavow this fact: 1, because it is not true; 2, because, however disposed I am to always display in the National Assembly the character of frankness which should distinguish the representatives of the nation, I am not unaware that elsewhere there is a certain reserve which suits them. I hope, monsieur, that you will be good enough to make my statement public through your newspaper, especially since your magnanimous zeal for the cause of liberty will make it a law for you not to leave bad citizens the slightest of pretext to calumniate the energy of the defenders of the people. De Robespierre.

There’s certainly not much in this letter implying Robespierre is friends with Desmoulins, or even knows him as anything more than a journalist… All readers’ letters published within Révolutions de France et de Brabant up to this point have however used vouvoiement and been about as formal, so it’s possible Robespierre (who, according to his conserved correspondence, doesn’t use a particulary warm tone with anyone around this period save his arragois friend Antoine Buissart) is trying to mimick them. It’s also not impossible his tone had something to do with what Desmoulins had written about him a week earlier. Desmoulins did however not let himself become influenced by it when publishing and responding to the letter in the the next number (June 14 1790) of his journal. He even chose to adress Robespierre in tutoiment, even though Robespierre addressed him with vouvoiement, and despite having adressed every other correspondent to the journal with vouvoiement up until this point.

If I insure this errata, my dear Robespierre, it is only to show your (ton) signature to my fellow journalists, and teach them not to cripple a name that patriotism has illustrated. There is in your letter a dignity, a seanatorial gravity which wounds college friendship. You’re rightly proud of the laticlave of deputy to the National Assembly. This noble pride pleases me, and what annoys me even more is that not everyone feels their dignity as you do? But you should at least greet a former comrade with a slight nod. I love you none the less, because you are faithful to principles, even if you are not so faithful to friendship. However, why demand this retraction from me? When I would have slightly altered the truth in the anecdote I told, since this fact is honorable for you, since I doubtless said what you thought, if not your expressed words, instead of disavowing the journalists so curtly, you had to content yourself with saying like the cousin, in the charming comedy of the supposed dead man: ”Ah! Monsieur, vous brodez!” You are not one of those weak men of whom J.J Rousseau speaks, who do not want anyone to be able to repeat what they think, and who only speak the truth in their negligee or in their dressing gown, and not in the National Assembly or in the Tuileries.

According to Brissot, the incident did however end up making both college comrades rather piqued against one another. In his memoirs (1793), he wrote the following about it:

I reread this letter to Camille, which chance put before my eyes at this moment, and of which Robespierre himself had brought me a copy to print so that it would have more publicity. It is dated June 8 [sic] 1790 […] Doesn't everything in this letter, on which I can't help but dwell yet, bear the character of a vague uneasiness, of a singular timidity? I remember on this occasion Robespierre with his fears and his scruples which he could not dissimulate. Desmoulins' thoughtlessness alarmed him; he didn't know what to think of it. Was this young man paid to write such follies, and thus compromise the friends of reason and liberty? The deputy's response to the journalist was dignified, proud; it was indeed the style of a patriot. Royalism? what clumsiness! […] Before inserting this complaint in my diary, I warned Camille, whose susceptibility I knew. His answer was made, he left it to me; but I thought I was agreeable to him by publishing neither this answer nor the complaint of which it was the object. He seemed to me strongly piqued against Robespierre. Was it in this tone that a college friend had written to him? What had this rose-watered Brutus to blame, and what power was he so afraid of displeasing? However, Cassius did not want to anger Brutus. Desmoulins always sought to stick to celebrities, to Danton as to Mirabeau, to Linguet as to Robespierre; he would have sought out Marat, had that wolf been able to live with someone in society. Moreover, Robespierre's letter, like his signature, struck his mind, and his answer smelt a bit of taunting.

If the relationship got damaged, it was however not enough to stop Robespierre from saving Camille after an arrest warrant had been issued against him during the session of the National Assembly held on August 2 1790:

M. Malouet: …Is Camille Desmoulins innovative? He will justify himself. Is he guilty? I will be the accuser of him and of all those who take up his defense. Let him justify himself, if he dares. (A voice rises from the stands: ”Yes, I dare.” A part of the surprised assembly rises; the rumor spreads in the assembly that it is M. Camille Desmoulins who has spoken; the president gives the order to arrest the individual who uttered these words). N…: I ask that we deliberate beforehand on this arrest. M. Robespierre: I believe that the provisional order given by the President was indispensable; but must you confuse imprudence and inconsideration with crime? He heard himself accused of a crime against the Nation, it is difficult for a sensitive man to remain silent. It cannot be supposed that he intended to disrespect the Legislative Body. Humanity agrees with justice, pleads in its favour. I ask for his release, and that we move on to the agenda. The president annonces that M. Camille Desmoulins has escaped and can’t be arrested. The Assembly pass onto the order of the day.

Desmoulins was grateful Robespierre had stepped in, and in number 38 (August 16 1790) of his journal, he described the incident in the following way:

My dear Robespierre did not abandon me at this moment. By condemning me at first he conciliated all minds, and then brought them back with great art by developing this motion: if it is someone other than M. Desmoulins who raised his voice, this breach of assembly wheat must be punished; if it is him; it is difficult for an accused who does not feel guilty not to accept the challenge of his accuser. I ask for his release. Robespierre was applauded.

When Fréron (who we know was on friendly terms with at least Camille) described the very same incident in his journal l’Orateur du Peuple, he did refer to Robespierre as ”his (Camille’s) friend” so perhaps their relationship had indeed gotten better since Robespierre’s impersonal letter…

Three numbers later (September 6 1790) he writes about having given Robespierre a book written by abbot Jean-Joseph Rive:

O most learned and most patriotic of abbots! I read your letters, in which you always start out angry with me, and in which you end up smothering me with patriotic semens, and I gave your dear Robespierre your 700 pages in-80. But when do expect us to find the time to read your little novel?

Pierre Villiers, who in his Souvenirs d’un déporté (1802) claimed to have served as Robespierre’s secretary April-November 1790, wrote that the latter during this period ”thought the highest (il a fait le plus grand cas) of Camille Desmoulins. He's going too fast, Robespierre said to me, he'll break his neck; Paris wasn't made in a day, it takes more than a day to undo.”

On December 11 1790, Camille was given permission to marry Lucile Duplessis. Two weeks later, December 27, Robespierre, alongside Pétion, Brissot, Mercier, Sillery, Danton, Duport du Tertre, Barnave, Viefville des Essarts, Charles Lameth, Alexandre Lameth, Mirabeau, Andrieu and Deviefville, signed the couple’s wedding contract (1, 2). Two days after that, the wedding ceremony was held in Église Saint-Sulpice. Writing to his father about it, Camille could report that the witnesses this time had been ”Péthion [sic] and Robespierre, the elite of the National Assembly, M. de Sillery, who wanted to be there, and my two collegues Brissot de Warville and Mercier, the elite among the journalists.” The priest presiding over the ceremony was Denis Bérardier, who from 1778 to 1787 had been Camille and Robespierre’s college principal, after which he had been elected to represent the clergy at the Estates general. In the previously cited letter to his father, Camille writes that Bérardier during the ceremony held a speech that moved both him, Lucile and all of the witnesses to tears. An anonymous anecdote from 1792 similarily claims Camille began to cry out of joy during the ceremony, only this time Robespierre, instead of crying along with him, responded: ”don’t cry, you hypocrite!” It was however dismissed as apocryphal by Desmoulins’ latest biographer. After the ceremony, Camille reports that groom, bride, the witnesses and Bérardier all went over to his place to have dinner together with Lucile’s parents and sister.

A little more than a month after the wedding, Robespierre, impatient to see a speech of his printed in Révolutions de France et de Brabant, sent the following letter to Camille. This is the first time in his conserved correspondence where he doesn’t use vouvoiement, and it won’t be until February 1793 that he does so again (though I don’t have any appreciation on whether adressing someone in third-person is less formal or not):

Paris, February 14 1791 I point out to Monsieur Camille Demoulins [sic] that neither the beautiful eyes nor the fine qualities of the charming Lucile are reasons for not announcing my work on the national guard which has been given to him and of which I send him a copy if necessary. At this moment there is no object more pressing or more important than the organization of the National Guards. At least that is what the citizens of Marseilles think, of whom I am here attaching a decree relating to my speech. I beg Camille not to mislead himself and to try to also send me back the letters from Avignon and the replies which I gave him. Robespierre

Camille obliged, printing the speech a week later in number 65 (February 21 1791) of his journal. It happened to be Discours sur l’organisation des gardes nationales, in which Robespierre becomes the first person ever to use the three words ”liberté, égalité, fraternité” as a slogan. But it was Camille who in July 1790 had been the first to bring the three words together as a formula. Robespierre and Desmoulins can therefore be said to hold the shared responsibility for the invention of what today is France’s national motto.

Five days after Camille had published Robespierre’s speech, February 26, Madame Chalabre wrote to the latter that ”The patriot Camille, in his last speech, paints with a charming naturalness, a truly original precision, the character of your talents. One would think that the genius of the good and unfortunate Jean-Jacques inspired him; it is of such a delicate touch; he shed so many tears reading this passage! Good Camille, you deserve the happiness which I hope you will enjoy with your lovely companion.” A week later, March 3, Sillery writes to Camille that ”Madame de Sillery is coming to dine at my house with Pétion and Robespierre, I dare to ask your lovable and beautiful wife to too do me this honor. […] Come, my dear Camille, if you have ever found yourself in a pure and exact democracy, it will be eight o’clock on Sunday when I hope to embrace you.”

In number 79 (June 4 1791) of his journal, Camille praises the ”simplicity” of Robespierre ”going by foot from his home on rue Saintonge to the National Assembly and dining for 30 sols,” implying they are on good enough terms for him to know those details about him. A few weeks later, June 21, Paris woke up to the discovery that the royal family had disappeared from the capital during the night. In number 82 (June 27 1791) of his journal, Camille would describe in detail what he had been up to during this day:

I left [Lafayette] hoping that maybe the immense career that the King's flight had opened to his ambition had brought him back to the popular party, and arrived at the Jacobins, striving to believe in his demonstrations of friendship and patriotism, and to fill myself with this persuasion, which, despite my efforts, flowed from my mind through a thousand memories, as through a thousand outlets. The only man who has my full confidence, Robespierre, had the floor. See here a speech full of truths of which I haven’t lost a single one, and tremble: [he then transcribes a speech Robespierre holds on the flight of the royal family] How shall I express this abandon, this accent of patriotism and indignation with which he pronounced it! He was listened to with that religious attention from which we collect the last words of the dying. It was, in fact, like his testament that he came to deposit in the archives of the club. I did not hear this speech with as much composure as I report at this moment, where the arrest of the former King has changed the face of affairs. I was moved to tears in more than one place, and when this excellent citizen, in the middle of his speech, spoke of the certainty of paying with his head for the truths he had just pronounced, I cried out: we will all die before you!

Apparently no one ever taught Camille to be careful with what you wish for.

In the same number, Desmoulins also describes how, the next day, he and several others brought a woman who had information to give on the escape attempt to the Jacobin club, in the hopes that her testimony would get Robespierre to denounce Lafayette and Bailly. Once arrived, they talk to him and Buzot, who both quickly become convinced of the high credibility of the witness, but are taken aback by the measures proposed to be taken. ”We will be,” they said, ”pushed back from the tribune, referred to the research committee, and our accusation will be entered in this mortuary register of denunciations.” After a while Pétion shows up and definitely discourages Robespierre, who, according to Camille, ”at first was quite disposed to take away the reputation of Bailly and La Fayette via assault.”

The escape attempt resulted in the demonstration and shootings on Champ de Mars on July 17 1791. On the evening of the same day as these events, we find Desmoulins and Robespierre at the Jacobin Club, both speaking of what had just happened. Shortly thereafter Camille went incognito for a while, hiding out at Lucile’s parents’ country house at Bourg-la-Reine until finally resurfacing in Paris again in early September. In the meantime, Robespierre had changed address and gone to live with the Duplay family on Rue Saint-Honoré 398, today a 35 minute walk from Rue du Théâtre 1 (today Rue de l’Odeon 28) where Camille and Lucile had moved shortly after their wedding. In her old days, Élisabeth Duplay authored a list over the people who most commonly would frequent her family’s house during the revolution.

The Lamenths and Pétion in the early days, quite rarely Legendre, Merlin de Thionville and Fouché, often Taschereau, Desmoulins and Teault, always Lebas, Saint-Just, David, Couthon and Buonarotti.

However, judging by an anecdote told by the same Élisabeth, Desmoulins’ visits went from being frequent to rare after a certain incident (that I would guess happened in 1793 considering Élisabeth still places his overall visits under the ”often” section):

One day Camille familiarly enters the Duplay house; Robespierre was absent. He starts a conversation with the youngest of the carpenter's daughters; as he retires, Camille hands her a book he had under his arm. ”Elizabeth,” he said to her, ”do me the service of holding onto this work; I will come back for it.” No sooner had Desmoulins left than the young girl curiously half-opened the book entrusted to her custody: what was her confusion, seeing paintings of revolting obscenity pass under her fingers. She blushes: the book falls. All the rest of the day Elizabeth was silent and troubled; Maximilian noticed it; drawing her aside. "What's the matter with you," he asked her, "you look so worried to me?" The young girl lowered her head, and as an answer went to fetch the book with the odious engravings which had offended her sight. Maximilien opened the volume and turned pale. "Who gave you this?" he asked in a voice shaking with anger. The girl frankly told him what had happened. "It’s fine," Robespierre went on, "don't talk about what you've just told me to anyone: I'll make it my business. Don't be sad anymore. I'll let Camille know. It is not what enters involuntarily through the eyes that defiles chastity: it is the evil thoughts that one has in the heart.” He admonished his friend severely, and from that day on, visits from Camille Desmoulins became very rare.

In a diary entry entry from June 1792, Lucile seemingly confirms the connection she and her husband had with Robespierre’s host family when she writes ”I went with C(amille) and little Duplay (most likely Élisabeth’s little brother Jacques-Maurice) to an old madwoman’s.”

On September 30 1791, the National Assembly was shut down and Robespierre left Paris for Arras, where he arrived on October 14. He was back in the capital again on November 28. A little more than two weeks later, December 16, Brissot, held his first speech in favor of going to war. As known, Robespierre opposed this, holding his first speech against the idea just two days later. Desmoulins quickly joined his side, holding a similar speech on December 25. When Robespierre held his third big speech on the subject, on January 11, Desmoulins, who listened to the reading, was enthusiastic and the next day he wrote the following letter to the ”patriots of Millau” (cited in Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un Rêve de République):

At the moment I am still enthusiastic. This speech will be reread in all sections, in all clubs and in all patriots' houses; everywhere one will admire and especially love the author, but what would have happened had you heard him speak yourself! Those who were his college comrades, and even those who last year were his colleagues in the National Assembly, have not recognized Robespierre for some time. From a man of spirit, he became eliquent, and now he is sublime at intervals. It seems that he grows by one foot every month, as it is true that the home of talent is the heart. When, two years ago, I presented him, in my journal, as a Cato, I was far from foreseeing that he would never rise to the height of the talent of Demosthenes.

A month later, Desmoulins also aimed a blow against Brissot with the release of the pampleth Jean Pierre Brissot démasqué. While said pampleth definitely outlined who Camille considered his enemies, it also made clear who were his champions, with Robespierre, who’s name got mentioned nine times throughout, taking up the forefront:

This true patriot (Rœderer) has not forgiven me, him and his cabal, for loving Robespierre, my college friend, venerable, great in my eyes, although it has been said that there was no great man for his valet-de-chambre, nor for his college friend and the witness of his youth.

In a letter written shortly thereafter to François Suleau, another one of their former college comrades, Desmoulins claimed that ”[Robespierre] sees me as invulnurable after the proof of incorruptibility that I produced in my latest writing to Brissot.” Apropos of Desmoulins still seeing Suleau, a firm royalist, he added: ”I cannot blame my friend Robespierre when he tells me that he would run away from my house on seeing a notable from Coblentz (Suleau) enter.”

War was nevertheless declared on April 20 1792. The very same day, Camille and Fréron, who had both had to quit their journals in the aftermath of the massacre on Champ de Mars, signed a contract for creating a new one — La Tribune des Patriotes. The first number was meant to be released on May 7, but the following day, their publisher Charles Frobert Patris told Camille he had refused to print it, on the charge of it being ”a libel.” Camille reported this to the Jacobin club the very same day, and the following session Patris came forward to explain himself. Things did however not go the way he’d planned, and in a pampleth released shortly afterwards, Patris wrote the following regarding the session:

How come you (Robespierre) tolerated that the vile informer (Camille), to whom I was answering, seeing the club cover with long applause the hard truths that I was beginning to tell him, left his place to go sit down behind you, pulled you by the tailcoat and spoke to you in a low voice and with an air of intelligence! Didn't you have to feel that such intimacy would favor him, and turn to my prejudice?

Soon thereafter, La Tribune des Patriotes could finally be released. This work too was in part meant to protect and advocate for Robespierre, starting already in the first number:

O my dear Robespierre, I gave you this name (the Incorruptible) three years ago! Let people re-read my writings: at the time of my highest admiration for the Mirabeaus, the Lafayettes, the Lameths, and so many others, I always set you apart, I always placed your probity, character and soul above all; and I have seen that the public, while learning from my writings, has hitherto confirmed my judgments, six months or a year after I had made them. Since degenerate friends of truth come to the aid of the impotence of our means to defray the cost of this journal, Fréron and I will not abandon you in the breach, in the midst of a cloud of enemies. The efforts of all these false patriots relentless today - against you alone, we will divide them, by drawing on us their hatred, and by fighting at your side, not for a man, not for you, but for the cause of the people, the equality of the constitution, which has been attacked in you.

Desmoulins and Fréron had originally planned to have the journal run for at least a year, however, it failed to catch an audience and was put down already after four numbers. Robespierre’s name did however still get mentioned a total of 40 times throughout the journal, always in a positive light.

On July 6 1792, Lucile gave birth to a son who received the name Horace. The idea that Robespierre was his godfather would appear to be nothing but a myth seeing as the baptism record doesn’t mention any godparents but only two witnesses — neither of which are Robespierre but instead Laurent Lecointre and Merlin de Thionville. After the good days of the relationship were over, both Lucile and her mother would however contemplate over Robespierre having held Horace in his arms on multiple occasions, the former writing: ”You (Robespierre) who have smiled at my son and whom his infantile hands have carassed so many times…” and the latter asking if he still remembered ”the caresses you lavished on little Horace, how you delighted to hold him upon your knee.”

Three days after his birth, Horace was sent off to a wetnurse, while Lucile soon thereafter went to her parents’ country house to rest up. Camille remained in Paris working on a speech that he delivered on July 24. A few days before it he reported to Lucile that ”I dined at Robespierre’s today and talked ever so much about Rouleau (nickname for Lucile), Rouleau, my poor Rouleau.” Lucile returned from the countryside on August 8. Four days later, after the Insurrection of August 10, Camille was made secretary by the new Minister of Justice Danton. After a week, the three went to live at Hôtel de Bourvallais, just a six minute walking distance away from the Duplay house, and where, in Lucile’s own words, ”we spent three months quite cheerfully.”

The trial of the king started around the same time Camille and Lucile returned to their original apartment. Robespierre and Camille once again fought side by side for the same goals — this time for death and against an appeal to the people. In number 2 of his journal La Defenseur de la Constitution, Robespierre inserted a speech Camille had made on the latter of these two questions.

On March 26 1793, Desmoulins and Robespierre were both elected for the so called Commission of Public Safety, alongside 23 others. The commission, consisting of both fervent montagnards and girondins, was however off to a rocky start, and already on April 6 it was put to death and replaced by the Committee of Public Safety, which neither Desmoulins nor Robespierre was on.

On May 17 1793, Desmoulins announced the release of his new pampleth l’Histoire des Brissotins to the Jacobins. We know that Robespierre had had a hand in the creation of this pampleth through a note inserted in Camille’s Lettre de Camille Desmoulins au général Dillon released a few months later:

The true origin of the rigor of the Committee towards you, would it be in a very long note, which was printed following l’Histoire des Brissotins, which Robespierre made me cut out?

The Jacobins published l’Histoire des Brissotins on May 19, and a week later, Robespierre, who for a long time had refused to do so, openly called for an insurrection against ”the corrupt deputies” of the National Convention at the Jacobins, a wish he then repeated three days later. Two days after that, the Insurrection of May 31 took place, and on June 2 the Convention voted for the arrest of 29 Girondins. I think it could be argued it was Desmoulins and Robespierre who together had delivered the principal deathblow to this ”faction.”

Nine days after the murder of Marat, July 22 1793, the Jacobin Club tasked Desmoulins, Robespierre, Lepeletier and Dufourny with writing an adress to the French people regarding it. Said adress was printed and read aloud at the club four days later, obviously deploring of the event and praising the murdered. Just one day after that, July 27, Robespierre was elected as member of the Committee of Public Safety. Camille on the other hand remained restless, and on November 1, he wrote to ”his old friend” to ask to be sent on a mission to Aisne.

I point out to our dear Robespierre that there is no impediment by law to me going to my department. Choudieu and Ricord, who are in theirs, Barras, and so many others, prove that the decree of which Billaud-Varennes spoke yesterday either does not exist or is not being executed. So I always recommend to him, as Lejeune's assistant, the historian Lucceius, reminding him of the custom of the senate of Rome, which never failed, when one of its members wanted to spend a week in Greece or Sicily, to see his father, to deliver to him, honoris curá, letters of credence, and the title of commissioner, or of legatus, which did not prevent him, on the way, from deserving well of the republic, and from gaining the vasarium. His old friend, Camille Desmoulins. To citizen Robespierre, member of the Committee of Public Safety.

As can be seen, Desmoulins adresses Robespierre in third person here, just like Robespierre had done to him two years earlier. These letters are the only examples of these two using third person that I’m aware of, almost making you suspect it was a conscious choice they made of adressing the other like that. Desmoulins did however not obtain any mission, but remained in Paris, as did Robespierre.

On December 5 1793 was released the first number of Desmoulins’ new journal Le Vieux Cordelier. According to what he wrote in said number, it was after having heard Robespierre and Danton speak at the Jacobins on December 3 that he decided to pick up his pen again — ”I leave my office and my armchair, where I had all the leisure to follow, in detail, this new system of our enemies, of which Robespierre only presented the outline, his occupations at the Committee of Public Safety not allowing him to embrace it in its entirety like me.”

Like with l’Histoire des Brissotins, Camille had let Robespierre proofread and give his approval of the number before it got sent to the publisher. He did the same thing again for the second number, released on December 9, that concerned itself with the topic of dechristianization, denouncing Anacharsis Cloots and Anaxagoras Chaumette for their role in it. These thoughts were shared by Robespierre, who had spoken for liberty of cults on both November 21 and 28 and December 5 and December 6, and would go on to get Cloots expelled from the Jacobins when the latter passed through its scrutiny test on December 12. Two days later, the turn had come to Camille to go through the very same examination. He was at first questioned on his friendship with the general Arthur Dillon and for having stated that the Girondins ”died as republicans” the day they were condemned. After Desmoulins had justified himself, stating among other things that ”a well marked fatality willed that, among the sixty [sic] people who signed my wedding contract, I only have two friends left — Danton and Robespierre. All the others have emigrated or been guillotined,” Robespierre took to the floor and, after reproaching Camille for having been on friendly terms with Mirabeau, Dillon, Lamarlière and the Lameth brothers, made sure his friend passed the test. To ensure it, he first recited from heart a long poem Camille had written in 1787, the verses of which ”struck me so hard back then, that they have been ingraved in my memory,” and then said the following:

The manner in which Camille expressed himself at a time when some great patriots of today trembled, perhaps even cringed, before the tyrant; these are character traits that must be taken into account when judging a man. It is true that no one better than he justifies the proverb of the peoples living on the banks of the Guadalquivir and the Tagus: so and so was brave on such a day. Camille, stricken with thoughts of death, constantly sees the guillotine before his eyes; he imagines that because several of his friends have perished by the last torture, the same fate awaits him. Here is the character of Desmoulins: easy to let himself be warned, he quickly believes in the signs of patriotism that he perceives; but is he undeceived? His love for public affairs makes him tear the veil; he drags in the mud the cheats he had placed under the canopy; it is thus that he treated Mirabeau, the Lameths, and the Brissotins in recent times. The Girondin faction wanted to attract Camille to their party; Sillery was charged with this role. The famous Pamela appeared before Desmoulins, accompanied with an enchanting voice the sounds of a melodious lute; Camille, insensitive to the sting, faithful to his wife, faithful to republican principles, disdained the attractions of this new Circe, of this second Herodiade. Desmoulins, the first of all, mounted at the Palais Royal on the unsteady boards of a tottering table, preached patriotism, pistol in hand; he rendered great services to the Revolution. His energetic and easy pen can still serve it usefully, but it is necessary that, more circumspect in the choice of his friends, he must break any pact with impiety, that is to say, with the aristocracy; on these conditions, I request the admission of Camille Desmoulins.

The next part in the reblog.

#robespierre #desmoulins #camille desmoulins #maximilien robespierre #frev #ask #frev friendships

113 notes · View notes

hypequeenves · 24 days

Text

ALASTOR RADIO SHOW

So this has been sitting in my brain for a really long time. I've made about a 50 minute video on what Alastor's Radio Show might sound like. Because I am who I am I've also put some references to Vesper in there, because of course I did. The full video is will be up on YouTube https://youtu.be/zWNpshsogiQ?si=0Ct8ygRoAYF1-f4u , but it’s quite long so here is some of my favourite clips and also the ones pertaining to Vesper's story!

youtube

INTRO:

SUBTITLES: Ah, good evening, my devilish comrades! It's been an eternity since I last graced the airwaves! What with those celestial attacks and constructing a spiffy new studio, I've been positively swamped. So, do pardon my absence from our nightly rendezvous. But fear not, for I've returned with a vengeance, ready to regale you with tales that'll send shivers down your spine! But before we delve into the depths of the night, let's ponder a question that's been buzzing in the back of our minds: Is VoxTek Angelic Security as impenetrable as it claims? Or are we merely being hoodwinked by the corporate demons? Fear not, my friends, for we shall uncover the truth. But first, let's kick off this evening with a toe-tapping tune, "Let the Good Times Roll" by the incomparable Louis Jordan. So, let's not waste a moment more, shall we? Or as they say: Laissez le bon temps rouler!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO BE ON THE SHOW? TW: Screaming, Crying, Someone is in PAIN BEWARE! (Also, I can't tell if its cringe or not)

SUBTITLES: The song slowly comes to an end, when the mic goes hot again you can hear someones panicked breathing along with Alastor humming. There is the sound of a knife hitting the table and then a scream. ALASTOR: Quiet now dear - You’re ON AIR. Can you be quiet for me now? VICTIM: mhm... ALASTOR: Yes? VICTIM: Yes. ALASTOR: Good. While I finish up with our distinguished guest here, let me deliver you a delightful ditty, that is just the perfect amount of ironic considering our current company. Here is "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out" by the sensational Bessie Smith. The breathing gets more intense until they scream, but their scream is cut short as the mic goes cold again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AIRWAVE ALERTS w ALASTOR!

SUBTITLES: Wasn't that just the most delectable interruption. Well as promised: Here is Airwave Alerts with Alastor. There seems to be a string of murders in the Mafia and Weapons District of Pentagram city! You heard me right, murders! It seems that the perpetrator is using angelic bullets to take out their targets. And although I would like to stake a claim on these murders, I cannot take credit for another's work. While the culprit remains a mystery, where they seemed to have acquired the weaponry is not. Unusually Carmilla Carmine has seen fit to stay silent on the topic. One would hope that she would be able to make a public statement soon. Ah, while you mull over that jaw-dropper, let me serenade your senses with a tune that'll have you tappin' your toes and hittin' the road in style! It's none other than "Route 66" by the legendary Nat King Cole. So sit back, relax, and let the smooth sounds of this classic take you on a ride down that ol' highway of dreams!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

UPDATE ABOUT CHARLIE:

SUBTITLES: Ah, listen up, denizens of the infernal realm! It's time for a little update from the Princess of Hell itself. Seems our friend Charlie Morningstar has taken matters into her own hands, bless her devilish heart. She's put forth a petition for those brave souls willing to stand tall in the face of the next extermination - should it come to that, of course. Now, I hate to rain on anyone's parade, but our heavenly counterparts up above have been keeping mum on the matter. And let me tell you, my dear fiends, that's not exactly music to our ears! But fear not, for there's a glimmer of hope yet! If you're ready to lay down your very essence to defend our infernal home from these angelic invaders, then you best hotfoot it over to the Notice Board smack dab in the centre of cannibal town. Sign your name with pride, for in unity lies our strength! (slightly less enthusiastic) Or something along those lines. With that obligatory bit of unpleasantness addressed, my dear listeners, it's time to lighten the mood and spread some cheer! This next tune is dedicated to none other than our beloved Charlie Morningstar, the beacon of hope in this dark and dreary place. So kick back, relax, and let the melodies of "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile" by Charles Strouse and Martin Charnin wash over you. Remember, my dear souls, even in the depths of Hell, a smile can work wonders!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

GOSSIP ABOUT VESPER:

SUBTITLES: Well, well, well, my curious listeners, have I got a spicy tidbit for you! It seems our resident pop sensation, the one and only Vanessa LaBlanc better known by her stage name Vesper, has been spotted gallivanting around town in the company of none other than Asmodeus, the King of Lust himself! Now, isn’t that a twist? It's been a hot minute since the Cardinal Sin of Lust graced the Pride Ring with his presence. So, what devilish plans could he be concocting with our delightful Vanessa? Ah, my dear sinners, the plot thickens! But fear not, for yours truly will be keeping a close eye on this tantalizing tale. So stay tuned, my friends, for the juiciest gossip this side of Hell. Up next the weather! But before we delve into the forecast, let's soar among the stars with the timeless crooner himself, Frank Sinatra! It's time to let the velvety voice of Ol' Blue Eyes serenade us with "Fly Me to the Moon." So close your eyes, let the music carry you away, and dream of celestial delights as we prepare for the weather—though, as I suspect, the forecast may indeed call for a storm of scandal!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you made it this far - if no one has told you today, you're amazing!

#alastor #oc #hellaverse #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel #the vees #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin art #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla #helluva boss asmodeus #Youtube

50 notes · View notes

statementlou · 5 months

Text

I genuinely don't know how to describe the bizarre and sublime experience of being in snobby underground indie music scenes and actively working in anarchist social justice movements my entire adult life but then first discovering I fucking loved a pop boy band beyond all reason and most especially Louis Tomlinson and his songwriting/ music (and the musical subversion he brought into the pop genre entirely but also just his personal self yes) IN 2017 when his discography was like... Back To You ft Bebe Rexha, you know? and being like okay but like I am completely on board I will love whatever the fuck he wants to give me... and then spending the next 6 years dying while he one thing at a time was like oh the thing that would most cater to your personal tastes? HAVE THAT- only better because it's LOUIS VERSION- and anyway my boy just got an anarcho tattoo I am dying of both laughing and cheering

#that's MY comrade Louis🥰😘#I have loved his mind so much from day one and I have never been let down #anyway more about me than I usually go with #but LMAOOOOO COME ON it's just too fucking funny #blah blah blah #comrade louis #anarchism

61 notes · View notes

napoleonic-sexyman-tournament · 3 months

Text

Friends, enemies, comrades, Jacobins, Monarchist, Bonapartists, gather round. We have an important announcement:

The continent is beset with war. A tenacious general from Corsica has ignited conflict from Madrid to Moscow and made ancient dynasties tremble. Depending on your particular political leanings, this is either the triumph of a great man out of the chaos of The Terror, a betrayal of the values of the French Revolution, or the rule of the greatest upstart tyrant since Caesar.

But, our grand tournament is here to ask the most important question: Now that the flower of European nobility is arrayed on the battlefield in the sexiest uniforms that European history has yet produced (or indeed, may ever produce), who is the most fuckable?

The bracket is here: full bracket and just quadrant I

Want to nominate someone from the Western Hemisphere who was involved in the ever so sexy dismantling of the Spanish empire? (or the Portuguese or French American colonies as well) You can do it here

The People have created this list of nominees:

France:

Jean Lannes

Josephine de Beauharnais

Thérésa Tallien

Jean-Andoche Junot

Joseph Fouché

Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

Joachim Murat

Michel Ney

Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte (Charles XIV of Sweden)

Louis-Francois Lejeune

Pierre Jacques Étienne Cambrinne

Napoleon I

Marshal Louis-Gabriel Suchet

Jacques de Trobriand

Jean de dieu soult.

François-Étienne-Christophe Kellermann

17.Louis Davout

Pauline Bonaparte, Duchess of Guastalla

Eugène de Beauharnais

Jean-Baptiste Bessières

Antoine-Jean Gros

Jérôme Bonaparte

Andrea Masséna

Antoine Charles Louis de Lasalle

Germaine de Staël

Thomas-Alexandre Dumas

René de Traviere (The Purple Mask)

Claude Victor Perrin

Laurent de Gouvion Saint-Cyr

François Joseph Lefebvre

Major Andre Cotard (Hornblower Series)

Edouard Mortier

Hippolyte Charles

Nicolas Charles Oudinot

Emmanuel de Grouchy

Pierre-Charles Villeneuve

Géraud Duroc

Georges Pontmercy (Les Mis)

Auguste Frédéric Louis Viesse de Marmont

Juliette Récamier

Bon-Adrien Jeannot de Moncey

Louis-Alexandre Berthier

Étienne Jacques-Joseph-Alexandre Macdonald

Jean-Mathieu-Philibert Sérurier

Catherine Dominique de Pérignon

Guillaume Marie-Anne Brune

Jean-Baptiste Jourdan

Charles-Pierre Augereau

Auguste François-Marie de Colbert-Chabanais

England:

Richard Sharpe (The Sharpe Series)

Tom Pullings (Master and Commander)

Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington

Jonathan Strange (Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell)

Captain Jack Aubrey (Aubrey/Maturin books)

Horatio Hornblower (the Hornblower Books)

William Laurence (The Temeraire Series)

Henry Paget, 1st Marquess of Anglesey

Beau Brummell

Emma, Lady Hamilton

Benjamin Bathurst

Horatio Nelson

Admiral Edward Pellew

Sir Philip Bowes Vere Broke

Sidney Smith

Percy Smythe, 6th Viscount Strangford

George IV

Capt. Anthony Trumbull (The Pride and the Passion)

Barbara Childe (An Infamous Army)

Doctor Maturin (Aubrey/Maturin books)

William Pitt the Younger

Robert Stewart, 2nd Marquess of Londonderry (Lord Castlereagh)

George Canning

Scotland:

Thomas Cochrane

Colquhoun Grant

Ireland:

Arthur O'Connor

Thomas Russell

Robert Emmet

Austria:

Klemens von Metternich

Friedrich Bianchi, Duke of Casalanza

Franz I/II

Archduke Karl

Marie Louise

Franz Grillparzer

Wilhelmine von Biron

Poland:

Wincenty Krasiński

Józef Antoni Poniatowski

Józef Zajączek

Maria Walewska

Władysław Franciszek Jabłonowski

Adam Jerzy Czartoryski

Antoni Amilkar Kosiński

Zofia Czartoryska-Zamoyska

Stanislaw Kurcyusz

Russia:

Alexander I Pavlovich

Alexander Andreevich Durov

Prince Andrei (War and Peace)

Pyotr Bagration

Mikhail Miloradovich

Levin August von Bennigsen

Pavel Stroganov

Empress Elizabeth Alexeievna

Karl Wilhelm von Toll

Dmitri Kuruta

Alexander Alexeevich Tuchkov

Barclay de Tolly

Fyodor Grigorevich Gogel

Ekaterina Pavlovna Bagration

Ippolit Kuragin (War and Peace)

Prussia:

Louise von Mecklenburg-Strelitz

Gebard von Blücher

Carl von Clausewitz

Frederick William III

Gerhard von Scharnhorst

Louis Ferdinand of Prussia

Friederike of Mecklenburg-Strelitz

Alexander von Humboldt

Dorothea von Biron

The Netherlands:

Ida St Elme

Wiliam, Prince of Orange

The Papal States:

Pius VII

Portugal:

João Severiano Maciel da Costa

Spain:

Juan Martín Díez

José de Palafox

Inês Bilbatua (Goya's Ghosts)

Haiti:

Alexandre Pétion

Sardinia:

Vittorio Emanuele I

Lombardy:

Alessandro Manzoni

Denmark:

Frederik VI

Sweden:

Gustav IV Adolph

#napoleonic sexyman tournament #new pinned post for now

45 notes · View notes

nichenarratives · 8 months

Text

CHARACTER DISSECTION

MORDECAI HELLER of LACKADAISY

For those unfamiliar with the Lackadaisy comic created and illustrated by Tracy J Butler, the pilot animation developed by Tracy and her team, or the upcoming five-episode series crowdfunded by fans, I highly recommend heading over to check those out before consuming this Niche Narrative.

St Louis, Missouri

America is deep in the throes of prohibition. Missouri proudly presents its alcohol-drained bars to the rest of America as a shining example of true patriotism in the dark shadows of the First World War. All across America, this same constitutional change forces citizens to surrender their right to free will, inciting dissent even as governments touted the benefits; working harder, earning more, stable family dynamics. The American Dream.

Many loyal Americans were not so convinced and so, they took their needs underground. An entrepreneur in possession of the Daisy Cafe, which was conveniently situated above a vast network of natural caves, Atlas May utilised both his wit and charisma - as well as the charms of his attractive wife, Mitzi - transformed the damp corridors into a vivacious playground even a most pedantic officer would overlook for a measure of fine whiskey.

The Lackadaisy Speakeasy was born, and she flourished for half a decade.

Though Atlas was not naive; he knew market exclusivity was limited and as such, the businessman quite wisely surrounded himself with the formidable associates one would expect from a smuggling operation; Viktor, a former Slovakian soldier built like a bearcat and Mordecai, a sharpshooting jack of all trades known for cooking books and cracking safes on the side. With those sour faces punctuated by a smattering of colourful characters to form the band and run errands, the Lackadaisy Speakeasy flourished in the bowels of St Louis, mostly undisturbed, through much of the twenties.

Mordecai (left) with Mitzi and Atlas May (centre), celebrating the New year in 1926 with Lackadaisy staff months before Atlas’ death

Until tragedy struck; Atlas met a gruesome end at the hands of an unknown assassin. Yet what was already a crippling blow to the Lackadaisy crew would only fester and rot in the months to come. Rumours would flow of Mitzi May’s involvement in Atlas’ death, tarnishing her reputation and seeing clients peel away from the establishment with concerning velocity. In the wake of financial struggle, bills mount up and hopes turn sour, until even an employee abandons the establishment for their main competitor, leaving the Lackadaisy corpse little more than brittle bones and dust.

This deserter, who abandoned his mistress in her time of need, going so far as to disable a former friend and comrade in the process? He is Mordecai Heller, a stray Atlas saved from past repercussions and trusted.

What remains to be explained is simple. Why? A secretive, astute man with impeccable posture, little patience for anything superfluous and a sour expression permanently affixed to his features, Mordecai is not someone most would approach for a conversation, but an unwillingness - or perhaps an inability - to conform to societal norms and blatant treachery are not mutually exclusive.

In this Niche Narrative, we’re going down the Mordecai Heller rabbit hole. Using every official Lackadaisy edition, mini strip, the Lackawiki plus my own research, we’re going to unravel the motives to explain how he became the Mordecai Heller portrayed in the comic series, why he decided to commit atrocities for both Atlas and the Mirabel Hotel and finally, if he could ever redeem himself in the eyes of former comrades, based on the information currently available.

Make some tea, grab a snack and get comfortable. We’re about to dissect Mordecai Heller, the principal antagonist of Lackadaisy.

Humble Beginnings

According to the Lackadaisy Wiki, Mordecai Heller was born on the 28th of March in 1899 in New York City. Not much is known about his parents beyond their first names - Issaac and Tzipporah - and that they are first generation German-Jewish immigrants. The eldest of four children and their only son, Mordecai would become the man of the house at the tender age of eleven after his father suffered a stroke and never recovered. His youngest sibling would also die in infancy, leaving three children and their mother living in abject poverty.

We don’t know if Mordecai was close with his father, but by how seriously he took his role as provider, we can extrapolate that he cared far more for his family than his adult persona leads most to believe him capable of. Utilising an inborn penchant for order and an efficacy with numbers, Mordecai became a bookie soon after his father’s passing, scraping together enough money to keep his family afloat while his mother assumedly raised him and his sisters.

Left to right; Esther (9), Rose (5), and a severe-faced Mordecai (11) pose with their Mother, holding his infant sibling, on the steps to their home.

Years later, Mordecai would realise there's more money to be made in the city. The exact trigger for this escalation is unclear, but we can guarantee it wasn't greed after many years of remaining loyal to his mother and sisters. Most likely, increasing demands on his meagre earnings caused shortages, and with the conviction he's already proven to possess, the young cat made a questionable decision; to murder an employer's underling and take his place in the hierarchy in 1916.

While tenuous and arguably shortsighted, this new position gave Mordecai intimate access to his boss' accounts, and the tuxedo cat didn't hesitate to embezzle funds into savings for his family. It reeks of naive desperation an adult Mordecai would likely scoff at, but for a kitten trying to support his family, it was a lifeline.

As expected, Mordecai's deception is swiftly uncovered. He's next seen riding the train south sometime between 1917 and 1920 with just the clothes on his back and a bloody nose, desperately attempting to scribble a letter to his mother. Detailing the location of the money he's stashed, as well as urging her and his sisters to move to better housing, it's hastily stamped and postage requested by a stranger, though Tracy has confirmed this edition of his final letter didn't make it to the mail; he drafted a cleaner one at a later date.

Watching the young man scramble to send this final goodbye is heart wrenching, showing just how much affection he carried for his family. He practically condemned himself to death to procure those funds and at just seventeen, he leaves behind not only his family, but the only city he's ever known. It seems Mordecai might perish on the train that night too, given the unsavoury characters in the carriage.

That is until divine intervention - or perhaps a spirit of old - swoops in at the last moment, changing the course of Mordecai's life forever. Taking the proffered olive branch, the young feline would enter an underworld even darker than the one chasing his coat tails, and that is where his story truly begins.

Appearance

Mordecai Heller cuts a fine figure in a tailored, black three piece suit with a blood red tie slicing his otherwise monochromatic profile from neck to chest, an iconic pair of pince-nez adding to his glare. He often wears a broad brim hat and a black trench coat, often concealing a shoulder holster equipped with his weapon of choice; the cold efficiency of a handgun.

Standard attire, including a Marigold pin.

Despite his status as a sharpshooter, Mordecai has congenital myopia and has worn glasses since entering education. Given myopia causes long-sightedness, it's assumed he is somewhat effective in his profession without them, but they are a fixture in his everyday attire likely due to his fondness for reading, accountancy and of course, simple habit.

While not physically gifted, Mordecai's intellect is well above average, a childhood of reading in solitude affording him a diverse vocabulary that leads to verbose, complicated responses to simple inquiries.

Having grown up impoverished, Mordecai takes great pride in his appearance as an adult and, regardless of circumstance, is usually seen in a three piece suit. He has few occasions to dress informally due to his lifestyle, though there are a few interactions that suggest he would not be caught dead in casual attire regardless:

Tracy once discovered Mordecai dressed up to use an electric iron, because he felt such an occasion deserved respect.

Serafine recently carved a Voodou glyph into Mordecai's chest against his will. It can be seen to stain his collared shirt for some time after, even while conducting private investigations into Atlas' death.

Having used them in the past, 'Mordecai Heller' is assumed to be an alias, though no real name has been shared. This was likely a calculated move to protect his family from the backlash his questionable practices may incur. His only other known alias was Elijah Metzger - 'Butcher' - a fitting name given his hatchet-wielding future.

Relationships of Note

For a man who actively chose not to interact with most people, Mordecai developed quite a list of close relationships during his time at the Lackadaisy Speakeasy. Not yet the dignified feline of the web comic, these relationships - particularly early ones - helped shape Mordecai into the man he was when Atlas May was murdered.

Let's break down the most influential, starting with the obvious.

Atlas May

It would be impossible to reflect on the man we know as Mordecai Heller without exploring his relationship with the man that saved his life on that train ride. A quiet man with an expressive brow, Atlas possesses the life experience to recognise a young man in need of assistance and the skill to offer it without a word. With just a glance, a heartbeat, and a firearm left within a discarded newspaper, Atlas May provided Mordecai with the tool needed to break free of fate and seize control of his destiny.

Atlas May (right) with Mordecai Heller soon after his recruitment

There's little information regarding the four years between their first interaction on a train in the late 1910s and the Lackadaisy Speakeasy opening in 1920. Before becoming an entrepreneur of illicit substances, Atlas is known as a restauranteur, already owning the Little Daisy Cafe above the caves that would eventually disguise the true nature of his business when prohibition law came into full force in 1920.

With his affinity for bookkeeping, it's feasible Mordecai was kept on to manage the accounts at the Little Daisy Cafe, though his history with embezzlement and bookkeepers lends itself to illicit trading. Mordecai is hardly recruited in the traditional way either, which only convinces me further that there was something going on beforehand. Sadly, we have no definitive evidence of either his or Atlas' dealings beyond together until 1920.

Regardless of the goods involved or seemingly the job required, Mordecai was devoted to his service until his untimely death in 1926.

A young man in a new city and emancipated from his family for their protection, Atlas May becomes a veritable anchor. Under his service and guided deeper into the roaring underbelly of the city, Mordecai can be seen to fully take shape into the character we know, actively adopting a disinterested, flat tone and permanent scowl likely modelled off Atlas' own business appearance.

It's possible Atlas became a surrogate father figure to Mordecai, whose own father passed away when he was just a kitten. Additionally, little contact with his family since he fled New York places those at the Lackadaisy not only as the young man's found family, but Atlas as his role model, especially as he's newly introduced to the St Louis underworld.

There's limited resources in regard to both his personal and professional relationship with Atlas May, but what can be heavily inferred is a deep respect extending beyond simple loyalty. It's suggested Atlas helped Mordecai deal with some of his past pursuers, potentially indebting his life to the entrepreneur once more.

Even after abandoning Lackadaisy for greener pastures, Mordecai actively conducts private enquiries while working for Mirabel Hotel, going so far as to conceal an intended target of Asa Sweet to question him further.

Whilst conducting these enquiries, Mordecai is seen in his least composed state; he lacks his waistcoat and suit jacket, his shirt is stained with blood where his chest still bleeds and he looks generally dishevelled. He agrees with the notion his new position may consist of tying up the loose ends of Atlas' death, and it troubles Mordecai greatly this could be true.

Taking this obsession into account, he seems to carry some level of guilt alluding to the snippet of information yet to be revealed he and Mitzi discussed. Atlas May was, and remains, one of the prominent influences in Mordecai Heller's actualisation as a career criminal, even after his death.

Mitzi May

From references, Mordecai's entire relationship with Mitzi is deeply intertwined in his association with Atlas. As the man's wife and confidante, Mitzi was a fixture at the Daisy Cafe and now owns the Lackadaisy Speakeasy, making her Mordecai's boss when he defected to the Marigolds for unknown reasons. Besides this affiliation though, their interactions are often a joke at Mordecai’s expense.

Mitzi and Mordecai were never friends - nor did he ever view her as family - as from the outset, she did not respect his boundaries. An early interaction showcases this as Mitzi takes photos of him as he tries to work, for no other reason than she wanted Mordecai to do something other than scowl. She achieves this by teasing him, stating how his oversized shirt makes his arms look disproportionately short.

She can also be seen teasing him for a lack of social skills, inviting young ladies to persevere in engaging him to dance, despite his lack of interest. Needless to say, it did not go well, and such arguably petulant behaviour likely bred resentment against Mitzi that soured after her husband's death.

Any remnants of a personal relationship were shattered when Mordecai betrayed Mitzi's trust in spectacular fashion. Not only did he empty the armoury on his way out, but shot out the knee of former friend and remaining sharp shooter, Viktor Vasco. She has no reservations bringing it up when forced to face Mordecai at a luncheon with Asa Sweet and as a testament to their sour relationship, refers to Mordecai's presence as 'salt in the wound.' Mordecai ultimately excuses himself early.

A rare candid photograph of Mordecai, checking the length of his arms. (credit: Mitzi May)

Perhaps their only shared interest was Atlas. Though for entirely different reasons, the pair both idolised him in life and remain fixated on his untimely demise.

We learn a lot about Atlas' death during a terse, private exchange in Mitzi's car after the forced luncheon. It's revealed they possess information regarding Atlas' death neither has shared with their respective associates. Additionally, Mordecai can't quite explain why Marigold is acting so aggressively when there is almost no competition in St Louis and most interestingly, and a flashback frame shows them exchanging a firearm in the rain, though the circumstances are unclear.

Mordecai gets nothing useful from Mitzi, and the conversation culminates in two important things to note; reminders that Mordecai considers her complicit in Atlas' death and to stay under the Marigold's radar, as he won't hesitate to truly ruin all that remains of Lackadaisy if tasked. It's safe to say their only connection has always been Atlas May. Even after his murder is solved, there's almost no space for reconciliation, nor is Mordecai likely to return to Lackadaisy if the establishment survives.

Viktor Vasko

If Mordecai were to call anyone a friend, Viktor Vasko would be the most likely name on his lips. While the word has likely never been spoken, there's an arsenal of evidence to support the hypothesis, both while working and at rest, but let's explore their history before we get into the intricacies of their current tumultuous state.

After receiving help from Atlas May for his court case and freshly missing an eye, Viktor Vasko joined the Lackadaisy crew in 1920. Mordecai had been associated with Atlas for four years before this date and was an established part of the company at the Little Daisy Cafe above. It's during this time, guided by Atlas' smuggling ventures, their partnership took shape.

From left to right; Mordecai, Atlas May and Viktor Vasko

One of their earliest misadventures can be seen here, at the climax of what is aptly titled the Massacre. We might assume soon after Viktor's recruitment, as it's a rare glimpse of Mordecai seemingly trying to understand how someone else thinks and functions, all while Viktor pulls a litany of confused expressions, the pair covered in their victims' blood.

It suggests he somewhat admired or felt kinship with the older feline and was attempting to be funny, though Mordecai's sense of humour is… lacking, at the best of times. Viktor just doesn't seem sure what to make of it, but evidently isn't opposed to the idea, as there's evidence of a more personal relationships later.

A flashback within the comic itself shows their choreographed teamwork on assignment, early in their partnership. Although Atlas is pictured alongside Viktor and Mordecai in the aftermath, it's obvious the devilish duo deal with the dirty work themselves, assassinating operatives and burning their rival operation to the ground.

Mordecai also makes missteps, falling from the second storey during a shootout and losing his pince nez, then asserting that had been his intention the entire time to a brawling Viktor. In an early show of comoradare, after setting the place alight, Viktor retrieves the lost spectacles and returns them to their owner.

While it's rumoured a piece of shrapnel could be responsible for Mordecai's social shortcomings, he's been remarkably oblivious to social cues since childhood, which reflects in his own lack of expressions. While Mitzi has given offered him guidance (and set him up for failure) in the past, it's Viktor giving constructive criticism of his interpretations that shows how close they were, even if it results in a minor argument and a terrifying display for the poor recipient.

As they become more comfortable, they express their personalities more openly, leading to this gem while driving an ill-fated third feline to their doom. Mordecai doesn't beat around the bush this time with expectations, both for Viktor and their passenger. It causes quite a scene and the car barrels down into a cornfield, but this also provides a quick-fix opportunity to dump their cargo there and peace is restored.

Frequently tasked with the less glamorous jobs smuggling entailed, Mordecai and Viktor spent a lot of time in each other's company cleaning up for Atlas. This culminates in a number of almost farcical anecdotes much like this or the snippet below, where their shared disdain for a yapping chihuahua results in the dog digging itself an early grave.

A dog, having offended both Mordecai and Viktor, being forced to dig its own grave

With Atlas' death, everything changed. There's not much information beforehand, but we know how Mordecal left the Lackadaisy Speakeasy; by emptying the armoury and kneecapping Viktor. He claimed this to convince the veteran to retire when Mitzi brought it up bitterly at luncheon, stating: "that's how one reasons with Viktor."

At first glance the move seems calculated and cold, especially considering the state Lackadaisy fell into with accusations of Mitzi's involvement in her husband's death. If there's any truth in his assertions however - and Mordecai isn't one to lie or mislead - he likely believed it the only way to keep Viktor from being a future target while he worked with the Mirabel Hotel.

It's confirmed that emptying the armoury was ordered by Asa Sweet during Luncheon, which crippled the Lackadaisy's ability to retaliate. Along with attempting to retire Viktor and warning Mitzi to lay low for the foreseeable future, this undermines his often cold exterior and belies affections he used to afford to family… and perhaps, that is what they are, even if he despises having those loyalties.

Regardless of his motives, Mordecai has backed himself into a corner with Viktor. The veteran is a formidable foe even with one working knee. Should their paths cross again, I doubt it will be resolved as amicably as previous altercations, and likely hinges on the contents of their last interaction as tentative friends.

Asa Sweet

A pompous, self centred man in charge of the Mirabel Hotel, Asa Sweet isn't the usual kind Mordecai is used to keeping company with. In fact, they seem to despise each other in every scene they're forced to interact, with Ada's clear mockery of his character breeding irritation in Mordecai on a daily basis. Unfortunately, as the tuxedo cat's direct boss, they converse often and almost exclusively to Mordecai's detriment.

Asa Sweet mocking Modecai’s capacity for emotional breadth

The Marigold Room was already well established by the time Atlas began his own ventures, the entrepreneur visiting its halls and even pilfering Mitzi and her band from their lineup. Practices that could breed a bloody resentment when in the smuggling and bootleg trades.

Mordecai is previously pictured in the Marigold Room with Atlas and Mitzi, assumedly not at his request given his disdain for idle socialisation. He could have been there to accompany Atlas to deal with Asa if we employ conjecture. There's another photo of Asa Sweet and Atlas May sat at the bar, seeming to smoke cigars and talk amicably, so they were likely friends.

This friendship extends to business, established at the luncheon with mention of suppliers the other would not touch. It should be noted it's also stated these agreements were with Atlas, not Mitzi, and Asa shows no remorse for trading with previously protected Lackadaisy sources after her husband's death.

Incidentally, Asa claims he warned Atlas about bad blood beforehand. Mordecai tries to draw more information about this from his new employer but ultimately fails, leading him to begin private investigations that utilise one of Asa Sweet's intended targets, Gracie Grombach, to get the name of a potentially involved parole officer he's yet to meet.

Despite Asa Sweet's stature, Mordecai makes no attempt to pander to his new boss when they converse. Most likely because they usually end in a joke at Mordecai's expense; constant jabs at facial expression, apparent lack of empathy, social inadequacies and even the hatchet joke are but the tip of the iceberg, amounting almost to a vendetta against the pilfered sharpshooter.

There's no respect or loyalty to Asa. Known for not suffering fools lightly and being ruthless in his management of others, Mordecai probably has few motives for accepting employment with the Marigold Room, only one of which makes sense with the information at hand: he's certain that Asa or an associate of the Mirabel Hotel has more information regarding Atlas' death, which he intends to bleed out of whoever necessary.

I feel it can be said with confidence that, even with an inadequate motive, Mordecai wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet between Ada's eyes.

Allegedly.

Nicodeme and Serafine Savoy

Being relatively new to the comic, there’s little information to analyse between the tuxedo cat and the Nicodeme or Serafine. Regardless, these interactions showcase Mordecai’s apparent contempt for the pair and how they operate, especially the loud manner in which they manage dealing with the Lackadaisy crew in the show’s pilot. His serious, logical nature clashes with their spirit beliefs and even their characters frequently.

An example of Mordecai’s general reaction to either of the Savoy siblings, Nicodeme pictured

While Mordecai expresses a desire to know more about Nico and Serafine, it is for his own knowledge and not an attempt to make friends. He does not seem to fear them, nor does he respect them, a sentiment that extends both ways. The siblings often make jokes at his expense, or criticise his inability to have fun on the job, which only ever causes Mordecai to scowl.

Nicodeme is a few years older than his sister Serafine, though they both speak with a lazy drawl with a heavy Cajun accent that is almost identical. It’s established that the siblings were orphaned young and ended up at a segregated home, whereupon they decided to run away rather than be separated. It’s here they claim to have been led by Maitre Carrefour - a swamp spirit the siblings believe to be ever-present in their lives - to safety with Voodoo practitioners in the swamps.

It’s noted in the Lackawiki that Serfaine has become somewhat of a Voodoo priestess in her own right, skewing or rewriting established superstitions to form her own sect of Voodoo beliefs and practices. Of the two, Nicodeme is relaxed and laid back, while Serafine has arguably the strongest character and possesses some ambition, though what those ambitions will ultimately lead to have yet to be established.

Headhunted from a rival bootlegging operation by Asa Sweet, the Cajun siblings are assigned to Mordecai to assist with his current work, which has yet to be confirmed. Mordecai suspects he may be cleaning up loose ends in regard to Atlas’ murder or perhaps a wider conspiracy, but has not shared this with Serafine and Nicodeme. He does not trust them, nor does he like them, and willingly conducts work alone when he’s able to shake the pair for a while.

On one of their earliest engagements together, Serafine and Nicodeme convince the stoic feline to strip down to his underwear and create a veritable mess with a hatchet to murder Asa’s newest targets. It’s later disclosed that this was a joke, but once he complied neither of them wanted to stop him. Asa Sweet can be heard in the Lackadaisy pilot episode referring to Mordecai as the ‘infamous hatchet man’, proving the siblings did not keep this joke to themselves.

Imagery of Maitre Carrefour over Mordecai as he nurses his ‘gift’, while Nico and Serafine watch on

Despite his lack of interest in their beliefs and lifestyle, Serafine and Nicodeme were not so disenchanted. They see within Mordecai something akin to themselves, a lost soul led to salvation, truly believing Maitre Carrefour altered the tuxedo cat’s course through life so he would interact with theirs. Either for Mordecai’s future success or a loyalty to the spirit, they trick Mordecai into joining a celebration in His name and share their history with Maitre Carrefour, implying the dozen others in attendance have all been saved at some point in their lives, then invite Mordecai to join them.

Mordecai refuses, sceptical of their claims and not inclined to befriend the siblings. He actively objects multiple times and even attempts to leave, however finds himself outnumbered and ultimately forced to comply, receiving a painful souvenir of the party; Maitre Carrefour’s protection glyph, carved into the flesh over his heart.

Core Personality

At his core, Mordecai is intelligent and clinical, able to evaluate large volumes of data within a short space of time and react swiftly to protect both himself and those who possess his respect, though it is not easily earned. Should you be privileged enough to possess his respect, you'll find the frosty feline loyal almost to a fault.

Friendliness doesn't come naturally to Mordecai, but with his respect comes an undying loyalty. This can be seen in his continued investigations into Atlas' death, focused entirely on the man he respected and not the widow he disliked. He has no loyalty to Lackadaisy as a whole, only to the man he respected while alive.

Affection is difficult for Mordecai. His expression of it is usually through thoughtful gifts or action, such as a gifted tie or unquestioningly following orders. He has little sentimentality for things or gifts himself, keeping very few belongings other than clothing, nor bothers to invoke sentiments in others. They simply make him uncomfortable.

Mordecai prides himself in clean effectiveness in all aspects of his life. He does not like to be idle, choosing to trade stocks to boost his earnings and keep his mind busy. Gossip and needless socialisation bore him, as do parties, meetings and luncheons that don't achieve a purpose.

A focused individual, Mordecai despises mess or idleness, preferring to keep busy between jobs by trading stocks and keeping meticulous books for his own benefit. He possesses little patience for wasting resources and has a very dry sense of humour, often misunderstanding social cues and remaining oblivious of the true meaning.

Despite all of this, he can be distracted by his own unique preferences for order or symmetry, becomes so obsessive over Atlas May's death he actively undermines what Lackadaisy has left to get a shoe in with a competitor, and is often construed as rude or insulting in conversation.

Motives: Lackadaisy to Marigold Employee

While it's not exactly mentioned, it's possible he left Lackadaisy for financial reasons as well as to pursue his own investigation of Atlas' death. With swirling rumours of Mitzi being involved and their smuggling routes being muscled into by competitors, the Lackadaisy Speakeasy was on the verge of bankruptcy, leaving Mitzi unable to pay any wages when Mordecai left.

Emptying the armoury wasn't his own decision, but an order by his new boss, one he would need to complete to earn trust and wages at his new job. While it would further condemn his old establishment to closure, Mordecai's loyalty died with Atlas, leaving few conflicts of interest for the feline sharpshooter to consider.

It's possible he left solely to investigate Atlas' death more thoroughly and suspecting Sweet of involvement, agreed to a deal when offered the job transfer. In this possibility, he's using both his former and current employers to further his own ends, regardless of the consequences, but we have yet to have this clarified.

Mordecai Heller: Man or Monster?

Mordecai Heller is a product of past decisions, opportunities and active influences. He did what he had to to survive, afforded any who assisted him lifelong friendship and offered no apologies for atrocities committed, even against those he used to call accomplices, or even friends.

While he appears uncaring and detached, those who know Mordecai can tease the sentiments from his carefully devised actions. He does not enjoy killing or causing pain, doing so only in his own self interests - or the employer with the most generous wages.

He's lost his best friend, the family he found, all for his obsessive need to uncover the truth of Atlas' early demise. Deciphering the truth of the mystery that plagues his every waking moment and enacting revenge on the responsible parties might afford Mordecai peace, but it won't repair the bonds severed by leaving at such a crucial time in Lackadaisy's uncertain future.

I believe Mordecai has condemned himself to an emotional solitude he thinks will be tolerable if it means he solves his former employer's death. In reality it will likely drive him mad, but he and Rocky will have more to talk about at the next reunion.

Appendixes:

Lesser Influences:

While Rocky Rickaby has some documented history with Mordecai while he worked at Lackadaisy, the pair don't have much of a rapport otherwise. Rocky is eccentric, loud and a little unhinged, all things Mordecai tends to distance himself from. Rocky even has a nickname for him - ‘Old Serious Face’ - that is not affectionately reciprocated. It should be noted he’s willing to shoot Rocky in the pilot, but misses his chance.

Knowing that Ivy Pepper is Atlas’ goddaughter, it makes sense he has some affection for the girl, even if it’s not overtly expressed. They’re not seen to converse directly in the comic or the pilot, though Mordecai consciously decides not to shoot her as she, Rocky and Freckle are fleeing with bootleg liquor. He doesn’t disclose this to anyone after the fact, instead stating the mission simply went awry.

Author's Note

Some of this information was a real struggle to dig up and took about a week to compile, but writing this has been mostly fun. Mordecai has been an obsession since a good friend got me to watch the pilot about a month ago, but I felt his character needed more deciphering than the Wikipedia pages could give me, so this exists now. I hope this was an interesting read for someone, other than myself.

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #mordecai heller #lackadaisy mordecai #character dissection #deep dive #character analysis #antagonist #tracy j butler #niche narratives #niche #is this too niche

62 notes · View notes