#how terribly uncivilized

[yesihaveaobsession]

Perfect

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: Tis the season to bake Christmas cookies in hell with the one and only, but also bickering like siblings out of love?

You stood at the counter in the overly decorated kitchen (thanks to Charlie) at the hotel, sifting flour into a mixing bowl while humming along to "Jingle Bell Rock." You felt an eerie presence behind you—the distinct crackle of static that always signaled Alastor’s approach. His shadow loomed before he leaned in slightly, peering over your shoulder with his wide, sharp grin.

“Ah, what do we have here?” His voice dripped with playful curiosity as his crimson eyes scanned the open cookbook in front of you. “One teaspoon of baking soda, three cups of flour… My, my, that’s quite precise, isn’t it?” he remarked with a slight head tilt. You shot him a side-eye glance, trying not to smile. “Are you here to help or to critique, Mr. Radio Demon?”

“Help, of course!” His grin widened. “Let me read the instructions for you, dear. Wouldn’t want you to miss a step.” You sighed but let him take over, secretly enjoying his antics. As you measured the sugar, Alastor leaned in closer, his voice low as he exaggerated every syllable of the recipe. You hoped to God he didn’t notice how your heartbeat sped up with his closeness.

“Now add... two cups of granulated sugar. Oh! But do be careful, my dear. Too much, and you’ll ruin these delicate little morsels.”

“Alastor,” you said in a warning tone, though the amused smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re going to end up in the batter if you don’t back up.”

“But then the cookies would be absolutely divine!” he teased, his laughter ringing out like a melody. You couldn’t help but let a smile slip, even though you tried not to.

As you rolled out the dough and started cutting shapes, Alastor leaned in again, deliberately close, inspecting the cookie cutters with exaggerated interest.

“You’re putting an awful lot of effort into these,” he remarked, his voice low and smooth. “Do you think anyone will notice if your stars are a little… lopsided?”

“Do you think anyone will notice if you mysteriously disappear?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. He laughed again, that mischievous, almost melodic sound, and grabbed a cutter of his own, pressing perfect shapes into the dough.

“Touché, my dear. Perhaps I’ll lend my talents to spare you any potential embarrassment.”

The two of you worked side by side, falling into a comfortable rhythm, sneaking glances when you thought the other wasn’t paying attention. When the timer dinged, you opened the oven to reveal trays of golden-brown cookies, their shapes just imperfect enough to be charming. At one point, as you rolled out another batch of dough, you felt something cool and sticky press against your cheek.

“Alastor!” you gasped, reaching up to touch your face. He had taken a small piece of dough and placed it squarely on your cheek, his grin widening in delight.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” he said with mock innocence, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re practically glowing now. I thought a little floury enhancement would do wonders.”

You glared at him, but the corners of your mouth twitched. Scooping up a tiny bit of dough, you flicked it at him, aiming for his nose. He dodged easily, laughing as though you’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Now, now, my dear. Let’s not start a food war. That would be terribly uncivilized!”

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, trying to fight the smile breaking through. “They’re not bad,” you said, hands on your hips as you surveyed the results. “Not bad at all,” Alastor agreed, plucking a still-warm cookie from the tray and inspecting it with exaggerated scrutiny. “Though I dare say my icing expertise carried the team.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “Your icing expertise hasn’t even been tested yet. Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. Expert.”

By the end, the counter was a mess, your hands were sticky with frosting, and the cookies were… unique.

“Well,” you said, holding up a lopsided snowman cookie, “we’re definitely not opening a bakery anytime soon.”

“Nonsense!” Alastor declared, taking a dramatic bite of a tree-shaped cookie. “These are exquisite! A testament to teamwork, my dear.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you picked up a cookie of your own. “Merry Christmas, Alastor.”

He raised his cookie in a mock toast, his grin unusually genuine. Though he wasn’t going to eat the cookie, he was glad to have spent this time with you—and only you. “And a Merry Christmas to you, my dear. Let’s do this again next year.”

[bennetsbonnet]

Do you agree with Darcy that Elizabeth was uncivil after listening his proposal? I really couldn't find anything mean in her first words after listening his declaration -obviously before the whole you're the last man in the world i could be prevailed upon to marry-

Absolutely not! At this moment Darcy.exe has stopped working... he was crashing out and just generally lashing out at Elizabeth for daring to reject him because, to Mr Darcy, civility was to worship the ground that he walked on and anything less than that was sheer rudeness. To have Elizabeth actually stand up to him and not to immediately throw herself at his feet and thank him from the bottom of her heart for someone as magnificent as him condescending to propose to her... that was utterly unfathomable to him! I genuinely don't think such a possibility had ever crossed his mind. That's what makes the scene so satisfying. He truly had no idea that it was coming... HA!

But let's look at the text, Elizabeth has actually said before he accuses her of rejecting him with 'so little endeavour at civility' is the following:

'In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot—I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.'

Essentially: I should thank you, even though I do not return your feelings for me, because that's the polite thing to do in this situation. Proposing marriage is a big deal for a man of your consequence and you clearly think highly of me, if I liked you I'd thank you. But I never tried to make you fall in love with me, and I don't think highly enough of you to appreciate it. Sorry this is going to hurt you. I didn't know you felt this way and I would've tried to prevent you from proposing to me if I had any idea this was coming but get well soon. (I don't see any rudeness here!)

And then Elizabeth has a little dig about what Darcy said about 'the family obstacles which had always opposed to inclination' before saying that her rejection will surely put him off her soon enough... who's gonna tell her?? which he absolutely deserves to have his own words thrown back at him.

Obviously this isn't Elizabeth's first rodeo with rejecting terrible marriage proposals given her experience with Mr Collins. Plus, ladies would have a rough idea of how to reject a marriage proposal without burning their bridges and while Elizabeth didn't exactly follow that convention, she was far from uncivil. In fact she was a little too nice, imo. That's why I love the Pride and Prejudice and Zombies proposal scene, where she gets to throw things at Darcy. As she should!

I suppose the "rudest" thing Elizabeth said during their exchange was actually after this point, when she accused Darcy of reducing Wickham to 'his present state of poverty' when obviously her assumptions were based on a biased perspective from an unreliable narrator. Elizabeth was far too hasty to completely believe him, despite her multiple warnings that Wickham was not all that he seemed. To accuse a gentleman of ruining another gentleman without good reason was a serious charge indeed and that was almost as ill-thought out as Darcy's proposal.

But then again, no sympathy for Darcy from me. He should've stopped sooner! Also, if Darcy had not demonstrated such rudeness to her at the Meryton assembly, Elizabeth wouldn't have retained such a dismal view of Darcy and so easily believed the worst of him.

So he made his bed... he had to lie in it. Not crying under the sheets though, he was lying there at Rosings (if he slept at all) with steam coming out of his ears... because how dare anyone reject a man as wonderful and consequential as Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire with his ten thousand per year?!

Anyway, I think you're totally correct not to see any evidence of incivility on Elizabeth's part. Even later on when Elizabeth tells him, 'I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry,' that's only after Darcy has insulted Elizabeth's family repeatedly, said that he's been kinder towards Bingley (in separating him from Jane and saving him from the fate of such unfortunate connections) than he has been towards himself (in lowering himself to make such a proposal). PLUS the absolute worst part, imo, which is when Darcy not only insults Elizabeth's intelligence by insisting he could've easily flattered his way into her heart (as though she wouldn't have been able to smell a rat and he's such a catch that she'd just... let him...) but also tries to tell her that he's been a nice guy, actually, and concealed his struggles... ugh. The audacity.

[maxdibert]

Ahem. Crumbs of Kid Severus headcannons/scenarios? 🤲🏼 Crumbs for a poor lad 🤲🏼?

Ahhhh, I love this super refreshing question after talking about such serious topics because Severus headcanons are basically my cardio.

• Growing up in a poor neighborhood, he was very used to violence, and as a kid, there were more than a few times when people tried to rob or even mug him. That’s when accidental magic would kick in, and the bullies would run away.

• He probably earned a reputation as the weird kid no one should mess with because of that.

• On top of that, Tobias didn’t have the best reputation either, which gave the Snapes a bad name in general.

• Since Eileen didn’t want her son to feel bad, she started telling him about the magical world and how wonderful it was to be a wizard—a strategy to help Severus dream of a better place where he could feel accepted.

• Severus was always intellectually curious and eager to learn, so in addition to asking his mother all sorts of things about the magical world, he would also beg her for books to read and expand his knowledge.

• The Muggle environment around him was so depressing that he began to idealize the magical world from a very young age as a way to escape everything around him.

• Tobias couldn’t stand that his son was some kind of “sissy” with his nose always buried in books, so he tried to “make a man out of him” with typical macho stuff like taking him to hang out with his work buddies at the pub or teaching him how to fight—classic 1960s dad behavior.

• Severus thought all of it was the most uncivilized nonsense, which infuriated his father because he felt deeply threatened by such disdain.

• Tobias would brag that Muggles were far better than wizards as a way to compete with what Eileen was teaching their son. He tried to show Severus the “good things about being a Muggle,” like TV or movies.

• Severus ended up hating movies because of this. He was never the least bit interested, as his father would force him to watch terrible films or TV programs that only reminded him of traumatic moments in his life.

• Since the Muggle world felt so depressing because of his father and the environment he lived in, Severus began to lean more and more into his wizard identity. Tobias didn’t tolerate this, and it often led to extremely violent fights.

• Eileen was often so depressed that she wouldn’t even get out of bed, so Severus learned to cook at a very young age because his father demanded dinner be ready when he got home from work.

• The one thing Tobias taught Severus—dysfunctional as it was—was to never let anyone walk over him and to lash out in an extremely aggressive way when someone tried to mess with him. Severus used this against anyone who tried to bully him in the neighborhood, and later, he used it in Hogwarts too.

• Tobias gave him his first cigarette at the age of 11, during the summer before he started at Hogwarts, because “smoking is for men.”

• He used to fantasize about becoming a super-powerful wizard so he could kill his father.

• His relationship with Eileen was complicated. On one hand, he appreciated that his mother was a witch and that thanks to her, he could have a destiny beyond working in a factory and becoming another version of his father. On the other hand, he resented her for never using her powers against Tobias to protect herself or her son.

• He went to a public Muggle school and skipped half of his classes. His parents never found out.

• Eileen often sent him to fetch Tobias when he stayed at the pub late into the night, and Severus hated those moments because his father was absolutely unbearable when drunk.

• He never learned how to ride a bike, but Tobias did teach (force) him to drive a car.

[leiawritesstories]

Horsey

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 5: Birthdays @rowaelinscourt

Word count: 954

Warnings: so so SO much fluff teehee

inspired by the work of @sassyhobbits. i could not resist. enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where’s the birthday girl?” Aelin crooned, pretending not to notice the big purple bow that bobbed behind Lorcan’s leg. 

“I right here!” The giddy exclamation was coupled with a blur of purple silk and dark curls as newly five-year-old Marion Salvaterre Lochan launched herself into her auntie’s arms. “Hi Auntie!” 

Aelin beamed and hugged her niece. “Happy birthday, Mari darling! Are you having the best day and eating all the yummy cake?” Marion nodded excitedly, clapping her little hands. She was a perfect image of her mother, but she had Lorcan’s sharp dark eyes. 

“Auntie Lyssie gave me pretty bwace-wet!” The small girl proudly held out her right arm. “See?” 

“Ooh, yes, very pretty.” Aelin kissed the top of Marion’s head. “Alright, honey, why don’t you go find your da? I think he’s looking for you again, birthday girl.” 

“Okay!” Marion ran over to Lorcan, her little purple silk shoes pattering on the tile of the Lochan manor’s sunlit ballroom. “Hi Dada!” Lorcan lifted his daughter into his arms, whispering something that was probably disgustingly sweet into her ear. Aelin chose not to let her Fae ears pick it up. 

Elide crossed the room and stopped to kiss her girl’s rosy cheeks before she came to Aelin. “Thank you so much for being here,” she said, beaming. “I know you’re terribly busy with running a kingdom.” 

“She has people for that,” Rowan murmured, just loud enough for them to hear. Aelin swatted his chest, sending him a long-suffering look. 

So uncivilized.

He smirked. That’s why I don’t take on court duties.

Maybe I should have commanded you to keep an eye on things while I went to my beautiful niece’s birthday celebration. 

And spent half the treasury on gifts? I think not. He dodged the elbow she angled at his ribs. Ah-ah, love. I know the way you move.

She gave him a saccharine smile. As do I, buzzard, she all but purred. 

Elide sighed loudly. “Will the two of you stop flirting with each other right in front of everyone’s poor eyes? It’s bad enough how disgustingly in love you are already.” 

“Says the woman whose husband willingly gave up five hundred years of warrior high life to play housemaid and change diapers,” Aelin returned, winking at her dear friend. 

The petite woman snorted. “Lorcan knows damn well he’s better off here than he ever would be whacking himself off in some army tent.” 

“Godsdamned right I do.” Lorcan covered Marion’s eyes and bent nearly in half to kiss his wife. 

Aelin groaned and covered her own eyes. “Gods above.” She tugged subtly on the blood oath before Lorcan could show her a vulgar gesture. “Now now, Salvaterre, there are children present.” At her side, Rowan snickered, amused at Lorcan’s grumpiness. 

“Why don’t we give our favorite niece her birthday present?” he suggested, smoothing over the situation before either Lorcan or Aelin could pester the other. 

Marion clapped and exclaimed her excitement. “Yes yes yes! I wanna present, Unc’a Ro!” 

Rowan laughed. “Alright, Mari. Should we go outside? I think there might be something out there for you.”

Led by Aelin, and with Marion still sitting comfortably in her father’s arms, the handful of them went out into the courtyard, where a small, intricately worked wooden trunk sat on the stones. Marion gasped and squirmed, and when Lorcan set her down, she ran over to the box and opened it up. Her dark eyes went huge with wonder, and she lifted a length of lavender silk and gauze out. 

“It’s a pretty dress!” she screeched, jumping excitedly. “Yay!” She brought the dress to her mother, who laid it carefully over one arm, and sprinted for her aunt and uncle, who showered her with hugs and kisses before letting her go back to her favorite spot in Lorcan’s arms. 

“There’s one more little present,” Aelin said, winking at Marion. 

The small girl’s eyes grew even wider. “Really?” 

“Really.” Aelin grinned conspiratorially. “Let’s go around the corner, shall we?” They walked towards the stables, and Rowan’s confusion crowded her mind. 

What did you get her, Aelin?

Something she’ll be able to love for a very long time.

That…is not very descriptive.

Of course not. She chuckled at his confusion and grandly slid the stable doors open. “Happy birthday, my little love!” All the sets of eyes peered into the stable, and shock bolted like lightning through everyone except the queen of Terrasen. 

Because there was an Asterion standing in the Lochan stables. 

Elide turned slowly towards Aelin. “Did you…No, you most certainly did not. I’m dreaming.” 

“Did you seriously get our daughter an Asterion?” Disbelieving, Lorcan asked the question Elide couldn’t vocalize. 

“She said she wanted a pony!” Aelin shrugged. “The royal stables have been taking wonderful care of our Asterions, and this young mare is three years old, fully trained, and probably the sweetest and most evenly tempered Asterion you could ask for.” 

“HORSEY!!!” Marion squealed, instantly in love with her birthday gift from Auntie Aelin. 

The simple, childish, gleeful declaration made the situation seem simple. Despite Rowan’s look that screamed we will be discussing this later, even he applauded when Lorcan set Marion astride the back of the young Asterion mare, which didn’t so much as twitch at the feeling of a passenger. She was so ecstatic that Elide just shook her head as she hugged Aelin. 

“You are far too extravagant, but we love you,” she whispered. “Thank you.” 

“Anything for my favorite and only niece.” Aelin had a soft, faraway look in her eyes as she watched Marion gently pat the horse’s mane, dreaming of the day one of her own children might do the same thing. “We love you too.”

~~~

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[thesassypadawan]

💙💙Obi-Wan (The Negotiator)💙💙

Milk Monster (Master Obi-Wan x PadawanFemReader) *Smut*

Summary: You surprise Obi-Wan with a little treat, that turns into a big trick! Beware the milk monster! Happy Halloween!

No Nut November (Padawan Obi-Wan x PadawanFemReader) *Smut*

Summary: It’s No Nut November and padawan Kenobi is trying his best to see it all the way through. However, things take an interesting turn when you return from a mission with your master early and discover Obi-Wan’s not so small secrets. Will he be able to stay strong or fall prey to the temptation of your bountiful breasts?

Xmas Headcanon, Santa (Master Obi-Wan x RealWorldFemReader) *Fluff and Smut*

Summary:  It’s Obi-Wan’s first Earth holiday season with you!  He doesn’t have the slightest clue on how to celebrate, except there’s this fuller figure gentleman in a red suit and he’s apparently very big on being naughty or nice.

Under My Tree *part 1* (Knight Obi-Wan x RealWorldFemReader) *Fluff*

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve. Your knight is nowhere to be found and all you want is a cozy rendezvous under your tree. (Pairs well with *NSYNC’s song Under My Tree)

Wizard *part 2* (Knight Obi-Wan x RealWorldFemReader) *Fluff*

Summary: After a very monumental Christmas with Obi-Wan, it’s time to share the good news with the other most important person in his life, Anakin. What better way to do so than making it the most special New Year Fete he has ever had. Happy New Year! (Read Under My Tree first!)

The Jedi and The Waitress (Master Obi-Wan x FemReader) *Fluff and Smut*

Summary: It feels like forever since you’ve seen your “jedi boyfriend” and you’re missing Obi terribly. What started out as a sweet reunion, quickly turns into something just a tad more heated…better get back to your apartment fast for that week full of “fun” activities.

Your Boys (Knight Anakin x PadwanFemReader x Master Obi-Wan) *Smut*

Summary: After letting Anakin talk you into a quickie…and then another…you’re caught in the act by your master, Obi-Wan. You’re so sure that he’s going to be pissed that you’re totally shocked when he joins Ani and you. Guess you’ll just have to let your boys take care of you.

Still Hungry (Knight Anakin x PadwanFemReader x Master Obi-Wan) *Smut*

Summary: What happens when you’re forced to share living quarters with your new, roguishly handsome, master and his former, insufferably good looking, padawan… Well, let’s just say, that after everything is said and done…you’re still hungry.

Dream Guy (Knight Obi-Wan x RealWorldFemReader) *Smut*

Summary: After striking out at single’s night, and tipsily confessing to your little Obi-Wan figure some things, you find yourself in the middle of what’s easily the most interesting Valentine’s you’ve ever had! One that you surely will never forget!

Debriefing *part 2* (Master Obi-Wan x PadawanFemReader) *Smut*

Summary: After a somewhat successful undercover mission, your master wants you to properly thank him…luckily, he’s not in a debriefing with anyone. So you can make as much noise as you want. (Hope you enjoy part 1, part 3, and part4!)

Debriefing *part 3* (Knight Anakin x FemPadawanReaderx Obi-Wan) *Smut*

Summary: Due to the level of severity for his most recent mission, you’ve been forced to remain behind. Leaving you aching for him in the worse way possible and in desperate need of a private ‘meeting’…just between the three of you. (Hope you enjoy part 1, part 2, and part 4!)

Debriefing *part 4* (Knight Anakin x FemPadawanReader x Master Obi-Wan) *Smut*

Summary: You had hoped for a proper ‘reunion’ with your master and Ani when they returned from their latest escapade. However they’re both behaving unusual, acting like the whole revelation and ‘debriefings’ never occurred. Leaving you guessing, wondering…so sexually frustrated. That you’re about to do something crazy, until… (Hope you enjoy part 1, part 2, and part 3!)

So Uncivilized (Master Obi-Wan x FemPadawanReader) *Smut*

Summary: After a long mission all Obi wants is a good rest. Too bad that will have to wait. You ‘accidently’ left something of yours in his sleep couch…and got your poor master all hot and bothered. Oppsies!

First Time For Everything (Padawan Obi-Wan x FemPadawanReader) *Smut*

Summary: It’s Obi’s first time…ever. And although things have a rocky start, he quickly picks things up. But…there’s always time for more practice.

Absolutes (Sith Obi-Wan x FemApprenticeReader) *Smut*

Summary: You didn't choose this path…he did.  He was the one who found you, spared your life.  Took you in and will mold you into his perfect apprentice.  No matter how many ‘lessons’ it takes.

Home For Life Day (Knight Obi-Wan x WifeReader) *Fluff*

Summary: It’s the night before Life Day and all through the house.  Not a creature was stirring, except you…whose waiting on that hopeful arrival.  (Inspired by and pairs well with *NSYNC’s Home For Christmas)

His Universe (Obi-Wan x Darling!Reader)

Summary: Fates.  Always intertwined, forever connected.  Constantly changing, evolving.  Adding new factors, elements.  No matter how far they stray, they will find a way time and time again to come back to one another.  Meshing together their galaxy and his universe.

[dancing-with-draegons]

Poison From the Same Vine

pt. 1

pairing: Larys Strong x reader/OC (she/her pronouns, no names, no descriptions)

summary: Larys has found his match in a shrewd and ruthless widow with a taste for spying, intrigue and poison. A battle of wits and worse ensues. Sexual tension.

warnings: talk of murder, poison play, intrigue, hints of NSFW, dark

word count: 2.4k

There was no man who could stand up to Larys Clubfoot, sneaky and treacherous as he was. But there was a woman who could. She was thrice widowed, with a dangerous sort of beauty that should warn men of the dangers that lay in her alluring eyes, her blood red lips, underneath her silken skin.

But men were fools and she liked to draw them in, and ruin them.

For the longest time, she had played her own game: a dead husband here and there, an obedient lover, an obsessed knight. But when she had come to the Red Keep, the stakes had grown, and she with them.

Men liked to tattle, women liked to share the gossip they had picked up on during the day, and the widow of Blackcrown shares her bed with them, her wine or friendship, whatever was required to hear what she needed to hear.

In time, she had drawn the eye of a prince, and his desire protected her better than any armour.

Larys Clubfoot wanted her gone, but a prince’s whore could be as powerful as a queen and she had long made her throne in Aegon's bed, and Tyland’s, and a dozen others.

Did Larys loathe her for the power she held? Did he lie awake at night and dream of besting her, like she did?

He was the one person at court whom she could not win over, the one man who proved invincible to her charms.

Sometimes, he would come to haunt her in her chambers, always giving some threadbare excuse to threaten her, or goad her. And so he had come today, to speak of soldiers and whores.

“You are a shrewd man, Lord Larys,” she said, without any regard for his threats, “though few will ever see that. But you pay your spies in silver or gold – and I have a purse you cannot match.”

She traced his cheekbone with one long finger.

He followed her with his eyes, grey like cruel midwinter frost.

“It seems an…affliction has befallen many of those who have frequented the street of silk of late,” he said, and although his face was a mask of pity and his voice carefully inflected to suggest the same, she realised that this was his great moment of triumph and the true reason he had come here today.

“An affliction.”

“A disease caught from some concubine, no doubt. Many of those women hail from the Free Cities and the uncivil lands beyond.”

“It does give one occasion to pause and contemplate our construct of civility, does it not?”

“Indeed.” He inclined his head. “For now, my prayers are with the afflicted. Such a terrible pox befalls them. Many are disfigured afterwards, if they survive the disease, that is.”

“I understand why you must empathise with those poor souls. But let their fate not burden you overmuch, my lord.”

“I shall heed your counsel, my lady. Only the most depraved fall victim to it, or so word has it.”

“So it begins. Yet, if it should befall those of gentler birth, of the gentlest birth – why, I am certain the origin of this disease will be found and uprooted.”

Larys Strong only smiled. He was not fool enough to spread the disease to Aegon's brothels. And yet…was there a way to limit the spreading? If so, she needed to find it, and quickly, or else her business would soon run dry. Larys seemed to believe that she opened her legs to any man she asked for a favour, and good for her he did.

But it was the promise of her cunt that moved many a man to do as she pleased. With a pox as terrible and dangerous as that, not only would she herself be at risk, no, the promise of coin would lure more men than her smile.

“I do pity the whores,” Larys said, and there was little of his usual softness remaining, “how will they earn their keep when their purses…run dry?”

“A dry whore is as useful as wet firewood,” she agreed amiably.

Larys Strong had no taste for the whores on the street of silk. He preferred his bed warmer crowned and reluctant. And when the queen was indisposed, rumour had it his tastes were perverse and strange, and those women that had to satisfy him never talked to anyone again.

She knew what he liked.

As she leant against the table and stretched out her legs, the hem of her gown rode up to reveal her slippered feet.

It was a dare.

Larys looked down on cue, and for a moment, his eyes rested on what she had bared to him.

No stockings. That alone was scandalous.

Her slippers were velvet, soft and clinging like a lovers’ embrace, and left much of her feet bare.

Her ankles were just visible underneath the hem of her gown.

When he looked up at her again, he was smiling.

“Those women are never out of tricks, though,” she said.

“Cheap tricks.”

Larys did not look down again but she sensed that he wanted to. And he wanted to do more.

Her obvious seduction attempt had shifted something between them.

And now, when he wanted to subdue her, he would think about ways that would be gratifying for him.

~o~

“Lord Larys.” She welcomed him into her chambers. “You bring happy tidings, I trust.”

“Indeed. It seems the Silk Street pox has vanished as quickly as it came.“

It had indeed, and turned out not have been a pox at all but a concoction made by some northern witch. A few drops had been enough to make boils appear and hearts slow, and soon enough, the panic that had followed had ferried some more poor souls to the Stranger.

She had caught wind of at all not in the city, but here, when a vial had been attached to a scroll for Lord Larys. He had taken great pains to hide it, her little lover had said, and had succeeded in doing so even from the maester, yet not from him. She had bedded him in return, but by morning, the boy had fallen down the serpentine steps and broken his neck. She considered herself innocent on that front. Larys was thorough, and it had been folly to observe him so obviously. She loathed to lose faithful informers, but he had tasted the sweet nectar of her cunt and oftentimes men became less loyal after that particular promise was fulfilled, so all in all it was no loss she couldn't cope with. There were two score where the page had come from, and there was a never ending supply of foolish, cuntstruck men.

The only exception stood before her.

“How wonderful,” she said and gave Larys' her most seductive smile. “We must drink to that.”

She led him to the table in the centre of the room, then slowly poured a fine Arbor vintage into two cups.

Larys had followed her to the table without a hint of suspicion in his eyes. Did he desire her already? Had he come not only to bring her these tidings and find out what she knew but to see her, smell her, maybe taste her?

He plunged his hand into the folds of his doublet but not to open the clasps, she realised with some disappointment, when he produced a ring.

It was an ugly thing, with a thick band made of yellow gold and set with a large, square onyx. She knew it well: her first husband had once given it to her as a nameday gift.

“Have you by any chance seen this ring before?”

She took it carefully and examined it, saw where the stone had been filed down to hide the carving it had once borne, the ill-fitting seams of the heavy gold band where it had been widened.

That had been done at Oldtown ten years ago. She doubted the jeweller was still in business, it had been a small, dinghy little shop far away from the cobbled main street. Not even Larys could know.

“I cannot say I have. Is it yours?”

Larys smiled. “It was found in the pocket of a soldier.”

“No doubt he stole it.”

“He sings a different song.” Larys' pale grey eyes were trained on her.

“A bawdy one, no doubt.”

“Not so much, no. And won't ever again, I'm afraid.”

“Poor creature.”

She seized the cups to offer him one, but froze as her fingers wrapped around the brass.

Had the right one not been closer to the edge of the table? And the other one had been further away from the pitcher.

She turned to look at Larys, whose eyes still rested on her. He looked calm, very pleased.

Had he switched the cups?

It made no matter. The antidote was in her pocket, and smeared over her lips.

If he thought he could trick her this easily, he would soon have to reconsider.

She gave him the right cup, then raised the left.

“To justice.”

He replied in kind, and drank deeply. She did the same.

The wine was sweet and heavy. She drank again, to prove a point.

“A good vintage,” she said and licked her lips until the antidote coated her tongue bitter and waxy, with an odd sort of aftertaste.

He nodded and took a measured sip.

“I have come to request your aid,” he said, slowly.

“You flatter me, my lord. How could I, a lonely widow, possibly help the Lord of Harrenhal?”

There was no man who looked at her like Larys Strong. His eyes were soulless and cold, his gaze unwavering, never lustful or heated, always intense, always calculating.

“Maester Mellos was quite troubled. He had found that his study had been broken into.”

Ice flooded her veins.

“The door is rarely locked, I heard.”

“Indeed. Are you not curious how he knew someone had entered without his leave?”

Her heart beat furiously in her chest.

“I had thought you would enlighten me momentarily, my lord.”

“Something was stolen.”

“How terrible.”

She blinked. The light of the candles was strangely blinding.

“A rare poison.” His voice was a seductive whisper.

“Not deadly, I hope.”

Her voice sounded breathless.

“Very, I fear. It heightens the senses at first, quickens the heartbeat. It is most…stimulating for a while as the blood flow is increased. And then, after a few hours, the heart gives out.”

“How gruesome.”

A treacherous throbbing began to spread between her legs.

“In the Free Cities, they call it Widowmaker. Many a wife has found her husband dead after coupling. Did not your first husband's heart give out one night?”

“A horrible tragedy. I still remember how the light went out of his eyes that night, as we made love. But he was an old man, and liked ale and venison overmuch.”

“Mh.”

Larys considered her for a moment. “The poison was not all that was stolen, however.”

“No? A greedy thief.”

“There was another vial Maester Mellos found missing. It had been erroneously labelled as an antidote to the Widowmaker poison.”

“That is a curious mistake to make.”

“Do you not wish to know what that second vial contained instead?”

“Of course.”

“Mainly beeswax,” he replied, “mixed with something quite revolting, if you catch my meaning.”

She took a swallow of wine as the first wave of lust took hold of her body.

Larys smiled.

“I remember you saying you came to ask for my help.”

“Yes,” his voice was soft, almost a caress, and it stroked something inside her. She needed this man between her legs, she needed his hands, his tongue, his cock.

Her laboured breath filled the silence for a moment, as he took in the effect of his workings with unhidden delight.

“To justice, you toasted. I have come to ask which punishment you consider fit for this thief.”

“Have you found him then?”

Larys took a step towards her, then rested his hands on his cane. “I am drawing closer.”

“Good.”

“It is customary for a thief to lose their hand, and for a liar to lose their tongue.”

“Mayhaps they could put both to good use, though.”

She opened the first clasp of her overgown. The chemise underneath was thin, almost translucent. Larys’ eyes dropped to the neckline but there was little interest in his gaze.

She raised the hem of the gown.

“Mayhaps,” Larys agreed. “Though there must be some form of punishment.”

“I suppose the Lord Confessor has other ways of punishment? Less….bloody?”

His grip tightened on his cane, the only indicator that he was not as calm as he pretended to be.

“Certainly. To break a man's spirit – or a woman's – can be just as…righteous as to break her bones.”

His voice…cruel, hard, and yet so soft. She rubbed her thighs together to calm the pulsing desire between her legs but to no avail. Larys watched eagle-eyed, his lips slightly parted in a smile, the wet tip of his pink tongue softly caressing his lower lip.

“Some do not break easy though, I trust.” Though she no longer felt invincible. She would die within a few hours, poisoned by what she had given her first husband the night he'd chosen to bed a chambermaid instead of her.

There was some justice in that, she supposed, and the sort of bitter irony she could appreciate.

What she could not appreciate was the way the poison began to cloud her judgement and take over her body. She had long wanted him to want her, wanted to drive him mad with desire, and now he had turned the tables on her with alarming ease.

“All break eventually,” he said, gazing at her curiously, “Though of course, should the thief have accidentally sampled the poison, thinking the antidote is at hand, the thief will not give me a lot of time to get a confession.”

“The antidote. I trust Maester Mellos still holds on to it?”

“He thought it best that I store it safely, just in case the thief makes another attempt.”

“And you keep it in a secret hideaway, I suppose.”

“No.” Larys raised the other cup, the clean cup, to his lips and took a measured sip as he made her wait for the answer she needed. “I have it on me.”

It took her a moment to understand his meaning. Then her hands went to the second clasp of her gown.

[shewhowas39]

sneak peek of chapter 31: "S&M"

chapter 31 of Juniper & Starlight should be up later today! but here's a sneak peek.

***

“Greetings, children,’ the heavily scarred man says. “I’ve met few aside from goblins here.” He pauses, gray eyes scanning the small group. “Ah! Are you also here to assist with the prisoner?”

“Prisoner?” June asks.

“The gentleman next door,” he explains. “My…acquaintance is working on him, I believe.” He grimaces, clearly disgusted. “While I was thrilled to be invited here, I must confess I find the goblins and their methods crude and, ugh, primitive. Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before June can say something absurdly saccharine about all pain being bad or something along those lines, Astarion cuts in with an emphatic nod. “Oh, yes. I certainly agree. And these goblins have no concept of true, proper torture.”

When he looks to the half elves, he can see that June is glancing toward the other door, beyond which the sounds of a man’s cries and goblin jeers can now be heard. Dread and exasperation fill him. Yet another stranger June is likely going to insist on saving. 

But Shadowheart is on top of it. “I’ll go handle the prisoner,” she says. “I’ll show the goblins the most effective way to get answers.”

“Best of luck to you, my child,” the man says. “I do hope they listen to you more than they did to me.” As Shadowheart leaves the room to go next door, he turns back to June and Astarion. “The one administering the torture next door claims to be a master of pain, but…No. No, pain should be intimate and loving.”

Astarion feels the grin stretching across his face. Oh, this man is an absolute freak. How delightful! He leans into it, both because they are meant to be blending in, but also - and mostly - because it’s funny.

“Absolutely,” Astarion says, lowering his voice to a growl as he tries to match this man’s rather horny energy. “Pain should be passionate.”

“Yes! Yes!” the man shouts. “You must be a true believer!”

Astarion has no idea what he’s meant to truly believe in, but that doesn’t stop him from giving this man an enthusiastic nod. “Of course.”

“What a relief, to find fellow devotees among these uncivilized creatures,” he says. “My apologies. I have not introduced myself. I am Abdirak, and you…” He trails off as his eyes come to rest on June, who has - perhaps wisely - remained quiet throughout this exchange. “Forgive me, child, but that look in your eyes… Something terrible has happened to you.” 

“Oh, um, no. I’m fine,” June says, and as usual, it’s not at all a convincing lie.

“There is no need to disguise your suffering, child,” Abdirak says. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I ain’t so sure that’s true,” June murmurs. 

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

CW: Brief discussion of possible self harm. No actual self harm took place.

oOo

"So, the thirsty birds are holding a party, huh?"

Lucifer wasn't certain which part of that statement to untangle first, but he was fairly certain it wouldn't be too flattering for the Goetia. He picked up his woefully non-alcoholic drink, the direction of the conversation suddenly making him wish he didn't have a prior obligation later that day.

Vaggie gave Angel an unimpressed look, arms crossed. She had apparently caught on to the implications of Angel's statement as well. "There's no way you've been to one of their parties."

The spider demon made an affronted noise. "All the big boys and girls love a nasty sinner with a skill or two." Running a hand up one of his long, long legs, he purred, "And I have a skill or two."

It likely spoke to the level of exposure to the porn star she'd had that Charlie completely glossed over the not so hidden innuendo in that claim and instead focused on, "But the Goetia hate sinners. They complain about them every chance they get."

She turned to her father for confirmation, her brows furrowed. He nodded back in agreement. They did indeed complain about the violent and uncivilized manners of sinners whenever they thought Lucifer was listening, for all that they had long since given up on him doing anything about them.

Husk nodded in agreement. He'd likely seen all sorts of demons come through his casino in its heyday. Lucifer peered at the spider demon over the rim of his cup.

He wasn't about to contradict the Angel, though. Using sex to "tame a wild beast" was totally a thing that wasn't exclusive to the human imagination (and he hated that he knew that).

"Oh, sweetie, havent you heard?" Angel leaned forward, his grin downright fifty and his eyes knowing. "All cats are grey in the dark."

Vaggie's frown deepened. "That's not how that phrase is supposed to be used."

Charlie looked back and forth between them, missing something. "What is it supposed to mean?" Vaggie leaned over and whispered something in her ear, which caused Charlie to make a strangled noise. "That is a terrible thing to say about women!" She turned on Angel. "Who said such a terrible thing?"

Angel appeared to be pleased as punch. Without pause, he answered, "Benjamin Franklin."

Vaggie raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Angel took no offense to her response. "You thought I was just a pretty face, didn't you?" He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his cup like he wished it was something else. "I read, sometimes, and everyone knows about this guy." He leaned his chin on the heel of his palm, shooting Lucifer a leer. "And how could I resist reading about this guy joining some Order into kinky devil worshipping orgies?"

Lucifer took a sip of his drink, a grimace visible in every inch of his body. Not many human groups made an impression on him, but The Order of the Knights of St Francis had. Worse, they hadn't actually been trying, from what he could tell, which made the whole thing worse.

To his understanding, the Order were a bunch of rich dudes who liked some role play and fancied themselves a place they could go a little wild, whether it be at cards or sex. Mockery of religion aside, none of them had ever performed a ritual with the expectation it would work (which was a horrible waste of a sacrifice, in Lucifer's opinion). That was, until one of the members had gotten thier hands on a real grimoire and decided to fuck around and find out by attempting to summon the Devil.

Oftentimes, when humans played these little games, nothing happened. They often got the name wrong and the whole thing turned out to be a dud. Sometimes they got it right, but who they thought they were summoning turned out to be very different from who they ended up getting and that turned into its own can of worms.

And then there were the ones that got it right. Had all the right materials and said all the right words and BAM! Instant Lucifer, King of Hell, at their disposal.

It was tedious and annoying, but it was his only chance at catching a glimpse at Earth throughout the years. And not everyone wanted some depraved, unholy wish, so there was that.

The thing about the attending members of the Order of the Knights of St. Francis was they hadn't expected it to work. They were drunk and having fun. They had thought it was just as real as everything else they'd done up until then. So, when they'd found they'd summoned the actual Devil himself, no one had a clue what to do with him.

What followed was three days of a sliding scale between furious bickering and outright panic amongst the group. The spell said one of them had to ask for something and Lucifer had to grant it (if it were possible). Their heart's desire in exchange for their soul. Only, none of them wanted anything enough to sell their soul for. This might have gone on indefinitely, had not one of them finally stepped up and shouted, "I'd sell my soul any day to make my nagging wife disappear!"

Beyond done with the pompous idjits, Lucifer had accepted the deal. Since the man had failed to specify how exactly he wanted the poor woman to "disappear," Lucifer had simply sent her away to another continent with a portion of her husband's money and the hope she found a better life for herself.

The only good thing about the experience had been the food and wine. The Order had at least not skimped on any of their luxuries, he would give them that.

Placing his cup down on the bar, Lucifer pointed at the spider demon. "For the record, they didn't worship me."

Angel was delighted, as if he'd just been told he was getting everything he wanted for his birthday. "That's the part that wasn't true?!"

"Ooooookay," Charlie interrupted, trying to redirect the conversation back to its original topic. "I can't believe Octavia is turning eighteen. It seems like just yesterday Stolas and Stella were announcing her birth."

If Charlie thought time was going fast after 200 plus years, wait until she hit the thousands.

Nudging his cup over to Husk, who had (mostly) been giving him the silent treatment since Alastor changed his contract, Lucifer pushed away from the bar. "Well, I'm going to go start getting ready." He made an unenthused double thumps up. "Never can start too soon."

Angel raised his glass. "I'd drink to that."

Charlie placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" The offer to go with him was plain in her question, even if she didn't explicitly say it.

Lucifer covered her hand with his own, his expression softening into a real smile. "I'll be okay, Char-Char." He turned his face towards the ceiling, specifically the right most tower. "At the very least, this should be interesting."

Vaggie crossed her arms. "I still don't think Alastor going is a good idea." She had made no secret of this when he'd announced the ceremony and who his plus one would be.

Charlie's expression was a complicated mixture of thoughtfulness, concern, and guilt. Likely, she was worried about Alastor's motives and guilty she felt worried. It was times like these, where Lucifer could see her fighting with her instincts like this that he really wanted to strangle the sinner for how twisted up he'd already made Charlie with his manipulations. "I am surprised he wanted to go," she settled with. "It doesn't seem the kind of event he would want to go to."

Understatement. Nonetheless, at this stage, only the Radio Demon knew his true plans.

Charlie turned her full attention on her father and Lucifer was overtaken by a sense of foreboding. Sure enough, the next thing she asked of him - everything about her full of concern - was, "Dad, please look after him. None of them are as strong as Adam, but they are stronger than him."

This was what he'd been afraid of when he'd told her Alastor was coming. That Charlie would think for a moment that everyone in the room would be a threat to the sinner rather than the other way around. Lucifer sighed, ultimately unable to refuse his baby girl anything within his power. Sincerely, albeit grudgingly, he promised, "I'll make sure he gets home alive and in one piece."

Not that he had any plans of telling the redhead about such a promise. He'd milk the protection for all it was worth with gleeful sadism.

Charlie's brows smoothed out, her worries abated. It was touching that she still had that level of faith in him.

Holding tight to that warm feeling (he had the suspicion he was going to need it), he conjured a swirl of red smoke, which snaked around him as he transported himself up to the top most floor. Taking the stairs might have given his approach away and he was willing to admit he was in a bit of a mood. The moment he was fully corporeal, Lucifer threw open the door to Alastor's room without so much as a knock, shouting, "You better be decent, because I'm coming in!"

Alastor's bayou was dark, its ecosystem in its own time zone and independent of Hell's. It was only the fact that Lucifer didn't want to seem too interested in anything the sinner had created that stopped him from asking how closely it followed Earth's daily rotation. The sinner himself was seated within full view of the door, the rim of a small, white cup pressed to his lips. His spine and ears had gone ramrod straight at the intrusion. An equally white saucer and a pretty white and blue tea pot, that Lucifer pegged was likely picked out for the sinner by his friend Rosie, lay spread out on his little table for one. The scent of the drink was impossible to distinguish from the general scent of the bayou. 

Alastor relaxed upon recognizing him, swallowing his mouthful. Once his mouth was free, he said in a dismissive tone, "Ah, it's just you."

Lucifer strolled in like he owned the place (which he did, actually, and wasn't that something to come back to). A wave of his hand sent the door swinging shut behind him. Ignoring the insult, he said, "Grab anything you need. We're heading out."

Alastor's eyes narrowed at him. "There's still quite a bit of time before the ceremony begins." Pointedly, he took another sip of his drink, loudly slurping as he did. "And I'm busy at the moment."

The blonde remained unfazed. "Thanks to your little stunt yesterday, I have to put some thought into my outfit for once." He gestured to where the wound was currently hidden by the high neckline of his roll down. A pair of red eyes followed the movement, far too pleased despite the clear rebuke in Lucifer's words. "Your reputation might get boosted by our deal being ousted, but I'd rather not advertise it."

Alastor made a considering noise as he took another sip, although if he was pondering the effects to his reputation or the taste of his tea, it was impossible to say. He glanced at Lucifer, pointedly staring at his top. "Why not conjure something up like you did that sweater?"

"It's easier when the thing already exists," Lucifer explained, not that he needed to defend himself to this sinner. To demonstrate, he conjured a simple, base yellow rubber duck. "From there I can modify it-" he gave it a little white top hat, reminiscent of his own, "-Copy it-" a second duck appeared, exactly like the first one, "-Or merge them together." For his last magic trick, he slammed the two ducks together. When he opened them, a duck twice as big as either of the originals lay in his palms.

Alastor took on an unimpressed look of his own, raising an eyebrow at him. "So modify that silly outfit you usually wear."

Lucifer tries to imaging changing his usual outfit and finds the thought distasteful. He worked long and hard on that thing and he's quite pleased with it. "Hm, no. Doesn't fit the style."

The red headed sinner's other eyebrow joined it's twin. "'Style'?" His expression turned shrewd. "You mean that abhorrent circus theme is on purpose?"

Sticking his tongue out at Alastor may have been childish, but he didn't care. For extra effect, he lobbed his latest rubber ducky at the asshole's head.

A shadow darted out from behind the sinner, catching the object mere inches from Alastor's face. He narrowed his eyes at it, turning it this way and that. An unholy grin spread across his face was the all warning Lucifer had before the redhead's head seemed to come unhinged at the jaw, mouth opening unnaturally wide.

Wide enough, in fact, to drop the duck into it. Lucifer's hands flew to his mouth in horror at the poor thing's fate.

With a resounding snap Alastor's jaw came back together, the unmistakable sound of teeth going through rubber slicing through the room. Looking Lucifer dead in the eye, malicious glee plain for all to see in his gaze, Alastor spit the offensive thing out.

No less than fifteen individual pieces of rubber landed on the ground, some rolling off and disappearing into the bayou. It's little head, now split in two and missing it's hat, came to a stop near Lucifer's feet.

Lucifer was in disbelief. He couldn't believe this mangy sinner had the audacity to destroy one of his ducks. Heartfelt, he whispered, "You're a monster."

Alastor cackled. "Perhaps this outing might be fun after all." Leaning over, he poured out the rest of his drink. "The tea was off, anyway."

(Hidden behind his hands, the corner of Lucifer's mouth twitched, uncertain if it wanted to become a smile or a frown. Was it really bad tea or had it already begun?)

Lucifer glared at him as he approached, stepping around the pieces of rubber duckie death like one steps around dog excrement. When he was within arm's reach, Alastor held out his arm in a gentlemanly manner that belied every previous interaction they'd ever had. "Shall we, your Majesty?"

Lucifer eyed the limb like he expected it to turn into a snake and bite him, which seemed to amuse the sinner even more. Grudgingly, he reached out and took it, mostly because physical contact made it easier to transport a second person.

Alastor placed a hand over his, holding it in place. "And where are we headed on this fine morning?"

That was it, Lucifer definitely knew he was hamming it up just to annoy him. Returning Alastor's false honey sweet attitude with one of his own, red smoke began to swirl up around them. Before it took them completely, he quipped, "Down to the Lust Ring."

Alastor's expression as they rematerialized was priceless. One would think the Devil had just dragged this woeful sinner down to the true depths of Hell with the way Alastor was not thrilled with turn of events. It likely didn't help that they arrived to the soundtrack of overly loud wet smacking noises and moans.

Oh no, Lucifer thought, more for Alastor's sake than his own. He really hoped he hadn't picked a bad time. That would be the cherry on top of the sinner's expectations. He spun around towards the noise, relieved when he discovered they'd only interrupted a make out fest.

Lucifer tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better understanding of what he was seeing. His brother was seated at his desk, very into what he was doing, which was apparently making out with an imp. An imp wearing a jester's hat. An imp with very, very stretchy arms? Were those arms? Did imps have stretchy arms? He was fairly certain imps didn't have stretchy arms the last time he checked.

He might have gone on accidentally being a voyeur in favor of trying to work out this odd puzzle, had Alastor not decided he'd reached his limit on everything going on in front of them and cleared his throat.

Asmodeus and the imp paused, both opening an eye to peer at them. The imp glared at them. "Do you mind? We're busy." He frowned, looking at the door and then back at them. "Wait, how did you get in here? We definitely locked the door."

Asmodeus' reaction was much more hospitable. His face broke out into a wide smile, the little faces in his mane both showing joy. "Lucy!" Although his jumping up from his chair was abrupt, the imp anticipated it, altering his grip so he didn't take a tumble to the floor. His arms withdrew and moved around until he was situated comfortably on Asmodeus' shoulder.

Lucifer wondered how long that affair had been going on. Judging from the rather large painting that looked new, but not that new, it must have been for at least the last several months. He didn't have too long to contemplate it, as arms almost as long as he was tall scooped him up with all the ease of picking up a child.

Lucifer might have felt self conscious of this, if Ozzie-hugs weren't 100% worth the indignity. The sin's affections were like a ray of sunshine after a thunderstorm, and he couldn't help but soak it up like a wilted flower. "Hey, Ozzie," Lucifer said around a nuzzle to the side of his face. His new vantage point gave him a much closer view of Asmodeus' partner, who was patiently waiting out the exchange. "Who is this?"

The imp grinned at him, hands curling up under his chin and his feet kicking up behind him. "Name's Fizzarolli, but you can call me Fizz." The rock of his head caused the little bells on the end of his hat to jingle. "And you're the big boss himself."

Lucifer thought he had heard the name somewhere, but couldn't place it. It wasn't unusual for people to know of him, when he didn't know them, so he didn't think anything of it. Asmodeus, however, filled in some of the blanks by saying, "Fizz used to work for Mammon." The smile fell away for a scowl of pure distain. "That awful robot version of him is still at his Loo Loo Land monstrosity."

A light bulb went off. Even several years deep into his self imposed isolation, news of the fire that had broken out due to a fight between something called 'Robo Fizzarolli' and a park visitor had reached him. For weeks, all the servants could speak of was the Loo Loo Land scandal. Lucifer had gotten the impression it was mostly because of the destruction of the robot. The fuss didn't die down until it had been repaired, albeit only barely enough to function.

He studied the imp hanging off of Asmodeus' shoulder. His arms and legs not following the physical laws of nature aside, Fizzarolli was definitely not a robot. Which meant that Mammon had a robot created in his likeness.

Creepy. Par for the course with Mammon, but still creepy.

Asmodeus shifted Lucifer until he was holding his brother with a single arm. The little king, used to the treatment, shifted himself until he was sitting on the sin's arm rather than reclining on it. "We've been trying to get Mammon to get rid of it," Asmodeus went on, his hand now free to curl into a claw, joints cracking a sign of his frustration, "But you know how he can be with legalities."

Which was a roundabout way of saying that Mammon and legal practices barely on speaking terms. Usually, if it was something involving the other sins and anything to do with their rings, the personification of Greed would yield (very, very grudgingly). When it came to anything within his own ring, it was damn near impossible to gain any sort of traction for an argument. At that point, the only beings in existence he'd yield to were Lucifer and God.

Since one of those options was indefinitely AWOL, while the other had been in isolation, it was understandable that Mammon had grown too big for his breeches.

Perhaps it was because Asmodeus' good mood was so infectious. Perhaps it was because Asmodeus was over the moon for his partner. What ever it was, Lucifer found himself offering, "If you want it gone, I could speak to Mammon?"

Fizz looked both happy and a bit flummoxed that Hell's king had just volunteered to get involved with his case, but not like he was about to complain. Asmodeus' eyes turned to crescent moons, his smile was so big. "Lucy! You don't have to do that!"

Lucifer wasn't too bothered by the headache that was dealing with the Sin of Greed on his own turf. He waved off with a roll of the eyes and a huff of only slightly overexaggerated annoyance.

The surprise of their arrival and the pleasantries of their reunion over with, Asmodeus finally turned his attention to the fourth party in the room. "I see you brought company." The fallen angel turned sin circled Alastor, easily pegging him as a sinner. "And who is this pretty cat?"

The redhead's expression was bland, but Lucifer had known him long enough to pick out the calculating gleam in his eye. As Asmodeus was studying Alastor, Alastor was studying Asmodeus. "Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you." He didn't offer his hand, not caring that he might be possibly offending someone easily twice his size. His eyes flicked to Fizz. "I see all the gossip about you two was true."

Lucifer tensed, something about the tone suggesting that Alastor was testing the waters already, although he had no idea how.

Asmodeus merely laughed. "Oh! This cat has claws." He turned that mirth on Lucifer. "You always did like the feisty ones."

Lucifer hissed, even as he blushed. "Oh, no!" He waved his hands for emphasis. "No! Absolutely not! We are not a couple!" He shuddered at the mere thought. They were more likely to kill each other than ever like each other.

One of the Sin of Lust's eyes got wider than the other, his version of raising an eyebrow. Lucifer could already tell he had picked up on there being more to the story. "Oh?"

"I... He's..." Lucifer swallowed, suddenly floundering. His pride was still intact enough he adamantly didn't want to explain that he had had a nervous breakdown and in his moment of weakness, he'd agreed to bring this particular sinner along for support, which was a hilarious concept if one thought about it long enough.

As if to prove his point, Alastor suggested in a faux helpful tone, "An emotional support sinner?"

Lucifer flipped him off with both hands, although he suspected any effect it might have had on the sinner was lost due to the fact that the blonde was still seated in his little brother's arm like a small child. Something he had no doubt the red head was going to bring up at some point in the future, if the sly grin on his face was anything to go by.

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli shared a look. Lucifer refused to think about what totally erroneous conclusions they were jumping to. Thankfully, neither decided to share those conclusions with the class.

"Froggy," Asmodeus asked, voice full of warmth and mirth. "Could you show Lucy's stray cat to the refreshments while he and I chat?"

Alastor's ears flattened as his lips pulled away from his teeth into a sneer at the notion he belonged to anyone, let alone Lucifer.

Fizzarolli pecked his lover's check with a kiss, something Asmodeus responded to with a pleased purr. "Leave it to me." As he withdrew, Lucifer heard the faintest of a mechanical whirl suggesting his arms weren't flesh and blood. Upon touching the ground, the imp tried to wrap an arm around Alastor's shoulder, only for the sinner to side step him. Fizz's lips twisted down into a frown. "What's the matter? Don't like imps?"

Alastor stared down his nose at him. Fizzarolli, like most imps, was closer to a living human's height making it easier to do so. "Make no mistake, I dislike imps as much as I dislike everyone." He lifted his staff like a barrier between them. "Touch me, though, and we'll both find out how much that changes."

Instead of being daunted by the threat, Fizzarolli just placed a hand on his hip and snorted. "You're a snippy one." He walked past the red head, just barely brushing up against the tailored coat in a way that had to be deliberate. "Come on, there's some drinks and candy over here."

Alastor followed after him, his expression suggesting he was more likely to attempt to eat the imp then he was to accept anything offered to him. Lucifer suddenly wondered if it was a good idea to leave them alone with each other. He really didn't want to explain to Charlie that Alastor had gotten himself killed because he eaten the Sin of Lust's lover.

Asmodeus watched them go with a chuckle. "Where did you find that alley cat?"

Lucifer guffawed at the description, unable to help himself. He covered his mouth with his hand as the noise caused Alastor's ears to swerve around to follow the noise. He waited until Fizzarolli had his attention back before saying, "Oh, heh, yeah no. Alastor may be a tease and all touchy feely-" Lucifer wagged his fingers and pulled a face at how territorial the sinner could be, "-But I don't think he's got a promiscuous bone in his body." He paused to think about it, looking at the redhead in question. "I really don't think he's one of yours."

No, Alastor's ego and pride made him all Lucifer's. Joy.

Fizzarolli held out a bowl of multicolored candies, all shaped like mouths and penises. Alastor's eyes went red on black, a shadow darting out, grabbing hold of the bowl, and then tossing it's contents into the nearby fire. Fizzarolli sputtered over the waste.

It was hard to tell where Asmodeus was focused sometimes, him lacking any pupils. "Asexual?"

Lucifer thought about what Rosie had said, about Alastor 'drawing aces.' "Maybe. His friend certainly seems to think so," he said thoughtfully. He turned back to Asmodeus. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Asmodeus laughed at him. "They've been calling it that for almost a hundred and thirty years, Lucy!" He moved them closer to the heart shaped wall to floor window behind his desk to give them more privacy. "But I have a feeling you're not here to gossip about a sinner's lack of a love life."

"Ew, no." The older fallen angel shuddered. "And who says I need anything?" Lucifer put on his best bullshitting smile. "Maybe I just wanted to hang out with my favorite little brother."

Asmodeus laughed at him like he thought that was cute, not buying it for a moment. "Flattery will get you everything, except out of answering my question." He jostled his brother. "Out with it."

Lucifer signed. "Fine, fine." He crossed his arms. "I've come to ask the great and powerful Asmodeus for some fashion advice." He picked at his sweater, a slight whine in his voice as he added, "My normal top won't cut it tonight."

There was a twinkle in Asmodeus' eyes. "Oh? You love that outfit! What's wrong with it?"

Lucifer felt wary, like he was walking into a trap. "I need something with a higher collar."

Asmodeus' expression was the kind only a little sibling scenting possibly embarrassing blackmail material they could use against their other older sibling could make. "Lucy! And here I thought you weren't the type to let a hickey linger."

Lucifer stared, uncomprehending. Wait what? Suddenly, he realized how all of this sounded. Horrified, he shoved at Asmodeus' face, even as the sin cackled. "Stop that! It's not like that!" He attempted to struggle out of his little brother's grasp, but Asmodeus was near enough his equal and several times his size to make that difficult. "Wait, don't--!"

He never stood a chance. Asmodeus had managed to get a single finger hooked under Lucifer's collar, pulling the fabric down.

Both of them froze, Lucifer's breathe catching in his lungs. The wound had completely closed up by the time morning had come around again, allowing Lucifer to remove the butterfly stitches and bandage. The skin was still tender and would remain so for another day or two, when it would finally move into the scarring stages. With Asmodeus' knowledge of how quickly injuries healed on seraphim, it was impossible he wouldn't have guessed it had happened recently.

Lucifer transformed into a snake, slithering out and dropping down from his brother's hold. He reappeared in normal form a meter from the window, arms wrapped around his arms. Asmodeus reached for him, stopping without touching him. Lucifer felt horrible for how grateful he was that he hadn't.

He could hear the concern plain as day in Asmodeus' tone, underneath it a promise of violence if needed, as he inquired, "What happened?"

Lucifer wanted to lie and say that it had happened during one of the attacks on the hotel. To broadly claim someone had gotten too close without saying when. It would have even been true, if one ignored which injury belonged to which incident. His hand couldn't give him away either, as the scar had long since disappeared.

The issue was that Lucifer could count the amount of times he been able to lie to Asmodeus on one hand. King of Lies or not, his brother had always been able to see right through him, the truth practically illuminated over his head in bright flashing lights. The lie would most certainly be caught out almost immediately. The thought of telling the truth, however, threatened to close up his windpipe. His pride refused to allow it.

Unable to tell a lie and just as unable to tell the truth, Lucifer stared back at him wordlessly.

Asmodeus studied him: his posture and body language all telling it's own story. "Lucy, I have to ask." Carefully, gently, almost regretful that he had to ask: "Did you do this to yourself?"

At first the contents of the question didn't register. All Lucifer picked up on was that fact that Asmodeus had spoken to him in Enochian. There were so few people in Hell that spoke their mother tongue it was rare to hear someone else speak it. There was likely only eight beings in Hell that even could, those being the sins, himself, and Vaggie. Lilith and Charlie understood it when he spoke to them in it, but only Charlie could speak it back to him. He didn't think he'd heard her use it since childhood, though. It was even possible that Vaggie had no idea her partner knew the language, if she had been trying so very hard not to let slip she was an angel.

And then the words themselves hit like a sucker punch. Anger, a defensive response, rose bitter and sour in his chest. "No," he vehemently denied. "No," he said again, calmer. "I know my... mood," the word tasted wrong on his lips, too light for the darkness of his depression, "Has been pretty low for a while now, but no." HIs hands tightened around his arms. "I don't want to hurt myself. I never did." This was true. He'd wanted to hide away. He'd wanted to disappear. But he'd never wanted to hurt himself.

Their Father had done that plenty enough for him.

Asmodeus reached for him again, hovering as he gauged if Lucifer would let him. "Okay. Okay, I believe you." When he was given a nod, the sin reached out and placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder, the hand nearly engulfing it. A little of that promise for violence trickled back into his voice as he asked, "Is the fucker who did it dead, at least?"

Lucifer found himself once again at a loss. To say yes would be a lie. To say no would invite an inquiry into who had done it and he wasn't entirely certain he would be able to keep everything from all spilling out. He really, really did not want to explain anything about this situation. "I..." He was beginning to wish he had never come here. He hadn't been ready for any of this. He felt too exposed, his throat threatening to close up as his heart kicked up a notch.

Without meaning to, he looked past Asmodeus, searching out the person who had made himself both the bane of his existence and a source of comfort. Being part deer, Alastor's hearing must have been extraordinary. He would have easily heard the hitch in Lucifer's breathing and the racing of his heart from so meager a distance. This was all Lucifer could think of when Alastor turned his head to face him.

He didn't know what his face was doing. Didn't know what Alastor could read off of it. Whatever it was elicited a sigh and a click of the tongue from the sinner. Without a by-your-leave to Fizzarolli, Alastor abandoned his company to cross the room over to where Lucifer and Asmodeus were standing.

Alastor ignored Asmodeus in favor of concentrating on the fallen angel himself. "Come now, sire, what's with that expression?" He held out a hand, offering his poisonous support, if Lucifer chose to take it.

Lucifer knew he shouldn't. Knew he was already beginning to associate Alastor with comfort rather than trouble. Knew he couldn't trust him. He still stepped out of Asmodeus' grasp and reached for him anyway.

He didn't miss the victory as it flashed across Alastor's expression when Lucifer took his hand.

Asmodeus didn't miss it either.

A flash of blue and pink flame. An alarmed cry of, "Oz?!" Asmodeus' voice echoed with his wrath as he asked in plain English, "It was this guy?"

Both Lucifer and Alastor turned, the latter's ears flattening to the side of his head. Too late, Alastor realized the danger he had walked right into. Most people would have cowered before the anger of a sin, and rightfully so. They were huge. They were powerful. They could do a lot of damage with very little effort.

But Alastor hadn't been prey since the day he took a kitchen knife to his father's throat.

The room around them grew darker as shadows coalesced around them, dancing just out of the flames' reach. Alastor's horns branched out as they grew. His form would be the next to follow.

Two paths spread out before Lucifer. Down one path, he did nothing. Allowed the two to fight and for Asmodeus to remove a thorn in his side that he hadn't been able to remove himself. Charlie would be upset, but Alastor would no longer be a danger to her. Down the other, he interfered. Swallowed his pride and explained the situation that he had landed himself in of his own free will. Deescalated the tension before someone got killed.

Indecision locked up his muscles, almost making the decision for him.

Like the beam of a lighthouse, ready to lead weary sailors back to the shore, Charlie's voice cut through the fog reminding him of his promise.

Dad, please look after him.

There really had only been one path, hadn't there?

His wings came into being, large enough to carry two people if he were to take to flight. He caught hold of Alastor's forearm, yanking the sinner off balance as he twisted them around. The sinner hissed at him, but Lucifer didn't spare the time to explain. The three wings, all from the same side, came up and around until Alastor was completely shielded beneath them, cutting both sin and sinner off from each other. His other hand came up to grip Alastor's other forearm, holding him in place behind the barrier.

For the second time in his life, Lucifer chose to stand between a sinner and his own kind.

Asmodeus might as well have been made from stone. Behind him, Fizzarolli looked like he wanted to interfere, but didn't dare get in the middle of a fight between two giants.

Lucifer was apologetic, but resolute. He swallowed his pride, the taste of it burning his throat as it went down. In a language everyone in the room could understand, he explained, "I made a deal. He gave me his terms and I agreed to them." He almost faltered when his little brother remained cold and distant, but carried on. "The knife was an experiment." His hands tightened to signal he meant business. "We will be discussing it later."

Switching to Enochian, smile sweet and tone as dark as the day would be when Alastor inevitably broke his daughter's heart, Lucifer promised, "If he ever proves to be too much of a threat, I will end him."

The two fallen angels assessed each other. If it came down to it, Lucifer would leave with Alastor. The sinner would be safe in Pentagram City. The Pride Ring was Lucifer's territory and Lucifer's alone. None of the other sins would dare impede upon it if he ordered them to stay out.

Perhaps Asmodeus could see his resolve. The choice he had made. With a sigh, the sin allowed his mane to resume it's normal temperature, bringing his anger under control. He didn't look happy about it, but he was letting this go. For now, at least. "Lucy, this was not what I meant when I said you should give sinners a second chance."

It wasn't a joke. Not really. Lucifer took it as the olive branch it was. That crisis adverted, he turned his attentions to his other issue. Only to pause when he got a good look at Alastor.

Alastor's gaze was like molten lava, his hunger a living thing. He looked like he wanted to tear open Lucifer's rib cage and crawl inside it. Like he wanted to devour Lucifer bit by bit, taking his time as he savored every bite. He knew what Lucifer had done, what it had cost him and he was reveling in it.

Some part of Lucifer craved proof he was wanted. That people wanted him around and enjoyed his company.

This wasn't that. This wasn't anything healthy or good, but some part of him wanted this as well, whatever the hell this was.

He was glad he hadn't lowered his wings, yet.

Alastor tucked it all away as easily as he tucked away a large meal. When he stepped back, Lucifer let him go, lowering his wings and tucking them away into his back. The redhead considered him. "Would like to take a break from this conversation, your Majesty?" He gestured to the set up back across the room where Fizzarolli still stood. "There's some rather fine wine, if you're interested."

Lucifer shook his head. "No, it's fine." The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and he really just wanted to pretend this whole conversation never happened. "Go."

Hearing the dismissal, Alastor 'hmmed' to himself. Lucifer was relieved when he turned on his heel and headed back to the receiving area.

Lucifer watched him go, trying not to think about the look Asmodeus was giving him. More to fill the awkward silence, he said, "I'd still like you're help with the outfit."

Asmodeus clearly wanted to say something more, but blessedly didn't. Tapping his finger to his chin, his hand under his elbow, he gave Lucifer his own once over. Seemingly reaching an idea, he said, "I think I know just the thing."

tbc

Part 15

[rocket325]

Shinobu Sensui and Suguru Geto are both characters in my top 3 villains list which makes sense due to the fact that they're both so similar, in fact Gege Akutami has admited to being inspired by Sensui when creating Geto. However, I find myself liking them for different reasons.

With Geto what I like most about him is his relationship to Gojo and his fall to evil. When we first see Geto (at least not Psuedo-Geto/Kenjaku) it's in JJK 0, we see him at possibly the height of evilness: he hates non-sorcerers to the point of calling them all "monkeys" therefore disregarding them all as uncivilized yet he benefits off their money, in fact he hates them so much that on Christmas Eve he starts the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons which results in the death and injuries of multiple civilians in Japan and despite not hating them he's willing to kill Yuta, Panda, and Inumaki to achieve his goal of getting Rika to succeed in the Night Parade of 100 Demons (keep in mind he considers Maki to be a "monkey") But we also see that he was close to Gojo and in a way is still friendly to him, he doesn't seem to consider him as an enemy per say just someone in the way of achieving his goal. Not to mention we do see that Geto isn't entirely evil and does care for sorcerers with his two "daughters"(forget their names right now)

Sure all the things I mentioned above are interesting and are good for villain but if Geto was only in JJK 0 I don't see him making my top 5 Villains list.

What makes me put Geto in my top 3 villains lost is seeing his fall in the Hidden Inventory Arc. We see at the start of this arc that Geto's ideals are a complete 180 of how they were in JJK 0, instead of hating them, he believes that non sorcerers need to be and should be protected by sorcerers. We see the peak of his and Gojos relationship as well. However, as the arc progresses we get to see his decline. When he and Gojo are tasked with protecting and escorting the star plasma vessel, Riko to Tengen we see how the care for making her last day on special while protecting her from everyone trying to kill her. It even gets to the point where Geto gives Riko the choice to continue living her life and she is about to accept the offer but then she's killed by Toji Fushiguro, a man with no cursed energy. What further hammers the nail is when Geto and Gojo are carrying Rikos dead body and the entire crowd reacts with applause.

It then time skips to a year later, Gojo is only getting stronger, Shoko is a healer, but Geto isn't progressing at all and he's clearly in a bad mental state, He goes around absorbing curses which from what we're told taste terrible. We see his conversation with Haibara and how his ideals match Getos at the start of the arc and how Geto wishes he could go back to thinking that way. His conversation with Yuki further causes him to believe all non-sorcerers have to be removed. Then there's the conversation at the KFC(?) with Gojo the every famous "Are you the strongest because you're Saturo Gojo or are tou Saturo Gojo because you're the strongest." line. This conversation clearly has a deep impact on Gojo and he doesn't want Geto to go down this path. The final thing that hammers the nail into the coffin is how his "daughters" (again forget theor names and ik they're not biologically related) were being treated in their village.

As for Sensui, while his fall to evil is certainly interesting that wasn't what made his my favorite anime villain of all time. What I personally find more interesting is his parallel to Yusuke, his inability to realize the grey between the black and white, his refusal to truly believe the fact that it's him Shinobu Sensui doing all of these bad things therefore making different personalities just to runaway from it, his searching for a meaningful death especially after having only 2 weeks left to live, how the "fake" Sensui Seven represents the 7 deadly sins, and how the "real" Sensui Seven represents the 7 deadly sins.

In short I love both of these characters especially as villains and think they're amazing written. I also want to note that whenever I referring to my "top villains" I meant anime villains, I personally like villains such as Bane, Two-Face, Darth Maul, and Darth Vader a bit more but both Sensui and Geto are in my top ten villains of all time list. If you want to know the other villain in my top 3 anime vilalins it's Cell, certainly not as well written as the other two but I think he has a cool concept and love how he is the embodiment of a perfectionist complex

[lituusapollinis]

Example Breakdown of How Octavian Speaks. From this thread with @essentiamortis (<3 hi!)

This woman was a stranger, having emerged from shadows they didn’t even know existed. For all intents and purposes, he should have been more wary around her. And he wasn’t not cautious about her presence… but, she had just handed him an open, throbbing vulnerability on a silver platter. If he needed to defend Camp Jupiter from her, he had ways to do so. 

Internal thoughts. Not necessary to translate; they're honest in how he's thinking/feeling.

He didn’t think he'd need them, though. What kind of a threat was she in the state she was in? She was trembling. 

Establishes that he feels safe in this scenario, despite his trust issues with outsiders. There's no need to explore that feeling further. Instead, he turns his attention to how she is doing.

Octavian lowered his chin to regard her head-on. He could take everything she wanted to unload upon him, and he would handle it without flinching. 

Now, we get to the fun part. Octavian is intentionally signaling to Elizabeth with his body language that he is listening. She has his undivided attention. He is giving her permission to tell him anything that she wants to.

“The action of reading entrails is a particularly gory one. Rome’s history is colored by such gore. I will not pretend to idolize any part of our culture that shouldn’t be given such treatment. There is a reason haruspicy can now be performed with stuffing, rather than with livers and intestines."

Translation: Rome is different from Saturn. We do not do what he did. You are safe, here.

"What that god did to you was uncivilized, barbaric, and cruel. Saturn, the child eater.” He shook his head sympathetically.

Translation: I am validating the horror of your experience. It was terrible, and I understand that, so you don't have to hold back.

“There was no ceremony in his choices. I do pray that it soothes your wounds to know that when a plush takes the cut, it feels no pain, and there is purpose for it. You did not receive that same courtesy, I’m afraid.” 

Translation: Again, we are different from Saturn, so you are safe here. Also, we can confront how purposeless the violence against you was. You did not deserve it.

He offered her a hand. If she chose to take it, he would lead her to the altar, or otherwise walk there alone, where he removed the stuffed animal and the knife. In its place, he set down a stack of tarot cards decisively. 

He gives her a choice to take his hand or not, but he does continue to do what he was planning on doing. He is giving her the chance to establish a boundary, which could help her regulate, or so that is his hope. She can choose to take his hand. She can choose not to. She can choose to stay for the reading. She can choose not to. Either way, he wants to give her some autonomy back, and he is letting her decide to do so on her own terms.

“I cannot offer you healing in the form of a purpose for your suffering. There was none. But if you would like to know how it will shape your future, I am but your humble augur, pleased to oblige.”

Another validation of her experience. An appeal to helping her feel safe around him, establishing himself as either on or below her level, while simultaneously offering her the one thing he's good at as a form of comfort and reassurance.

[invisibleicewands]

The BBC’s new three-part drama The Way is Michael Sheen’s directorial debut. It has been nearly a decade in gestation, this story of civil unrest fermenting in Sheen’s Welsh home town of Port Talbot – cradle of militant unionism and symbol of working-class fury and pride. It has been created with writer James Graham (Brexit: The Uncivil War, Quiz, Sherwood) and – slightly more unusually, documentary auteur Adam Curtis.

The opening episode is something so different and fresh that even if you can’t say you’re actively enjoying it (though I was), the power and ambition of it all, the unashamed idiosyncrasy that permeates the direction, the allusiveness of the narrative and its slightly dreamlike (or nightmarish) off-kilter quality surely makes you sit up and take notice. It has a clear, accessible narrative at its heart, for sure, but the sensibility is rare and all its own.

It’s a tale of civil discontent, sparked by the death of a youngster in a vat of molten slag at the steelworks and his father’s self-immolation – in grief, in protest, in some unspeakable combination of the two – thereafter. The union blames management and decades of underinvestment. Management offers to reline a furnace, a sop to the emotion of the moment, rather than a recognition of needs. “We didn’t realise we were buying a mood,” says one of the new investors, with a combination of bafflement and frustration.

The unfurling of the unrest plays out for the viewer mostly through the long-established local Driscoll family. The late paterfamilias was a committed striker in the 80s, the failure of which terrible feat of suffering and endurance is largely blamed by the family for his death. His son Geoff (the stalwart Steffan Rhodri, last seen in the excellent Men Up at the end of last year) takes an approach to communicating with the bosses that is more pragmatic/conciliatory/weak/treacherous – delete according to political proclivities. He is separated from his wife and family for reasons that become clear over the succeeding episodes, as does the specific bad blood between his son, benzos addicts and petty dealer Owen (Callum Scott Howells), and his police officer daughter Thea (Sophie Melville).

As the internet is shut down within the town, tensions rise, curfews are imposed and riots between townsfolk and police start to break out. The Driscolls become the police – and the media – scapegoats for it all, and are eventually forced, along with Owen’s eastern European girlfriend, Anna (Maja Laskowska), to flee their home and their town.

Threaded through this growing but none-too-incredible – especially to a post-lockdown audience also being assailed with headlines about coming redundancies at Port Talbot’s Tata Steel (though business secretary Kemi Badenoch has extensive explanations about how government investment is actually saving the works) – dystopian landscape are, presumably thanks mostly to the Curtis influence, potent illustrative clips of real-life news and CCTV footage. Through them the sense of dislocation increases, while the themes of the drama only become more closely knit. From Graham – and, I’d posit, Sheen’s powerful sense of Welshness and all that means historically as well as currently – come the more mystical, ancient touches. The importance the town places on the works’ pilot light never going out; the sword made of the first steel forged in the town, long before modern industry got there; the red-hooded figure appearing and disappearing; Sheen as Geoff’s father’s ghost and/or manifestation of his conscience, pursuing him as they make their escape. And then, as the Cambrian borders become increasingly policed, there is (garbed in a costume somewhere between pastor, Clint Eastwood nemesis and Matthew Hopkins’ finest) the Welshfinder.

It is a bravura opening episode – powerful, confident, ambitious, confrontational and unexpected. It conjures precisely the feeling of a town on the edge, a tinderbox for the powder keg that is an increasingly divided Britain as a whole. Then it pushes things a little further and if you squint just a tiny bit, you could be looking at the future. Maybe even a blueprint, if you were so minded. It feels like a drama fully in the tradition of Bleasdale, Loach, Alan Clarke and Jimmy McGovern, and if it occasionally falls victim to the latter’s tendency to agitprop, that still leaves it head and shoulders above the usual fare.

It doesn’t quite meet the high bar it has set for itself over the remaining episodes. Although they gesture towards the issue of displaced persons and what is to be done with waves of desperate people, they become too much about the internal dynamics of the Driscolls and their family history to feel as innovative or thrilling as that which has gone before. But you can live off the first hour for quite some time to come.

[reconstructwriter]

Six Sentence Sunday Wednesday

I got your tag @ankahikoibaat just terrible at procrastinating this week!

Finally got back to Standing Above the Blood. Still dunno how this is gonna end but slightly more hopeful note for the Republic here...

“Surrender,” Windu repeated and withdrew what looked like an actual warrant. Anakin stared at it, as boggled by the sight as he had once been by the water in the room of a thousand fountains. When had he managed to get that? His heart clenched when he recognized the largest signature.

Then a red lightsaber slashed through the paper, destroying Padme’s cursive. The resolution, as Obi Wan might say, became uncivilized…

Tag You're It: @charmwasjess, @s-c-g-s-c-g, @panther-os, @amarcia, @amuser-96, @beskad, @gffa, @gallusrostromegalus

(but as always no pressure)

[dca-prompts]

(Made a thing last night and decided that it can't go on my own blog cuz I don't have enough reference info to make it an au so it goes here! This is terribly worded but here we go.)

A social experiment, they had said.

They'd put you in countless simulations, different methods of torture and torment over and over and over again to test a human's limits, what made the brain tick.

In the end, something had to give.

You pace in your cell, eyes occasionally flicking to the clear glass wall separating you from the world, the only thing in your enclosure that wasn't stark white.

Ah, yes. How they loved observing the animals in their cages.

They didn't nearly like interacting as much as watching, you'd noticed. You know how much the self-entitled guards and doctors here despised meeting with the demented, 'uncivilized' inmates.

Five years in an empty 30 foot squared room with only your thoughts does that to you.

They claimed their goal was rehabilitation, but everyone knew it was a lie. No one here was here to get better, they were here to be locked away, out of sight and out of mind to keep the peace others were blissfully granted and which you were denied. Everyone knew that once you walked in, you'd never walk out.

You sigh and trek the short perimeter of the enclosure once more. Not much else to do here. You might have been more sane had you gotten some stimulation early on, but there had been nothing to keep the dark at bay. There still is nothing, but you don't mind. You pass the time careful planning and eavesdropping on the sentinel. They think so little of the inmates and their mental capacity that they'll discuss anything under the sun. Still, their stupidity was useful, so you aren't complaining. You'd learned that apparently a new pair of psychologists were to be stationed here in the coming week after the 'discharge' of the previous ones. Fools didn't even want to admit they were dead. It was their own fault, really. Anyone worth their name knows not to get to close with the inmates. Another oversight you use to your advantage.

You wonder what a pair of newbies saw in coming here of all places. Fresh out of med school and applying for residency. Poor kids probably didn't know what they were getting into when they signed up at an insane asylum. Well, no reason you can't act reasonable with them for a little while, just to test the waters. Best way to get out of prison is to befriend the wardens, after all.

You'd waited this long.

(Essentially an au where Y/N [or an oc] is an inmate at an insane asylum in the 1800s. Sun and Moon are psychologists fresh out of med school working there for the credit. Y/N is HIGHLY DANGEROUS and well past mentally broken but is also very good at acting and can simulate typical behavior perfectly, to the point where doctors sometimes ask why they're even here at all. They're much like the Joker and Harley Quinn scenario. Y/N's plan is to escape prison and enact vengeance on those who dared to keep this shitshow of a mental institution going. They see it as justified because of the way they were treated and made broken until they couldn't be fixed, and they're willing to do anything to meet their goal.

This is not a happy-go-lucky au, guys, which is why I honestly don't think I'd ever write it, mainly cuz the concept as a love story would just demean the actual history behind the establishments of those times and their horrible conditions. Might as well share with the class, though.)

ㅤ

[a-student-out-of-time]

Nanokumas! I should have seen that coming

I think that's all of them.

Hamoponi, report!

_________________________________________________

Targets neutralized.

And by your request, I have a couple of the blighters stored in my onboard vacuum. Deactivated, of course. I do believe were secure, dear chaps.

Terribly sorry for that display. How uncivilized.

__________________________________________________

Alright, we're good! Now you guys can get back to talking about...whatever you were talking about.

What an unbothered little girl...

Well, we're safe now! That's the important part.

I'm not an engineer, but I can take a look at this nanokumas and see if there's something we can learn from them.

Good. Now that that's out of the way, there's a lot we still need to discuss.

[crystallizedkingdoms]

if its alright to ask, whats your opinion on The Terror (the show)?

Hope you have a nice day, and feel free to ignore btw!

Okay this is going to be something i am even more insistent in making sure that this is my opinion only. I have never talked to another Inuk who watched the Terror other than my dad so i do not know what the general consensus is with Inuit fans.

To start off with the good: I enjoyed the show. It’s very well-written, and it never shies away from the fact that the men were colonizers that got what was coming for them (and no one lecture me on their “humanity” ill gut you like a fish). I enjoyed Silna’s place in the story, and though it is always going to be questionable to show white men enacting violence on an indigenous woman, this is definitely not the worst among them. I laughed really fucking hard when Goodsir was like “Englishmen are supposed to be gentlemen” or whatever and Silna gave him the meanest fucking look lol. I wish that I didn’t have to be glad that, at the very least, there’s no sexual assault but that’s how it is. I was incredibly impressed by the level of detail in portraying accurate clothing and dialect, and it made me incredibly happy to see it.

But just by the nature of the story the show is trying to tell, and more specifically the fact its an adaptation of a terrible book, it was never going to be even close to outstanding in my eyes. The main physical threat of the story aside from the white men themselves is a crude, fantastical interpretation of angakkuit helper spirits. It’s portrayed as savagely uncontrollable, and the fact that it was meant to protect the Inuit community that created it inadvertently portrays Inuit resistance as a horror. Basically every aspect of Inuit spirituality is portrayed as a horror, from the fake ritual including mutilation and the masked angakkuuk men, using us as scary props. Meanwhile, the Christianity in the show, even including the stark difference between Catholicism and Protestantism, is kept perfectly intact.

And, maybe more personal and feelings-driven than the rest of my issues, I simply could not connect with the white men than the person who recommended the show to me and the fandom as a whole. Even when I recognized the beautiful writing and characterization, every time I recognized the show was trying to make me care about them, I just remembered, these men hated my people more than they cared about survival. They were forces of violent colonialism, and their disappearance not only caused more violent racist white people to probe our land, us attempting to help them out killed us through diseases and ruined our oral histories’s credibility for CENTURIES. We were ridiculed by the British for telling the truth of their story, Charles Dickens famously called our stories “the chatter of a gross handful of uncivilized people”, and not only called us savages, but wrote a play portraying us as PART of the downfall of the expedition. Those stereotypes STILL persist today and, in a way, live on in the show. So, forgive me for not really caring if they wrote these men to be gay and multifaceted while the one indigenous woman was treated like shit.

Okay so um. That was long and I got heated. Despite my issues with the show, I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the underlying story and revelled in their end. But the reasons I wrote above ultimately leave me in a place of “I wish this was about literally anything else,” so I could enjoy it without feeling gross.

[swallowtail-ageha]

The Marika takes are what happens when you don't read Martin's seminal series, ASoIaF and understand the terrible cycle of vengeance and suffering.

Jokes aside, the POC coded thing is also frustrating because that's not specific? There are hundreds of POC cultures, what do you mean when you say that? Native American? East Asian? North African? Etc etc, and like those can be broken down even further. Like it's so wide a net it's meaningless

No but fr like martin straight up said re: the end of the lord of the rings "are they gonna slaughter the orc babies too? In their little orc cradles?" or something along the lines of that a man who asks himself those questions would NOT be a genocide apologist lol

And re: the poc thing yeah. I am not an expert because well. I am a white italian lol, but as you've said POC is such a wide term that encompasses the majority of people worldwides and lumping all the different cultures into one single label (especially looking a Certain Demographic Of People when talking about africa) feels. Racist. Very racist. And i know that probably this wasnt even that person's intention because yeah! The stereotype that brown and black people are more violent and uncivilized and lazy is a very present and disgusting stereotype! And it is often used in fiction as a piss poorly disguised racist analogy! But the nastier parts of the hornsent are never presented in this way, the most we can get is how they believe themselves as superior because they have been chosen by a god, and this isn't only their trait because well. All of marika's genocides and the general racism of the lands between was a consequence of those who followed the golden order believing themselves to be superior to the other races becauze they have been chosen by a god