#JAILED FOR LOITERING

[hiirenvirna]

tav questions - can i get 3 & 15 for risk, and 9 & 19 for hemlock 👀

Risk questions:

Already answered 3 in an earlier ask!

15. Who do you think they'd be in a modern setting?

I think she'd be like. A personal trainer or something. Wakes up early each morning to go for a jog type of person. Really into guided meditation apps and shit. But also listens to dad rock.

Hemlock questions:

9. Whats their relationship with their dream guardian like?

Ngl their first reaction was probably just "oh wow a hot stranger wants to help me that's so awesome" and only after talking with their party members did they consider that they should maybe be a bit more cautious. After that they've been trying to take everything they said with a grain of salt but oh my god it's sooo hard when you're a chronic people pleaser. Like yeah I probably shouldn't trust you but PLEASE tell me i'm doing a good job and you're proud of me.

also they did fuck

19. Whats their worst crime?

I guess this would depend on the definition but if we go by the letter of law then it'd be all the murder and such that is a part of the standard "good" playthrough so mentioning all of that seems a bit redundant. They did also do quite a bit of murder that wasn't necessarily needed bc pretty much every time they tried to deescalate a situation they rolled like shit and the person they were trying to persuade went "fuck you. die." The answer they'd probably give themself is that they failed to save people who could have been helped. They saved a bunch, yes, but they also let some of them down. The answer that I would give is that, just quantity wise, they did not need to set so many things on fire and explode them. Like they didn't do a big arson so I guess it's fine but it was just a lot of arson man

This is only marginally related but I'm sharing it anyway because it's funny to me. They did get arrested and go to jail two times during my playthrough, for like the most minimal offences they ever committed. One of those times Gale and only Gale got arrested with them. I'm using this as an excuse to post this doodle of them i drew back then.

two bros chilling in a jail cell

[theconcealedweapon]

The entire system is designed to make suffering people suffer more. Other examples include:

jailing people for drug use

fining homeless people for loitering

[hyperlexichypatia]

I'm not, generally speaking, a fan of punishment as a solution to social problems. Punishment is often overly harsh, ineffective as a deterrent, and doesn't solve the actual problem. The punitive mentality is more focused on making sure the "bad guys" "don't get away with it" than on actually solving the problem.

But I get a lot more worried when people talk about "alternatives to punishment", or when they support their proposed solutions because "it's not punishment."

Because what that means, in practice, is "I'm conceptualizing this form of coercive control as 'not punishment,' and therefore not subjecting it to the rigor, due process, or evidentiary standards of punishment."

The U.S. loves punishment. It's one of our favorite national pastimes. But we do have, both legally and culturally, some limitations on punishment, at least in theory. Punishment isn't supposed to be "cruel and unusual." It's not supposed to be inflicted without "due process of law." You're supposed to be convicted by a jury of your peers.

But if you call it "not punishment," none of that matters!

You can force people to register under a law that didn't exist when they committed their crimes, because it's "administrative," not punitive.

You can subject disabled people to shocks similar to a cattle prod -- which would surely be cruel and unusual punishment -- but it's okay, because it's not "punishment," it's a "treatment" called an "aversive" (that's therapist for "punishment").

You can have people locked up and forcibly drugged solely because they can't afford housing, but it's okay, because it's "help," not "punishment."

Police can kill people in cold blood -- judge, jury, and executioner -- and it's fine, because it's "self-defense," not "punishment," even if they argue after the fact that the victim "deserved it."

It's also a matter of cultural attitudes. If you said "The punishment for trespassing should be life in prison," or "The punishment for loitering should be permanent loss of the right to control one's body, money, or living space," or "The punishment for turnstile-jumping should be lifelong forced ingestion of drugs that numb basic cognitive functions," most people would think this was horrific, much too harsh a punishment for a relatively minor crime.

But if you change it to "Instead of jailing and punishing unhoused people with mental health issues, we should respond to their minor crimes by Getting Them Help, like institutionalization, conservatorship, or outpatient commitment," people now think this is completely reasonable.

Even being the victim of a crime can get someone not-punished far more severely than the perpetrators are "punished." People might serve jail time for financial fraud, but not usually a life sentence. Being the victim of financial fraud, however, can lead to a life sentence of institutionalization -- which fraud investigators have cited as a barrier to getting victims to report fraud. I personally know of multiple disabled young adults who were afraid to report being the victim of sexual assault or other kinds of assault because they knew that if they reported it, the perpetrator might or might not face some kind of punishment, but they would definitely face some type of "not-punishment" coercive control, like forced therapy, forced drugging, supervision, or having to leave school.

You want a society with less punishment? Me too. But only if you acknowledge that "punishment" includes all forms of coercive control. If you do something to someone against their will, if you restrict someone from their right to live as they choose, that's a punishment, regardless of whether you call it that.

[xechu]

mild suggestive themes, mentions of violence, smoking, drinking, swearing, 18+ blog mdni, fem!reader, from the same au as my one shot: “Warm on a Cold Night”

P.S. I've now created a master list for this series: Cross My Heart - check it out!

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who is the embodiment of a red flag that BookTok would have gladly ate up. 6'5", muscular, tattoos, bikes, and (slightly) unhinged.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who has a long standing fwb relationship with his college friend: Yorozu. They're both the live fast, die young type.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who owns a reputable garage with Jin. Jin is more of the business and customer facing guy, while Sukuna gladly worked behind the scenes and did the technical stuff. The two of them make the perfect team.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who was into the fast life: bikes, cars, drinking, smoking, and lots of women. His personal life may be chaotic, but he made sure that doesn’t trickle into his work—it’s his pride and safe space

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who felt like he owed a lot to Jin. Sukuna was not the kindest to him when they were younger. Seeing how close they are now, it was hard to believe that the two were practically estranged in the past.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who was sentenced to a few years in jail after nearly beating someone with an inch of their life left. It was a business deal gone bad, and Jin was willing to take the loss in order to cut ties with the man. But the man went crazy and confronted Jin in the garage, things turned physical real quick, and that's when Sukuna stepped in.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - when he was released from prison was picked up by Jin and Kaori, and a new face: his three year old nephew, Yuji. Yuji looks more like Sukuna than Jin, and that has often caused a lot of awkward misunderstanding, especially when the four were together.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who saw you in an elevator, going up to the 21st floor, while he was visiting Jin and Kaori on the 29th floor. You (unknowingly) made him nervous.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who actually owns the unit on the 29th floor that Jin and Kaori lives in, but because of that one altercation with the psycho - Sukuna told them to move into his spare apartment until everything has blown over.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who sees you again near your apartment. Some guy was trying to get your contact and you seemed uncomfortable, so Sukuna stepped in. Truth be told, he normally wouldn't give it a second thought, but it was the "cutie who lives on the 21st floor". It didn't take much, Sukuna simply scowled at the man and he fled.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who took this as a divine intervention and asked you for your number. You awkwardly said no and scurried away, which really turned him on.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who was minding his own business in the garage one day, when he heard a familiar voice chatting with Jin at the front desk. He glanced over and it was you. Your car had broken down and their garage was the closest one.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who casually leans by the office doorway where you and Jin were chatting, he could never forget the surprised look on your face when the two of you made eye contact. Jin gives his usual introduction and spiel of the garage for their new customers, and he found it weird that Sukuna was loitering around for that (Sukuna usually never cared about it). It later dawned on Jin that Sukuna had the biggest crush on you.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who sees you again when you pick up your car. Your car was rather old school, and he nicknamed it 'grannie', which initially irked you (but that was his way of teasing). Then, to your surprise, when you got into the car - there was a newly upgraded stereo system installed. He smirked when he saw the pure shock on your face, knowing that you loved it. It was worth it, because he got your number out of this, and the rest was history.

a/n: this has been sitting on my drafts for a long time (oops). I'm thinking of writing another one shot in the same au.

[t4t4t]

The Liberal is always INNOCENT; he has nothing to do with anything; he never acts:

“God forbid! I didn’t send for the Police! I didn’t intend any VIOLENCE! I just didn’t want an Unobjective Person in My Department. If he was jailed or shot by the Police, THAT’S NOT MY CONCERN; I’M COMPLETELY INNOCENT! I DIDN’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THAT, and in any case, that merely shows what kind of person HE really was.”

The Liberal’s project is to exclude the radical from society, but he does not take responsibility for the project; he realizes his project in stages, but he is only responsible for the “innocent” first stage. OTHERS DO THE REST. The Liberal merely initiates the process, and is not responsible for what the others do.

The Reactionary hits the radical directly; the Liberal does not do his own hitting. The Liberal merely PROVOKES the radical until he responds to the provocation, and when he responds, THE COPS GET THE RADICAL. The Liberal maintains his good conscience: HE didn’t act--the radical acted; HE didn’t repress the radical--the cops did. THE LIBERAL IS ALWAYS INNOCENT; his only desire is peace and quiet.

The Reactionary throws out a radical and then has him arrested for Loitering or Conspiracy or outside Agitation if the radical returns to fight; the Reactionary “eggs on” and harasses until the radical is provoked to hit back, and then has him arrested for Assault and Battery; the Reactionary tries to exclude the radical from any sources of income in order to have him locked up as a thief. To the Reactionary, the radical is ALREADY A CRIMINAL WHEN HE EXPRESSES HIS THOUGHTS.

The Liberal knows just as well as the Reactionary that “The cops’ll get ‘im”; HE COUNTS ON THE COPS TO PROTECT HIS PEACE AND QUIET; but, as Rafferty repeatedly observed, THE LIBERAL DOESN’T WANT TO SEE THE COPS WHO PROTECT HIM.

The Liberal can be compared to the Medieval Church. The Church excommunicated a heretic, but did not itself put the heretic to death. The Civil Authority, the Secular Authority, took charge of the heretic’s body. The Church was innocent; the Civil Authorities and the Executioner were the ones responsible for physical extermination. The excommunicators of the Church maintained clean consciences.

Thus also the Liberal: All he does is to excommunicate the radical, to exclude him “spiritually”; the Civil Authorities do the rest. At every single step he applies systematic terror and violence, and at every single step he manages to maintain his clean conscience.

The Liberal ALREADY KNOWS that when his “Leftist Colleague” is an unemployed radical he will do something for which it will be legitimate to throw him in jail, but the Liberal doesn’t want to be aware that HIS PEACE AND QUIET ARE MAINTAINED THROUGH TERRORISM AND VIOLENCE. In other words, the Liberal’s weapons are the same as the reactionary’s; the only difference between them is that the Liberal doesn’t look, and has a good conscience. He’s “tolerant,” he “reads radical literature,” he’s the “only one who talks to radicals,” he’s MORAL in every single way; he goes out of his way to “help radicals”; he’ll do everything for radicals which will help him keep his good conscience WHILE HE CONTINUES TO RELY ON TERROR AND VIOLENCE.

Liberal professors and students whose situations can only be maintained through terror and violence, through systematic psychological and physical murder, advertise “Make Love Not War.” Liberal students who have ALREADY CHOSEN to help maintain the dominant project when their time comes, are busy “accumulating” large “stocks” of good conscience while they can, while their “new styles of life” do not yet conflict with their future “responsibilities.”

Liberals are not “moderate.” That’s their own self-image. They’re extremists, but unlike reactionaries, THEY’RE EXTREMISTS WITH GOOD CONSCIENCES. Their instruments are not “ideas”; their instruments are TERROR and VIOLENCE. But unlike lynchers, THE LIBERALS TURN THEIR EYES AWAY to maintain their innocence.

People are EXCLUDED; thousands of people are OUTSIDERS; yet the Liberals who forced them out are TOTALLY GUILTLESS, and have the illusion that they are the ones who are “sympathetic” to the Radical Students, the Emotionally What-Have-You Students, the Hippie Students. The Liberal who is the first to move WHENEVER SOMEONE CROSSES ONE OF HIS LINES at the same time “contributes generously” to “Left-wing organizations” and “is against the war in Vietnam.” He is a supporter of all GOOD THINGS; he is a GOOD PERSON; he’s the BEST PERSON IN THE WORLD. He is able to accept physical and psychological TERROR and VIOLENCE WITH A GOOD CONSCIENCE AND CHRISTIAN MORALS.

Kalamazoo, February 1969

I Accuse This Liberal University of Terror and Violence, Fredy Perlman

[longliveblackness]

Martin Luther King Jr. was Arrested 29 times for these so-called crimes. Here are just a few occasions when he was arrested and why:

January 26, 1956 — He was arrested in Montgomery, Alabama as part of a "Get Tough" campaign to intimidate the bus boycotters. Four days later, on January 30, his home was bombed.

March 22, 1956 — King, Rosa Parks and more than 100 others were arrested on charges of organizing the Montgomery Bus Boycott in protest of Parks' treatment.

September 3, 1958 — While attempting to attend the arraignment of a man accused of assaulting Abernathy, King is arrested outside Montgomery's Recorder's Court and charged with loitering. He is released a short time later on $100 bond.

September 5, 1958 — King was convicted of disobeying a police order and fined $14. He chooses to spend 14 days in jail, but is soon released when Police Commissioner Clyde Sellers pays his fine.

October 19, 1960 — He was arrested in Atlanta, Georgia during a sit-in while waiting to be served at a restaurant. He was sentenced to four months in jail, but after intervention by then presidential candidate John Kennedy and his brother Robert Kennedy, he was released.

May 4, 1961 — He was arrested in Albany, Georgia for obstructing the sidewalk and parading without a permit.

April 12, 1963 — He and Ralph Abernathy were arrested in Birmingham, Alabama for demonstrating without a permit.

During his time in jail, he he wrote what is now known as his historic "Letter from Birmingham Jail."

June 11, 1964 — He was arrested for protesting for the integration of public accommodations in St. Augustine, Florida.

February 2, 1965 — He was arrested in Selma, Alabama during a voting rights demonstration, but the demonstrations continued leading to demonstrators being beaten at the Pettus Bridge by state highway patrolmen and sheriff's deputies.

Legendary civil rights activist Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spent a night in the jail on a trespassing charge after he and others were arrested after they attempted to eat in the Monson Restaurant on June 11, 1964. The arrest was reported in The St. Augustine Record and is included in the state legislative committee's investigative report, "Racial & Civil Disorders in St. Augustine," February 1965.

•••

Martin Luther King Jr. fue arrestado 29 veces por estos supuestos “crímenes”. Estas son sólo algunas ocasiones en las que fue arrestado y el por qué:

26 de enero de 1956: Fue arrestado en Montgomery, Alabama, como parte de una campaña "Get Tough (Ponerse Firme)" para intimidar a los boicoteadores de autobuses. Cuatro días después, el 30 de enero, su casa fue bombardeada.

22 de marzo de 1956: King, Rosa Parks y más de 100 personas más fueron arrestados acusados ​​de organizar el boicot a los autobuses de Montgomery. Esto en protesta por el trato que recibió Parks.

3 de septiembre de 1958: Mientras intentaba asistir a la lectura de cargos de un hombre acusado de agredir a Abernathy, King es arrestado frente al Tribunal de Registro de Montgomery y acusado de holgazanería. Poco tiempo después fue liberado, luego de pagar una fianza de 100 dólares.

5 de septiembre de 1958: King fue declarado culpable de desobedecer una orden policial y multado con 14 dólares. Eligió pasar 14 días en la cárcel, pero pronto lo liberan luego de que el comisionado de policía Clyde Sellers pagara la multa.

19 de octubre de 1960: Fue arrestado en Atlanta, Georgia, durante una sentada mientras esperaba que lo atendieran en un restaurante. Fue sentenciado a cuatro meses de cárcel, pero tras la intervención del entonces candidato presidencial John Kennedy y su hermano Robert Kennedy, fue puesto en libertad.

4 de mayo de 1961: Fue arrestado en Albany, Georgia, por obstruir la acera y desfilar sin permiso.

12 de abril de 1963: Él y Ralph Abernathy fueron arrestados en Birmingham, Alabama, por realizar una protesta sin permiso.

Durante su estancia en la cárcel, escribió lo que ahora se conoce como su histórica "Carta desde la cárcel de Birmingham".

11 de junio de 1964: Fue arrestado por protestar por la integración de alojamientos públicos en St. Augustine, Florida.

2 de febrero de 1965: Fue arrestado en Selma, Alabama, durante una protesta por el derecho al voto, pero las protestas continuaron y los protestantes fueron golpeados en el puente Pettus por patrulleros de carreteras estatales y agentes del sheriff.

El legendario activista de derechos civiles, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., pasó una noche en la cárcel acusado de invasión de propiedad privada después de que él y otros fueran arrestados después de intentar comer en el restaurante Monson el 11 de junio de 1964. El arresto fue informado en el periódico The St. Augustine Record y está incluido en el informe de investigación del comité legislativo estatal, "Desórdenes Civiles y Raciales en St. Augustine", febrero de 1965.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

S. Baum at Erin In The Morning:

When 20-year-old college student Marcy Rheintgen made her yearly spring break trip to her grandparents’ property in Florida, she said she felt at peace — until March 19, when police escorted her out of the bathroom of the State Capitol Building and placed her in handcuffs. Evidently, Rheintgen had violated a 2023 state law criminalizing trans people who use government-owned public restrooms that align with their gender. Tampa Bay Times reporter Romy Ellenbogen accompanied Rheintgen to the Capitol. When they arrived, several officers were stationed outside the women’s restroom doors. They warned her not to enter the women’s restroom. Draped in a white, frilly dress and a pink bow, Rheintgen went in anyway and washed her hands. That’s when police entered the restroom and told Rheintgen she was being detained. A devout Catholic, she had wanted to take a moment to pray the rosary, but she never got the chance. After spending less than 60 seconds in the women’s restroom, Rheintgen said, she was charged with trespassing with a warning. Meanwhile, her rosary was confiscated as an officer from the Florida Department of Law Enforcement handcuffed and detained Rheintgen, searched her person and her vehicle, and then shuttled her to the Leon County Detention Facility, where she stayed overnight in the men’s ward. If convicted, she could spend up to 60 days incarcerated. The FDLE did not respond to a request for comment. About a week before her trek, she sent about a hundred and sixty print letters to Florida lawmakers announcing she would engage in the time-honored practice of civil disobedience: She would use the women’s restroom at the Florida State Capitol. She named her date and time.

“I know that as a transgender woman, this means I will probably be arrested. I am violating laws because I personally believe it to be wrong. “I’m not a political activist,” she told Erin in the Morning. “I’m just a normal college student who thinks this law is wrong.”

[...] Rheintgen said she was motivated to act after seeing the anti-trans legislation surge throughout the United States, and when she read about Hunter Schafer, the Euphoria actress, who was issued a “male” passport despite being a woman. “She’s a personal hero of mine,” Rheintgen said. The fear and the vitriol she saw play out over the news cycle brought her to a breaking point. While bills like bathroom bans and drag bans have been sweeping the country in recent years, the criminalization of gender diverse people is by no means new. Black and brown trans women, especially, have been routinely criminalized for decades under the guise of “solicitation” or “loitering” ordinances, even in a so-called liberal stronghold like New York. The phenomenon is so pervasive that it has been dubbed the “Walking While Trans Ban.”

20-year-old trans woman Marcy Rheintgen put civil disobedience into action against Florida’s unjust bathroom bans for trans people into action. 🏳️‍⚧️

See Also:

LGBTQ Nation: Trans woman arrested for washing her hands in a women’s bathroom

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

JAKE AND YOU

Jake and You. Hand in hand, loitering through middle school. Despite being shorter, you’re the feared one.

Jake and You. His lame jokes and odd bubblegum flavours. Tiptoeing between friendship and love.

Jake and You. You, Jake, and Jerry, inseparable since childhood. But the age gap puts a dent in your spirit; you can never be in the same class.

Jake and You. When school takes a backseat for him, and the time you once had together slips away.

Jake and You. He’s the leader of a gang now. Your parents warn you, and he keeps his distance. Why is everyone so cruel?

Jake and You. When you caught him scamming—those eyes didn’t betray his guilt.

Jake and You. You never thought you'd visit him in jail. The plan was to graduate together, to have a stable future… right?

Jake and You. He comes back, but wait, why is he leaving again?

Jake and You. Sinu returns. Yeonhui and he embrace, but why does Jake keep glancing at you? A silent plea or a mute apology?

Jake and You. You spend time together again, though awkwardness lingers. Stolen glances, hands brushing, his lame attempts at flirting, it’s not so bad.

Jake and You. When the devil comes knocking at your door and to ward him off, the son of the Dragon must fight his way through. Yet the world frames him as the devil instead.

Jake and You. An unknown number, multiple texts—you’re worried sick. But that familiar voice brings the relief of a thousand suns.

Jake and You. This time, when he returns, Sinu and Yeonhui stand as bystanders. First, you slap him. Then, you pull him into a hug tight enough to last a lifetime.

Jake and You. Life is better now. College is going great, and your friends tease you about your green-flag boyfriend. You remind him of his place, but the teasing lingers with unspoken affection.

Jake and You. Just when things seem settled, a storm arrives, Kitae Kim, his older brother. Your brother-in-law.

Jake and You. The world was an oasis, and you always reached for the best. But now, it asks for too much.

Jake and You. He has to leave again. Chaos brews in Busan, soon to engulf the country. And all you can do is wait.

And for Jake, it's always coming back to you💗💗

[libraford]

Merve: aaaah, the cart lady is back at city hall again. You know, tgey ought to make loitering illegal so they can put her in jail and we can finally be rid of her.

Me: ...

Me: ... so I found out the other day that her name is Jenny.

[theconcealedweapon]

If you're willing to spend taxpayer money to jail someone for stealing food but you're not willing to spend taxpayer money to give them food...

If you're willing to spend taxpayer money to jail someone for loitering or trespassing but you're not willing to spend taxpayer money to house them...

If you're willing to spend taxpayer money to jail someone for using drugs but you're not willing to spend taxpayer money to make their life enjoyable so they don't feel the need to use drugs to escape...

then you don't actually care about saving taxpayer money or keeping society safe. You just like hurting people.

[brayneworms]

c'mon, baby, you're my best fix | sampo koski

kinktober day three: dry humping

word count: 2.4k

content: dry humping, gender-neutral reader, silvermane guard!reader, hatesex elements, sex as stress relief, semi-public (alleyway), reader has been drinking but isn't implied to be intoxicated, dom!reader + sub!sampo (but he's implied to be a switch), elements of sadism + masochism, degradation, coming untouched.

♪ love in a trashcan - the ravenettes.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

The biggest fucking lie anyone had told, ever, had come out of Sampo Koski's mouth that afternoon:

C'mooon. I can be good.

You know for a fact that this is a lie, because through no will of your own you have become quite well-acquainted with Sampo Koski, and if there's one thing you're sure of is that he has a physical aversion to doing what he's told.

He had been told, for example, the following many times: Leave me alone, Koski. You're a fucking creep, Koski. Stop conveniently walking by my workplace the very minute I finish my shift, Koski. No, you can't buy me a drink, Koski.

And yet he shows up anyway, like a bad penny, like a dog someone hadn't reprimanded harshly enough and had come sniffing around looking for scraps. Maybe you're too nice, but you sort of doubt it. You think it's more likely that Sampo likes when you talk down to him, which is a whole other can of worms that you're not remotely interested in opening.

"I get the feeling you're mad at me," comes that familiar simpering voice, sliding home into the booth opposite you. Sampo slumps forwards against the table with his face squished against his open palm, grinning that ever-present crescent-moon smile. Cut-jade eyes glimmer out at you through the half-light of the tavern. They always seem to be glittering, despite the absence of any real light. "It's this nagging feeling!" he continues gleefully, even when you glare at him. "This annoying but rather persistent voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that when you tell me to leave you alone, you actually mean it!" He gives a hearty laugh, toying with his flask of ale, and peers up at you through his stupidly thick lashes. "Still, I know it can't be true, considering what happened the other night."

Stupid alcohol. Stupid Sampo. Stupid, stupid you.

One day of weakness. Being a Silvermane Guard was never exactly easy work, but most days tended to be less harrowing than the one you'd had. Every lead you'd chased had slipped through your fingers, and your shift had ended abruptly when the brother of a victim you were seeking justice for had elbowed you to the ground in frustration and spat on you. Your superior wrestled him off you and told you to clock off early.

You supposed she was being kind, but it just made you feel more useless than ever. Boiling with anger and with nowhere to put it, you stormed to the nearest tavern with the intention of drowning your sorrows. Two cups of mead in, you'd gone outside to clear your head, and there he had been, lurking around like an alley cat, sharp eyes lingering on everyone who walked past. No doubt looking for his next easy target. You clear your throat pointedly, and he spins around. Surprise quickly melts into familiar delight.

"Captain, my Captain!" he trills, slinking over as he was wont to slink everywhere.

"Not a captain," you remind him for the fortieth time. "Why are you loitering around here, Koski?"

An affronted hand to his chest, as though clutching imaginary pearls. "Oh! Did they outlaw that, too? Going to cuff me and sling me in jail, hm?"

"Don't fuckin' tempt me," you grumble, tipping your head back against the wall of the tavern. "Can you hurry up and commit a crime in front of me, or something?"

Sampo grins. "Rough day?"

"You're not helping," you snip back, slightly unfairly. He isn't really doing anything more than hanging around being irritating. He slinks closer, slinks like he always does, like it's the only way he knows how to move. Oozing around like a toxic slime, draping himself against the wall just in front of you, arm braced against the brick behind your head.

"I could, though."

His forwardness is hardly a surprise. There isn't any danger of missing his meaning in the sleepy droop of his eyes, the lazy smile curling at his lips. Sampo is an incurable flirt to each and everyone—the thing is that most of the time it's part of the con. You know a few Silvermane Guards who have fallen into his charm and his bed that cut him a lot of slack where they really, really shouldn't.

Sampo Koski has friends everywhere, and that's what makes him so dangerous.

You know this. You have done for a while, especially because he'd been trying to worm his way into your bed for about as long as you'd known him. You resent the thought of him having any sort of power over you, though. There's no denying that he's attractive, and you've often wondered if he would be able to put his money where his mouth is, for lack of a better phrase. But handing over that amount of control to someone like Koski is just incurably stupid.

Because then you're trapped. Every time he'd catch your eye afterwards, they'd glimmer, and you'd know he was remembering your moment of weakness, inviting you to remember it too. Every time his eyes would rake down your body you'd know he'd be recalling when he'd seen it devoid of clothing, sweating, trembling. Every time he'd look at you, he'd know he'd already won.

Really, there's a very simple solution. Don't let him win.

"I bet," you breathe, meeting his eyes for once. You can see them widen slightly, his lips part in surprise before he makes a recovery from this most minuscule slip of his mask.

"Ohoho?" He lets out an irritating little laugh. "Gosh. Must have been a really rough day."

"I'd prefer it to get rougher."

Sampo's mouth splits into a wide grin, one almost fanatical in nature. "I should've pegged you as the type!" he gushes. "Why would anyone be nonsensical enough to join the Silvermane Guards unless they secretly enjoyed a little pain? Between you and me, Captain, I don't mind it either."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" you sigh. "Only a real masochist would so frequently try to get under my skin."

His lashes flutter. "I'm trying to get under much more than that, Captain."

You grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him down the alley beside the tavern. In the dusk light, the two of you slip into the shadows almost immediately, and you follow the narrow path down to the back of the tavern, where the noise of the street outside is quietened to a whisper. Sampo giggles behind you.

"What an exhibitionist you are," he says slyly. "I should've expected it from you, I guess. I guess—"

You plant two hands on his chest, shoving him back into the brick wall, and kiss him. His words flutter to a halt and he stifles a yelp of surprise against your mouth before his eyes squinch shut. His hands aren't shy, flying up to grip your waist, and you press yourself flush against him. He makes a whimpery noise into your mouth as your knee slots itself between his legs, pushing up. He runs hot, you can feel it even through his clothes, and it's a welcome immersion from the perpetual algidity of Belobog.

He grunts as he pulls away, and you take in the slightly glazed look in his eyes and the high colour in his cheeks with a tinge of gratification. "We don't have an awful lot of time," he says pseudo-apologetically. His hands fly to his belt, fingers working nimbly at the buckle. "I'm due somewhere in twenty—"

His voice stammers to a halt when your hand clamps down over his, stilling his fingers. Sampo blinks up at you, puzzled; the penny hasn't yet dropped, you suppose, even as you patiently pry his fingers away from his belt.

"What are you doing?" you ask bluntly. Sampo's lips part and he looks at you as though you're quite delusional.

"Ah... ahem?" He laughs nervously. "Is that a trick question?"

"No," you answer easily. "What are you doing?" Off his bewildered look—which you take the time to enjoy, considering how little you get to see anything but smug ostentation on his face—you shrug. "Oh, I see. That's what you thought this was? I take you into some... secluded little alley, and I get you off?"

Sampo's mouth drops open. "I—I would've—"

"Let's not delude ourselves," you interrupt, and push your knee up between his thighs again. He makes a high, shaky noise in the back of his throat, tipping his head back against the brick wall. "D'you really think you've earned that?"

"Hm?" Sampo swallows hard, the juts in his throat flexing. "I—"

"All you do is hang around bothering me," you hiss. "And you think... what, one well-timed innuendo is all it took for me to change my mind? If you want to get off, then get off." Your knee slides against him, the stiffening in his trousers, and he makes a rather pathetic noise.

"You're not serious," he gasps, cheeks flushed scarlet. His sleepy eyes are wider than you've ever seen them and trained frantically on you. "Come on, Captain, you can't mean that. W-what would you get out of it, even?" He tries for a smirk. "I promise, if you let the reliable Sampo get his hands on you, you won't regret—mmfph?"

Your fingers slip under the stupid windows flaring over his hips, gliding over the skin there. He runs so warm, and it's ridiculous considering Belobog's perpetual winter, as you curl your fingernails into the skin of the small of his back 'till it dimples and drag his hips painstakingly over the flat of your thigh.

This time, sweet as music, he doesn't talk. His mouth drops open and he lets out a shivering moan, gloved hands scrabbling on the brick wall behind him. "You really are serious," he says in disbelief even as his hips roll absently against your leg. A strained laugh escapes him as—finally—a painfully scarlet flush starts bleeding into his cheekbones. "I always knew you Silvermanes were crazy."

"Mm. Not all of them," you say quietly. "But I am. I'm pretty crazy."

Sampo shudders, one that worms its way slowly through his whole body, and then he drops his head against your shoulder. He smells nice, like smoke and mint, his hair soft as it brushes your skin. His hips move languidly against you, stuttering occasionally, unsure—until you flex the muscle of your thigh against him. A whimper breaks free, high and whiny like shattered glass.

"You're so cruel," he groans even as his body drags against your leg. You underestimated how overwhelming it would be; his breath in the hollow of your neck makes the skin there hot and clammy, and when he moans it goes right in your ear. You're certain he's exaggerating to get your resolve to weaken. Nobody actually sounds like that.

And you can feel him, hard and hot as a brand, pushing up against your leg. You shudder almost imperceptibly, because yes, yeah, you're wondering how he would feel inside you, but you can't—not tonight, you promise yourself as your teeth grit. Tonight isn't about that.

It's about winning.

"Please," Sampo grits out, turning his head so you can see slices of his moonstone eyes through the sweaty locks of hair. "I—nngh, oh—I want inside of you."

"Take it or leave it, Koski," you say, a bit too breathlessly for your liking. He shivers with a sulky noise, and the whole time, even as he talks his hips are rolling against your leg. He picks up speed as sweat starts rolling down his skin, as his hands scrabble over the brick and then fly out to grab your waist and haul you closer. His strength is ridiculous—but so is yours. You let yourself be pulled, feeling his mouth and teeth against your ear, the breathy noises spilled across your jaw.

"Oh—please, I'm close." His eyes blink up at you, wet and deceptively innocent. The look on his face is almost heartwrending. "I need you, anything—your hand, mouth, anything, I don't care, please—"

"You're going to cum in your pants against my leg like the dog you are," you spit, your hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. He yelps, the flush on his cheeks darkening, eyes fluttering shut. "And you're gonna be grateful you even got that much."

Sampo moans, broken and high; his hips stutter against your leg as his hands curl into your waist so hard you're sure they'll leave bruises. But under the pleasure is a certain frustration, a sobbing sound as he cums and it sets your blood alight. You shiver with the delight of it.

The seconds that follow feel like victory.

Sampo peels away from you, stumbling back against the brick wall behind him. He's scarlet all the way down to his chest, his mouth agape and eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears as he uncomfortably adjusts his pants. They're dark and it's night, so he can probably get away with them until he gets the chance to go home and change, but the thought of him walking around in soiled underwear thrills you.

You probably are actually crazy. Sampo's annoying, but he's quite perceptive.

He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Well. Erm. That was..." He swallows. "The great Sampo really got himself in a rather sticky situation this time, didn't I?"

"Poor choice of words," you supply, and he winces, flushing harder.

He clears his throat. "Like I said, I, erm, have somewhere to be. Nice catching up, though." He puts two fingers to his temple and flicks them into the air in a mock salute. You watch as he spins lazily on his heel, rolling his shoulders as he starts his walk back down the alleyway.

"By the way," he added, pausing a few feet away. "I certainly hope that wasn't your way of trying to dissuade me." Your eyebrows raise, and he grins; his canines are sharp, and you can see them flash when his lips peel back. "Well, be serious: once you feed a starving dog, it doesn't leave you alone, does it? It comes back for more. Maybe it even follows you home."

He leaves you with that, one last lingering look and an implication that has you burning more than anything that transpired in the last ten minutes.

You get the altogether not unpleasant feeling that this will be far from the last you see of Sampo Koski.

[raineandsky]

#131

Inspired by #16 on @creativepromptsforwriting's drabble list!

The villain is gathering as much cold hard cash into their arms as possible when someone pointedly clears their throat behind them.

“[Villain],” the hero says smoothly. “You’re not above stealing from banks yet, I see.”

“And you’re not above loitering outside waiting for something to happen,” the villain retorts.

“It’s a shame to see you back here.” The hero hums a laugh, but the villain’s too busy scooping money into their bag to care. “You know I hate to arrest my favourite villain.”

“No need,” the villain says with their usual dry sarcasm. “New laws say that you don’t have to.”

The pause the hero leaves is just long enough to be suspicious. The villain glances back at them, just about catching the slight frown before they notice their nemesis looking.

“Yeah right,” they say unconvincingly. “New laws my ass.”

The classic I kind of believe you saying. The one that gives away that the villain’s quip was, for some reason, taken entirely too seriously. They were setting up for a joke, but— are they actually going to get away with this?

“No, no, they’re real.” The villain smiles as convincingly as possible. “Look it up—villains get benefit of the doubt if the agency deems their schemes particularly newsworthy.”

“The agency wouldn’t.”

“The agency recognises talent, don’t they?”

The villain gestures to the hero vaguely, and the hero falls right for the little ego boost. A smirk tugs at their lips for a moment, their stance a little straighter. “Well,” they say offhandedly, “I don’t think the agency would class robbing a bank as newsworthy. You do it every other week.”

“It’s not about the act, [Hero], it’s about the pizzazz!” The villain is in entirely too deep with this joke they were trying to make. “The agency likes people who can have a little fun. You know I like to make a show.”

“I do, unfortunately.” The hero sighs. “So, what? You just leave here with a stack of cash?”

The villain knows pushing their luck will get them in jail. “Well, you caught me—that’s pretty good going. I’ll leave the money as a congratulations.”

The hero watches carefully as the villain puts the money in their hands back on the shelf. “And the stuff in the bag,” the hero adds.

“Oh, come on, I can’t have anything?”

“You said you’d put it back.”

“Ugh, fine.” The villain tips their rucksack up and dumps a pile of cash on the table. “Happy now?”

The hero hums distractedly for a moment, their eyes glancing over the unstolen money scattered about, before huffing defeatedly. “Sure.”

The villain beams way too obviously. “Sweet. I’ll be heading off then.” They make for the door before deciding to dig their own grave a little more. “The agency does a stamp system now, y’know.”

“What is that meant to mean?”

“Catch five villains in the act and you get a free coffee,” the villain says brightly. "Or so I’ve heard. Ask [Superhero] about it.”

The hero nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

The villain hadn’t come in here expecting to walk straight back out. They certainly hadn’t expected to meet a hero in there without ending up in jail or hidden in some obscure part of the city.

But that doesn’t matter now. The villain is free, hero is going to make a fool of themself in front of the superhero, and that sucker didn’t even notice the forty thousand pounds stuffed into the villain’s coat.

[the-badger-mole]

How the High King of Elfhame Got His Seneschal's Photo

Well, this was a waste of a trip to the mortal world. I leaned against the brick wall of the cafe I'm waiting in front of and bite back an annoyed groan. After all, I knew coming here on the strength of a fourthhand rumor was a long shot. Still, when Randalin told me that he'd heard from his valet who'd heard from the servant of one of the gentry families of the lower courts that there was a rumor of a kidnapping plot against my brother amongst the solitary fae, I thought it best to look into it myself. Now that I know the rumor was just the product of someone's overactive imagination, I wish I had just let one of the spies from the Court of Shadows look into it .

The fact that I probably wouldn't have trusted anyone else with this mission isn't a thought worth acknowledging.

I look down the empty street, expecting the Roach at any moment. Not for the first time, I wish for some way to travel between Faerie and the mortal world without needing to rely on one of the Folk to escort me. I would have asked Vivi if I knew how quickly this little side mission was going to be done. Oh, well.

A dark car pulls to a stop about half a block away from me. I note it absently. After all, I am not waiting on a car. Ten minutes later, I'm starting to get impatient. The Roach had come with his own agenda, I knew, but he had led me to believe that he would be done with his errand long before I was done with mine. I hope he'll show up soon. It was really starting to get cold, and I am not dressed for the weather. I shiver and pull my hoodie closer around me. Maybe, I consider, I should consider making it policy that anyone coming to the mortal realm should carry burner phones so they can stay in touch. Knowing when the Roach would be here would make waiting a little more bearable, at least.

The sound of the car door opening draws me out of my thoughts, and I realize that a man has emerged. Then I realize he's heading in my direction. My hackles go up immediately, though I try to calm myself down. He may not be coming to me. He may just pass me on the way to someplace else.

He does not pass me.

"This isn't a place for loiterers," the man says gruffly. I snort at that.

"If I see any I'll let them know."

"Oh, a joker."

"Only on occasion." The man sneers at me.

He's not dressed the way I picture mortal thugs dressing. He is in a brown leather bomber, but his jeans are clean and crisp, as if he ironed them as flat as he could that morning. Even I know that is unforgivably geeky. On his feet is a pair of shiny black dress shoes. Not boots, or sneakers, like I'd seen on gangsters and evil bikers in movies. The man is also inexplicably wearing a pair of dark mirrored sunglasses, although the sun had very nearly set.

"Why don't you show me your hands?" He phases it like a question, but it sounds like a command. I ignore it and turn my gaze away from him. In my pocket, I turn my fingers against my wrist, feeling the hilt of my dagger there. Let him try me.

"I said show me your hands!" When adding volume to his voice doesn't work, he reaches for me, presumably to force me to obey. The shock on his face when I grab his wrist instead is deeply satisfying. His yelp of pain when I twist it to an unnatural degree is even more so. My dagger stays where it's hidden up my sleeve. I don't need it for him.

Down the street, the car opens again, on the passenger side this time, and another man emerges, running towards me and his friend. Well, a fight will keep me warm, anyway.

"Freeze!" the man shouts. He pulls a gun from his waist and points it at me. Internally I groan as I reluctantly raise my hands over my head. How did I forget about guns?

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"You're where?" Vivi screeches on the other end of the line. I flinch away from the phone receiver and glance around warily, certain that the police officers can hear my sister.

"I'm in jail," I repeat. "I need you to come bail me out." Vivi goes silent and I swear I can hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. Then, to my surprise, she laughs.

"Alright," she says at last. "Give me an hour."

"I've already been here for three!" I complain.

"Tough!" Vivi cackles. "I have to drop Oak off at a party, and I need get a card for the birthday boy first. You'll be alright. And if you get a prison tattoo, make sure it's a cool one."

"Viv!"

"I'll see you soon." Vivi is still laughing as she hangs up. I have to choke back a growl of frustration as I slam the receiver back onto the cradle.

"Finished?" the deputy who'd escorted me from my cell to make my one phone call.

"Finished," I sigh. A few moments later, the iron bars slam shut behind me. I am not alone in the cell, but the woman on the top bunk is in deep slumber, if her bone rattling snores are anything to go by. Then the smell of her hits me. This must be the drunk tank, I realize. With a huff, I sit on the bottom bunk and wait.

And I wait.

And wait.

One hour passes without Vivi showing up. Then two. At two and a half hours, I get up and pace the floor. Surely they'd give me another call, I think. But then, who else would I call besides Vivi? It was almost a miracle that I remembered her phone number. I never even tried to memorize Heather's. Besides, even if I had, Heather was probably with Vivi, or stuck at home. They only had one car between them.

Finally, as the clock was about to mark the third hour since I'd called my sister, I hear a commotion outside of the cell block.

"What do you mean I can't see my sister? I am here to bail her out. I have the cash right here!" Vivi's voice carries back to me, and I almost cheer in relief.

"Vivi!" I call.

"We're here, Jude!" Vivi yells back. Then her voice goes low. I can tell she's talking to someone, and finally they seem to come to an agreement. Then they are headed in my direction. Vivi appears behind the sheriff and she is the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. I'm so happy to see her that I don't see who's with her for a moment. It's not Heather who is standing behind her. It's Cardan.

Seeing him here, in the mortal realm- in a mortal police station of all places is so jarring, I can only stare for a moment. Especially since he's in a ridiculous red silk shirt with pearls at the cuffs and collar. Then I turn back to Vivi.

"Por que lo trajiste?" I demand in harsh whisper.

"Llegó a mi puerta y no me dejaria salir sin él." Vivi shrugs. "It was faster to bring him."

"That doesn't sound like you're grateful to see me," Cardan says, raising his brow.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him. I'm not angry. I'm too confused for anger, and I guess he sees that in my face, because he's not nearly so defensive when he answers.

"The Roach came rushing back to the palace raving that you'd been kidnapped," Cardan said. He eyed my cell distastefully, keeping well away from the iron bars. I have to force myself not to shrink in embarrassment. "And here you are indeed being kept captive for ransom. It wouldn't be very gallant of me to leave my seneschal imprisoned."

"Estaba furioso," Vivi tells me with an amused glance at him. "Tengo preguntas para ti luego. A lot!"

"Hey, pal," the sheriff cuts in. "Bail ain't ransom. She was arrested, not kidnapped." Vivi shakes her head, ignoring both men.

"Jail, Jude?" she sighs. "Que hiciste, hermanita?"

"Nothing!" I hiss back. "No hice nada. Es solo que él tiene una lasca en su hombro!" I jerk my chin towards the sheriff without looking at him.

"Little lady, assaulting an officer is not a little chip on my shoulder," the sheriff says. Vivi and I fall silent and stare at him. He shoots us a smug smirk. "Yeah, I speak Spanish, too." Behind him, I see Cardan is also smirking. His brows go up in amusement.

Little lady? he mouths silently. I scowl and shake my head at him. No. He will absolutely not make that a thing. I am not above ordering it so.

"You assaulted an officer?" Vivi is doing her best to sound disapproving, but she is barely keeping the grin off of her face, or the laugh from her voice.

"I didn't know he was an officer," I explain for for feels like the ten thousandth time tonight. "Some guy approaches me and starts making vague threats and I'm just not supposed to defend myself? He wasn't in uniform. He didn't even show me a badge!" At that, Vivi whirls on the sheriff, all amusement gone from her face.

"He didn't even identify himself?" she almost yells.

"W-well, h-he...he was only trying to warn her not to loiter," the sheriff stammered. "That block has had some issues with vandals recently, so plain clothes cops patrol there."

"I wasn't loitering. I was waiting for my ride." I press myself to the bars and glare daggers at the sheriff. "Then this random guy comes over and starts demanding to see my hands. I wasn't vandalizing anything! Tell me where that falls under protect and serve."

"Let my sister out!" Vivi demands. "Whatever your officer got was well deserved, it sounds like."

"It sounds like he got off lightly." Cardan's voice is deceptively airy. There's a coldness in his eyes that I know from experience means nothing good for the sheriff.

"I already told you, I can't let her go," the sheriff huffs. "Assaulting an officer is a felony, and a judge will need to set bail. She's in there until Monday." My jaw drops in shock. It's Friday. He expects me to stay in this disgusting cell for two days? Before I can protest, Cardan speaks again. This time when he speaks, the anger is tinged with glamour.

"I believe you'll find that you can let her go tonight," he says.

"I...I can let her go..." The sheriff's voice is distant, as if he's talking in his sleep. "Yes...I...I can let her go tonight. Just be sure to show up to your hearing on Monday."

"There won't be a hearing on Monday," Vivi says, her voice taking the same ineffable quality that Cardan's had. It was always strange watching the Folk glamour mortals from this end. Normally, I'm not a fan, especially of my sister doing it. But I cannot spend the weekend in a jail cell.

"Ri-ight," the sheriff agrees. He goes quiet for a moment and I suppose it's during this time that his brain supplies a good reason for letting me leave. He blinks his eyes rapidly, as if waking, and he shakes his head. Then he unlocks the cell and holds it open for me. "You're free to go."

"Wait, he still has my dagger," I say as I step hurriedly out of the cell. The sheriff closes it slowly behind me and stares at my cellmate thougthfully. She had been snoring loudly through this entire exchange.

"By all means let us retrieve it," Cardan drawls. "We all know how naked you feel without a weapon." Vivi rolls her eyes and enchants the sheriff again. A few minutes later, he's brought my sheathed dagger out from the evidence locker, and thrown away the plastic baggie it had been stored in. I wonder if he will get in trouble for this, then I decide that I don't care. I shouldn't have been arrested in the first place.

"Hey buddy," the sheriff calls Cardan aside. His brow goes up. At the informality of the address, I suppose. Still, he's intrigued enough to move closer. Whatever glamour Cardan had put on the sheriff seems to have left him with the impression that he and the High King were friends. He grinned mischievously at Cardan and hands him a manila envelope. "I figured you'd want a souvenir of your girlfriend's time as a felon."

"I'm not his girlfriend," I huff rolling my eyes. Cardan accepts the envelope nonetheless. I'm too tired to care, though. It must be near dawn, and all I want is to go home and sleep.

"What did he give you?" Vivi asks as we make our way to her and Heather's car. Cardan opens the envelope and pulls out a glossy picture. It's my mug shot. A flash of hot rage rolls through me, and I have half a mind to go back inside and show the snarky sheriff what assault with a deadly weapon truly looked like.

"I need ten copies of that!" Vivi howls with laughter. "I'm sending this to everyone!"

"No you're not!" I say, snatching the picture out of Cardan's hand and stuffing it in my pocket. "We are never talking about this again."

"Oh, honey," Vivi laughs again, throwing her arm around my shoulder. "You know that's not true." I grumble something vaguely threatening as I climb into the backseat of the car, but I know she's right. At least the photo evidence will soon be gone. I plan on burning my mugshot as soon as I can.

Later, in my rooms at the palace, I intend to do just that. Only when I check the pocket of my hoodie, it's gone. It must have fallen out in the car.

-:-:-:-:-:-

In his room, Cardan pulls out the photograph the sheriff had given him, and smooths it out. It's not very wrinkled, despite having been shoved unceremoniously into Jude's pocket. The woman herself stares up at him, holding a black placard with Duarte written in white block letters and a series of numbers beneath that. Loose strands of hair had fallen from her simple braid to frame her face, and she looks like she'd just been through a battle. Cardan supposes that wasn't far from the truth. Despite her apparent disarray at the time of her arrest, she manages to somehow look both imperious and sullen at the same time. Cardan grins at the image, knowing that Jude might actually kill him if she knew he had it.

Some months later, when she is in the middle of carving a space for herself in his room (their room, he corrects himself), Cardan is proven right.

"Are you serious?" she demands, snatching the framed photo from among his things on the dresser. Her eyes are alight with anger when she rounds on him. Cardan only chuckles in reply.

"Well, I could hardly commission an official portrait of you without drawing some uncomfortable questions," he tells her. "Besides, I don't think any painter in Faerie or the mortal world could capture your essence quite as succinctly as this."

"Get rid of it!" Jude orders him. His wife didn't need any magical binds to get Cardan to do whatever she wanted. He would swim the entire ocean to bring her the fruit of the trees that grew in the Court of Teeth if she wanted. But in this, he would have to insist on his own way. He crosses the room and gently pulls the picture from his wife's resisting hands.

"I would sooner throw my crown in a tar pit," he tells her. At her indignant shriek, he laughs again and kisses her forehead. The novelty of having the privilege to do so hadn't yet lost it's luster, and Cardan suspected it would be a very, very long time before it did. "Have I ever told you how adorable you are when you're angry?"

"I thought I was terrifying," Jude says, crossing her arms and scowling at him. Cardan shrugs.

"Who said you couldn't be both?" He smirks at her as he goes in for the final blow, "My little lady."

Now there's a part 2

[mxmorbidmidnight]

The moots and why they’re in jail

@capn-atlas despite their many offences of piracy, theft and pillaging they somehow ended up in jail for illegally downloading the Lego movie off the internet.

@specss00 despite the many crimes of the spectacles, she was arrested for a minor traffic offence and then when the mighty goose defended her honour ended up with a life sentence for a parking ticket. You’re welcome ❤️

@saturn-in-retrograde7 mind control and sorcery and spells of the sinister kind. Also being too cool (and also all those crimes). Also did some treason against the crown back in ‘07 but we don’t talk about that.

@goblin-grandee silliness (crimes with minimum 50 years jail time)

@beanthebugboi breeds strange and unusual bugs in the basement and they escape doing millions of dollars of property damage and when in court says “your honour they’re just silly babies!”

@whyshouldilistentoyou would never do anything wrong ever (treason, loitering and downright silliness).

@stansavvy nobody knows. Could have committed a horrific crime or could have just showed up one day. Unbound by the physical hounds of prison, walks through walls and is always around the corner.

[shoechoe]

Well, I just finished Marleybone. Some thoughts:

Like people often say, the weird classism subtext is offputting. The writers set up a societal divide between the dogs and the rats, cats, and frogs where the dogs are policemen and high-class townsfolk while the other animals are obviously lower-class (dressed worse, have street jobs, etc).

The plot generally makes you take the side of the police force and a large amount of the quests involve you beating up the lower class animal people. Once I got a quest from a dog telling me to beat up some street sweeper frogs just for """loitering""".

Two quests had you convince the police force that a cat and a frog put in jail were wrongfully imprisoned, and this is pretty much the only time you work against the police on something. It particularly stuck with me that the frog ended up choosing to stay in the jail because he had no food at home.

There is no way the writers didn't know what they were doing here. It kind of spoils the entire story of the world playing through it now because you hate almost every NPC you have to work with. If they rewrote Wizard City I kind of hope they can rework this world sometime in the future.