#don’t be fooled they have always been war criminals

[forever-eternal]

I have more of them :3

[deadsetobsessions]

More triplet tim PLEASEE

Aye, aye!

@batman-soup your idea just gives on giving omg what magic are you cooking in your head bc this prompt literally went absolutely crazy in mine

Commissioner Gordon was a decorated veteran of the GCPD, having lasted in the force longer than most without buckling under the pressure and temptation of being a dirty cop. That means he’s seen some shit, and he’s been in some shit. Even when Batman made his debut, even when he had to cover for Bru- ahem, Batman’s fool ass, James Gordon hadn’t even considered stoping in his effort to better the GCPD.

As he blankly stared at Batman, who looked as tired as Gordon felt, and the- not one, not two, but three- Robins following him, Commissioner Gordon seriously considered going down stairs and handing in his letter of resignation on the spot.

“Batman,” he greeted the Dark Knight, in the tone one might use when saying “Batman, what the fuck?!”

“Commissioner Gordon.” Batman said, sounding like he swallowed gravel and spent his nights crying instead of beating up Gotham’s criminal underbelly. “This is… the Robins. They’ve been… switching out until they were all ready.”

“Hey, Mister Gordon!” One of the Robins chirped. Commissioner Gordon pinched himself. Maybe he got micro-dosed with fear toxin? Commissioner Gordon nodded at the Robin who spoke.

“Commissioner Gordon!” The second one smiled at him.

“Commissioner Gordon.” The third one said, shoulders back.

“Have there always been… three of you?” Gordon asked, perplexed.

“You’ve actually all met us before, but don’t worry about it! Whatcha got for us this time?”

“Robin,” Batman growled.

“Yes?” “Yeah?!” “What.”

Commissioner Gordon chugged his coffee, to avoid laughing at Batman’s exasperated demeanor. Privately, he wished the coffee was a strong, black out worthy drink, and that the Robins gave Batman the stress Gordon experienced at Batman’s antics.

“It is important.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, B.” Regular Robin, Gordon deemed, waved him off.

“But we’re currently not taking mental health advice from you, you walking therapist’s wet dream.” Serious Robin scoffed.

“So you can stick your opinion where the sun doesn’t shine!” Chirpy Robin said. Gordon had wanted to name him happy Robin, but he’s not getting the feeling of “happiness” from him.

“I will bench you.”

“Try me,” all of them defiantly said at the same time. Gordon smothered a laugh, but by the glare Batman sent him, he wasn’t too successful at hiding it.

Batman visibly gave up, shoulders slumping. “Commissioner Gordon, what do you have for…us.”

“There’s, heh, Penguin’s expansion.” Gordon looked away from Batman’s baleful look, mustache twitching with suppressed laughter.

“He’s expanding his weapons trading.” Regular Robin said. Serious Robin nodded, leaning back on his heels in thought.

“That’s a sign of an upcoming turf war.”

“Red Hood’s part of it! I saw Penguin’s guys lurking around his safe house!”

“Why do you know where his safe house is, Robin?” Gordon might acknowledge that they’re trained vigilantes, but at the end of the day, Robin is still a child that shouldn’t be near a crime lord, especially a highly dangerous and highly trained one like the Red Hood.

“Prank! Don’t worry about it!”

Gordon side-eyed the Bat. When Batman didn’t move to say anything, he shrugged and let it go. There’s only one person more protective of Robin than the rest of Gotham’s non-criminal city, and that’s Batman. Gordon caught the three of them exchanging glances- a whole conversation he and Batman were not privy to- and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to go home and never leave his bed again.

“You know where he’s staying, Robin?” Batman asked, when the silence got too long.

“Yep!” They chorused, even the serious one. Batman looked like he wanted to step back but held on like his pride was on the line.

“We can handle Penguin.” The serious one stated.

“You can get the goons, Batman!”

“I’ll rob them blind,” regular Robin grinned.

“Dibs on Penguin!”

“I’ll get the weapons.”

Batman sighed.

“Godspeed, Robins.” Gordon told the youngsters. To Batman, before he left, “Good luck.”

Batman grunted and disappeared. It sounded like a tearful thanks. Commissioner Gordon took a puff of his smoking pipe and decided to end the day today. He did not want to deal with the Robins and whatever terror they were about to unleash on Penguin.

——

“Penguuuuuiiiiiiinnnn, where aaaaare youuuu?!” Lionel sang, whacking a goon across the head with a pipe. “Come ooout!”

Archy, gleefully lugging away bags of tech and guns, jerked his head at the left hallway. He wound around the bodies of the unconscious goons Batman beat up. Lionel grinned at him in thanks and, bouncing along, went to beat up the Penguin.

“Robin, that is evidence.” Batman stopped Archy.

“It’s only evidence if it gets logged. Besides, I’m not going to do anything with them… much.”

Batman scowled, remembering the parenting books he devoured after adopting Jason. Be firm.

“You are not going to give them to Hood to help with his turf war.”

“Give me one good reason why.”

Tim, passing the arguing pair, snorted. “C’mon B, at least Hood’s guys will make sure to not use them to hurt kids. Who knows what the GCPD will do with this many guns.”

“And, not to mention, you let me get shot when we fought Dent.” Archy looked up at Batman balefully, rubbing his side. Batman grimaced… but stood aside.

Archy smirked.

“B, help me out with this,” Tim shouted, patting the top of Penguin’s heavy safe. Batman sighed and took out his laser cutter. Or, as Dick named it, Batlaser.

“Batman is supposed to be a symbol,” Batman rumbled.

“Yeah, of vengeance and justice. I’m getting justice for my stolen bat-tech, Robin L is getting vengeance for that one time Penguin kidnapped him, and Robin A is getting… stuff. Now c’mon, I can’t carry all this gold by myself. I gotta loot the goons too!”

“Do not loot the goons.”

“You’re right. If they had cool stuff, they probably wouldn’t be working for Penguin.” Tim brightened as he shuffled through the Penguin’s hoard of treasures. “Oo! Lookit! Tax evasion!”

“… You memorized his tax returns when Oracle hacked it, didn’t you.”

“Obviously. Keep up, old man.” Archy snarked as he walked back in to grab some more stuff. “Hood’s on the way with Nightwing and I want froyo, so chop chop!”

Batman sighed.

——

Penguin huddled against the crate, heart pumping a rhythm of abject terror.

His night had been going so well! He had drinks in one hand, a beauty in another, and the weapons trading game underneath his feet! The Cobblepots were going to rise once more!

Then, the slide of gravel, here and there.

Fear.

A low chuckle. The Bat?

Fear.

The squeal of a hinge.

Fear.

Bubbly laughter. Oh no. Robin.

Batman and Robin had dropped to the floor of the base, knocking his goons out left and right.

“Ge’ your fat nose outta my business, Bats!” He had went to wave his umbrella to send spikes at the pair, only to be stopped cold.

He turned around slowly and … Robin?

“Wha-?”

“Heya, Penguin! Nice seeing you again!”

“Agh!” Blinding pain erupted on his face, nose leaking blood. Penguin stumbled back as the psychotic Robin laughed.

“There’s two Robin! Run!” His goons shouted. “Boss, run!” Cobblepot stumbled away, mentally noting to give that goon a raise, once he could see more than red tinged blurs.

“Wrong. There’s three.” A cold voice sounded out, followed by the quick sounds of bodies dropping. Oswald Cobblepot ran, because he was not meant to deal with more than one Robin. The world was not meant to have more than one, so it definitely wasn’t ready for three.

The door creaked open. Oswald Cobblepot peeked his head out from behind the crate. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw an empty doorway. Maybe he forgot to close it when he ran in.

“Heya, Oswald!”

Penguin looked up, eyes darting from the blood stained pipe and straight into the grinning maw of a Robin.

“… Bollocks.”

[sansahightower]

Gentle Reader,

I am reporting back from the show front. I survived. Here are my thoughts:

• Aegon as a father had me 🥹

• Helaena is a doll; they should use her more

•Aegon actually seems to really care about the smallfolk? Like this has me wondering, if the dance hadn’t happened, if he could have really been a great king

•Criston Cole. I am not a formal Alicole shipper, but you know, he seems to really care about her. He seems very loyal, and there was something tender in the way she put his white cape back on him. I still like Rhaenicent, but I don’t mind this. He defended her to Aemond which was sweet.

•Aemond saying his mother was a fool seems less harsh in context, because he honestly seems in his feelings about her being angry at him. Maybe he still can be Mommy’s Favorite War Criminal.

•B&C: they really downplayed it, but it was still horrifying. I was upset. I saw how Aegon loved his boy, and how Helaena looked panicked and terrified even if she wasn’t granted nearly enough time and space to convey it. Phia still made her eyes shine when it came to her acting. They did not show well enough how Daemon encouraged this. I think the look on his face discussing B&C conveyed it, but I don’t think the audience can pick up on it enough truthfully. I do not have high hopes for this fandom or GA.

•Cregan Stark felt super Stark-y. Almost parody of a Stark.

• While I think the line about Aemond needing to fear Rhaenyra is cheesy considering Aemond’s skill and general unhinged behavior, I loved Rhaenys giving Daemon pushback. Love her being sick of his shit. She’s a character I have always wanted to really love, but at times, the writers make choices for her that don’t always make a ton of sense. But that was a good scene

•I’m predicting we’ll see Corlys having conflicting feelings and heading towards his shift in allegiances this season. Maybe not a full shift, but some waffling.

All in all, it could have been worse.

[rebelsandtherest]

Let Down

Words: 1,453

TW: None, except for some cursing and the author blatantly self-projecting onto a sad fictional dickhead war criminal

Author’s note: Don’t mind me I’m just Going Through Some Shit™ and these morons are my coping mechanism, so here, have some sappy NA bro emo shit

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

Matt was used to looking after his brother. Alfred may have been the eldest, but both history and temperament had long shaped them to fit the molds meant for each other. Independent, impulsive, and often selfish to a fault, Alfred fit so snugly in the archetype of ‘hyperactive little brother’ that even Matt forgot sometimes, whipping out parenting techniques he’d learned centuries ago while raising his actual little brother, Jack, to knock his reckless big brother back to his senses.

In contrast, Matt was likable and mild, responsible, dutiful, and never raised a fuss, even when he should. Matt had long been responsible for controlling (or cleaning up after) his brother in both international incidents as well as family gatherings, to the point that the entire world had grown to expect it of him. It was not a chore he always relished, but such duties had sunk into his bones over the centuries, and it had ceased to surprise him when humans assumed he was a firstborn. 

However, the inverted patterns that history had taught them melted away when they were alone. Alfred was older than Matt by a handful of short but appreciable decades, and in many ways his role as older brother was never so evident than it was when it was just them, cozy along their shared border, an ocean away from the European allies who piled expectations on Matt’s diplomatic abilities even as they grew increasingly allergic to Alfred’s shrewd, loud, ridiculous personality. 

Here on their own, it was more often Matt who needed looking after, in the form of a bagful of citrus in the winter, an unannounced visit to keep him company, or an invitation to go on some wild bender that their father would never believe wasn’t a hostage situation. Alfred was the sunshine to Matt’s melancholy, the summertime to Matt’s eternal winter, the optimism that balanced out Matt’s pessimism. It was Alfred who did the cheering, and Matt who, usually, allowed himself to be cheered.

Unfortunately, the openness and optimism that made Alfred a good brother was also his soft underbelly, and once in a while, it would land him in a world of hurt.

“You awake?” Matt asked softly, trying to spy his brother's face. He continued combing his fingers through Alfred’s hair, which was far shorter than last he’d seen it, recently cut to a military standard style. He smoothed out the golden strands, still just long enough to fan out against the pillow. Voice hoarse, Alfred grunted, not budging from his spot lying across Matt’s couch, face smushed halfway into a pillow that pressed against Matt’s lap. Matt scratched Alfred’s scalp in acknowledgement. 

“You should drink some water.” Alfred didn’t budge.

“I just,” Alfred began, before sniffling loudly and adjusting his face against the pillow so he could breathe more easily. “I really wanted it to work out,” He said miserably, quietly. Mat pursed his lips and let his hand linger on Alfred’s neck, giving it a soft squeeze. “I know you did, bud.” Generally speaking, Matt saw all of Alfred’s heartbreaks lightyears away, careening towards them at high speeds even as his brother ran full steam ahead like a fool. It would be easy for anyone to wonder why Alfred never learned to protect his oh-so human emotions in all his centuries of life. Today’s calamity, however, was one even Matt hadn’t seen coming.

“They said they’d let me pilot again, before they shuttered everything. I should’ve gotten it in writing, I’m such a fucking idiot. Assuming I had it guaran-fucking-teed.” Alfred brought a hand up to his disheveled face, digging fingers into his eyes and sniffling again. He groaned. “Shit, my head hurts.”

“You’ll feel better if you drink some water,” Matt offered. After a long pause, Alfred did, short hair puffing up in comical angles as he pressed up on his elbow to drink. Matt would’ve laughed at the sight if it weren’t for his brother’s red-rimmed eyes. Alfred had tossed his glasses onto the coffee table hours ago so he could dig his face into a pillow, a position to which he returned as soon as he’d gulped down the glass of water Matt had left him. 

“Why didn’t they fuckin tell me?” he whined into the tear-stained pillowcase, tucking his bulky arms beneath himself like a child while Matt resumed combing through his hair, a gesture that usually put Alfred straight to sleep. Today, it seemed, his thoughts would keep him awake for hours yet.

“I’d go down and fight them for you,” Matt told him, surveying Alfred’s hair and wondering if he could re-style the pilot’s cut to take Alfred’s mind off of things. “But it wouldn’t be a fair fight, and I’d probably get heatstroke anyway. Also, I’d hate for you to have to fill out all that paperwork when I abuse my diplomatic immunity.” That, at least, got a snort from his prone brother. Or perhaps it was a hiccup leftover from his crying. It was hard to tell. 

Matt reached further down and gently scratched the top of his brother’s back, still clothed in the now-wrinkled NASA-branded tee shirt he’d been wearing when he’d shown up at Matt’s house, teary-eyed, angry, and nearly inconsolable, having traveled directly to Quebec from Florida. It was less than twenty-four hours from launch when Alfred had learned that, due to a massive mis-communication that spanned seven years and multiple administrations, despite the handshake and promise of a former President, there was not, in fact, a spot reserved for Alfred aboard Atlantis for her final voyage—the final voyage, in fact, of the entire Space Shuttle program. 

“I didn’t want to have to see it wrap up from down here,” Alfred said pathetically. He sounded like a child—not in his usual, petulant way, but in the soft-hearted, hurt way that came from a man who’d been in love with the stars since before he could crawl.

“You could’ve easily kicked someone out, you know,” Matt reminded him. “Who would’ve told you no?” “I can’t do that,” Alfred moaned, rolling over to breathe, this time all the way onto his back, so he could glance at his brother upside-down before returning his gaze to the out-of-focus world around him. “I’m not going to kick some poor human out of that special of a—I mean, they’ve been dreaming about this their entire lives, probably, it would devastate them.”

“You seem pretty devastated yourself,” Matt pointed out.

“I am,” Alfred said, sniffling again. “Fuck, I am. But I can’t just…” Alfred gestured vaguely and let his hand fall, sighing. 

“You’re far from done up there, you’re going to go back,” Matt told him, leaning over to force Alfred to make eye contact with him. Though his face appeared upside-down, he could see the deep hurt lingering in Alfred’s puffy face. 

“I mean I hope so,” the American said miserably. “I just… it seemed so perfect, you know? The last mission, wrapping all that work on the ISS, I’ve seen it grow from the ground up—literally—fuck I designed some of the shit on board, and I wanted to be there when it… And now it’s just…” he gestured towards Matt’s muted TV, which continued to broadcast desks full of talking heads as they replayed clips of Atlantis’ final launch. “I didn’t ever think I’d be watching it happen on a ten-year-old TV with a fucking migraine in fucking Quebec. I hate this.” In a moment of clarity, the American frowned, and glanced up at Matt. “The whole shuttle thing. Not Queb—not you.” Matt snorted, and patted Alfred’s chest in forgiveness. 

“I figured.”

Alfred sighed, and rolled back over, pulling a throw blanket off the back of Matt’s couch and curling back up on his side, pulling the soft blanket up to his nose so only his shining eyes were visible, fixated on the television as the evening shift of newscasters took over to continue reviewing the history of the Space Shuttle program and the historic last launch of Atlantis. He sniffed again as he watched, but said nothing.

“You’ll find your way back up there eventually,” Matt said, “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” Alfred didn’t budge. After a long stretch of silence, he asked:

“But I’m allowed to be sad about it now, right?” His voice was soft and hurt, always a little too human for any nation, let alone a superpower. Matt ran his fingers through his brother’s hair, trimmed too-soon by the optimism and confidence of a man who held on to more dreams that he could carry. He brushed a thumb gently over his older brother’s hot, salty cheek.

“Yes, you’re allowed to be sad about it now.”

[lauransoverthinking]

I have so many thought about Hondo Ohnaka.

And the way I often see fandom portray him - hilarious inept friend.

And the way he portrays himself - best friend of a certain Jedi master who is always willing to help, for a price.

And the heinous acts he is able to get away with because of this Jack Sparrow like representation.

When we see him in Rebels, it is a glowing representation of him as a scoundrel.

He loves the Jedi

He and Ezra are adorable together

He misses his Jedi best friend.

When we meet him in The Clone Wars, he’s hilarious, mostly harmless, and pretty helpful

Captures Dooku, Anakin, and Obi-wan with the goal to ransom them back to the Republic. Yay, the good guys!

Takes weapons to Onderon. Yay! Overthrow the separatist oppressors

Tries to steal kyber crystals from younglings - that’s not great, but no one got hurt and he definitely thought they could just get more. No harm, no foul?

Attempts to sell a teenage girl…. *insert record scratch here*

Everyone, and I mean everyone, loves to gloss over that last part. Fans, the entirety of the rest of canon, hell even the end of that arc, love to gloss over the fact that THAT MAN TRIED TO SELL AHSOKA.

Not ransom her back to the Republic, not sell her to the separatists.

No, he captured a teenage girl and was going to sell her to someone who specifically wanted to buy a female Jedi.

He told us this!

The truth is, I have my sights set on more nefarious criminals than I, a businessman who will pay handsomely for a Jedi.

A female Jedi at that.

This is the last arc of The Clone Wars he is in.

Later, in this exact episode, he tells us he killed an entire circus troupe because he didn’t like their act!

I would hate to be forced to cut off their heads like I did to your last act.

You remember those guys.

You are a brave man to come before me again.

Where is my Jedi?

I would hate for her to miss the show

which I'm hoping will be better than last time.

We learn so much about Hondo in this episode and it all seems to be telling us the same thing - don’t forget this guy is a bad guy. Like a very bad guy.

He seems to like Anakin and Obi-wan, so they don’t get the worst of him.

Ahsoka does not have that luxury. He is going to sell her to the highest bidder. The type of scum to say they don’t just want to say they own a Jedi, they want to own a female Jedi. We all saw the Zyggeria arc. We all know what he is talking about.

And what is worse is Obi-wan doesn’t even think anything like this is a possibility! Because he and Hondo are friends or something.

Obi-wan: We shall deal with Hondo on Florrum.

Youngling: Will Ahsoka be all right?

Obi-wan: Hondo would be even more of a fool than I think he is to hurt her.

Guess what General - HE IS GOING TO SELL HER!

And he would have continued to try if Grievous hadn’t shown up to ruin his plans.

He did not see the light and change from his murdering of circus troupe and selling sentient beings ways, a bigger bad showed up and he allied himself with the person he just tried to sell because she is a Jedi and still believed his life was worth saving.

And yet this saving his own skin behavior seems to have completely wiped the stain of tried to sell a whole person off of him. Because it’s adorable how he immediately cared for Katooni and that is all people seem to remember from that arc.

No, it isn’t adorable. At all. If Katooni had been a few years older he would have looked at her and seen profits too.

If Ahsoka hadn’t been so concussed from Grievous throwing her around, she would have mentioned the whole trying to sell her thing to someone.

And that would have been the end of the Obi-wan and Hondo friendship, because of, you know, the horrible behavior.

Anyways, TLDR - Never forget that everyone’s favorite pirate with a heart of gold Hondo Ohnaka tried to sell Ahsoka and was only thwarted because Grievous came to attack him instead.

I would have loved to see Ezra tell Ahsoka about his new bestie Hondo. Kanan is over there with his hand over his face thinking ‘I don’t know how to convince him this guy shouldn’t be trusted’ and suddenly Ahsoka solves the problem for him like ‘oh I know Hondo, yeah, he tried to sell me when I was 16 because it would be *airquotes* profitable’.

[sips-tea-cutely]

Dance with You Tonight

includes: ugly old people haters, gn!reader, the zubayr theater is woke af, no beta we die like kavehs dad

having cyno as your boyfriend is quite the bummer, having to always sleep alone while he scouts around the desert, searching for the latest wanted criminal, not to mention how hard it is to catch him in the morning as well! the only trace of his presence is the torn paper on the dining table

“Why did the sea sponge wake up early everyday?

To get the ‘moist’ out of everyday.

In case you didn’t understand— moist sounds like most. and sea sponges come from the ocean which makes it moist.

I’m quite sure I’ll be able to come back early for dinner, but if I don’t come, don’t wait up for me (that is if you aren’t gonna be busy practicing). I love you, dear

, Cyno”

it’s just surprising how cyno can come up with a new pun everyday. giggling at his note, you put it back on the table, before getting yourself ready and heading to the grand bazaar.

“mx. s/o, you’re here!” nilou spoke as she made her way towards you. “nilou! alright… are we going to continue our practice from where we stopped last night or from the start again?” you asked as you left your belongings with the prop masters. “oh! hmm.. let’s start from the top so that we don’t forget it” nilou concluded as she went into position.

the zubayr theater had been working on a performance honoring the late goddess of flowers, lesser lord kusanali’s dear friend from before the archon war. as the two main performers of the theater, the two of you were obviously the main choices to play them, nilou as lesser lord kusanali and you as the god(dess) of flowers.

practice had gone for hours into the night, both you and nilou dancing and acting with grace as co-performers, acting as other minor gods clapped and sang along to your dance of sabzeruz. even if it was acting, it hadn’t felt like it, the fun and cheer of your friends being as genuine as the beautiful purple hue of the padisarahs made by the crew.

from the floor, excited friends of the performers watched the practice; mr zubayr, inayah and her father, tighnari, and even cyno has snuck some time to get a sneak peak of your hard work!

it truly was wonderful. even though it was just a rehearsal, no costumes or backdrops, it already felt like he was back in time, thousands of years ago, spectating the birthday of buer; the way your legs spun you in circles, the way your hands flowed with the light spotlighting you, even the very way your hair cascaded and lightly followed your every spin and step took his breath away, as if the true god of flowers had resurrected and guided your body’s movements to create a breathtaking performance— actually not only him, the way your every move glided, kept the audience breathless, excited for the true performance tomorrow.

that is, until five men in akademiya uniform had found out about the performance. they stood beside the other people watching, almost all in their late twenties or early thirties, besides one being around the age of 46 or so. it seems they’re supporters of azar from during the experimentation “we’ve heard that your theater troupe is preparing a performance to honor lesser lord kusanali.” the ringleader said, his eyes glaring to meet every single person in the cast, his voice laced with mockery and judgement. “don’t you fools remember of how grand sage azar had banned performing arts? this is an illegal performance!” one of his goons yelled.

mr. zubayr has foreseen this and already stated his argument to the hecklers. “you idiot! do you seriously not remember the prohibition act?! it says— ‘all public performances in sumeru city are not allowed, guards are to immediately stop the performance and take them into custody.’” he recited word for word. he waited for mr. zubayr’s response before he had spotted cyno, pointing his finger at him “there! general mahamatra cyno knows every rule word for word! general, please shut this down right now.” the elder man kindly asked whilst smiling, thinking that he had won. “yes… you are right, although, i remember hearing from mr. sharif that intellectual performances were allowed, correct, sir?” he looked over to inayah’s father as he nodded in agreement.

“this performance is detailing the sabzeruz festival, the birthday of our archon— as well as the creation of the padisarah. history is intellectual in my opinion. in fact, isn’t the vahumana darshan dedicated to history and social sciences? which would mean that this performance could pass as intellectually-stimulating.” he sighed out.

“yes..! as the mahamatra said, the akademiya has its’ very own darshan for history, which is, in fact, what this play is about!” mr zubayr smugly agreed with cyno, he totally knew that, cyno just beat him to it y’know?

the scholars stood stunned, trying to find a new ground to argue with. “yes, well the act still stated that ALL public performances be banned. you can’t even say that it isn’t valid, because the acting grand sage hasn’t even thought to revoke that act!”

“that is true… why hasn’t alhaitham revoked that yet… anyways, none of the corps of thirty had actually seen it either since it was overridden by the information that the lesser lord had broken out of the sanctuary of surasthana, and it seems like they still don’t know even until the akasha had been turned off.” cyno replied, his patience running thin with how this know-it-all tried to debate with the general mahamatra, seriously… the five stood dumbfounded and embarrassed, the eldest’s face as red as fire. he whispered to the other four as they move back in the path to the akademiya, perhaps to find more rules to have the theater banned.

cyno pouted in annoyance as he walked towards the foot of the stage. “it’s already midnight, i think you all deserve a break, right? the zubayr theater works too hard…” he said as he shooed the members to grab and drink and go home. mr. zubayr tapped cyno by the shoulder. “mr. cyno, i’d like to thank you on behalf of the troupe… if it weren’t for your intervention, i fear those scholars would’ve stood corrected and try to close the theater like before…”

“sir, it wasn’t a problem, really…” his eyes downcast in thought. “the theater is a home to my friend and my partner, i’ve heard so many wonderful memories that happened here, it’d be a shame if all of that were to just go away.” he shrugged, cyno’s hands trying to grab you and bring you to the concrete “cyno, if i fall and get a head injury, i’m going to take away your casket of tombs” you jokingly threaten your boyfriend as he finally let go of your fingers, leaping down the stairs to meet him where he waited. mr. zubayr laughed at your childish threats with cyno. “even so, thank you, cyno for saving the theater” he nodded with gratefulness as he went to the stage to help contain the paper decorations in preparation for the performance tomorrow.

cyno intertwined his fingers with your’s before wrapping his arm around your waist to bring you closer as you started your walk home. “y’know, your dance was amazing awhile ago. i know you didn’t get to finish final rehearsal because of them… but it was still amazing, love. would you mind showing me the full dance it in all its’ glory later before we sleep?” he smirked as you laughed and shook your head no “my dear, i’m all danced out tonight, i can’t stand anymore!”

the oh-so scary general frowned in dismay “not even for me? after the note i wrote for you this morning too..?” he pouted satirically. “nope! if you wanna see it so bad, you have to buy a ticket~” you shrugged and grinned cheekily. cyno sighed sadily “shame… i would’ve danced with you tonight too.”

[auxiliarydetective]

Thanks so much for your ask @faerieroyal !!! As usual with my beloved Kit, you'll be getting answers for both 80s!Kit and movie!Kit, so buckle up!

1. Can your OC admit to mistakes or weaknesses? Can they accept help?

Oh boy, both of them are so bad at admitting to not being the best™.

80s!Kit might be a little better at admitting to mistakes of character. She'll at least admit to being "a little stubborn" or "slightly impulsive". However, she hates having to say that someone beat her in a fight or - even worse - she may have possibly been kidnapped and can't get out on her own, and she hates having to be rescued because she failed to protect herself. Hannibal gets to save her after he learned not to rub it in her face. B.A. gets to save her because she loves to see the look on her captors' faces when he stares them down. Murdock gets to save her because he has never rubbed it in her face and never will - he's trying to get her to understand that getting saved is okay. Face does not get to save her. It's supposed to be her saving him. He's her damsel in distress, not the other way around.

Movie!Kit, on the other hand, will admit to being physically weaker. He's strong, alright, but he's an acrobat, not a strongman. Too much muscle mass would get in the way of his flexibility and it would be too heavy. However, he is always right. That's a law and that's a fact. There's only one person that can make him admit that he was wrong, and that's Face, with his power to make Kit's brain and heart melt with his kisses. Hannibal, however, knows how to harness this power for himself.

6. Are they dramatic?

80s!Kit isn't very dramatic. She prefers staring people down or walking away - or punching them. If she gets injured, she's gonna play it off or ignore it, usually with less than optimal results.

Movie!Kit is SO dramatic, especially if in the presence of Murdock and/or Face. These three together are the kinds over people kidnappers would give back willingly if they had only two of them, let alone three. They'll call Hannibal to pick up his kids because they're sick of these clowns and their constant whining and chattering and joking around. Also, Kit sometimes dramatises his injuries if he wants to be carried. His precious acrobat's limbs need to be protected. Ever heard of fatigue fractures? Or maybe he pulled a muscle, who knows...

7. How would they prefer to die?

Both of them want to die young and quickly. As much as they love their found family and their life, they can't imagine growing old or settling down. However, "young" is a very vague term here, because they probably wouldn't mind getting close to Hannibal's age if they're still as healthy as him then. And they'll definitely take a slow and painful death if it means their loved ones will be saved.

8. What is guaranteed to make them angry?

Everything? No, it’s not that bad, but both variants of Kit are very hot-headed. Criminal offense #1 is hurting Face, #2 is hurting the rest of the team. But now for some variant-specific reasons:

80s!Kit gets especially mad if kids are in danger. She will beat anyone up who even dares threaten a kid.

Movie!Kit, being trans, definitely wages war on transphobia. Talking shit? You get hit. This extends to homophobia as well. If his opponent is lucky, Kit will leave it at summoning Face just to make out with him in front of the homophobe's face. Generally, anyone who shows any bias against people who are not cishet, male and white will be flattened, but he shows the least mercy when it comes to transphobia.

9. What do they get really petty about?

80s!Kit gets petty about her gender. "Are you a woman?" "No!" "Are you a man?" "No! I don’t identify as a man or woman. I might occasionally feel like it though. I'm both and neither. What's there not to understand?" "So you identify as genderless? How does that even work?" "No. Weren't you listening? If you don't stop being stupid, I'm gonna start identifying as a problem, fool!"

Movie!Kit is an acrobat, not a gymnast. Yes, he does gymnastics, fine, but he's an acrobat, because he's an artist, specifically a circus artist. Do not call him anything but an acrobat.

Thanks so much for the ask, Dolly, my beloved! It was really fun to talk about Kit again!

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Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene and my beloved A-Team girlie @datasgirlfriend - let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[intheshadowofwar]

25 June 2023

Consigned to the Deep

Gallipoli 25 June 2023

The battleships that made up Admiral John de Robeck’s fleet on the 18th of March 1915 weren’t really the apex of the British and French navies. Apart from the ultra-modern Queen Elizabeth, a ‘super-dreadnought’ with fifteen inch guns, and the battlecruiser Inflexible, the fleet was a bit like entering a fleet of VW Beetles into a V8 Supercars race at Bathurst. These old battlewagons - ‘pre-dreadnoughts,’ as they predated the revolutionary HMS Dreadnought which was faster, hardier and better armed then all that came before her - were elderly, almost geriatric in naval terms. The French Bouvet dated back to 1893.

Nevertheless, even old battleships can make a considerable impression when one has eighteen of them, and on that March day, de Robeck hoped to utilise his apparently superior firepower to blast the Turkish forts covering the ‘Narrows,’ while civilian ships swept the mines blocking his path. Once through the Dardanelles, he would be into the Sea of Mamara, with only the German-crewed battlecruiser Yavuz, formerly Goeben, between his fleet and the Bosphorous. They would place Constantinople under the guns and force the surrender of the Ottoman Empire.

It is this day that the Turkish people commemorate - not the 25th of April. Here, the Ottoman defenders in the forts and on the howitzers covering the Narrows stared down the might of the most powerful navies in the world and held them off. Precious battleships were badly damaged, as was Inflexible. Bouvet hit a mine and was lost with all but seventy-five of her crew. HMS Ocean, moving to assist, was struck by shellfire and further mines and had to be abandoned, as was HMS Irrestable. Far from an easy victory, the Naval Battle of the Dardanelles had become an expensive setback.

In truth, the British were breaking a key rule of naval warfare, one set down by Lord Nelson himself - ‘a ship’s a fool to fight a fort.’ You do not send your ship to fight a gunnery duel with fortifications - that is what your marines are for. Like everything else about this squalid campaign, the effort of the 18th of March was doomed. This does not invalidate the bravery of the Turks, nor does it denigrate their performance, particularly in quickly moving artillery to protect it from naval gunfire. It’s simply another example of the almost criminally haphazard planning of the operation.

This was a very longwinded way to tell you that I crossed the Narrows today, isn’t it?

The town of Canakkale sits on the Asian side of the Dardanelles - the Gallipoli Peninsula is on the European side, on that little bit of Turkey that borders Greece and Bulgaria. (This was actually important during the war - the entry of Bulgaria into the war on Germany’s side in October 1915 was one of the last nails in the coffin of the Gallipoli campaign, and troops were now sent to join the even more idiotic campaign at Salonika in Greece.) To get there from Gallipoli, one has to cross via car ferry, which gives excellent views of the landscape around the Narrows. If you listen carefully as you look at the preserved forts, you can hear Nelson rolling in his grave.

We reached the Asian side of the Dardanelles around 9.30 and drove a little way out of town to the (alleged) site of Troy. (I say ‘alleged’ of course because we don’t really know if this is actually, or if Troy actually existed. My theory is that Homer conflated a number of towns and conflicts into ‘Troy’ and ‘the Trojan War.’ Or he might have just been wrong - Homers aren’t known for being smart.) My verdict on the site? Well, there’s bricks. There’s holes. There’s bricks in holes. There was definitely a city here once, but most of what we can say about it is educated guesswork. So I looked at these bricks, I said ‘yep,’ and then I went to the cafe and had an ice cream. That was my adventure in Troy - my Troy Story, if you will.

(I’ve always preferred Woodyseus to Oddyseus anyway.)

We returned to Cannakkale and were unleashed upon the town for a few hours, so naturally I found a naval museum. This is based around an old fort that dates from the reign of Mehmet the Conquerer - the fifteenth century sultan who captured Constantinople and destroyed the last remnant of the Eastern Roman Empire. The grounds now serve as a staging post for an eclectic mix of naval and land artillery, mines, torpedoes and even the skeleton of a First World War German U-Boat, recovered from the deep. There’s also a fibreglass replica of the minesweeper Nusret, but quite alarmingly I couldn’t find it. I sincerely hope the museum remembered to tie it up, or it might be halfway to Malta by now.

Inside the keep is a Turkish museum about the Gallipoli campaign. It isn’t terribly modest, and I noted a few errors (a diorama of W Beach seems to be mislabelled as V Beach), but it didn’t strike me as too odd to see a museum in which ‘we’ are the bad guys. If one changed the word ‘martyred’ for ‘sacrified,’ and the word ‘Turkish’ for ‘Anzac,’ this could be a wing in an Australian museum. There was also a little more music than a comparable museum in Australia - at least for now, the last thing we want to do is give the AWM ideas. (I remember the First World War gallery having this sad song playing over the exit for a while - it was meant to be evocative, but all it really evoked was the sensation of having your eardrums blasted out any time you dared to go near the 1918 section. It was the equivalent of having Brendan Nelson smash you over the head with a shovel while screaming at you to feel ‘proud but sad.’)

We headed back to Gallipoli at around 4pm. I rested for a while. Maddi did not, as she and our professor reconnitered Rhododendron Ridge to test it’s viability for a group walk. We had meant to do Walker’s Ridge, but erosion in that area has become so great that it barely exists anymore, and walking it in any numbers would have been impossible. Rhododendron, the path the New Zealanders walked to Chunuk Bair, was the alternative, and the scout party found it workable. Maddi’s reward was to go right back to Chunuk Bair, join the group, and do it all again.

Our professor, I must add, is about sixty-seven years old. He has the energy of someone a tenth of his age. This leads to the absurd image of a mild-mannered bespectacled man with grey hair leaping and bounding over the most precarious ground ahead of a whole group of exhausted, sweaty twenty-somethings who can’t navigate a small bump in the track without slowing to a crawl. He would be standing on the narrowest, wildest part of the trail, motioning us forward as if we were strolling the Strand, and I’d be fifty meters back contemplating calling for a surgeon to saw off both my legs.

The walk, arduous though it was, was absolutely stunning, with amazing views of Monash Valley, the Nek, and out towards both Anzac Cove and Suvla Bay. It’s littered with the detritus of the campaign - we found a button from an Australian soldier’s tunic and a rum bottle buried in the ground. Both of these we left. Our professor is of the opinion that the relics found at Gallipoli should stay where they were found. I’m personally conflicted. I think some of this should be preserved so that they don’t simply rust away, but I’m also aware that - as Bean himself said - the whole of Gallipoli is one massive grave, and perhaps taking them to a museum could be considered grave-robbing. I suppose it depends on your morals.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention our scout here - Lance-Corporal Nigel, who journeyed with us all the way from Chunuk Bair to the sea.

We ended at the Embankment Cemetary, returned to the bus, and headed back to base. My feet hurt and I think I’ll be picking brambles out of my socks for days (even accounting for my wearing of cargo pants), but I’m very glad I did the walk. I think ordeal is often a part of visiting battlefields - if they could fight here, the least we can do is shed a little sweat. But my body yearns for a soft bed, and I can no longer deny it, so we’ll leave this for tonight here.

[solardick]

I don’t take care of mysekf anymore. I stoped. Back to veingbuncertain if i survive the 40th tear of veing fuckedcaround. Soend all day being fucke with by these asshole s nothing new been theough 39 of them already.

For my entire life purpose for being born is to have an entire fucken comunity of cunttards fucken with my existance. 39 years and counting and they only grow and multiply. Like rucken cockroaches.

There is ni reason why. Ist always been that way. Theres nothign to learn from it. Nothign to take abeay from it. Just to survive in a hostile worl of mind and sex raping funkinc twats.

Im fucken dome beeing supportive and helpful. It doesnt matter. My response to everyone noe is fuck off. All they domis talk about prejudice bs. Stabbing pleopl in the neck. Throwing shit at people. Sayign nothign hut derogatory bs. Joke about suicide. Bash blackpeople. Criminal empire bs. Sexual derogitories. Bashing stupid people. Riding in being assholes. Drug dealers. Queers.lowlife cocksuvkery. Every fuckeing day.

And every kindness has an ulterior motive. The day i meet a fag or another persom that doesnt fuck with me or whom isn’t a hedonist. That be the day. Im just waiting in the grand fucken finaly again. Maybe it’ll kill

This time. I expect the crows will let me know just before it happens. They always do. It’s never a full impact it gets cushioned alitle.

Time to go “hang” out woth degenerate motivationlists. Raised by them fucked by them. Thats life. Thats all ive ever known. Look at the outcome. They jsut breed and multiply. Go russia.

Biden gives the ok to hit russia with us missiles. Ou my god. Im excited. Is theres a war coming? No, limit tarde with china. China creating stringers ties eith russia. Qomde rif any of thisnis true.

Like how my name means friend in russian with an added KG. And incan pronounce properly with a ruasian accent. Isnt stead

Of a past tense verb of an indefinite article.

… uhm. Well thats what happens. Rewarded today with good things. Must be saying something right.

Some changes need to be made, to the qwerty tarot deck. Namely. Switching in Waite’s strength as harmony card in position to the lovers card. nd in its place i was thinking my Гv card. I doubt i am capable of recreating an entirely new tarot based of the jcuzen type. But things are coming to mind. And having two system aids greatly. My comparison and feed back looping. Why oh why have Waite’s strenght as harmony card on letter N. N is for negation. It would work though if the moon card, as it is, was brought into the picture. Because nobody likes the moon card. And one of the things that came to mind were letters Ч, Ш & Щ. In relation to the star, the moon and, the sun. Doesn’t that flow nicely together? Ch, Sh, and Shsh.

If princess yokaterina comes in from the petulant fool carrying a crown to the hierophant and it leads to strength as harmony. That well thats fantastic. The negative feminine gets killed and she embraces the king. Victory for

The chariot. Though i also found it curios how her family seal has a black horse on one side and a white horse on the other. In between is the classical medieval shield emblem. Victory.

Wonder if thats true. For it obviously resembles the russian emblem as if, it were derived from it. The two little dots ontop of the E. Being a crown. And one gets a sense of the motivations. Add the fleur de lys at its center. Save that if it’s not been meticulously fabricated. Though with the russian emblem by comparison and saint George well then it speaks of a highly depicted respectful view of the feminine and support for them. Compared to the western bs of feminist activists proves that point valid even if its only conjectural. Save that the colour of the horses aren’t the same in every coat of arms. Where both are white.

Now comes a correction of the petulant E card coming from the empress. Again waite’s fool card is traveling in the wrong direction. Moving west instead of east. In this regard his fool should be the petulant one. Walking off the edge of existence. The one commonly adopted by women. I get the pun. But it just evokes that sly cockskrs crooked smile of superiority over others. Not very enlightening. Considering theres a sun there that he’s staring at. Like fallowing the sun is a bad thing. While giving N to justice. And having the dog being interpreted as his little helper. And not trying to stop him. 🙄 that deserves the emoticon. But having a petulant fool walkign away from the empress just shows incompetent womanhood at raising their child to be man handled by the emperor. Get rid of the cliff and flip the fool to the other direction and interpreted the dog as a helper. And there you go. The proper fool. As he’s supposed to be depicted.

How else does the lover(s) card make any sense in its position. Marriage happens by the hand of the church. Both oath and loyalty. Why is there nothing in between of the empress and the emperor? 5 would be a suitable place for the lovers card too. But here is found the petulant fool. Being number as the start of the emperor. While the princess card being numbered at the start of the hierophant. It gets all muddled and confusing here. And numbers fuck everything up.

Perhaps the E fool should be the only numbered card here while Ë remains unnumbered. But symbolized by letters instead. It flows nicely with the high-priestess holding the law of the alphabets. And promotes, subconsciously or by will for the feminine to use her wits to reach the high rulership of the hierophant. Just to muse and the issues of the deck.

For if she were to be numbered she would be walking west and E would be walking east. She’s a dishelved mess he’s a dishelved mess they meet and the summof the numbers equals the tower. Being on opposite sides of the same card gives choice to the querent. This way they are both found in between the empress and the emperor. Amd on the far side theres the “magician” and the lovers. This way it works using linearly and … crap… Centripetally.

In the 1984 film gremlins starts of the protagonist scene of a “boy” running past a movie theater with a dog fallowing closely behind him. Heading “west”. On the sign of the movie theatre, theres a large red letter E. In the words “A boys life Watch thE skies.

This gives another argument worth typing about. And when on his journey it opens the scene of the coming protagonist lady. In which case is introduced a antagonist head of bank. A miserable wretched woman walking up with a head with burger king written behind her.

But on current script theme of film. Was I.S.S. Being fallowed by civil war. Which means im tight on script too. Fun fun.

A fun channel. https://youtu.be/RAbVqKSRNSM?si=A5WCFuEGzwJ4V9Sd

😂🫰🏼

But, im just here born for no other purpose than being fucked. With this as my mentality. True disposition as it always, and always tried to be. Manipulated and beaten into a delinquent wreck for purposes of “teaching” me a lesson or, the fuck if i know. Did i already say that i didnt want to be alive anymore.?

And look this film was completely absent in any dissemination to me. Went into production at the same time i started casually looking at the cards in 2022 and only reached me now. https://youtu.be/bvDArsKoTOE?si=tOuvaRuOIWzrFpOY

The horrorscope. Don’t want to watch. Dont like horror movies. But, yup. Its great living in perfect conjunction to media. If you didnt pick up the sarcasm. Atleast it doesnt have my adress and innitials in it though like other films.

Use my cards instead. They’re better. Maybe they’ll become the script to neo mainstream bs. Im already popular. And always had a vague big dream of immortality. Porbably brainwashed dream. But such is life as ita always been. Everything revolves around me. Becaus ethis isnt reality its a torture chamber for sadists. Too old for a family now anyway. Ill be retiring and still have some little assholes running around fucken my peace. Not that inknow what peace and secirity are in the pressence of other people. Wonder what thats like. Nwver experiences it before. Always gotten punished way over the top from what i actually deserved.

Well that re-watch in the background of gremlins is over. Queer 80’s bs. Take the moon card and put gizmo and mohack in it. With the little drop of water falling from the moon. The gremlins remind sme of most of the people i grew up around. Hedonists, drunks, druggies, crossdressers, pinks and mischievous freaks. All wispering bs in my ear. And all written from the tarot script. In conjunction to neptune on christmass sextĩling pluto. Because sextiling isnt a verb word, have to make up a punctuation mark. And now it can be pronounced properly.

So as it is the 6 and 7th letters of the russian alphabet. The E and Ë together. Becomes. 13. The death card by tarot. Or the Wheel card by english. The crap about. Though it had it all backyards. As w stands for the moon. And m stands for thee wheel. The wheel being a solar thing. And the moon being a moon thing. Asides the fact that W starts the woman and M starts the man. Theres a reversal that plays it bs. Tarots sucks. the english E is number 5 and the russian E ia number 6 add them together. And we have the justice card. Or the lovers card. Number 11. Or imaginary card EE. Being combined with the infinity symbol of intertwining. The russian E is on the emperor and the Ë is on the hierophant which ranks above the emperor. Though by comparison the russian letter Л (L) for love as written as Lyubo(v’f’) is the 13th letter of that cyrilic alphabet. Curious no? As sex is also called the petit-mort in french french. But not so much in degerenate french of local Quebecers which seems to be a hall mark of the english speaking world.

Though for russian looking at english. Its different. Letter Ë isn’t a diaeresis. It’s a separate letter not to be mistaken, they wouldn’t pronounce the diphthong, prolonged E. Or E\E. Though the homoglyphic nature of it’s form. Shows a strong similarity between two objects. While still showing obvious separation. The same applies for man and woman. To “wo” or the russian yo. Shows that gender clash isn’t as relevant to the everyday after this letter was formally instituted in the alphabet. Considering it’s take extra steps thus becoming a hassle to type this letter shows that with the ease function, it is learned that its importance is not too significant. And life can be understood without capitalizing the differentiation.

That said. There are still strong gramatical gender differention throughout the rest of the language. Where the sex is signified. Just not in the single lettered alphabet type set.

Of course most peoples opinions aren’t even their own. But socially engineered for political goals and civiland national ambitions.

For example for the tarot alphabet system which isn’t taught. At least not to me. Is the letters NHИ. Where the negation of letter N. is placed over the H of the lovers card and the propaganda that Russians are villains, aggressive and spies. Isn’t very well questioned. As they have always been depicted in media. And taken at face value to those whom have no association to them. There are steps taken to limits these associations at moment in the face of this so called foreign war. Which is none of our proper business and doesn’t affect the state to any staggering degree. That people are just people. And one individual isn’t to be blamed for the actions of another. Yet at the same time glorifies single individuals out. As a scapegoat. Hitler, bin laden, trump, &. That fact remains its still a collective effort. And a time posted stamp of a historical prelude.

The same applies to jesus. The minor differentiation between jesus being god and jesus being the son of god makes for a big deference. As people need some thing more tangible and recognizable to give “personal”’significance to. Which is why jesus is a person. And not an unfathomable….. thing? This is a teaching from the hindu gurus. And i will not pray to a personable jesus. As a middle man to god. Nor blame a single person for the actions of a nation.

It would be best to recreate an entirely new tarot based of the old system to an entirely new alphabet. And the russian system devoid of any pictograms is more accurate than english.

Considering i grew out of an prejudiced, sexist, racist psychotic family structure and have to pay as their scapegoat. On the larger picture of things. Is my motivation. I suppose. Though with a learning disability form 30 uears of pot smoking only to quit and have it legalized two-years later. Doesnt sit well for me. The degeneration of mankind is only growing stronger and things need to change. Ans so far russia is the only one making a name for themselves on this regard.

Ive met trudo’s wife. Shook her i hand, i think. Nice lady at dame value.

The problematical flip side of all positive attempts of growth being sabotaged.

[xtruss]

Is This the End of War Criminal, Terrorist and Zionist C*** Bibi?

Satan-yahu’s coalition of zealots, the resistance in the streets, and the Israeli Kulturkampf.

— By David Remnick | July 22, 2023

‘War Criminal, Terrorist and Zionist C*** Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’ and his cynicism, deceptions, and ethical gymnastics have never really fooled anyone.Photograph by Gil Cohen-Magen/Getty

War Criminal, Terrorist and Zionist C*** Benjamin Netanyahu has been Prime Minister of Israel longer than anyone in the history of the state, longer than F.D.R. was President of the United States. And yet, for all his electoral success, he has always been a known quantity. Twenty-five years ago, during Netanyahu’s first term, I spoke with his predecessor and fellow Likud member Yitzhak Shamir. “Bibi?” Shamir said. “He is not a very trustworthy man.” He added, “I don’t believe he believes in anything. He has a huge ego. People don’t like such people. I don’t like him.” Not long after, I spoke with Shimon Peres, the Labor Party leader who had lost to Netanyahu in 1996. Peres was furious with Netanyahu’s determination to undermine the Oslo peace accords with the Palestinians. His general assessment of Netanyahu’s amoralism and cynicism was much like Shamir’s. “Netanyahu’s only consideration is his own coalition,” Peres said. “He’s always worried about losing power—that is always his first priority.”

On the same reporting trip to Jerusalem, I discovered that the cliché is true: No man is a hero to his director of communications and policy planning. David Bar-Illan, a former concert pianist and editor of the Jerusalem Post, was without illusions about Netanyahu even as he pledged abiding loyalty to him. When I asked Bar-Illan how Netanyahu won the ultra-Orthodox vote despite his rigorously secular life style, Bar-Illan said, “Finessing his being secular was nothing compared to other things, like adultery. One thing is to have an affair with a shiksa—but a married woman! With a shiksa, even the rebbes do it. But a married woman! Now Bibi’ll go to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, maybe he’s gone to the Western Wall, or he’ll say the phrase ‘With God’s help.’ But he’s not fooling anyone.”

When Bar-Illan’s remarks were published in The New Yorker and then in the Israeli press, Netanyahu was incensed. He barred his spinmeister from his plane and his next trip to Washington. Bar-Illan, who died in 2003, panicked and not only denied that he’d said those things to me but he also told Israeli television that he had never even met me. (This forced me to go on Israeli TV to display the copy of his book “Eye on the Media,” which he had inscribed, “To David from David, With admiration and best wishes.”)

The point is, Netanyahu has never really fooled anyone. He didn’t fool his fellow-politicians or various American Presidents, who knew him to be a liar and an opportunist. He was not fooling the Mizrahim, who obviously knew that he came from an Ashkenazic background. Nor has he fooled the ultra-Orthodox, who have always known that he followed the rules of fidelity and kashruth with equal attention. Netanyahu’s cynicism, deceptions, and ethical gymnastics are no more shocking to his Israeli supporters than Trump’s similar qualities are to his immense base. He won so long as he could deliver for his constituents.

And now this generation-long drama, the Netanyahu era, has reached its dispiriting resolution. Netanyahu has pursued his aim to cling to power at all costs. Facing criminal charges, he has made common cause with a cabinet of messianic authoritarians and bigots who are righteously determined to hack away at judicial independence, freedom of the press, minority rights, protest and opposition politics, and democracy itself. Next week, the Knesset is poised to get rid of the so-called reasonableness clause, a stricture borrowed from British tradition which allows the Supreme Court to strike down actions of the legislature. Such a move, in a state with no constitution, would undermine what modest balance of powers exists in Israeli political life. Avichai Mandelblit, a former Attorney General, warned recently that, if Netanyahu fails to restrain his coalition, Israel is in the process of turning into a “borderline dictatorial state.”

The government’s ability to act without judicial restraint is only one item on an illiberal menu that also includes efforts to restrict media outlets that are deemed excessively critical and to enshrine as a right the ultra-Orthodox community’s exemption from military conscription. In its contempt for the rule of law, the balance of powers, immigration, and ethnic and sexual minorities, the ruling coalition is in synch with intolerant governments and parties around the world; it is, in fact, a harbinger of Trump 2.0. Netanyahu, who can count, sees that the most religious citizens of his country procreate at a high rate, and he has staked his future with them. As Celeste Marcus writes in the latest issue of the journal Liberties, “Netanyahu, who has for decades projected the image of Israel’s protector, has allied with people who insist the study of Torah provides Israel with as much security as the army does, and therefore shirk mandatory conscription. His cynicism is bottomless.”

For years, left-leaning parties and constituencies in Israel have been dispirited and weak. The settlers of the West Bank have not only increased in their numbers and led the resistance to their territorial dominion but they have also helped shape the political rhetoric and character of the state. The Palestinian issue is rarely spoken of—as if the people of Gaza and the West Bank will somehow do Israel the favor of disappearing—and Arab citizens of Israel are too often regarded, by the right wing, as less than citizens. And because so much of the rest of the world, the United States very much included, is immersed in the very same drama of right-wing populism, only modest attention is paid.

But, as grim as the outlook has been, the defeatism among those who oppose the right-wing coalition government in Israel has come to an end. There is a Kulturkampf in Israel but it is hardly a rout, a settled matter. For the past twenty-eight weeks, infuriated by the coalition government’s “judicial overhaul,” hundreds of thousands of Israelis have marched at one dramatic protest after another. It is a sustained act of resistance, an inspiring reassertion of democratic values. These demonstrations have taken place in cities both secular and religious. The protests draw from all occupations and have immobilized city centers and highways. Protesters fearing that the judicial reform will strip women of civil rights sometimes dress in the red robes of “The Handmaid’s Tale.” Arnon Bar-David, the head of the Histadrut, the national labor union, has suggested the possibility of a general strike, saying, “If the situation reaches an extreme, we will intervene and employ our strength.” The Israel Medical Association, which represents nearly all of the country’s doctors, voted to “employ all available means” if necessary to head off the judicial reform. Leading figures in the tech industry have threatened to leave the country. Most dramatic, perhaps, hundreds of Air Force reserve pilots signed on to a petition of protest, and there is now a question of whether they will serve if ordered.

Netanyahu knows that, if he dares to forestall the legislation, ministers in his coalition will rebel. And where will that leave someone who values power above all? Anshel Pfeffer, a leading Israeli journalist and the author of “Bibi: The Turbulent Life and Times of Benjamin Netanyahu,” told me that no Prime Minister in the history of Israel has ever been in a weaker situation. “In seventy-five years, there has never been a question of the military’s loyalty or any kind of mass disobedience. Smaller things, but not this,” he said. “We’ve gone from the idea of Bibi being the longest-serving Prime Minister to the weakest P.M. ever! And, for him, it just doesn’t compute. He can’t grasp what’s happening to him. For him, it is like those nightmares that you are driving a car, but when you press the brakes or turn the wheel nothing happens. The car doesn’t respond.” Netanyahu “lives in a bubble and thinks, How can they not be listening to me?,” Pfeffer went on. “He has this crazy, mistaken idea that the tech miracle was his doing. And he thinks, I made these guys rich! Before, we only sold oranges. He thinks, How could they join the protests or move abroad?”

Netanyahu has criticized members of the armed forces who have broken with the government, but some leading reservists have insisted publicly they have the right to stop their voluntary service as a protest against a danger to the state. According to the Times, Brigadier General Ofer Lapidot, a reservist who was among those who stepped down, told Channel 11, “What is worse? The destruction of the country? Or the strengthening of an army that will be serving an illegitimate government—legal but not legitimate—that is bringing us all to a dictatorship and will soon give us illegal orders?”

Some signs at the weekly protests read “President Biden, Help Us Please.” For his part, Biden spent much of this week sending Netanyahu clear signals that the Prime Minister is endangering the stability of his own country and his future relations with the United States. Aluf Benn, the editor of the liberal daily Haaretz, wrote that those signals “can be summed up as a demand to replace the coalition,” to dump fanatics like Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir “and replace them with Benny Gantz,” a retired general and alternate Prime Minister from 2020 to 2021. Leading Israeli politicians say that Biden is a longtime friend of Israel, and they worry that younger Democratic politicians don’t share that affection. Biden has made it clear that his Administration wants to see a series of serious policy changes, including a halt to the judicial legislation until there is a broader national consensus on its details; a freeze on construction in the settlements; the strengthening of the Palestinian Authority; and total coördination of military activity regarding Iran.

“It’s impossible to fulfill even a single item on this list with Netanyahu’s present coalition,” Benn wrote. “The only person with the power to pull the emergency cord and stop the train of destruction being led by Netanyahu, before it destroys the country, is Benny Gantz. . . . The time has come for him to offer himself as the national savior, the one who prevents the destruction of the army and the economy moments before a civil war. . . . Israel won’t return to the imaginary ideal portrayed in the army entertainment troupe songs beloved by Gantz, but the bleeding will be stanched.” Such a shift, the replacement of the leading zealots in the coalition government with a retired general and a relative centrist, will hardly represent a revolution in Israel, but even that measure of sanity and reconciliation may be beyond the impoverished political imagination of Benjamin Netanyahu. ♦

[unfinishedessays]

Record high temperature set three years ago topped by a degree and a half.  Wildfires in the arctic circle.  Catastrophic storms the planet over.  Climate change is here; we lost. 

For years the climate scientists have been setting a 1.5°C global temperature increase as the hard limit.  The ‘stay under this to avoid global catastrophy’ limit.  The ‘avoid this like the lives of your children and grandchildren depend on it’ limit.  We’re currently at 1.0°C and steadily climbing, and somehow we still give time and thought to those saying it’s not real.  The ones making the important choices and contributions still waffle and debate and make token gestures.

According to the experts the conservative estimate, the good news estimate, has us over 1.5 degrees within the decade and ending up between 2.4 and 3 degrees if we take major steps now.  These major steps not being global revolution and world changing but ten-year plans to reduce emissions by 50% or switch to electric cars or make the other slow grinding changes we’ve been fighting for for 50 years.  You know those 10 and 20 year plans they make and agreements they sign and empty political promises we get which at best end up 10 years behind schedule with a significantly reduced goal and the constant fight from those making money off those making money off the death of our planet.

So maybe all those things will happen and we’ll land happily in a planet a full degree above the hard limit the climate scientists gave us.  Or maybe conservative good news estimates are great to make us think there’s hope but fool me once, twice, twenty times shame on me.  We’re fucked.  These goals and targets won’t get hit.  They never have before. 

We can look at what it looks like in the worst case scenario, but we don’t even need to.  That 2.5°C good news target is bleak.  It’s wildfires, tornados, hurricanes, droughts, rising sea levels, food shortages, heat-related deaths, building collapses, disease, mass migration, civil unrest, wars.  That’s what the experts say.  If you don’t believe in climate change, I’m sorry you’ve been brainwashed by the massive propaganda effort and I’m impressed you made it this far.  Keep going, I believe in you.  If you do believe in climate change, this is really fucking depressing but also what you need to hear.  Burying your head in the sand and ignoring the sad reality doesn’t make it less real.  But depression doesn’t generate clicks so the news always shies away from it.  We’re fucked.  Acknowledge it. 

All the news articles end the same way.  How can you help?  Buy an electric car, eat less meat, take less flights.  Because one or a million or a billion each making a tiny change can outdo the massive industrial complexes poisoning our atmosphere.  Call your representative, use your vote effectively.   Because that’s worked great for the last 50 years of determined stagnation, but maybe now we’ll get through to them. 

The question that’s always asked then ‘answered’ is how can you help slow it down?  How can you fight back?  But that’s the wrong question to be asking because we’ve already found out the answer, basically, is ‘you can’t; it’s happening’. 

So now what.  What’s the next question?  I propose three:

What form of government/society can exist sustainably in concert with the environment, climate, and biome?

How can the current government/society mitigate the various aspects of the coming disaster?

How can an individual ensure the survival of themselves and their loved ones?

These are clearly complex questions and any reasonable answers will be even more so.  Nevertheless, here are the criminally shortened versions of my best answers. 

First, the ideal of endless growth must end.  It is fundamentally unsustainable for reasons which should be immediately obvious.  Second, the culture should be refocused from fundamental human supremacy to one of fundamental human integration.  We’re part of the ecosystem whether we like it or not, and we should build our society with that understanding in mind. How us humans should structure our government is not a question I’m fit to answer, but stay tuned for further writings on building a multi-species culture.

First, do all those ‘fighting climate change’ things we keep arguing about: invest in renewables, encourage biking and public transit, etc., etc..  Second, be prepared to help: invest in disaster management, invest in infrastructure both physical (dams, trains, water pipes) and social (welfare, food assistance, homeless shelters). Third, build better habits: encourage small scale agriculture like community gardens and backyard chickens, build and plan for small walkable communities,

First, consider where you live.  Is your area prone to earthquakes, wildfire, hurricanes, floods, etc.?  Can you move?  If you can, consider it.  If not, be realistic about what’s coming and be prepared.  Second, start doing things yourself: learn to grow/hunt/find your food, learn to repair your tools/machines/engines, if you want electricity get a solar panel or windmill and know how to repair it. 

Those are the short versions.  I will approach the long versions now, in reverse order. 

How can an individual ensure the survival of themselves and their loved ones?

Obviously you can’t ensure it, but just as obviously you can improve your chances.  First off, everyone whose first answer is ‘build a bunker’ or ‘hoard guns’ is wrong.  These might help in a war, they will not help now.  Let’s start by looking at the list of what to expect from above.

Wildfires, tornados, hurricanes, droughts, rising sea levels, food shortages, heat-related death, building collapses, disease, mass migration, civil unrest, wars

These fall into 3 categories:

direct environmental effects, such as wildfires, droughts, rising sea levels

first order effects, caused by direct environmental effects, such as food shortages, heat-related deaths, building collapses

higher order effects, such as mass migration, civil unrest, wars

[effloradox]

it must be exhausting (always rooting for the anti-hero)

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

(a/n: didn’t expect to finish hotd was an obsession with this war criminal but here we are <3)

If you were to ask anyone in King's Landing, they would say that to catch the eye of the one-eyed Prince was a very dangerous situation to find yourself in. His gaze falls heavily on many and you wouldn't find a shortage of people praying to the Seven for mercy on your behalf if he felt you'd slighted him or his family.

It's hard to feel like that about him when his hand is placed against the small of your back as he leads you into a dance. You've never felt particularly at home in the Red Keep but with the adoration heavy in his gaze, you know that you're safe as long as you're with him. Only a fool would knowingly dare to offend him or the person who’s captured his attention.

You've had what you could only describe as a guard dog keeping an eye on you since you arrived at the Red Keep to be a handmaid for Princess Helaena. He once told you that from the moment he laid eyes on you as a boy he knew it was you he was going to marry. You were there when he lost his eye, and you watched the young boy who got bullied for not having a dragon shift into a cunning man with the power of the biggest dragon behind him.

He's a man of few passions, crafted by the Queen in a way that she failed with his older brother. Duty has always been at the forefront of his mind, and a need to uphold the honour of the crown where his brother doesn't feel the need to do so. It's of no surprise that if something were to take his fancy, it would quickly become apparent that it would easily grow into an obsession. His dragon, and swordsmanship were his more obvious priorities, but it’s a badly kept secret that his head was turned by someone in the Keep.

His marriage, whilst still an important match, is less of a priority than that of the Crown Prince, so when he informs the Queen that he intends to marry you, the minor war of attrition that begins lasts only for a few months. Alicent Hightower has never cared for anyone who would affect her future plans for her children, but she knows her son. She knows his mind better than any of her other children, and understands her son's obsessions and has long since stopped trying to sway his judgement. Whilst she can’t say for certain why her son has chosen you, she’s aware that if she were to try and divert his mind it might alienate the son that has the most potential to do the crown justice and so she decides it’s not a fight worth having. It’s not necessarily her blessing that you receive, but an acknowledgment that her son’s mind won’t be swayed from you.

You're aware he would kill for you. It's never been something you've doubted, that were someone to slight or wrong you, it would be incredibly easy for him to make them disappear. He's a Prince, and an excellent strategist; and dragons can lose their temper at the slightest thing. If word circulates around the servants of the Keep about you and it’s anything less than positive, you might just find that the person who started the rumour just so happens to disappear without a trace. If you were to ask, he would admit it to you in the quiet of your shared nights, but you don’t see the point in making him state the obvious. You accepted what he was a long time ago. After all, everyone loves an antihero, don’t they?

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Thirteen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Thirteen Summary: Lori gets to know Geralt.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Thirteen Warnings: slight angst, some fluff, discussion of illegal activities (I guess) and perving on Geralt.

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

I am so so so sorry about the delay and thank you all for waiting patiently. I know this is a bit of a slow burn as well, but like most of my stories these days, the smut requires a long build up... I hope you think it will be worth it when it finally cums (ha!).

This chapter and the next will be from Lori's POV. I wrote too much and had to split it into two parts. I think that matters more to me than to anyone else. But I should then be back on track for alternating POVs.

I apologise again for the long delay and I hope you enjoy this part.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (Probably a lot in this chapter, I apologise)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Twelve Part Fourteen

Lori 

My mind swarmed with thoughts that stung the deepest parts of my heart. I should never have slept with Sy; I knew he would pull me back into a life I had told myself I would never go back to. I stupidly allowed myself to develop feelings for the very type of men who would set me hurtling straight down that path. How could I have ever thought the Brothers were different? Underneath the veneer of attractive looks and pretty words, the Brothers were just like the men Nate had surrounded himself with. I had been a fool to expect anything else from them.

However, I could not deny that despite everything, it felt right being with Sy, I felt safe in Marshall’s arms, and even Mike’s sweetly hesitant kiss had made my heart skip a beat. What I had felt with the Brothers was real, it had to be. It didn’t make sense otherwise. If all they had wanted was quick fuck, surely they would not have been so respectful. I know how these things go, they would have got me drunk and taken advantage of me at the first opportunity.

Frustratingly, I could not make heads or tails of the situation. I tried to put it out of my head and for a while I tried to read the book I took from Marshall, but the words seemed to swim on the page. 

Eventually I gave up and headed to the kitchen to find something to eat. Hopefully the Brothers had something in their fridge other than beer. I prayed for some ice-cream, some cookie dough or even a tub of frozen yoghurt; anything sickly sweet that I could stuff myself with while I lost myself in some reality television.

Putting on my last pair of jeans, I folded Sy’s shirt and slipped it under my pillow; I didn’t want it to get dirty and have to wash what little of Sy’s smell was left on it. Even as I had the thought, I realised how pathetic it was to have so hastily attached myself to Sy. Then just as quickly, I remembered my conversation with Walter and my empty stomach churned on itself.

Don’t think about it.

The only clean shirt I had left was my pyjama tank top. It was a little tight and was probably a bit provocative considering I wasn’t wearing a bra, but it would have to do.

I took the rest of my washing to the laundry, going through the kitchen, hoping it was empty.

It wasn’t. 

Geralt was cleaning up the dishes from breakfast. He was imposing in his black jeans and t-shirt, even whilst doing something as mundane and domestic as stacking a dishwasher. He lifted his gaze and my knees felt weak as his nearly yellow coloured eyes caught mine. He nodded as I rushed past him and quickly dumped my clothes into the wash.

“Hungry?” he asked as I came back into the kitchen.

“Yes,” I managed to croak out.

“What do you normally have for breakfast?”

“Coffee and either cereal or eggs.”

“Sit,” Geralt said in his gravelly tone. “There’s some scrambled eggs left over, I can heat them up in the microwave.”

“That’s ok, I can do it.”

“I insist,” Geralt said, his smile widening. “You’re our guest. I’ll make you a coffee too.”

I sat on a barstool at the island bench and watched as Geralt moved around the kitchen with more ease than I would have expected.

The Brothers had some luxurious appliances, much more than the basic stuff at the clubhouse at home. I wanted to ask him about it, but I still hadn’t gotten my thoughts straight in my mind. Geralt was part of this pact, though he’d hardly said more than five words to me. Watching him now, I struggled to believe it. He wasn’t giving me any signs that he was interested in me beyond being courteous.

He worked in silence, passing me the warmed eggs while the coffee brewed. He made two coffees and sat next to me.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He hummed and didn’t say anything further while I ate. But I felt his eyes on me while I kept mine firmly fixed on my plate. The eggs were good - probably cooked in butter from the taste - but Geralt’s presence and silence continued to the point where I started to feel uncomfortable.

“Do you guys do your own cleaning?” I asked just to avoid the awkwardness.

“We have cleaners come in once a week, but we do the day-to-day cleaning ourselves.”

Because I couldn’t think of anything else to say I asked, “When are they coming in next?”

“They won’t while you’re here, sweetling. Too risky.”

I frowned. My brother’s club had one of the senior members ex wives come in to do cleaning and cooking each day. The club pays her, but they also have the Probies do a lot of the cleaning up, especially after parties and such. I told Geralt that.

“We’re a small club, we don’t have the types of parties most clubs have and we don’t accept Probies. The only way to probation is by invitation. In five years, Mike’s been the only one we’ve asked.”

“Why? I mean, more members means more strength and more income streams.” 

“We don’t operate like most clubs. Yes, our work isn’t exactly legal, but we don’t run drugs, we don’t operate brothels or get involved in protection rackets and we have no interest in gambling or black market trade of weapons or animals. We advise and consult, make introductions and offer protection. We help set up routes and transportation for drugs, weapons and other such goods, but we never assist with people trafficking or animal smuggling. We keep a low profile, always acting in the background. We charge a fee and don’t take cuts of profits so there is less of a money trail to follow back to us. We work with any club who wants to hire us, and we don’t get involved in turf wars. We have specific skills and come from a background similar to the original biker gangs that cropped up after WW2.”

“So, you were in the army too?”

“No. I was a freelancer who worked for the government.”

“So Sy was Special Forces, Marshall a detective, and you were a mercenary?”

“That sums it up.”

“What about Walker?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

I huffed. “Fat chance, he hates me.”

Geralt chuckled. “I can assure you he does not, Sweetling.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How do you…” I started but then quickly asked instead, “how did you guys get together?”

Geralt took my finished plate to the sink, rinsed it off and put it in the dishwasher. He stood across the kitchen island from me, one hand on the counter as he finished his coffee. He seemed to be appraising me.

Eventually he spoke again, “I think you should ask Walker about that too.”

“Oh.” I finished my coffee and Geralt held out his hand. I passed my empty mug to him, and he put it in the dishwasher before turning it on.

Geralt stayed on the other side of the island and leaned against the sink, his head slightly tilted as if deep in thought. He was still, unmoving as he stared at me, so I stared back at him.

Like all the Brothers, he was annoyingly attractive, but he also seemed to be a relic, a biker from an era that had long since passed. The leather pants he wore while riding were black jeans today but he was still clad in the same slightly billowy black shirt. His hair was out today, the top half pulled back and held off his face by what looked to be a leather string. Even his tattoos were faded and an older style. Once colourful wolves, dragons, moons and stars covered the skin on his arms where his sleeves were rolled back.

After what felt like minutes of us studying each other, I got frustrated and stood up.

“What are your plans for today?” Geralt asked immediately.

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll go back to my room. Probably more exciting than being gawked at.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable when I look at you?”

“Looking is one thing. Staring is another. I don’t know why you’re staring.” 

“You’re nice to look at.” Geralt said matter of factly.

I felt my face heating up as his lips curved slightly and the skin around his amber eyes creased.

Geralt ignored my blush and said, “I’m working on a panhead today, a custom job. I’ll be in the workshop if you want to join me.”

“What are you doing to her?” I asked, my interest piqued.

“Her?” Geralt chuckled. “You really did grow up around bikes. I’m installing new brakes and lines.”

I gnawed on my lip as I considered Geralt's offer. I got the impression he didn’t laugh very often. He smirked and grinned a lot, but I had rarely heard him actually laugh. While I still wasn’t over the fact that the Brothers had some sort of agreement between themselves about me, what else did I have to do?

“I have to put my clothes in the dryer first,” I said, eventually. “I’ll meet you there.”

Geralt hummed, seemingly pleased. Then, using his hip, he pushed himself upright and nodded towards me as he left the kitchen with a satisfied grin on his face.

After loading the dryer with my clothes, I was just opening the door to the yard when Mike called out to me.

“Babycakes, wait up!” He came jogging up to me with a big grin on his face and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “G says you’re going to hang out in the shop for a while.” 

“Yeah, I am,” I said, a little coldly. 

“Well, after that, why don’t you come to my room?” Mike laid his hands on my hips and drew me close to him.

I raised my eyebrows. “What for?”

Mike lost his grin and let me go. “Walker said you can order some clothes,” he shrugged, “he wants me to supervise.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a little bad for being so short with him. I forced a smile. “Yeah. That would be great. Thank you.”

He smiled briefly and turned to go, but I reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Mike, I’m sorry, I…” I floundered a little, not sure what I wanted to say to him.

“You’re good,” he said. He put his hand on the nape of my neck and tapped me on the forehead with his finger. “Got lots going on in there, huh?”

My chin trembled a little as I nodded.

“Look, no pressure okay? Just come, order your clothes and hang out.”

“Okay,” I said, letting myself smile for real. “That would be nice.”

“Great!” He pressed his lips against my cheek then let me go. “I’ll see you later.”

Entering Geralt’s shop filled me with a sweet nostalgia. It was like so many I’d been around as a kid and I began to smile as a tension I didn’t realise I held in my neck seemed to dwindle. It was not slick like the garage; instead it was a little worn from regular use and came complete with a hodgepodge collection of tools that would have taken a lifetime to procure. Although it was clean and tidy, there were stains on the concrete floor, it smelled of grease, sweat. 

Most of all, it felt like home.

Geralt raised his eyebrows when he noticed me. His eyes slid down my body, and he shook his head at my attire.

“My clothes are in the wash,” I explained.

He nodded, went to an old filing cabinet, pulled out a huge pair of overalls from the draw and passed them to me. They were ridiculously big on me and I shook my head as Geralt chuckled at my look. 

“Here,” he said as he placed one of my palms against his chest and began to roll the sleeve up. He kept grinning as he did the same to the other side, but then he reached for his belt.

“What—”

“Take it easy,” Geralt interrupted in that deep growl of his.

He slid the belt out of the loops of his jeans in one fluid motion and wrapped it around my waist, pulling it so tight I had to take an involuntary step closer to him.

“Arms up,” he said, tucking the long superfluous end around the belt a few times until it was secure.

“Thank you,” I said, breathlessly.

Smiling, he jerked his head as if to say ‘follow me’ and headed over to a bike raised slightly off the ground on a jack. He crouched down beside it and without looking up said, “Hand me the ⅜ drive socket…”

For the next few hours we worked together, mostly in silence. I handed him tools, cleaned or sorted parts while he kept working. My hands quickly became filthy and covered in grease, but I felt good, finding the work soothing and satisfying. It was like so many afternoons I had spent with my Dad or Hustle, right down to the soft psychedelic rock music coming through the crackly speakers of an old radio.

As we got close to finishing the job, I looked around the shop and saw a bike like the one I used to have; an old Honda CB250. 

“Who's bike is that?” I asked, pointing to the bike.

“Mine. I picked it up as part of a deal from an old barn sale.”

“I learned to ride on a bike just like that,” I explained, “Mum didn’t want me to learn, so I had to buy my own bike, so something cheap and simple I could fix up on my own was important, you know?”

“It’s a good learner bike,” Geralt agreed.

I walked over to it, running my fingers over the tank, a thick layer of dust and dirt came away revealing the fairly good condition of the bright blue factory paint job.

“Mine was the same colour,” I murmured to myself

“You can have it if you like,” Geralt said from behind me. “You can fix it up. It might help stave off some cabin fever.”

I turned my head and jumped as I found his face mere inches from mine. “I couldn’t.”

“I haven’t tried to start it, but the others I picked up at the same time turned over once I replaced the oil, fuel, and did the usual checks,” Geralt said, ignoring my protest.

“I haven’t ridden in years, let alone repaired a bike. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’ll help you.”

“You have a lot of your own stuff to work on.” I looked back at the bike, silently inventorying the amount of work it would need. “It could take weeks.”

“I work when I want to and on whatever I want to.” Geralt put a light hand on my waist and turned me, towards him while undoing my belt. “It’s time to break for lunch, we can start work on it when we get back.”

“I told Mike, I would see him this afternoon.” 

“Will you come back tomorrow and work with me?” Geralt asked as he removed the belt and returned it to his waist, slipping it through the belt loops. “I assume you will spend the night with Marshall again.”

I stiffened. “What's it to you?”

He shook his head, “Thought you might like to spend the mornings with me.”

“I know, you know,” I said. Geralt looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. “About the pact.”

Geralt hummed.

“You're not going to say anything?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Do you want me to say something?” he asked, tilting his head in puzzlement.

“Yes,” I exclaimed, unable to hide my exasperation. “You all went behind my back. Why would you think I would agree to that?”

“Because I think it’s what you want too,” Geralt said.

“It's not normal.”

“Do you really want normal, sweetling? You think you want normal because you think it’s what you should want. But you feel at home here. With all of us. With me.”

I didn't answer; I chewed my lip while I tried to think of a way to deny it. But he was right. I didn’t run from the club because I didn’t want to be there anymore. I ran because it wasn’t the club I grew up in, it wasn’t family anymore. These men, these Brothers, for all their faults and infighting were a tight unit; they made the pact to protect themselves and what they had built. 

“I know you’d be happy with us.” 

I gasped as Geralt lifted my chin with the edge of his finger. His amber eyes seemed heavy as they roamed my face and settled on my parted lips. Licking his lips, his hand moved down my throat and I could feel the warmth of his touch reverberate through me.

“Think about it,” he said, his already deep growl sounding rough as gravel. His large firm hand moved to my nape and his fingertips dug into the muscles.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I whispered partly because I wanted him to and partly because I was scared he would.

“I will,” Geralt’s voice was so low, it lulled my mind until my lashes nearly fluttered to a close and I leaned into him. His head dipped until his forehead rested on mine and he inhaled deeply. “But not today, Lori. Not until you’re sure that’s what you want.”

I thought about telling him I was sure, but I was also certain he’d know it for the lie it was. Still, he held me close, his hands drifting slowly down my arms until he took a step back with a sigh.

“Come on,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

He held his hand out, and I slipped mine into it without hesitation.

[freelancearsonist]

"Reader is famous for faking all their orgasms and Poe takes it as a challenge. Later Poe is counting all Reader’s orgasms during sex." LDKFHGFKL

OMG THIS IS PERFECT sorry these prompts have taken me so long to get to

It’s not like you meant for everyone on base to find out. You just started by telling a group of your friends.

And it’s not like you do it on purpose. But when a guy you’re sleeping with says “yeah, I can tell you’re getting close. Come for me” and you’re actually nowhere near coming, it’s less embarrassing for everyone involved to just… fake it.

You’re not sure which one of your friends started spreading the fact that you’ve never had a real orgasm during sex, but a lot of people on base are very outraged by this revelation.

More than one past fling storms up to you, very publicly in the mess hall, and screams at you for faking it, for making a fool out of them.

It very quickly turns into a nightmare.

The girls all sympathize—most of them probably haven’t had a real orgasm during intercourse, either. But the men all treat you like some kind of war criminal; like it’s your fault they aren’t good in the sack.

Well, most of the men. All except one.

You’ve never slept with your commander but maker, have you wanted to. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted out of a man. Incredibly smart, handsome, charismatic, and so sweet. He makes friends with everyone he crosses paths with, never forgets a face or name. You’re not the only person on base who would give just about anything to have a shot at him.

Not to mention the fact that Poe Dameron is rumored to be incredible in bed. Which is honestly a surprising rumor to be so commonplace because you’ve talked to nearly every person on base and you’ve never met a person who actually has slept with him.

Odds are, he hooked up with one person and the details they gave their friends were so mind blowing that they spread around base faster than a wildfire.

But as fun-loving as he can be, his main focus has always been on the job. He’s one hundred percent invested in this war, in helping all the people that he can.

So it’s more than a little frustrating when he hears these rumors about you and suddenly you’re all he can think about.

It would be a lie if he said he’d never thought about asking you out before, but the need to fight this war was always greater than the need to set a foundation for after it.

It’s not so black and white anymore, though. Because he feels awful about the way your fellow resistance members are treating you, and awful for the way you’ve never slept with anyone worth your time.

He’s positive he’d be worth your time.

It takes him a while to figure out how to ask, and when he finally does? It doesn’t go according to plan, because of course it doesn’t.

He’s leaned so casually against your x-wing, smiling genuinely as he talks to you and he’s about to ask you out when BB-8 comes from out of nowhere and practically tramples you.

Moment ruined, and now he has to pick you up and apologize profusely for his rude droid (who’s definitely going to get a half-hearted scolding later).

You insist that you’re fine, that you don’t mind at all, that BB-8 probably had somewhere important to be, and Poe’s so overwhelmed by your kindness where most people would be outraged that he just kisses you. It’s completely involuntary but suddenly his lips are pressed to yours and you’re moaning into his mouth and tugging on his shirt to pull him closer and he’s not mad about his droid ruining his speech.

You start to tug him towards the ladder of your x-wing as the kiss deepens and grows desperate, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to tell you, “no, not here.”

Instead, he takes you back to his quarters, hand in hand and both practically jogging because of how eager you are.

He presses you up against the closed door once he gets you inside and murmurs “you won’t have to fake it with me,” against your neck, and no combination of words has ever made you shiver quite like this.

But even with all the rumors you’ve heard, part of you is scared you’ll have to fake it with him, too. That maybe you’re broken or there’s something wrong with you and you’ll never actually orgasm with another person.

He shuts that thought down faster than he dragged you to his quarters.

He barely has all your clothes off before he’s pushing you back on the edge of the mattress and dropping to his knees in front of you.

“I’m not in a rush,” he tells you as he brushes his lips against your inner thigh. “Take all the time you need, okay? Show me what you like.”

But you don’t have to say a damn word to him because he somehow knows exactly how to curl his fingers, exactly how to flick his tongue against your clit, and suddenly you’re having the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

You whine and push him away when you get too sensitive, and when you see the pure shit-eating grin on his face you can’t help laughing.

He grins along with you, placing gentle kisses up your body until he finally meets your lips. It’s all gentle passion, trying to convey deeper feelings through a simple kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, gently guiding your legs around his waist. “Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

You’re amazed that this wonderful, selfless man is thanking you when he just gave you your first non-self-inflicted orgasm.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper back, trying to convey your affection by scattering little butterfly kisses across his jaw.

“You don’t have to thank me.” His smile is genuine as he takes your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. “This is entirely selfish on my part. I knew you’d be gorgeous when you came, and I really wanna see it again?”

Your eyes go as wide as dinner plates. “Again?”

He just chuckles at your incredulity. “You poor thing. You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

[pet-genius]

A complex and many-layered thing

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . .

This is the first Occlumency lesson. Harry is right, of course. Feelings don’t go away because you want them to. To let go of them when they’ve not been addressed or validated can be as hard as detaching a leg. And yet, it’s what Dumbledore asked Snape to do, and it’s what Snape had to do to survive the first war as Dumbledore’s spy. You have to ask yourself… how?

Trapped animals chew off their own legs to escape. It’s a sacrifice they make to survive.

If there’s one thing in a fic that turns me off it, it’s the idea that Occlumency shields are a thing, that Severus was so gifted at it because he’s got some power like Second Sight or being a metamorphagus. I always preferred to think of Occlumency and Legilimency as skills that can be learned, even if some have more aptitude for it than others.

Severus entered Hogwarts with the kind of life experience that primed him for developing these skills, and left it with even more. Occlumency is magical dissociation, a post-traumatic coping mechanism, and Severus has C/PTSD. More under the cut; tw: just general angst.

To survive, he would have had to develop a knack for telling how explosive and unpredictable people feel. Over his life, he faced at least two egregious examples of what Pete Walker, author of “Complex PTSD” calls “the Charming Bully”.

Especially devolved fight types can become sociopathic. Sociopathy can range along a continuum that stretches from corrupt politician to vicious criminal. A particularly nasty sociopath, who I call the charming bully, probably falls somewhere around the middle of this continuum. The charming bully behaves in a friendly manner some of the time. He can even occasionally listen and be helpful in small amounts, but he still uses his contempt to overpower and control others. This type typically relies on scapegoats for the dumping of his vitriol. These unfortunate scapegoats are typically weaker than him. […] He generally spares his favorites from this behavior, unless they get out of line. If the charming bully is charismatic enough, those close to him will often fail to register the unconscionable meanness of his scapegoating. The bully’s favorites often slip into denial, relieved that they are not the target. Especially charismatic bullies may even be admired and seen as great.

These would be James Potter and Tom Riddle, who are distantly related, I might add. Harry inherited the tendency to default to the fight response, but since he grew up the scapegoat and not the golden child, he never becomes quite as appalling, and after all, a fight response is normal when they are after you. Even so, Harry, who has both James and Voldemort inside him, triggers Severus to no end. It’s not a coincidence that the memories Harry sees when he is with him are largely horrible, and vice versa. There had to be happy or at least neutral or even boring moments, but these two detest each other, and they know they detest each other. Negative emotions and associated memories are so close to the surface they can’t be contained. This is the purpose of the Pensieve in this context - to contain the emotions. Since Severus knew what was in there when he pulled Harry out, my theory is that you don’t suddenly forget the memories you placed there, but rather you make them less fraught with emotions.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was. “I — am — making — an — effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

A lot to unpack here.

“Memories you fear,” “weapons”, “easy prey”.

Fearing your own memories, viewing your own lived experiences as weapons to be used against you, being easy prey… Severus could not be speaking louder of himself here. He is the one whose mind had been penetrated with absurd ease, he is the one who handed weapons to Voldemort, and he is the one who had to do the psychological equivalent of detaching his own leg – again and again – to survive.

I’ll argue that Severus developed a fawn response and a flight response, as fighting had never really worked out for him if it was possible at all. He had at least two more people I’d describe as bullies in his life, Tobias and Lucius.

Again from Pete Walker:

These [fawn] response patterns are so deeply set in the psyche, that as adults, many codependents automatically respond to threat like dogs, symbolically rolling over on their backs, wagging their tails, hoping for a little mercy and an occasional scrap. Webster’s second entry for fawn is: “to show friendliness by licking hands, wagging its tail, etc.: said of a dog.” I find it tragic that some codependents are as loyal as dogs to even the worst “masters”.

Remember what Sirius called him? Lucius’s lapdog. Bellatrix called him Dumbledore’s pet, Dumbledore said he dangles on Voldemort’s arm, the narrative compares Snape to a rabbit in SWM and Harry compares the Half Blood Prince to a beloved pet who had gone feral (yes, this does mean a lot to me on a personal level, yes my username is not a coincidence).

His unconscious fawn response might have been his undoing, drawn as he was to figures like Lucius and Voldemort. As an adult, I think he utilized the skills he had developed to survive in order to stitch these people up, and involuntary dissociation and fawning became Occlumency, which to me, is his signature magic. Harry needed only to banish Voldemort from his mind; Severus could not settle for this. He had to give Voldemort something, and knowing how to fawn meant knowing what to give him and how to draw himself in such a light that Voldemort would believe it. We see how he wanted to be seen by the Death Eaters: a self-serving coward who sought to hide behind Dumbledore’s apron, playing his pet. But that’s Pettigrew, not Snape. Imagine the self-immolation, the self-violation, it must have taken to convince everyone that you’re an ersatz Wormtail! Snape is a man and a prince, and the text recognizes this as Harry calls him, in the end, Dumbledore’s man, the bravest man, and as that chapter is called “The Prince’s Tale”. Voldemort thought Snape was nothing more than a “good and faithful servant,” and that his last words were “My Lord”.

But Severus had an unequaled gift for Occlumency, specifically against Voldemort, because Voldemort could not legilimens what he couldn’t feel; and he couldn’t feel love, grief, guilt, and remorse. This was Severus’s secret weapon, which would not have worked against Harry - who can feel these things, and who is also Lily’s son. I can prove it. The first time Harry gets the hang of Occlumency is after Dobby dies:

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

Harry learned to dissociate, though fortunately in a healthier way than many of us ever get to.

Of course, Snape was a good and faithful servant… to Dumbledore, which brings us to the flight response. The chapter wherein he escapes after killing Dumbledore is called “Flight of the Prince”. He should be fighting, he had just proven that he can cast a killing curse, and yet he flees. He can literally fly, in fact: He, Lily, and Voldemort are the only ones we see pulling this off.

As a child, we see this too: He copes with his home situation by reminding himself “it won’t be long and I’ll be gone.” He is thrilled when he imagines Hogwarts, his escape; he follows Lily out of the carriage instead of confronting James and Sirius head-on (which might have saved them all a lot of pain eventually). But this doesn’t work out, we see that in terrifying detail. The next attempt at an escape is joining the Death Eaters, but this too doesn’t work out.

He can’t flee anymore.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Shortly thereafter:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

He was ready, and he was prepared. He didn’t fly; he walked toward what might well have been his end with open eyes, armed only with the strength of his mind. Before Voldemort killed him, he looked pale, again, and terrified.

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

I ask myself if this was the moment he realized he had been betrayed, that by giving Dumbledore a painless death he had secured his own. Maybe he wasn’t pale because he was scared; maybe he was pale because he was shocked. He was at his absolute limit, Occluding with all his might when he could have easily saved himself. The dam is about to break. All the memories he feared, all the weapons, the entire content of his heart is about to spill through - literally.

He fawned for Voldemort, the worst of all possible masters, but in the end, he was Voldemort’s undoing. All the ways in which he was weak and powerless against Tobias, James, Lucius, et al., proved to be part of goodness and source of his power. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Snape is so loved. I’ve never actually seen such love for any other fictional character. He represents a kind of courage that many of us need to get by, lest we simply become evil or give the fuck up (“I wish I was dead”). A kind of courage rarely celebrated. The more time I’ve spent in the fandom in general and in the Snapedom in particular, the more I am convinced of this.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Dionysus

Hey y’all, sorry for going dark! I’m alright, almost completely recovered in fact! I just got so sleepy while my body was fighting stuff off and couldn’t really work up the energy to write... Still going to be spotty for a short time, but I’m glad to have gotten this done. See ya soon!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus

Lucifer

Well, this mortal stumbled out of the portal covered in glitter, body paint, and carrying a red solo cup… which they proceeded to stare at like, "'ell sshhit… Thiz iz sum stron s'uff…"

First impressions were not on their side here.

He spent a depressingly long amount of time more or less assuming that the MC was a drunken f-up and spent the first few months trying to make them more… presentable.

But like… How do you stop someone from acting like a drunk fool when they can turn any drink they touch alcoholic???

For months they would show up to meetings buzzed or stumbling, all smiles and all giggles but HORRIBLY unprofessional, and he just couldn't stand it!

But then he found out their little secret…

Assassination threats befall the exchange students all the time. Most of them are dealt with quickly but some (through skill or dumb luck) manage to slip through...

He had been walking with the MC through their new vineyard in the House's courtyard, yet again trying to lecture them about their drunken behavior, when suddenly the two were ambushed!

Ten or so heavily armored demons dropped down from the sky to attack them! Lucifer was so preoccupied that he got cornered by three of them and it took him a hot minute to destroy them.

When he looked back at the mortal (who had been fighting a 1-on-7) he was certain they'd have been kidnapped or worse…

But he saw that they had already cut down two attackers with their weapon with ease. The other five were rolling in the dirt, babbling about inexplicable terrors and imaginary pain as their minds succumbed to madness…

Meanwhile, the MC just stood in the middle of it all with the icy glare of someone who’s just revealed how stone-cold sober they've always been under the surface...

When they turned back to him, they put their usual ditzy smile back on over the tormented wails of the demons around them...

MC: Whoopsie… Gotta little mad there. 🙂

He uh… took a big ol'step off their back after that. Surprisingly, they're more pleasant (and less dangerous) "drunk" than they are sober…

Mammon

Oh HELL yeah!! Lucifer actually gave him a mortal that knows how to party!!

Admittedly, they looked like utter trash when they first met, like, "Hey, I've been at this party since DAWN" trash, but they gave him one good look and pulled together a surprisingly hot smile.

MC: "-ey yer cute… Ya like strip poker?"

Spoken like someone else who also makes shit decisions… They were going to get along just fine!

And they did. The MC to him was that one friend that's always down for anything. Just anything. Whenever. Wherever.

He wants to try sneaking into Lucifer's room to steal stuff? Sure, what time?

He wants to take a mattress and see if he can ride it down the grand staircase of the palace? Alright, we bringin' pillows too?

He needs to set up another scheme that's gotta involve live rats and box of tiny hats and monocles?? That's oddly specific but count them in!!

Sometimes he honestly can't tell if they're laid back or just crave chaos... but it works out fine for him either way so who cares? 🤷‍♀️

And if you think normal Mammon is a pain in the ass for Lucifer? Check out drunk Mammon. All the same urges but literally none of the (marginal) competence!!

At one point, the eldest ended up stringing both Mammon and the MC from the ceiling after they both barged into his office looking for Goldie… while he was still in there… watching them wander around aimlessly calling out for a piece of plastic like it was a missing puppy…

They end up together on the ceiling a lot come to think of it, but hey, at least now he has some company. 😌

Leviathan

Thinks they're the most normal normie to have ever normed on this normie planet!!!

No, seriously. They're a billion times worse than Asmo!! All they want to do is go to parties and drink all the time! What kind of use is he to someone like that??

… That being said they ARE pretty fun to be around… And their sake is WAY better than anything he could get off Akuzon!!

They also like karaoke too! So at least he has someone else to go with (even if they get so drunk they can’t remember any lyrics and just belt barely coherent discount Mariah Carey vocals behind him...)

Of course, the real fun between these two is everybody else getting to watch a couple of the Devildom's sloppiest drunks attempt to communicate with each other…

Levi: MMM-*hic*-MCCC…!!! *throws himself at them from across the bar*

MC: What Leviachan??? 😨 Did the chair kick you off?!

Levi: Nooo! *pokes their cheek* I wanna-I wanna tell you sometin'...! *tries pulling them closer*

MC: Whaa? Secrets?? *leans in eagerly*

Levi: Mammon used all ma money on’a pyramid scheme a thou-zand years ago… AND HE STILL WON'T PAY ME BAAA-!!! 😭😭 *starts shaking them violently*

MC: *getting flung around like a limp noodle* Waaaat?! Nooo!!! I'm so sowwy!! 😢

Mammon: *watching it all go down right next to him* 😑 Ya guys need some water… I'm cuttin' ya off, got it?

MC: 😱 Shut yer whore mouth, criminal!! *starts pelting him with pretzel bites*

Levi: 😤 Yah!! *joins in*

Good thing he's a shut-in, because the hangovers he gets after those escapades are unreal…

Satan

A little concerned for their liver, honestly… How much damage have they already done to the poor thing...?

But at the same time, he'll be damned if they don't make some utterly fantastic wine!

Alcokinesis wasn't a power he would have pegged a demigod to have but apparently the great art of making drinks comes from their godly DNA.

When they first met, he was trying to get the MC to act less slovenly but made the mistake of agreeing to a wager: he'd let them dress however they pleased if they could give him the BEST drink he'd ever tasted.

Now, Satan isn't a huge drinker (thank you terrible alcohol tolerance), but he's still a man of fine tastes. Plus, he's sampled Demonus from Diavolo royal stock before. They should not have won…

But on that day, he had to let them go to RAD in a pink blanket toga... 😑 Their wine is just THAT good.

He hates to admit it, but they've gotten him drunk more times than he could probably count too… He's not a huge fan of clubbing with them and the others, but if they bring over a bottle from their vineyard he just can't resist. They're a master of their craft, truly.

And it's a good thing he likes their drinks so much, because if they called him, "Kitty-boy," when he's sober, he may have just become a sour grape himself…

They also may or may not have copious amounts of blackmail material of him either meowing between sentences, sobbing over some fictional character he likes, pole dancing on dares….

Yeah, he's been trying to destroy their phone for months now. If Lucifer were to see ANY of that, he's done for… 😣

He has also been meaning to ask them about other aspects of their abilities, their father is also the God of Madness after all, but anytime he tries to bring it up they shove another glass in his hand and tell him not to kill the mood...

Eh. What's the harm in having another drink, right? 🤷‍♀️

Asmodeus 

Honey. He's MET Dionysus. He's been to a Dio-party or two and they're INSANE. He could not be more thrilled by this!!!

He practically scooped them up on the first night that they were in the House and it’s practically been a nonstop rave between these two ever since. They’re like the party twin he never knew he needed!!

He absolutely abuses their ability to turn pretty much any drink they touch into alcohol at clubs. It makes the nights so much easier on the wallet PLUS it makes an excellent little party trick to impress the succubi! Who doesn’t want a free drink? 😏

And can he just say that their drinks are better? Just flat out amazing! If it weren’t so unhealthy he’d consider drinking nothing but their booze and wine for the rest of his days, Satan’s certainly getting close to it.

But little does Satan know, he’s not even getting the GOOD stuff...

There’s the normal wine: grapes picked from the vineyard, hand squeezed, then magically helped through the fermenting process. But their real good stuff? They were given enchanted oak barrels from their father and anything that comes out of those is worth starting a WAR over. 😩

He knows, because he gifted an extra bottle to Diavolo once and Barbs came to him the very next day demanding to know what vineyard had produced it with the look of man willing to annex a small nation...

Asmo had to beg Lucifer to talk to Diavolo after the butler more or less kidnapped the MC back to the Castle… Devil knows even Barbs wouldn’t ever be able to reproduce their wine, so they could have been locked there for eternity!!

Thankfully, he got his party-buddy back and their debauchery continued! (Just now with Barbatos following them around sometimes like he’s trying to gather state secrets... It’s an impossible task but he hasn’t given up yet, bless his black heart.)

Beelzebub

He isn't much bothered by their carefree nature, at least they seem to be having fun with his family which he appreciates. 🙂

To be honest, though, he nearly ate them when they first met because they smell like freshly peeled grapes… and for good reason.

By their third day at the House they had (somehow) planted and cultivated a full on vineyard in the courtyard. Hell, the wall growing to their bedroom balcony was covered in grapevines!! Always ripe and completely healthy in defiance of the lack of sun... Whatever magic they used was strong.

And, of course, their grapes were also delicious! Easily among the best fruits he's ever tasted! Every cluster is ridiculously plump, juicy, and sweet like little droplets of pure Heaven… 🤤

When their fruit first ripened, the MC came out with a basket to collect some only to find Beel had gouged himself on over half of their crop!!!

… which may have been why he got snared up on one of the courtyard walls by pissed off grapevines... Even with all his strength, he couldn't break through them and had to wait for Lucifer to cut him down… 😔 

From then on, Beel was pretty much the pesky rabbit to the MC's harvest. They had to set up traps and magical barriers to keep him from their precious grapes…!! Which inevitably meant one of his brothers had to come rescue him from their furious vines at least once a week... 🙄

SOMETIMES, the MC will bring him along to help harvest with them with the deal that he can have an extra basket for however many he helps them pick. But the second he takes a bite he shouldn't, it’s back on the wall!

Out of the vineyard, they're nice enough. But put some grapes between these two and they're mortal enemies… STOP messing with their plants, Beel!! 😤

Belphegor 

So… this drunken fool is supposed to get him out of the attic? Never mind, this is never going to work…

He was SEVERELY underwhelmed when the "human" finally made it up the steps. This was who they decided to bring for their exchange program? They seemed like they could barely stand!

Naturally, he figured all the better for him. They probably wouldn't even last that long! 

Some poor, incompetent human falling victim to a demon out there? Diavolo's reputation would in tatters and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger! (His favorite way of doing things really 😌).

But… they just kept coming back? Like. Nothing was killing them….! How guarded were they keeping this moron?? 

Or… maybe it was something else?

Sure, the MC seemed like a drunken idiot but there were times when he'd swear that they were just… too aware to be sloshed…

MC: *suddenly stops smiling at him mid-conversation and looks him in the eye* You tilt your head when you lie. You know that?

How can someone so cheerful ALSO be so unnerving…?

So really, he should have seen their sudden heel-turn after they opened the door coming. There he was, fully intending to take them by surprise and choke them after a hug…

...and they knocked him down, climbed onto his back like a spider monkey, and rode him around like a bucking bull using his horns like handlebars!!

It wouldn’t have been AS humiliating if they didn’t also keep shouting things like "Giddiyap!" And "Yee-haw!!"

It took him a whole month to be sure that any and all footage of that nightmare was erased and he STILL hates the MC quite a bit for it…. But he's too scared to attack them now, so…

The lesson here? It's not a fair fight when one side’s crazy... 😔😒