As we celebrate different forms of punk filmmaking today, I’d like to celebrate the King of Filth, John Waters. He is surely one of my favorite directors, but also one of my favorite humans to ever grace this universe we call home. He has been a pivotal figure in queer and transgressive cinema since the 1960s and has garnered cult status because of it. He’s also HILARIOUS. Some of his films include: Mondo Trasho, Multiple Maniacs, Pink Flamingos, Female Trouble, Desperate Living, Polyester, Hairspray, Cry-Baby, Serial Mom, Pecker, Cecil B. Demented (MY PERSONAL FAVORITE), and A Dirty Shame. Also his favorite film of all time is Pasolini’s Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975). Go look it up, thank me later.

Another fantastic piece of news regarding Waters, his hard-to-find film Multiple Maniacs has been deemed fit for restoration by Janus Films who are responsible for The Criterion Collection! Hopefully we can see a blu-ray release chocked full of amazing extras in the near future. 

Now I will leave you with some of the wonderful wisdom that has been uttered by this truly wonderful man:

“Get more out of life, see a fucked up movie.”

“Without obsession, life is nothing.”

“I thank God I was raised Catholic, so sex will always be dirty.”

“I stopped taking drugs when I realized that pot smelled bad and LSD trips were becoming like TV reruns. I had had enough inner journeys — I felt I knew myself well enough, thank you.”

“We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them.”

“I’ve always said that in the film world you have to pretend eight million people are gonna love it and in the art world, if eight million people love it, it’s really BAD. So it’s the reverse aesthetic, in a way.”

“’How could you think of such awful things?’ liberal critics always ask. ‘How else could I possibly amuse myself?’ I always wonder.”

“To me, bad taste is what entertainment is all about. If someone vomits while watching one of my films, it’s like getting a standing ovation. But one must remember that there is such a thing as good bad taste and bad bad taste.”

“Unfortunately I think that ‘The Golden Age of Trash’ is over. I think hardcore (porn) ruined it, and I think Hollywood co-opting violence ruined it. Because those were the two things that you really couldn’t have, and what was the staple of all drive-in movies was sex and violence. Now Hollywood makes them, so there’s no rules left to be broken.”

“My porn name, if you’re supposed to take your middle name and the name of the street you grew up on, would be Samuel Clark. That’s not a very good porn name.”

“Going to a sensational murder trial is the only way I can relax.”

“If you’re not sure you could love your children, please don’t have them, because they might grow up and kill us.”

“Maybe it’s time that we use humor for political actions. If there’s a local politician against gay marriage, let’s send scary drag queens to his house to yell fashion insults at his wife.”

“If you’re in Hollywood and you’ve taken a script to the studios and they say it’s too gay, well get your gay screenwriter friends and go back to the studio and yell out the grosses of all their hetero flops.”

“I’ve been called the Pope of Trash… I’ve been milking that title for years, and maybe that’s why I feel infallible.”

“I pride myself on the fact that my work has no socially redeeming value.” 

We beg to differ Mr. Waters. We beg to differ.

—-Taylor Agajanian, Cinema Editor

Choke - Part 1

Originally posted by flameghosts

[See Also: Part 2]

Note: Y'all this is my first GoT fic so be gentle >< I tried to write the characters right and there will be a part two, so any feedback is appreciated as I’m on a personal mission to improve my writing. Also, this may or may not have formed from my fascination with Rory McCann’s hands… hence the choking…. it’s bad.

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader 

Warnings: Violence, insufferable Joffrey, angst 

Summary: Joffrey orders something of Sandor which may be the only thing that can still tear him apart: harming you, a highborn lady whom Sandor has been courting in secret. He has no choice, however, and the two of you are stuck between love and keeping up important appearances. 

“Dog. Choke Lady Y/N’s treasonous words out of her." 

 Joffrey’s order to his "dog” was not out of character at all. It simply caught you by surprise that it was Sandor whom he’d given the order to. Usually it was Sir Trant that carried out Joffrey’s sadistic commands but today, apparently, it was not. Though Trant still sneered cruelly on the sideline. 

 When the order was given to Sandor, you saw infinitesimal quirks of equal parts surprise, horror, and regret flash across his face that you knew no one could’ve seen but you. The crowded Throne room fell silent. 

 "What are you waiting for, dog?“ Joffrey sneered, "your king gave you and order!" 

 That was enough to shake Sandor out of his frozen silence, and with the clanging sound of metal armor, he took careful steps down to you. His eyes never left yours, even as he toward over you, your little frame completely shielded from the king by his hulking one. 

 "What are you waiting for! Choke her!” The king whined where you couldn’t see and you looked Sandor straight in the eyes. The regret there was immense but you knew if he didn’t follow Joffrey’s orders, there would be seven hells to pay.

“Do it, Sandor, it’s okay.” You murmured, eyes misty looking up at him. His pain was evident and you couldn’t bare it. Why that damned child picked this to be the one time he made Sandor his personal throne-side torturer and not Trant, you couldn’t fathom. 

Slowly, Sandor’s hands came up to your throat. Each one could easily have wrapped around your neck by itself, being that his hands were so large, but he went with both for whatever reason. Sandor had barely touched you when the child-king squalled once again. 

“Turn around, dog, I want to see her as she suffers!” With a small jeer of his lips, Sandor obeyed and swung you both around. You caught a glimpse of Joffrey’s face, and a succinct hate filled your soul. He was taking pleasure in both your pain and Sandor’s obvious hesitation in harming a woman, a woman, little did Joffrey know, Sandor loved, and would agonize over hurting forever. 

 One day, I’ll kill him. You thought. 

But you had a feeling that you weren’t the first to vow that to yourself. 

You watched Sandor’s stormy eyes as his grip tightened just enough not to really hurt you but to look like he was. You gripped his large wrists, and toughed it out.

When Joffrey demanded that you be choked harder, you didn’t even feel it. Either Sandor refused or you were just numb. Either way, it didn’t matter. You were close to blacking out anyway when Sandor was allowed to let go. He stood stony in place while you crumbled to the stone of the ground. 

“That will teach you to speak ill to your king, filth.” Joffrey sneered whilst you heaved. You seethed. 

 "Many apologies, my king.“ Even the slight mocking tone of your voice was enough to set Joffrey off again. He boiled. Damn your sass.

"KICK HER! KICK HER HARD!” The throne room was silent. Stilled to a halt by the echo of Joffrey’s bellow, and the obvious unwillingness within The Hound to immediately obey his king. Joffrey fumed and bustled down from the Iron throne. 

“If you’re too soft to harm a woman, dog, so be it! I’ll show you how a man deals punishment.” With that, you were dealt a hard blow to the gut, and doubled over in agony. The steel toe of Joffrey’s boot was harder than you’d imagined, and the kick was made all the worse by the fact that you hadn’t even gotten your breath back yet. 

Joffrey kicked you again and again and you prayed Sandor wouldn’t behead him there and then. Luckily, just as Sandor’s hand twitched for his sword, a creaking sound filled the throne room as the double doors opened. In strode Tyrion and his attending posse, interrupting your little torture scene just before hell broke loose. 

“How many women do you have to torture in a day to get your fill, Nephew?” Tyrion inquired loudly as the crowd parted to allow he and his entourage through. 

“For the last time, you will address me as your King, imp.” Joffrey growled above you, yet still slowly retreated to his throne. 

 "Apologies, nephew but to be addressed by your uncle as king, you must behave accordingly. How do you think your grandfather would feel should he know his grandson was wasting his reigning efforts harassing high-born ladies?“

For once, the young King made no comeback, and Tyrion’s eyes fell on you briefly. "Sir Clegane, please see Lady Y/N back to her chambers. Gently.” You looked at Tyrion and he nodded, the only Lannister you perhaps didn’t loathe. 

 Sandor came to your aid almost too hastily and picked you up as a husband does his bride. Your dirty dress hung in whisping tendrils as your hound carted you out of the throne room. The last thing you saw of the scene was a scowl on the king’s face and a weary smirk playing on Tyrion’s. 

 When you were gone from them, you shrunk sorely into the breastplate of your lover. His grip on you now was so gentle that you couldn’t help but notice. No doubt his grip would be feather-light at most for a long time to come.


The Filth and Squalor of Versailles,

The home of famous French kings such as Louis XIV and Louis XVI , the Palace of Versailles is a national symbol of France filled with beauty and grandeur.  Indeed, the palace under Louis XIV was one of the grandest palaces in all of Europe.  However, while Versailles was the home of the Bourbons, and thus a symbol of what was then one of the most powerful empires on earth, the palace was also a smelly heap of filth and squalor, rivaling the filthy streets of Paris itself.

Although the Bourbon’s spared no expense in the expansion and upkeep of Versailles, the main problem was that the palace and grounds had little in the way of sewage and bathroom facilities.  As the center of the Kingdom of France, Versailles was often filled with courtiers, VIP’s,  there to petition the king, or ask for favors and handouts.  There were also hundreds of commoners who were spectators and tourists. In addition, another 2,000 people made Versailles their permanent home.  With a lack of bathroom facilities, it was not uncommon for people to use the grand and ornate hallways of Versailles as places to relieve themselves, urinating or defecating behind columns or in Versailles’ many archways.  Dogs and other pets also left their droppings, not to mention other animals that might be brought by commoners who sought audience with a government official.  When the English politician Horace Walpole visited Versailles, he noted

Versailles was a vast cesspool, reeking of filth and befouled with ordure…The odor clung to clothes,wigs, even undergarments. Worst of all, beggars, servants, and aristocratic visitors alike used the stairs, the corridors, any out-of-the-way place to relieve themselves. The passages, the court yards, the wings and the corridors were full of urine and fecal matter. The park, the gardens and the chateau made one retch with their bad smell.”

Versailles beautiful courtyards and gardens were also not immune to the filth, often being used as a corral for animals by visitors, and as a dumping ground for garbage and sewage.  King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette had their own rooms and apartments deeper within Versailles, often accessed by a network of secret doors and hallways which connected to the public common area.  However, even the king and queen’s personal quarters were not free of the stench and filth.  One other major problem was that Versailles’ chimneys did not draw out air very well, so much of the inner rooms of Versailles were covered in soot and ash from its many fireplaces.

Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI hated living in the filth at Versailles, especially Marie, after having a chamber pot accidentally emptied on her, which was casually thrown from a window out to the courtyard.  To get away from Versailles, Marie Antoinette had a quaint village built a mile away from the palace, which often served as her residence.

Today, Versailles is hardly the cesspit of its early past.  Rather, as a national treasure it is fastidiously kept and preserved.  Proper pluming was installed in the early 19th century, so there is no longer any need for tourists and visitors to leave their human wastes in the hallways.


★ ·.·´¯`·.·★ [ 𝓙𝓐𝓜𝓔𝓢 𝓜𝓒𝓐𝓥𝓞𝓨 ] ★·.·´¯`·.·★

✴ Weight: 67 kg or 148 pounds  
✴ Height: 5 ft 7 in or 170 cm   
✴ Hair Colour: Brown
✴ Eye Colour: Blue
✴ Birth Place: Glasgow, Scotland, United Kingdom
✴ Date Of Birth: April 21, 1979   
✴ Occupation: Actor
✴ Notable Works: X-Men film series, State of Play, Shameless,  Frank Herbert’s Children of Dune, Bollywood Queen, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, The Last King of Scotland, Atonement, Wanted, Filth, Split, Trance

anonymous asked:

I was reading your excellent writeup on Sansa's soft power. I was reminded of another instance where Sansa convinces Joff to not run over a woman w/ dead baby;instead to show her mercy&charity (Tyrion POV) There's also contrast b/w how Cersei's&Sansa's response. Cersei's advice provokes. Sansa shows noteworthy exercise of soft powers&maneuvering and influencing through her wits&words throughout the series

Hey Anon, thank you so much! I am really glad you enjoyed it :)

I have a lot of issues with how GRRM writes, treats, and represents females in his stories. But one of the things that I find myself being really fascinated by is the sheer variety of types of women he writes and how dynamic their characters and personalities are.

Like I talked about in my last answer a little bit, I think its easy to view the hard vs. soft power dichotomy as very gendered, with men employing the former and women the latter. Itโ€™s even easier to see these stereotypes in a setting like Westeros, which is a patriarchy and therefore inherently an extremely and prescriptively gendered society. And in many ways, the series DOES play into the implied male and female constructs of hard and soft power techniques. But in some subtle and really interesting ways, GRRM kind of flipped that on its head with female characters who have no trouble making threats and using coercion, intimidation, or force (for e.g. Cersei, Dany, ect.); and with male characters who are completely at ease manipulating and co-opting others, and relying on intellectual tactics as opposed to physical force (for e.g. Petyr Baelish, Varys, Tyrion, ect.).

Keep reading

Recent Events - The Manhattan Exclusion Zone

Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see.

TRANSMIT - initiate the QBL signal - RECEIVE - initiate the Lovecraftian frequency- 98% HAVE NO IDEA - initiate the coverup protocol - WITNESS - the Manhattan Exclusion Zone.

There was a gas leak in Manhattan. There is a gas leak in Manhattan. There will be a gas leak in Manhattan. Which is it for you right now, sweetling? It’s been all three. It will be again. Time works in such strange ways.

The Eight-Headed Serpent has its claws sunk in everywhere, and New York is no exception. Sometimes those eight heads bite off more than they can chew. They tinker and tool and experiment with things they think they understand, but their great claws struggle with finer details.

A pipe has burst. It’s not a lie. It’s only a little white lie. A lie by omission is still a lie. Something burst out of a pipe. There was a gas leak in Manhattan. The gas leaked because a pipe burst because something burst out of a pipe.

A dance begins, a pattern fit for a king. The resident horror spits filth and the dance shifts back. The birds arrive and the dance shifts to the side. So many steps, sweetling, and the military just can’t keep up.

The intersection is filled with signs of the Eight-Headed Dragon. Coincidence, they’ll call it. What’s in a name, sweetling? You’re classier than this.

Just wait two months. It was a gas leak, and it will be forgotten. The world can’t wait for fact-checkers.

Making an exclusive GD verse oc (I’ll talk about GD verse soon enough!)

This is the former King Tettigonion a massive, primordial godlike fae that looks like a gigantic (30 ft/ approx. 9.14 meters) bug with a huge, cystic eye that was exiled from ancient Fairyland long ago (a few million years ago) after he was overthrown as king by another primordial faerie.

In GD, he resides in the uninhabited parts of the bayou of Louisiana, and he now is pretty much the god of the area, having unspeakable power over everything around him. Tettigonion likes to abuse this power and uses it for stupid things like launching helpless creatures like frogs and alligators to the moon for laughs, stealing shit, and for deadly pranks on humans mostly because he never matured or sobered up to his situation. He’s literally a five year old that’s waaay too powerful and old.

The “King” also has a gluttonous taste for human flesh and blood and human cooking styles (his favorite being Cajun cuisine or anything that uses a lot of spices). He may be godlike in power, but he’s also very childish n easy to trick and you can save your skin if you’re caught by him by teaching him a new recipe and running real fast to civilization before he decides to experiment with human in his cooking… or worse, slingshot you into orbit

as much as i love princess bride/miraculous ladybug fusions with chat noir as westley and marinette as buttercup CONSIDER THIS:

  • Adrien the beautiful, “aloof” village boy, aka OUR BUTTERCUP
  • Marinette the farm girl who’s pining for Adrien but her tongue ties so she can only ever say “As you wish” to him, aka OUR WESTLEY
  • After they fall in love, Marinette needs more money to marry adrien so goes out to the sea to make a fortune. they kiss before she leaves (cue Manon gagging at grandpa Tom: “Is this a kissing book?”)
  • Adrien desolate about losing Marinette (after exaggerated reports of her death) and vowing, “I will never love again”
  • Five Years Later, Princess Chloe announcing her betrothal to Adrien. The only joy Adrien finds in life is riding free as the wind (no, the horse is not plagg BUT i thought about it before deciding no)
  • Cue Vizzini Gabriel Agreste trying to kidnap Adrien to force him to be a model. He hires Fezzik Nino and Inigo Montoya Alya. (Cue them rhyming at each other, “Gabriel he can fuss”/”I think he likes to scream at us” “probably he means to harm”/”he’s really very short on charm”)
  • Adrien jumps from the ship, but “Those are the shrieking eels” (…and cats don’t like water)
  • Nino trying to bubble them all up the cliff faster than Dread Pirate Roberts can yo-yo up
  • Pls can you imagine Gabriel yelling “INCONCEIVABLE” and “DID I MAKE IT CLEAR YOUR JOB IS AT STAKE” and “I’M WAITING”
  • Alya and Marinette fight. Nino and Marinette fight. Chloe and Count Sabrina chase after Prince Adrien.
  • MARINETTE AND GABRIEL HAVE A BATTLE OF WITS. For the princess. To the death. Gabriel proceeds to be dizzyingly full of himself, and switches the wines. Marinette has spent the past few years building up an immunity to iocane powder.
  • Marinette tests Adrien’s love because chloe? really? Adrien responds poorly: “You mock my pain! … I died that day!” 
  • Adrien: “I will never doubt again.” Marinette: “There will never be a need”
  • They pick their way through the flames of love fire swamp. Marinette explains, “what I told you before about saying please was true. It intrigued Roberts, as did my description of your beauty.” They fight hawkmoths of unusual size (aka HOUSes).
  • Chloe demands the return of Adrien. Adrien protects Marinette: “I thought you were dead once and it almost destroyed me. I could not bear it if you died again, not when I could save you.” Count Sabrina takes Marinette to the Pit of Despair
  • Manon interrupts Tom. “you read that wrong. he doesn’t marry Chloe, he marries Marinette. if he didn’t marry her, it wouldn’t be fair.” tom responds, “life isn’t always fair.”
  • The ancient booer (aka Master Fu AKA THE ANCIENT FU-ER) calls dream Adrien “the King of Refuse, the King of Slime, the King of Filth, the King of Putrescence” (booooo!)
  • Chloe tells Adrien “please consider me as an alternative to suicide”
  • Chloe: “Sabrina, you know how much I love watching you work, but I’ve got my country’s 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my husband to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I’m swamped!”
  • Adrien keeps insisting to Chloe ‘MY MARINETTE WILL COME FOR ME”
  • (RE)ENTER #BRUTESQUAD. time for Alya and Nino to go find The Woman in Red (with black spots?)
  • Adrien destroys Chloe: “I am a silly boy, for not having seen sooner that you are nothing but a coward with a heart full of fear. You can’t hurt me. Marinette and I are joined by the bonds of love. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds. And you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords. And when I say you are a coward, that is only because you are the slimiest weakling ever to crawl the earth.” Chloe storms over to the Pit. Sabrina gasps “not to 50!!!!!” as Chloe cranks the dial to The Machine. Marinette suffers :(
  • instead of Alya being guided by the point of her father’s sword to the Pit, she’s pointed by the location tracking/gps accuracy on her phone #amazingcoverage
  • Manon is bloodthirsty, “Who kills chloe at the end???? wHO???????”
  • Alya and Nino take Marinette to Miraculous Plagg and Tikki. “You rush a miraculous man, you get rotten miracles. You got camembert?” he likes MLTs with camembert too. Tikki needles Plagg into doing the right thing, like she’s had to for the past billion centuries. Plagg is all about screwing over chloe’s wedding. (the magic pill is also camembert, with a thin coating of chocolate to make it go down easier).
  • Marinette throws her yo-yo up for a lucky charm. She gets a wheelbarrow. The trio adds it to their list of assets. 
  • MAWWAIGE priest could be Chloe’s dad or that Pigeon dude, but ngl i’m all for Jagged Stone singing “wuv, twuw wuv”
  • Marinette, Alya, and Nino storm the castle ayyyyyyy
  • Marinette to Adrien: “There’s a shortage of perfect abs in this world. ‘Twould be a pity to damage yours.”
  • adrien distraught and apologizing to marinette about getting married. marinette’s like “chilllllll, you fuckin drama queen. it didn’t happen.”
  • Marinette to Chloe: “to the pain! you warthog-faced buffon.” Chloe’s so over this bluff. #wasteoftime
  • Chloe gets tied to the chair. Nino pulls up 4 bubble-horses to the window.
  • Marinette tells Alya “Have you ever considered piracy? You’d make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts.”
  • And Marinette and Adrien ride off into the sunset: “Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.”
  • (Manon asks Tom to read her the story again tomorrow)

poedameron-acepilot  asked:

Black Falcon?

You know what? I genuinely don’t know if this is meant to be Sam and Nat or Sam and T’Challa, so I’m just gonna do ‘em both because they’re both beautiful and gr9


The Fluff: Nat loves oversized hoodies, which is why she’s perpetually trying to steal Sam’s, which are soft and worn in just the right ways and smell great and have such DEEP POCKETS oh god. Sam never lets her take full ownership of his stuff, but he is down to let Nat sit on his lap and then zip both of them in together. The first time he pulled this was in the early days of their relationship, when they were trying not to be too serious or use labels or do gross couple stuff, and he was really smug about pointing out that they were technically cuddling. (“Don’t be dumb,” Nat grumbled, scooching even closer. “I’m just using you for your body heat.”)

The Filth: Natasha has a detailed mental catalog of how every inch of Sam reacts to various forms of touch and stimulation. It turns out his neck is crazy sensitive, way beyond him just enjoying neck kisses. Just running her fingers down his spine gets him a little turned on, and kissing/sucking at a certain spot right by his collarbone will get him hard no matter what. He thought he was done for the night? Ding dong, Sam was wrong. (“Are you taking notes while we have sex?” he asks, exasperated that Nat seems to have a cheat sheet for his body. “Are you not?” she shoots back, mildly affronted.)


The Fluff: Okay so when T’Challa unwinds he does it the same way he does it everything else: with tasteful style and no half-assing. So he goes HARD with chilling in the bath. Sam’s not really a bath guy, but it’s kind of hard to argue when his boyfriend’s “””’tub””” is a fucking Olympic sized pool. That’s not floating in your own filth at all; it’s swimming naked in water that smells really good with your hot king boyfriend. Hell yes.

The Filth: Oooooh my god okay I don’t know what kind of crazy ass warrior training T’Challa considers a normal workout but he’s pretty much always down to clown immediately afterwards? He’s one of those guys who gets a huuuge rush of Happy Brain Chemicals from a hard workout and his muscles are all comfortably sore and he doesn’t want to stop moving, so hey, grabbing Sam and pushing him up against a wall will accomplish that. And Sam’s sure as hell not complaining, not when T’Challa’s skin is practically shining with sweat and he smells AMAZING (when he’s covered in sweat! who does that?? how is he real?). 

Tristhad Fic

Some Tristhad for Tristhad Week: Offer Up at AO3 (6.5k)

For the wonderful @loshka, who gave me the prompt of galahad initiating an orgy with a bunch of roman soldiers in the tavern where tristan is trying to eat which I loved and which has become, honestly, one of the filthiest things i have ever written ever…

From over in the more bustling part of the fort’s courtyard, rising between the clash of bowls and click of dice, and the grumbling and boasting of warriors at rest, comes the loud, raucous cackle of Galahad’s laughter, and then a harsh clatter – he’s standing up, and his kicked his stool over.

Tristan, sitting in a quiet, shadowed corner, isn’t close enough to see the boy’s eyes. But he knows that they will still be shining too brightly - fever-sparkling, fierce with all his strangeness.

Sipping his ale, Tristan tilts back his head and allows himself the indulgence of a sigh, here in his own patch of darkness where none can see.

Not that anyone is looking at him, most especially not Galahad, who has all day – all week, all month, always – made a big show of when he looks at Tristan and when he very purposefully does not.

Sometimes this can be amusing. But today was long and cold and bloody – nothing special, and the worse for it, just a grim grind, more ice-cold mud than anything, thought the brief bloody parts stick with barbs in his memory – and Tristan does not have the patience for being loathed or poked at any more at present.

Five Woads, Tristan killed today. Warriors, or would-be warriors, or perhaps just people frightened and stirred up and running out of choice.

Twenty-three attackers altogether fell upon the patrol when they tried to pass through the valley, and it had been a desperate group, for whatever reason. No time, of course, between attack and reaction, to determine if it had been driven by some particular goal or fear.

Such episodes are only growing more common, these past months. Tristan needs to speak to Arthur about that, about what it portends.

Across the courtyard, Galahad has now smashed his pottery mug on the ground, shouting something in anger or irritation at whoever it is he’s cornered to talk to now. Tristan looks over despite himself – Dagonet is the one who’s listening and nodding, his hands full with Bors’ youngest whilst Kelda sees to the tables.

During the long ride back to the fort in the bitter wind, Galahad had argued with Gawain and Lancelot about the rights and wrongs of killing in the cause of defeat. Which is to say that Galahad had expressed opinions that were more Roman and more Christian in their origin than he would ever likely admit, and Gawain and Lancelot hadn’t bothered to do more than retort idly back at him in response. Galahad likes to speak of good and evil, Tristan has long learned, as though his tunic skirts make him a priest indeed, with some power to pronounce on the rest of them.

And Galahad had certainly pronounced then, and loudly, and had kept looking back to where Tristan rode some way behind the little knot of would-be philosophers, as if daring a response.

Half the time – most of the time – being the embodiment of Galahad’s distaste amuses Tristan and he feeds it idly with insults and insinuations, but today was too long, too much, one time too many. Despite what Galahad might think, Tristan is not the only man who has ever killed another, and killing well, efficiently, swiftly, is nothing for which anyone of sense should feel ashamed.

Oh, Tristan can relish a kill, can find a certain satisfaction in victory at its most absolute, but a killing is like a meal, and may be sour or ill-timed or inadequate or gratuitous or sickening, even as it can be nourishing.

And - to extend the comparison - both can be improved or ruined by the company in which they occur, and Galahad is no good for Tristan’s digestion.

As they had ridden homewards, Tristan had begun to tense himself more than once to set his heels to his horse’s flanks and speed on to meet Galahad’s words and looks in person, and tell him to close his mouth or let Tristan close it for him, and give them all some peace.

But that was what Galahad had wanted, and Tristan is not in the business of giving Galahad what he wants.

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