#a crime of the greatest degree

[fenharel]

Morrigan + her friendship with the warden

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Someone told me they weren't a fan of Silver because he's written too heroically good without any flaws. To be fair, you don't have to like Silver at all; to each their own, but I don't understand how someone can go through Book 7 and not see the blatant flaws the writers gave him.

If I had to pinpoint why his flaws aren't as well seen, it is likely because he's not intentional about any harm he causes at all. It's not as shown in Book 7, but he's like Kalim where he is known to be naive, oblivious, and blunt to an almost painful degree, lacking total social awareness in most situations. In Book 7, specifically, we see that he has total self-worth issues, where he feels like he needs to repay Lilia for raising him (he doesn't) and constantly apologizes for things outside of his control (like Malleus's overblot). Poor self-worth is still a character flaw, even if it doesn't necessarily have a negative effect on other characters, and it manifests itself in Silver in a different way than how Sebek's issues with his self-worth are shown. I know that they aren't the most obvious character flaws, like how other characters are seen as arrogant, petty, or quick to anger, but they're still flaws regardless.

It's probably harder for the writers to write flaws for a character whose main inspiration comes from a Disney prince and princess, who are often characterized as paragons of good morality (most princesses' main character flaws are naivety anyway). But just because he's more stereotypically good than the rest of the cast does not negate the flaws he does have. What are your thoughts? Off-topic, but I really enjoy reading your character analyses even if I don't agree with them sometimes; it helps me look at the story from a new perspective.

dhjwekskskn Very quickly, thank you for the feedback! That’s always my goal with analyses—not to necessarily change minds, but to hopefully expose others to + get them thinking about perspectives beyond their own.

This is the first time I’ve heard of someone claiming Silver doesn’t have flaws 🤔 I would sort of get it if this was pre-book 7, as Silver content is quite scarce before then. Mmm… even so, he has opportunities in various vignettes and event stories to show us areas where he’s lacking. For example, in Leona's Ceremonial Robes vignettes, Silver believes that Leona and Malleus are friends, despite Leona's very blatant hostility towards Malleus--which indicates denseness and a lack of social awareness. He's also unaware of how he presents himself to others, leading to peers thinking he's unapproachable (his Dorm Uniform vignettes) or to otherwise be stiff-faced (something Vil comments on in Fairy Gala If and in Silver's P.E. vignettes). Those can, however, be easy to miss, especially if you weren’t already on the lookout for him to begin with.

I think we readily overlook Silver’s flaws (even when they’re on display) because 1) he’s not as loud about it like Kalim is and 2) he’s a “good” guy in a cast of characters that usually act like assholes or take it a step further and come close to committing actual crimes. It’s hard for a normal nice guy to stand out against that crowd. Another part of it is, I think, how Silver's greatest shortcoming is easily conflated for something "good".

A consistent theme for Silver is feeling as though he is not enough. This can cause him to train intensely in order to rectify the situation. For example, in the aforementioned Dorm Uniform vignettes, Silver immediately seeks help learning how to appear more friendly to his classmates. Similarly, in Azul's Halloween Dress vignette, Silver assumes extensive training to help him be more intimidating so that he can get the other Diasomnia students to obey him. (As it turns out, they actually don't listen to him because Silver has a tendency to fall asleep mid-conversation.) He also drinks coffee, invests money in clocks, and does whatever he can to help himself stay alert, as he cites his inability to stay awake as a personal shortcoming rather than a health condition he has no control over. He’s frequently apologizing to others for falling asleep on them and even apologizing for others (like Sebek). In short, Silver is always pushing himself to "be better" (something typically regarded as positive), which is a LARGE contrast to the majority of his peers, who are resistant to change and slow to acknowledge their faults. The key thing to note here is that Silver is doing all of this out of a lack of self-worth. He believes he's not worthy, not good enough.

This all culminates in the events of book 7, in which we learn that Silver has deep-rooted insecurities about being "enough" for Lilia as well. As he tells Malleus in 7-28:

"17 years ago... Father found me as a baby deep in the forests of Briar Valley. Father is fae. I'm human. I'm not related to him by blood, and there's no other reason for him to be responsible for me. Yet he took me in. He raised me as if I were his own. He fed me, he trained me, he stayed with me all night whenever I was sick... Humans and fae are different in every way, from our constitutions, to how fast we grow—all of it. Barely anyone in Briar Valley knows how to care for a human. And Father lived alone there. I can only imagine how hard it must've been for him to raise a human baby with no one to turn to for help... I can never thank him enough. I was ready to spend the rest of my life repaying him... But I haven't given back a single thing... And now he's planning to pass on in a faraway land. Even if Father loses his magic and grows frail... Even if he forgets everything, I still want to be at his side, supporting him... I'm far from a fine son! I can't grant my father the one thing he wished for. He wanted me to send him off with a smile on my face..."

Silver is incredibly hard on himself, and even moreso once he learns the truth of his bloodline. Not only does he tell himself that he's undeserving of Lilia's love or even calling himself his son, but he also convinces himself that Malleus and Sebek would also despise him now + tells himself he deserves this:

"Father, don't... I... I don't deserve your love." (context: he's telling past!Lilia to not taking in his infant self)

"Stop that! Stop crying! You have no right to cry!" (context: Silver berates his infant self for sobbing when Lilia takes him in)

"What worth could a bunch of shriveled up old acorns have? Why would you lie like that...? *sob, sob*" (context: Silver learns that the acorn bracelet Lilia considers his "single most valuable possession" was a gift from child!Silver)

"It's pitch black everywhere... Maybe this place is what I deserve. I can just stay here, alone...forever... *sob* (context: Silver is astray in his own darkness)

"What must Sebek think of me now...? ...Does he hate me? I don't want to think about it... I don't want to think about anything."

"Father, did you know that this ring originally belonged to the Dawn Knight...? The Dawn Knight, enemy to you and all of Briarland... Vanquisher of Malleus's parents... And I'm... I'm his... *sob* *sob* *gulp*I... I... How will I ever face you and Malleus after this? *sob, sob*"

"Even though we aren't related by blood, I've always seen myself as your son. But...I can't call myself that in good conscience any longer." "You could never truly love someone related to the Silver Owls... Let alone the Dawn Knight's son! You could never... *sob, sob*"

"Was that voice another vision I conjured to comfort myself?" (context: Silver is greeted by a vision of Lilia praising him; he rejects that image, but accepts a hostile version of past!Lilia who sees him as the Dawn Knight and moves in to strike him down)

Silver is only pulled out of his swamp of darkness when Sebek reminds him that he is so strong only as a result of Lilia's love. Even after this point in time, we see Silver's penchant to be a little too self-sacrificing putting him in danger. He throws himself in harm's way to shield Lilia from a blow in the Eastern Fortress, does the same at Mallemom's lightning, and when confronting Malleus multiple times throughout book 7. (This isn't even limited only to protecting his father; Silver is shown to jump into action in other instances, like protecting Idia in GloMasq from what is basically a party popping handkerchief. Sebek doesn't do the same; his protective behaviors primarily relate to Diasomnia.) Silver is, quite literally, willing to lay his life on the line for others--and that, in part, comes from being a trained knight, of course. However, part of it could also coes from a place of thinking of others as having more worth than he does, or feeling as though he must "repay" the people important to him.

This is why it's sooo satisfying seeing Silver formally take on Lilia's surname at the end of book 7. This entire time, he has been struggling with his identity and self-worth. By finally becoming "Silver Vanrouge", he's affirming that his father does love him, and that he is worthy of having that love. Everyone there at the party is even there to bear witness to the completion of that character arc.

[crueltyserpent]

When she introduces us, she’s either my girlfriend or my mom. She’s neither of course, she killed my mom and my girlfriend so long ago at this point. Sometimes I think she chooses whichever she thinks will make me more uncomfortable; it’s not like whoever she introduces us to will live long enough for their thoughts on it to matter. If I were to choose a name for what I am, I would probably go with captive. Victim also comes to mind, but it’s hard to feel like I’m the most victimized person in the room when she’s cutting off the fingers of a naked woman one by one.  At least she’s not making me eat them this time. The “here comes the airplane” bit with raw human flesh isn’t nearly as funny as she thinks it is.

If I guess why she keeps me around, why I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere like every other poor bitch who get’s her attention, I’d guess it’s because simply torturing attractive women to death every other day doesn’t fully sate her appetite for cruelty. Sure, her ability to wring physical pain out of a stranger is staggering, but there’s a special type of satisfaction she gets from the form of psychological torture that is only possible to inflict on someone she keeps close for an extended period of time. I don’t know if she chose me because something about me was uniquely appealing to hurt or she just liked how my dick felt inside her, but at this point I’m fairly confident she’s sunk too much work into messing with my head to casually replace me.

The woman bleeding out on the floor is the owner of the Air BNB we’re staying at, a chipper blonde thirtysomething who was now karmically paying for the fact that nothing in her life had ever gone wrong before. I used to vomit seeing a girl taken apart like this. Now it’s boring enough that I can sit on the bed reading a romance novel while barley acknowledging the poor cunt’s slowly decreasing number of body parts. This is an easy one, relatively speaking. I don’t really have enough emotional energy left to feel bad for well to do women a decade older than me who’d never give me so much as a smile if I weren’t a customer.

I call myself a captive, but it’s not like I couldn’t walk out of the room if I wanted to, physically speaking. She wouldn’t stop me, she’d continue her ruthless execution and not even remark on me leaving. I was never bound (except for sex), never locked in a room, always free to go where I wanted. It had just been incredibly clear to me that if I ever made an attempt to do something she disapproved of, she could make my life so much worse than it already was as her unwilling partner in crime. One time she had left me alone for three months, letting me think I was free, only to return and kill every single person I had met and liked to any degree. I was trapped with her because she had created a situation where helping her murder people every few days was the decision I could make with the lowest innocent body count. And it meant that sometimes women like this died instead of the cute queer girls my age who used to blow me in alleys. Seeing someone I might have been friends with in a different life die was a whole different story to something like this.

I turn the page, working my way through a particularly arbitrary love triangle as I hear the death rattle. I don’t remark on it, but I’m not at all surprised when my bloodstained captor sits at the foot of the bed, looking at me with those hungry eyes. Don’t get me wrong, this woman is evil, the worst person I could even imagine who I would do anything to be free of.

She’s also probably the hottest person I’ve ever met. She was the first woman ever to be hot enough to make me cheat on my girlfriend, in what was either the greatest mistake of my life or the sole decision that kept me alive, depending on what would have happened if I turned her down. Her nude body sprayed with fresh blood is a powerful sight, and her toothed smile makes me shiver as blood rushes between my legs.

“Anything spicy happening in your book, honey?” She asked in a soft, motherly tone, her hands moving to undo my belt buckle. I hate how much her sexy mom routine works on me. It’s humiliatingly effective. I should be anywhere else right now, doing anything else, doing anyone else, but as she rides me, her other victims blood dripping off her chest over my face, I can’t do anything but whimper in enjoyment.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Teen Villain Alliance

Chapter 7

Jazz had been against the Teen Villain Alliance. 

As proud as she felt for Danny creating a safe place for meta teens to go, it… it was still villainy. These were still kids, broken, strong, powerful kids, and the fact that so many of them fall into lives of crime was a tragedy. So the fact that Danny was explicitly allowing and even teaching these children to commit crimes… Words had been said. Loud, angry words that shook the walls with their rage.

Words that their parents didn’t hear all the way in the basement. As always too busy with their work to pay attention to their children–

Well. At the very least she made her feelings known. 

Armed with her best psychology textbooks and two years of Stanford classes, Jazz prepared for her greatest challenge yet: infiltrating a criminal organization. Run by her baby brother. 

It hadn’t been easy. After their argument, Danny had been keen to keep her away from his “project.” And Jazz couldn’t just suddenly pretend to be onboard with crime. Despite his low self-esteem, Danny was smart and definitely would figure out that she was faking. With Danny gray-rocking her and the mental health of all the children he could help at stake, Jazz did something drastic, something no one would ever expect of her and something that would horrify Danny. 

She transferred to Amity Park Community College and moved back home. 

Stanford hadn’t understood. Her new friends didn’t understand. Danny, spitting mad and accusing her of spying on him, didn’t understand. But with her less strenuous classes, and extra income from online counseling sessions, Jazz was able to track down their meeting places and help set up the Teen Villain Alliance. 

It had taken a long time to convince Danny that she wasn’t going to turn them in to the Justice League. That was her fault; she’d reacted viscerally to Danny’s pitch for the TVA and broken his trust. For someone already as untrusting as Danny, the fact that she even had it was the result of years of being there for him instead of their parents. 

Now, she was older. She’d gone back to Stanford after the TVA took off and started making a profit and gotten her degree. She spent days in the Ghost Zone looking after the kids that ran through the halls of her brother’s haunt. She held regular individual and group therapy session and was in charge of a whole slew of children who didn’t want to commit crimes–there weren’t many, but kids often took long breaks in between missions and she chose to count them among her number. 

It wasn’t an ideal life, nor was it one she could have prepared for, but it was hers. 

Returning to her warm and inviting office in Phantom’s Haunt, Jazz checked her itinerary. She had an interview with a new teacher: Red Hood, set to teach riflery. She checked his file; there hadn’t been many interactions between the Alliance and the rogue, but most of them were neutral, and his open desire to protect children made him a shoo in for the position. Damian had brought him to her attention when discussing potential allies with Danny, and Danny had handed the list off to her without a second thought. 

Her office, designed to look like the old-timey library of her dreams, lit up red as the clock struck 3 (in the afternoon, she wasn’t a heathen) and the automatic summoning circle flared to life. A rush of light spun around the interior of the circle, spinning and flickering until it fell back down, revealing… a normal man holding groceries. He promptly dropped them and pulled a gun on her, pointing it at Jazz’s head as he demanded to know where he was.

Jazz frowned. She suppose it made sense that Red Hood wouldn’t be in uniform 24/7, but she’d hoped to catch him while ‘on the clock.’ Oh well. “You’re in my office, Mr. Red Hood. Please don’t try to shoot me; the ecto-barrier will hold, and I’d rather not replace the carpet again.”

“The fuck are you talking about!?” Red Hood barked. He didn’t lower his weapon. Jazz made a note of it on her chart. “Who are you? How did you kidnap me!?”

“I’m Jasmine, human resources director of the Teen Villain Alliance. I’ve summoned you for an interview today.”

He looked out of his depth. Jazz could understand; most of the human instructors she hired  were (and one had been enraged by the idea that a villain organization had a human resources department). “Summoned? I’m not a fucking demon! What the hell are you even interviewing me for?”

“Field teacher on projectile weapons and pyrotechnics, Mr. Al Ghul. We need more teachers who can take the kids out to the human world, and–”

“What did you just call me?” Now he looked disturbed. 

“Mr. Al Ghul? Your name?” Jazz checked her documentation again. Jason Al Ghul was listed at the top under Name. “Your younger brother, Damian Al Ghul has recently joined our organization and recommended you… Are you not the Red Hood?” She reached under her desk where she kept an ectogun charged. 

The man tucked away his gun and held up his hands, eyes locked where Jazz’s hand held her pistol. “...Yeah, that’s me. So this is where Damian ran off to?” Jazz relaxed and let go of the ectogun. Red Hood tried to walk out of the summoning circle, only to bounce off an invisible wall. “What the hell?”

“Sorry, but I’ve had interviewees try to attack me before. It’s safer to keep you in the circle until an agreement has been reached.” Jazz turned to her interview questions. “Now, before we begin, do you have any questions for me? I’m sure this has been very confusing for you.”

“Yeah. What does a villain organization need teachers for anyways?” His eyes narrowed. “Thought all of your kids were already villains.”

“Most are, but most teens… well, they end up caught quickly unless an older villain teaches them. And those villains aren’t exactly someone we’d trust not to hurt them in a training environment. Our school–”

“You have a school? Why the fuck do you have a school!?”

She sighed. “Mr. Al Ghul. If you label a child a villain and give them no way to prove otherwise, no way to grow or change, what do you think they’ll become?”

“Lady, you’re literally trying to recruit me to teach kids to shoot people. Don’t you fucking try to convince me you’re trying to help them.”

“I learned to shoot when I was 4, long before anyone called me a villain.” Admittingly, she wasn’t, and still wasn’t, a good shot, but he didn’t need to know that. “Most of our students didn’t wake up one day and decide, ‘I want to be a villain.’ They were labeled that way by society, their families, even the heroes they tried to stand up to. Here, at least, they have a place to belong.”

“Where they’re committing crimes on Phantom’s orders!”

“Less than 10% of the Alliance actively commits crimes at any given moment.” Red Hood paused. “Of those, we only take volunteers, and only those who are physically and mentally capable end up in the field. Most of the teens just live here, go to school here, recover here. It’s a safe place.”

“...Kids shouldn’t be committing crimes.”

“Kids also shouldn’t be stopping them.” His fist clenched. “Labels like 'villain' and 'hero' are meaningless when you’re dealing with teenagers who’ve already been written off by society. The TVA isn’t about teaching kids to rob banks or take over the world. It’s about giving them a place where they can survive—and maybe even thrive—without being hunted or killed for the circumstances they were born into.”

“And you’re putting ‘em in school.” He huffed a laugh. “You really think algebra and english class are gonna help them? Fix them? Put ‘em back together after the heroes shat all over ‘em?”

She shook her head. “It’s not about fixing them. It’s about giving them a second chance, and, for many? The first safe home they’ve ever had. Now–” She straightened her papers. “If you’ll content to an interview, we can get started. But if you’ve already decided to reject our job offer…”

He studied her with his narrowed green eyes and scoffed. He sounded just like Damian. “Ask your questions,” he spat. “Get ‘em over with quick, I got perishables over here.”

Jazz smiled, fangs peeking out past her lower lip.

[justalittlesolarpunk]

Americans I am begging you to vote. Harris is a SHIT candidate doing nothing to prevent appalling crimes against humanity but if Trump pulls the US out of the Paris Agreement again then your national emissions alone will very likely doom the entire planet to permanently overshoot 1.5 degrees, which will be catastrophic for ecosystems, weather and climatic patterns, and human life. I know I might lose followers for saying this, but it just seems too important to me to stay silent. Trump will be infinitely worse for Palestinians and the peace process, and wars and genocides will only multiply across the world if the climate is allowed to destabilise further. I really wish the Greens had a genuine chance but in a two-party system they just don’t. One day I hope a Green is US President but it’s not going to happen soon. Yes you are responsible to the people of Gaza and Lebanon and I don’t want you to ever forget that but they (and the rest of the world, to whom you are also obligated and whom you also impact with your government choices), will only suffer worse if food and water shortages, extreme weather, spreading resource conflict and zoonotic pandemics become more common. These are all genuine risks if the USA fails to meet its climate targets. There are hundreds of millions of you and you’re the biggest economy in the world with some of the greatest violent influence over the rest of us. Pls don’t elect Trump

[carnalcrows]

YANDERE GANGSTER

☆ name: Felix Marino (Феликс Марино | Félix Marino) → "Fortunate and Of the Sea"

☆ ethnicity : Italian-American

☆ age : 34

☆ gender : Male

☆ mbti : INTJ

☆ his story : [click to proceed]

Once just a regular blue-collar worker with a simple dream—build a good life for his wife and their unborn daughter. But fate had other plans. A tragic misunderstanding led to his wife's brutal murder at the hands of a gang seeking revenge for a crime he never committed. Grief turned into vengeance, and vengeance turned into power. One by one, he eliminated those responsible, leaving no stone unturned, no soul spared. But revenge wasn’t enough—it never is. By the time the dust settled, he had built an empire from the ashes of his pain. Now, he rules one of the most feared mafia syndicates in the world, his name whispered in both reverence and terror.

He’s a ghost of the man he used to be, his heart long buried with his wife. He tells himself love is no longer for him—his wife would have hated the monster he’s become. But in a world of blood and betrayal, the past has a way of creeping back in when least expected.

☆ appearance:

Dark brown hair, always neatly styled but never too perfect—like he doesn’t care, but somehow, it still looks effortless.

Dark green eyes with brown flecks, almost black in the shadows, but strikingly green in the sunlight—if he ever lets himself stand in it.

6'2" with a lean but powerful build—every move he makes is calculated, every step, deliberate.

A face that looks carved from stone—strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, an expression that rarely changes.

Wears expensive but understated suits, always in dark colors—nothing flashy, just powerful.

Tattoos: His wife's name on one wrist, their unborn daughter’s name on the other, the only softness left in him. He has various other tattoos of flowers and snakes running down his arms and his back.

☆ personality:

Cold, calculating, and terrifyingly efficient—he doesn’t waste words or emotions.

A master of control—of himself, of his enemies, of the entire underworld.

Speaks in a quiet, measured tone, but when he gives an order, it’s absolute.

Loyalty is sacred to him—betrayal is met with ruthless consequences.

His patience is legendary, but once it runs out, there’s no going back.

Haunted by his past but refuses to show it—his grief is a private wound, one that never truly heals.

Believes emotions are a liability, yet can't fully extinguish the ghost of the man he used to be.

☆ with a lover:

He doesn’t do casual—if he lets someone in, it’s serious, but that’s a rare occurrence.

Overprotective to a dangerous degree—if you’re his, no one touches you. Period.

Doesn’t believe he’s capable of love anymore, but if it happens, it’ll be deep, intense, and consuming.

Shows love in subtle ways—protecting, providing, making sure you’re safe before you even realize you’re in danger.

Will never say "I love you" easily, but his actions will speak louder than any words ever could.

Doesn't do jealousy—he does ownership. If you're his, he makes sure you know it.

☆ strengths:

Unmatched strategic mind—he sees five moves ahead at all times.

Ice-cold under pressure—he never panics, never loses control.

Deadly with both words and weapons—he can end someone with either.

Inspires fear and loyalty in equal measure—his presence alone is enough to command a room.

Never forgets a debt—whether he owes one or is collecting one.

☆ weaknesses:

His past—no matter how much he buries it, it never truly stays dead.

Love—he tells himself he’s incapable, but if he ever lets someone in, they’d become his greatest weakness.

His wife's memory—she is both his strength and his curse, the one thing that can still make him hesitate.

He doesn't know when to stop—revenge, power, control—he always wants more.

Has built his empire alone and trusts almost no one—loneliness is his own prison.

☆ relationships:

Wife (deceased): The only woman he ever loved, the only person who ever made him truly happy. Her memory haunts him, and he wonders if she’d still recognize him now.

Unborn Daughter (deceased): A life that never got to begin, but one he still mourns every single day.

Right-Hand Man: The only person he trusts, the only one who dares to speak freely in his presence.

Enemies: Too many to count, but they all share the same fear—crossing him means death.

Potential Love Interest: If someone ever manages to break through his walls, they’ll find a man who is both terrifying and deeply, painfully human.

☆ extra:

Speaks fluent Italian, English, Russian and a handful of other languages (for business reasons).

Has a soft spot for old jazz and classical music—not that anyone would dare comment on it.

Never lets anyone see his wrists uncovered—those tattoos are the only vulnerability he has left.

Keeps a single photograph of his wife tucked inside his wallet. No one has ever seen him look at it.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

What are the laws? About ancient laws? I think there were old laws in the Chinese Empire that called for family extermination. your family was erased, but I don't know how much about it. I wanted to write the MC and sibling survived this law. and without them realizing it?

Writing Notes: The T'ang Code

Tang dynasty - (618–907 CE) or T'ang; Chinese dynasty that developed a successful form of government and administration on the preceeding Sui model, and stimulated a cultural and artistic flowering that amounted to a golden age.

Marked by strong and benevolent rule, successful diplomatic relationships, economic expansion, and a cultural efflorescence of cosmopolitan style, Tang China emerged as one of the greatest empires in the medieval world.

Merchants, clerics, and envoys from India, Persia, Arabia, Syria, Korea, and Japan thronged the streets of Chang’an, the capital, and foreign tongues were a common part of daily life.

This dynasty—like most—rose in duplicity and murder, and it subsided into a kind of anarchy. But at its apex, in the early 8th century, the splendour of its arts and its cultural milieu made it a model for the world.

The Tang dynasty also flourished because special attention was paid to molding an orderly society through the promulgation of sophisticated law codes. From ancient times, in China, law was viewed as an expression of the will of the emperor, whose pronouncements defined illegal conduct and proper punishments for it.

The T'ang Code

The T'ang Code contains 12 sections, and is divided into 2 parts:

an initial section expounding the general principles of criminal law, and

a second section setting forth the specific offenses covered, together with the punishment for each such act.

In the first years of the dynasty a series of criminal codes and administrative statutes were promulgated in order to govern the empire effectively.

Though only the Code has survived in entirety, we know from historical sources, as well as from still extant fragments, that there was a large body of written law in effect during the T'ang period.

There were 4 main divisions: the Code, the Statutes, the Regulations, and the Ordinances.

The Code reflects the position of the emperor as the most important link between the human and the natural worlds as well as the head of the government.

Offenses that involve the emperor or the imperial house are on a different level from those against other persons.

In such cases not only the criminal but also his family members would be executed and their possessions confiscated by the state.

Such crimes head a list of ten categories of offenses that were regarded as particularly heinous.

Not only were the punishments especially severe for persons who committed such offenses, but certain other procedural protections, usually available to those convicted of other crimes, were not allowed to them.

The Ten Abominations. The most serious offenses a person could commit.

Plotting rebellion

Plotting great sedition

Plotting treason

Contumacy

Depravity

Great irreverance

Lack of filial piety

Discord

Unrighteousness

Incest

The crimes included within the ten abominations are those that endanger the emperor or the state, those that are committed by subordinate members of the family or bureaucracy against their superiors, those that threaten the existence of the family, and those that involve black magic.

The penalties for the first 3 "abominations" called for punishment not only of the individual incriminated in the plot, but also of that person’s entire family (parents, children, brothers, and sisters) who were liable for penalties up to and including execution.

Rebellion against the imperial house is compared to natural calamities.

The intent of the Code toward those who plot either rebellion or great sedition is clearly stated in Article 32:

Plotting rebellion and great sedition are criminal to the utmost degree of censure and extermination. They defile the whole family and property and the eradication of evil must reach to the roots.

Clearly, then, the purpose of the law in such cases was not merely to punish the criminal, but rather to exterminate his whole family.

In traditional China, with its great emphasis on the continuation of the family, there could be no greater punishment than to end a family's name.

Officials could also be punished for the offenses of their family members. For example, if within the area under an official's control one of his family members committed extortion or accepted bribes, the official would be punished, even though he knew nothing of the crime.

Older members of families also had increased responsibility because of their status and reciprocity.

If they committed a crime together with other members of the family, only the person highest in generation of age was punished.

The younger members of the family escaped completely.

The same was true for other groups such as those living in monasteries or for teachers and their disciples. Where members of the same family committed a crime by the decision of the head of the household, only he was punished even though he took no part in the crime.

An excerpt from "The Tripartite Compact of Emperor Kao" (Han dynasty):

My Venerable Seniors! I know too well how long you, my fellow-countrymen, have suffered untold hardships under the harassing laws of the preceding dynasty, by which the criticizing of ·government was punished with the extermination of one's whole family, and even talking on the streets was prohibited under pain of decapitation

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hope this helps with your writing, sounds really interesting so far.

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 12: Coulrophilia + DDLG

Joker!Ghoul-ish!Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Harley Quinn!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, dark!cooper & dark!reader, tame ddlg, coulrophilia (attraction to clowns), Freaky crazy clowns, toxic af relationship, age gap, yandere x yandere, 60s Gotham-like AU, Reader was Cooper’s TV Daughter, Cooper has a joker-like backstory, joker and harley references. Reader has Harley Quinn-like backstory, violence, blood kink, fingering, squirting, kissing, lots of pet names (sugar, princess, sweetheart, etc.), they are very bad people, curvy/short!reader

Summary: You are the partner in crime of a dangerous man known as “The Ghoul”; a half-monstrous, half-human clown prince of crime. He also happens to be your “Daddy” too.

A/N: I’m keeping up with the ghoul-ish theme for Cooper for kinktober to go with idea I have of him where he kinda looks like dabi from bnha where like he’s half-radiation burned and other half- human. Hope yall see the vision cause I’ve thought about how cool that would be for a while.

Cooper was once a good man. A simple family man. In fact, he was on the screens of every family in America—regarded as one of the greatest movie stars of all time.

But then…he had a bad day and all it takes is one bad day to bring the most sanest man alive to the brink of insanity. Just one fateful decision that would eventually lead to one long comically bad day.

Picture this: Cooper is at the point in which he’s tired of being lied to and kept in the dark from his wife’s work with Vault-Tec. Unable to keep away, He sneaks into the private and heavily secured facility, gathering damning intel along with the sinister truth. In a slip-up during a security round of a particular unit, Cooper found himself trapped in and ended up falling into a vat of chems that injured him beyond recognition.

He was sure to die. He thought he would. But when he woke up in the hospital not only did this confirm otherwise but it also confirmed that he’d been caught. And from there a series of losses began in just the spiral of a day. His wife was leaving him, taking their only daughter, his last credited role was from a now canceled TV series; and he’d even lost his dazzling looks.

He was now a ghost of himself. A ghoul. Parts of his human form were overshadowed by the singed flesh that encased large parts of him. Like a Frankenstein’s monster of sorts.

He’d tried being a good man. A simple family man. But look where that path has led him. This world wasn’t built for men like him. And so he gave in to the dark parts of himself.

It’s funny how the world knows just who to send into your life to completely flip it upside down because you thought you’d never see Cooper again. In a way, you could say that you were right. Because sitting right across from you—that isn’t the wholesome TV Dad you’ve had the pleasure to work with…oh no, he is ‘The Ghoul’.

There he is before you; red stained lips painted into a wicked smile, green-dyed hair slicked back in a suave style, smoking a cigar and looking like the mafia boss that he is despite wearing the all white clothing associated with the asylum. The bottom half of his face from his bottom lip and jaw down to neck and shoulders are web-like flesh stapled together like he’d been built up like a puzzle. Somehow, he’s still so very handsome.

“Look ‘atcha,” He smirks, ogling you up and down. “My, my…you’ve grown. Even got yourself that psychology degree you’ve been tellin’ me you wan’ed to go back to school for. Proud of ya, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Howard,” You say before adjusting your glasses and leaning forward. “I was rather intrigued when I heard that I’d get to meet the new you. Colleagues told me it’d be a bad idea taking you as my patient considering how much I’ve once looked up to you.“

He chuckles. “Ya know, the universe can be quite the prankster. You remember that lil’ joke I made about bein’ a patient of yours someday…” The chains from the metal cuffs around his wrists rattle when gestures to himself. “I reckon I shoulda specify what kind of patient I’d be.“

“It’s a shame we have to meet under these circumstances. But I’m glad we’ve crossed paths.” You say.

“Oh?” He asks, leaning in as well. “Why’s that, sugar?”

“Because I want to help you.” You simply say.

“I already know I’m fuckin’ crazy, sweetheart. I don’t need a shrink to talk my ear off ‘bout it.”

“No, Mr. Ghoul, I want to help you…burn Vault-Tec to the fucking ground,” You clarify. “And when there’s nothing left, I want to dance on its ashes. I want to reveal the evil truth to the people and start a fucking revolution. I want chaos. Anarchy. And I want…I want to be with you.”

You slip your fingers into one of your thigh-high stockings and pull out a key you retrieved from an unsuspecting prison guard. Cooper watches on as you remove his cuffs with a pleased yet astonished expression. You tenderly rub the indented marks on his wrist. “I’ve always loved you. Even before we’d ever met—I was your biggest fan.”

He stands with an aura of intimidation and raw assertion, an intense gaze in his eyes as he saunters closer to you. You quickly rise to your feet, anticipating his embrace.

Cooper’s large hands shoot up around your neck, squeezing. Not hard enough to cut off any air circulation but just enough to drag your body against his.

He plants a messy kiss onto your lips. There’s teeth nipping at the soft, plush of your lips and his thick tongue lick the surface and the inside of your mouth. It’s so sloppy and purposefully so and you don’t care how freaky it is.

You are sure by now that his white face paint and the crimson shade of his lips have now transferred to your lips. Or could it be blood from the little nick he’d given you on your lips. You aren’t sure but it only added on to your arousal.

He pulls away, blood staining lips and just beneath his nose. “Well, I’m sure glad you chose to come home to daddy because if you weren’t by my side—why I’d just have to kill ya,” He laughs, removing a hand from your neck to cradle the back of your head. “Thatta girl. Now let’s get outta this shithole.”

“I know a secret exit we can—”

“Sorry, sugar, but I’d rather leave with a bang,” He winks suggestively, taking you by the arms to face you away from him and bend you over the table; the side of your face is pressed against the cold metal. You feel his erection weighing hot and heavy against your ass as he lays himself over you for a moment, lips against your ears to growl a command. “Don’t hold back yer screams for me, princess. Let ‘em all hear what I’m doin’ to ya.”

Just as you feel your lace panties being pulled to the side, four guards come barging into the room and shout for his compliance.

“Get the fuck off of her.” One guard shouts, laying a heavy hand on the Ghoul’s shoulder. Ghoul’s military training comes into play as he uses the very key that set him free to repeatedly jab into the accessible and vulnerable armpit of the guard.

He cries out in pain nursing the wound that now bleeds profusely and too distracted by this he fails to protect his gun, allowing Cooper to lift it from his belt and shoot into the shoulder of another guard who’d drawn his gun at him. In a shocking twist, you witness one prison guard turn on his last fellow guard, shooting him right in the knees.

“What about the girl?” The traitor prison guard questions, pointing a weapon against your head as you remain trembling against the table. You’ve never seen anything like this!

The ghoul steals a handkerchief from a prison guard who’d been struggling to reach his radio strewn across the room. Cooper nonchalantly wipes away the excess blood on his hands before picking up his cuban cigar from the ashtray. You awaited in nervous anticipation as he decided to take a draw from it instead of answering him, bellowing out the smoke in your direction and clouding your view of him for a few seconds.

His hard gaze begins to soften, charming you with his famous smile. “She’s just dandy to me.”

He holds a hand out to you and you squeal with glee, standing up on wobbly knees to jump into his arms.

“Come on, sugar. We’ve got some catchin’ up to do,” He holds you tight against him before indiscreetly whispering to his minion. “Finish the job, will ya? But do it only after we leave the room. Wouldn’t want to traumatize my princess ‘less it’s done by my hand.”

“You got it, boss.” The minion says. And withthat the Ghoul carries you over the threshold of what was once your own prison in a metaphorical sense.

The Ghoul makes do with his promise and causes a huge debacle within the asylum. By the time you’d both leave the building, it was like a circus. There were patients everywhere running amuck with doctors and nurses failing to control them, alarms going off, and you think there might have even been a fire started. It was perfect.

Outside a limo awaits the two of you, it looks like he’d been planning his escape all along. Whether that included you, you didn’t care. He may not be the same Cooper you fell for, the one whom you once saw as a father figure—Hell, he’s batshit fucking insane but somehow it makes your heart beat a mile a minute and the attraction only triples but his new appearance.

You pull him for yet another kiss, flames in the background are like fireworks. You could get lost in it if it weren’t for the damn police and fire truck sirens going off.

“Looks like that’s our cue to scram.” He opens the door for you which is interesting that he can still be so chivalrous. You smile just like the princess he names you to be and you enter and never look back.

Now you are a part of that darkness, feeding each other’s wickedness. The two of you have shed your clothes and in turn shed those identities. No longer did he don the all white clothing of an asylum patient. When he looks into the mirror —past the charred half of his flesh- he sees that of a crime-lord with weapons hung close to his body as if it were an accessory to his pin-striped suits. And you’d shed your past life, burning your white lab coat. You were now his and he, yours. And of course as a daddy’s girl, you’d do anything to mirror his image, adapting his twisted clown aesthetic.

Newspapers had a field-day writing about your descent to madness from America’s sweetheart to the other-half of a crazy crime duo. They call it a match made in hell, you call it the greatest love story ever.

But sometimes it does get exhausting when you want to spend time with your lover when there’s so many factors that prevents you from spending time with him! Vault-Tec, Vigilantes, Betrayers, and Barb! Just thinking about her makes you angry.

Why can’t they all just let you enjoy your chaotic lives in peace?!

Currently, The Ghoul is handling a business transaction with an informant from Vault-Tec who made claims of a nuclear war in the making with a plan to make the middle class pay for it. You’re more than happy to set your plan in motion to create a threatening video message to the company using the informant as a hostage, hoping you’ll finally get some time with Coop but he wants to take things slow.

“It’s chess not checkers, darlin’.” He’d comment and you’d just have to accept it. But today was meant to be your anniversary and he’d decided to take time out of your day to do business!

You claw your acrylics through the newspaper you’d been reading with an old picture of Cooper and Barb on the front page with a headline about their once fiery romance. That was the last straw.

Your sharp cat-like acrylics claw into the flimsy newspaper material you held in your hands, poking through the page from back to front and straight through the eyes of your lover and his ex-wife. The headline of their past fiery romance pushes you over the edge.

You shred the paper into bits, flinging it into the air like confetti. The tears are blinding, mascara running down your cheeks as you rise to your feet and go over to retrieve something from his ‘secret’ drawer from his office.

In the highest heels you own, you’re strutting angrily and briskly up the long-winded stairs and through the spacious halls of his large penthouse. His staff know better than to get in your way, jumping out of your path with terrified looks the moment they lay eyes on you.

You may be a curvier girl but you were a lot shorter in height than most people you knew. And most people you knew usually wouldn’t be intimidated by such a woman of your stature, not of course, if said woman happened to be wielding a .45 caliber pistol in hand.

If hell hath no fury than a woman scorned then it is in everyone’s best interest to mind their goddamn business.

You see red. Tunnel vision. Nothing else existed in this moment other than the man you hope to kill.

“Cooper!” You shout, pounding hard against the double ivory doors of his conference room before throwing them open.

The audience in the room turns their heads in your direction, expressions of confusion morphing into horror. You could hear the faint murmurs of his patrons murmuring about knowing you from TV.

The Ghoul is the last to raise his eyes at you, expelling air from his nostrils in frustration. He’s yet to speak up, watching the scene unfold from his big boss chair.

“Ya’ll better skedaddle or little blue’s gonna sing,” You threaten causing the crowd to quickly flee, some clutching their grand-theft stolen pearls as they do so. Once you're satisfied with the emptied room, you close the doors behind you and lock them for safe measures. You raise the gun at him, hands shaking. “You still love her, don’t you? The day you decided to leave the facility…to take me as yours…that was on your anniversary date, wasn’t it? I thought this day was special for us. But you used me. You just want her attention.”

He’s neither terrified nor angry. He just seems…inconvenienced. Bored with it all, he rolls his eyes as he begins fixing up his paperwork. “Couldn’t this have waited until after my meeting? I’ve got a job to do. I don’t need any of your distractions.”

“You think I’m a distraction,” You squeak, hurt by his suggestion. A rage consumes you so violently that you think of the first thing that'll quench your fire. In one fell swoop, you swipe your arm on the table and throw his paperwork and office supplies onto the ground scattering them everywhere. Now he’s furious, jaw clenching as he stares daggers at you. You can tell he’s deciding a punishment for you. “You said we belonged together! We were supposed to forge the world side by side. How could you say that I’m just a distraction?”

“I said, ‘your distractions’. As in, all the bullshit you do on a daily basis. Now be quiet.” He hisses through gritted teeth.

“No.” You stand your ground, adjusting your posture so that you appear even taller than you already are in your heels. You know he hates it when people tower over him.

He slams his hands on the table before rising to his feet slowly. He makes it a point to stand as close to you as possible so that he’s the one towering over you now. “You’re being a fucking brat.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” You snarl. “Maybe…I should find her, hmm? I should find her and kill her. I’ll do it. You think I wouldn’t?”

“Sweet pea, I know you would and I don’t care if you do,” He laughs, cupping your face in his large hands. “She took my Janey from me. I ain’t seen her in years. Barb is my lightning rod, all my aggression is accredited to her. If she were gone, sure it’d make things really boring for me but that’s just it. And as for you, princess, well…yer a pretty young thing—real cute—but I’m one making the commands here.”

“But we’ve done so much together. We made them lose profits. We pushed forward a smear campaign for one of the senior executives that made him disappear off the grid. That was a team effort!”

“And I appreciate your support, lil’ angel. You really do make yo papa proud,” His thumb traces your lips before he roughly grips your jaw, making you look him in the eye. His rings bite into the skin of your cheeks. “Now why don’t you give me a pretty smile? If yer good for it, I might let you sit on my lap.”

You yank away from his grasp, cocking the gun. “I’ll fucking kill you. I thought when you came into my life to silence my demons. But you’ve only danced with them. I’m so screwed up in the head because I loved you. But if you die, I’ll be free.”

For a moment, he looks genuinely scared but then he gives you a wicked smirk.

“You wouldn’t. You could never kill me. How do you think you’ll be able to go on livin’ after it’s done? The second I’m gone, you wouldn’t last not even a millisecond without me,” He steps forward, closing the gap between you once again. “That’s how pathetic you are. You need somethin’ in your life to cling on and that’s me. I’m your lifeline. Whether you like it or not, your heart knows you're bound to me. A year of fleetin’ kisses and light touches; I’ve not fucked you once and still yer this weak for me. I could only imagine how obedient you’ll be when I pop your precious cherry.”

“Fuck you,” Hot tears and mucus continue to run down your face as you unrelentingly held the pistol up to his chest. “Fuck you, Cooper. Maybe I won’t live long after I kill you, but I’ll be seeing you in hell.”

You pull the trigger only instead of a lead bullet, a foam-like bullet with a suction end sticks to his chest. It appears to be a strange child’s toy. You examine it with confusion before looking up at his fuming expression.

You begin to laugh nervously, dropping the toy on the ground to give a quirky shrug of your shoulders. “Oopsies.”

“I didn’t think I’d hide actual guns anywhere near the likes you, did you?” He sneers. “You fucking shot me.”

“But you didn’t die.”

“Anything you’ve got to say for yourself?”

You swallow the hard lump in your throat. “S-sorry…daddy.”

He raises his hand and you flinch, fearing that this’ll be the day he finally raises a hand on you. Instead, he places it on your head, petting it softly.

“My good girl,” He praises, much to your confusion. “What am I going to do with you?”

Your eyes sparkle with love and admiration, throwing yourself into his arms. “You still love me?”

“Of course, I still love you,” He coos, soothing a hand down your back that’s exposed by the style of your mini blue satin dress. “I’ve never had a woman love me this intensely. You almost killed me, woman. That makes me so hard.”

He guides your dainty hand over his hardening clothed cock. “Do you feel that, sugar?” He rasps. “You’ve done this to me simply for being crazy as shit. No woman’s ever made me feel this way, not even Barb..”

“Y-you mean that, daddy-o?”

“From the bottom of my heart,” He brushes his nose against yours. “Do you see how passionately in love we are for each other? You never have to question my devotion for you even if Barb’s around, no one could replace you. There’s just so many things you do that she could never do as good as you.”

“Like what?” You blink up innocently.

“You always know just the right thing to make me feel good.” He hints, sitting back on his executive chair with his legs spread.

You sink to your knees, sitting in between his legs. Cooper loves oral sex, both giving and receiving. He’s been so busy with work that rarely had time for either but you’ll gladly keep giving it up whenever you can. And maybe eventually, he’ll officially claim you in bed.

Your hands reach for his zipper when he halts your movements. He stares intensely into your eyes while wrapping one pigtail around his scarred hand. “You don’t deserve to taste me. You’ve maxed out your strikes for the day,” He begins to recount. “Strike one, you interrupted my meeting. Strike two, you were a rude pest. Strike three, you tried to kill me. For these reasons, I want you to sit beside me like a good little girl for the rest of my meeting. I shall have a punishment ready for you by then.”

“But—“

“Silence,” He tugs hard, forcing you to rise slightly. “I don’t want to hear a word out of you. I want you as silent as the ground I walk on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You whine.

He places a kiss on your forehead before releasing you. With a push of a button, he makes an announcement on the intercom for his staff to lead his patrons back into the conference room.

“Remember, my dove: not a peep out of you.” He orders.

You watch on the rest of the meeting with awe, head in your hands as you dreamily sigh up at him as plotted away. After sometime, the members of his team exit the room after the Ghoul approves their dismissal.

Alone again at last, you hop into his lap, making the two of you spin in his upholstered chair. He humors you, forehead against yours and a reserved smile on his face.

“You were so amazing, daddy-o! I bet they’ll never think to underestimate you again. The plan is just diabolical!” You exclaim. “How are you real?”

“I ask myself this at times.” He replies smugly, rubbing circles in your back. If you continued to praise him like this, he just might disregard punishing you.

“I know I’ve been a bad girl and I don’t deserve it but may I please kiss you?” You ask, playing with his tie.

“You may.” He approves.

You squeal giddily before planting your lips onto his with a hungry desire that has you both moaning into the kiss. Your hands find comfort in his hair, ruining its assembly. Most days, Cooper would curse you for this but today he’s in such good spirits because everything is going his way. He slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

The telephone rings and he breaks away with a groan reaching for it on the table while his other hand continues to trace his fingers lightly up and down your back. While he’s occupied in conversation, you kiss all over his neck, leaving lipstick kisses behind.

“Excellent, I’ll be sure to watch.” He says with a smile.

“Daddy-o’?” You question.

He simply takes a remote off his desk and presses a button that mechanically parts the large velvet curtains to the side, revealing the big clear window behind it. Different colors burst into the sky of reds, greens, blues and yellow and you recognize them as actual fireworks.

You stand from his lap, walking over to the large window to gaze in at its glory. He’d successfully executed a plan you’d been telling him about for months; setting off an explosion at one of the milk factories that an ex owned. A factory far in the distance that you could see from the penthouse’s height, cursing it every day because it ruined your view of the city. And now Cooper has taken it out…for you. God, you love this man.

“Happy Anniversary, princess.” He says from behind, kissing you on your neck.

“This is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me,”Your eyes sparkle in the light, clapping and laughing with pure glee at the spectacle. “Oh, I could only imagine how funny it would have been to see the look on his face.”

Cooper presses another button and sure enough your ex is on the news, having a fit about it while you and Cooper laughed as if it were the funniest thing on earth.

Swept up by the moment, you kissed him passionately, messing up his makeup and your own as blended into an odd mix of colors.

His thick fingers find their way between your legs, moving past your damp panties to plunge into your hot, wet core. You gasp against his lips, nails sinking into his dress shirt for support as you grind down on them.

“I love you, Daddy.” You cry out happily, breathing quicken with the pumping of his fingers. If it weren’t for your back against the window, your buckling knees would have taken you down.

“I love you, too, sugar. You’re so good for me.” He praises, thrusting so particularly deep into you that your eyes cross and you gush your honeyed slick into his palm. “Always been daddy’s little monster.”

That name is enough to tip you over the edge, tightening your hand around his wrist when your orgasm finally hits you like a freight train. You whine and tremble when he continues his ministrations inside of you curling is finger perfectly while his meaty palm added friction to your throbbing clit. You’re sobbing at the overstimulation, soaking his hand, down your legs and his pants. He laughs at your catatonic state; the babbling and drool down your chin makes you look about as mad as an asylum patient. The aftershocks flow through you like a tidal wave as you shake against his hard body.

He’s only merciful to stop when you begin to clamp his hand between your thighs to keep him from moving any further.

When you come down, you give him a dopey smile and say, “Boy, seeing a building blow up like that makes me want to ‘blow’ something else?”

[applestorms]

@jessaerys ok shit this took a while but WHATEVER. wammy's lore collection here we go :3c less analysis this time, this is mostly just to archive the main known details we have in canon about the house, and also the people from there more generally. however much you wanna accept all this/take it at face value is up to You, Dear Reader (and tbh y'all should just read all these if ur curious since they're all pretty short + have Interesting narrators. i'll include links to free versions). do whatever you want forever etc. etc. also, SPOILERS. obviously.

LABB: (listen here)

no this book isn't written by ohba. yes i'm including it. shush. anyways, most of the lore in this comes from mello's vague comments about beyond's backstory, but there's a Lot of interesting things established in this, so. here's a bunch of notable quotes. if you're not already familiar, please keep in mind that the narrator of this novel is mello, writing at some point shortly before his death.

"L. The century's greatest detective. In light of his staggering mental abilities, L died an unjust and untimely death. In the public record alone he solved over 3,500 difficult crimes, and sent three times that number of degenerates to prison. He wielded incredible power, was able to mobilize every investigative bureau in the entire world, and was applauded generously for his efforts. And during it all, he never showed his face." (pg. 10)

"So, what you're reading now are my notes about L. It's a dying message, not from me, and not directed at the world. The person who will most likely read this first will probably be that big-headed twit Near. But if that's the case, I will not tell him to shred or burn these pages. If it causes him pain to discover that I knew things about L that he did not, then that's fine." (pg. 10-11)

"I am one of the few people who ever met L as L. When and how I met him...this is the single most valuable memory I have, and I will not write it here, but on that occasion L related to me three stories of his exploits, and the episode involving Beyond Birthday was one of these." (pg. 11)

"Obviously, it never came to light that L--and more importantly, Wammy's House, which raised me until I was fifteen--was deeply connected to the matter, but in fact, they were. L, on principle, never got involved in a case unless there were more than ten victims or a million dollars at stake, and this is the real reason why he belatedly, but aggressively, involved himself in this little case, which only ever had three or four victims. I will explain further in the pages that follow, but for this reason, the case of the Los Angeles BB murders is a watershed event for L, for me, and even for Kira. It was a monumental event for all of us. Why? Because this is the case where L first introduced himself as Ryuzaki." (pg. 11)

"For any one else but those two [Near and Kira], my identity may be of no interest, but I am the old world's runner-up, the best dresser that died like a dog, Mihael Keehl. I once called myself Mello and was addressed by that name, but that was a long time ago. Good memories and nightmares." (pg. 12)

"She [Naomi Misora] briefly considered the idea that Raye Penber, or someone else, was playing a practical joke on her, but she found it hard to believe that anyone would be so bold to sign their name as such. L never revealed himself in public or in private, but Misora had heard several horror stories about what happened to detectives who tried passing themselves off as L. It was safe to say that no one would dare use his name, even in jest." (pg. 18)

"This was L, so he was undoubtedly solving several other difficult cases all at once. Cases all over the world. For him, this case was just one of many parallel investigations. How else could he maintain his reputation as the world's greatest detective? The century's greatest detective, L. The detective with no clients." (pg. 35)

"L had earned a certain degree of hostility from other detectives, and the jealous ones called him a hermit detective, or a computer detective, but neither of these is a particularly accurate representation of the truth. Naomi Misora had also tended to think of L as an armchair detective, but in fact, L was quite the opposite, a very active, aggressive individual. [swoon.] While he had absolutely no interest in social connections, he was certainly not the kind of detective to shut himself up in a dark room with the shades drawn and refuse to come out. It is now common knowledge that the three great post war detectives, L, Eraldo Coil and Danuve were all actually the same person. Certainly, anyone reading these notes is almost certain to know...though they may not know that L engaged in a war with the real Eraldo Coil, and the real Danuve, and emerged victorious, claiming their detective codes. The details of this detective war I will save for another occasion, but in addition to those three names, L possessed many other detective codes. I have no idea how many, but there were at least three digits' worth. And quite a number of those were fairly public detectives--just like, as anyone reading these notes must know, he appeared before Kira, calling himself Ryuzaki or Ryuga Hideki. Of course, Naomi Misora had no way of knowing this, but in my opinion, the name L was, for him, just one of many. He never had any direct connection to that identity, he never thought of himself as L--it was just the most famous and most powerful of the many detective codes he used during his life. The name had its uses, but lacked obscurity. L had a real name that nobody knew, and nobody will ever know, but a name which only he knew never defined him. I sometimes wonder if L himself ever knew exactly which name was written in the Death Note, which name it was that killed him. I wonder." (pg. 43-44)

"If we must discuss why L so adamantly refused to reveal himself, we can explain it very simply: doing so was dangerous. Very dangerous. While the world leaders should make efforts to ensure the safety of all the finest minds, not only for detectives, the fact is that the current societal systems do not allow for this, and L believed he had no choice but to protect his mind under his own power. By simple arithmetic, L's ability in 2002 was the equivalent of five ordinary investigative bureaus, and seven intelligence agencies (and by the time he faced off against Kira, those numbers had leapt upward several more notches). This is easy to think of as a reason to respect and admire someone, but let me say this as clearly as possible: that much ability in one human is extremely dangerous. Modern danger management techniques rely heavily on defusing risk, but his very existence was the exact opposite. In other words, if someone was planning to commit a crime, they would greatly increase their chances of getting away with it by simply killing L before they began. That was why L hid his identity. Not because he was shy, or because he never left the house. To ensure his own safety. For a detective of L's ability, self-preservation and the preservation of world peace were one and the same, and it would not be correct to describe his actions as cowardly or self-centered." (pg. 69 nice)

"So whenever L was working, he would usually have someone else as his public face--and in this particular case, the FBI agent Naomi Misora was filling that role." (pg. 70)

"Beyond Birthday had the eyes of a shinigami congenitally. It was not particularly difficult for him to track down people with the initials B.B. or find people who were fated to die on a certain day at a certain time." (pg. 94)

"Normally contact with a shinigami was a prerequisite for acquisition, but Beyond Birthday had traded nothing--he had seen through those eyes since before he could remember. He knew your name before you said it. He knew the time of death of every person he met." (pg. 94)

"You might think [the eyes] would hardly be useful without a Death Note, but that is simply not the case. The ability to see someone's remaining life is the ability to see death. Death, death, death. Beyond Birthday lived his life unceasingly reminded that all humans would eventually die. From the time he was born he knew the day his father would be attacked by a thug and die, knew the day his mother would die in a train crash. He had these eyes before he was born, which is why he called himself Beyond Birthday. Which is why a child as strange as he was taken in by our home, sweet home--Wammy's House. He was B. The second child in Wammy's House." (pg. 94-95)

"The competition between L and B. L and B's puzzle. 'If L's a genius, then B's an extreme genius. If L's a freak, then B's an extreme freak. Now it's time to get ready. There are things I must do before B can surpass L. Henh henh henh henh.' This thought was the only thing that made him laugh without needing to think about it. And those that know will recognize the laugh of the shinigami. Still grinning to himself, he faced the mirror, brushed his hair, and began applying his makeup. The reflection of himself in the mirror. Himself. As always, he could not see his own time of death. No more than he could see the death of the world." (pg. 96)

"We were raised at Wammy's House in England, in Winchester, as L's successors, as L's alternatives, but that does not mean we knew anything more about L than anyone else. Including myself, only a few of us ever met L as L, and even I knew nothing about L before he met Watari--Quillish Wammy, the genius inventor who founded Wammy's House. Nobody knows what's going on in L's head. But even so, I know how Watari felt. Looking at L's incredible talents from the perspective of an inventor--of course he wanted to make a copy, of course he wanted to create a backup. Anyone would feel the same. As I have already explained, L never appeared in public. L knew that his own death would increase the crime rate all over the world by a few dozen percentage points. But what if they could copy him? What if they could make a backup? That was us. L's children, gathered from all corners of the world.

"But even for a genius like Watari, creating a fake L was easier said than done. Even for Near and I, who were said to be the closest to L...the more we tried to be like him, the closer we got, the father away he was, like chasing a mirage. So I hardly need to tell you what it was like when Wammy's House was first founded, when he was still experimenting. The first child, A, was unable to handle the pressure of living up to L and took his own life, and the second child, Beyond Birthday, was brilliant and deviant. B stood for Backup.

"But B tried to surpass L, not become him...no, that might not be right. I have no way of knowing the inner workings of his mind. He...their generation was not like the fourth generation, with Near and I, all the children bound only to the code with the serial L. They were prototypes, never even given the L code, expected to fail. I prefer to refrain from idle speculation based on my own experiences, but, well, Beyond Birthday may have thought something like this: As long as there was L, B would never be L. As long as the original existed, the copy was always a copy." (pg. 104-105)

"The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. L.A.B.B.--L is After Beyond Birthday. This reading is why I think this name is so much closer to the killer's intentions than the Wara Ningyo Murders, or the Los Angeles Serial Locked Room Killings. I wasn't talking about the names on a purely stylistic basis. Whether Beyond Birthday had put that much thought into it I have no idea, but if he had a specific reason for choosing to commit his murders in L.A., then that is probably why. I am sure he had a much more personal obsession with L as an individual than Near or I ever did. I can understand why someone would become a criminal in order to fight against a detective, which is why I can write something like this, but even so. What did he hope to accomplish by killing unrelated people? Or perhaps B simply wanted to meet L. Then he could use the eyes of the shinigami he'd been born with and see L's real name, see when L would die. He would be able to figure out who L was. Beyond Birthday had never told anyone that he had the eyes of a shinigami, and it would not surprise me at all if he believed himself to be some kind of shinigami." (pg. 105-106)

"Beyond Birthday challenged L. And L accepted the challenge. To put it bluntly, the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases were nothing but an internal struggle, a civil war within our home, sweet home-- Wammy's House. Unfortunate for the victims that got mixed up in it, but even if Beyond Birthday had not killed them, all those victims were fated to die that day, at that time, for some other reason, so logically and morally, their deaths were unavoidable. So in the strictest sense of the word, the only one who really got mixed up in their war was Naomi Misora." (pg. 106)

"L was said to never move on a case unless there were more than ten victims or a million dollars at stake. The only exceptions to this were cases at difficulty level L (extremely fitting), or when L had personal reasons compelling him to get involved. The Los Angeles BB Murders were both of these. I hardly need to point out the difficulty by this stage of the story, and L was essentially fighting his own dead copy. [harsh, dude.] The current head of Wammy's House had told Quillish Wammy/Watari, who had told L about B's disappearance in May, and ever since L had been looking for him even as he solved other cases. Wammy's House only knew him as B--they did not know his real name, Beyond Birthday, so this search was near impossible, but L knew who the killer was. He had not been looking for a killer so much as he was looking for a case. L had been waiting, expecting Beyond Birthday to do something to challenge him. L could move any policeman in the world, but in this case, he could not ask anyone for help except Naomi Misora...more than likely, for this reason. I don't think L really put that much stock in honor, but everyone is embarrassed by their own sins, and nobody wants those missteps to become public knowledge. L was the goal of everyone in Wammy's House. Every one of us wanted to surpass him. To step over him. To step on him. M did, N did, and B did. M as a challenger, N as a successor. B as a criminal." (pg. 116-117)

"No matter what she did, she had no way of knowing. That this killer, Beyond Birthday, could tell someone's name and time of death just by looking at their face, that he had been born with the eyes of a shinigami--she had no way of knowing that fake names were useless with him, completely and utterly pointless. How could she have known? Even Beyond Birthday himself could not explain how he had been born with the eyes of the shinigami, how he could use them with no payment, with no arrangement. Neither Misora nor L knew why, and, obviously, neither do I. The closest thing to an explanation I can offer is that there are shinigami stupid enough to drop their notebooks in our world, so there might well be shinigami stupid enough to drop their eyes." (pg. 193-140)

"'So, Naomi Misora...' said L, wrapping up. But Misora hastily stammered, 'Um, er, L...' but then she hesitated, not sure if she should ask this or not. 'You...know the killer, right?' 'Yes, as I said. He is B.' 'I don't mean like that...I mean, he's someone you know personally?' On the 16th, L had said that he had known the killer was B, and she had sort of known ever since, but two days before, L had said something that changed her guess to conviction. Whatever you do, please catch the killer. The century's greatest detective, L, would never say that about some ordinary indiscriminate serial killer. And the way his letter was just one letter long... 'Yes,' the synthetic voice agreed." (pg. 144-145)

"'I have nothing to do with him,' L said. 'To be completely accurate, I do not even know B. He is simply someone I am aware of. But none of this affects my judgement. Certainly, I was interested in this case, and began to investigate it because I knew who the killer was. But that did not alter the way I investigated it, or the manner in which my investigation proceeded. Naomi Misora, I cannot overlook evil. I cannot forgive it. It does not matter if I know the person who commits evil or not. I am only interested in justice.'" (pg. 145)

"My great and respected predecessor, the man whose actions were a strong influence on me personally, B, B.B., Beyond Birthday--obviously, I need hardly explain again that the murders themselves were not his purpose. So what was he doing? Again, I hardly need to explain--he was challenging the man he copied, the century's greatest detective L. A matter of winning or losing. A contest." (pg. 159)

"Since L could solve every case no matter how challenging, if he created a case so difficult that L as unable to solve it, B would have defeated L." (pg. 159)

"He knew that the moment he took action Wammy's House and Watari would alert L, so he did not even bother trying to stop them. He could only guess at which stage of his plan L would start to come after him, so he prepared things carefully, ready for L's entrance at any point." (pg. 159)

"B approached Naomi Misora, calling himself Rue Ryuzaki. Rue Ryuzaki--L.L. For anyone from Wammy's House, there could be no higher goal than identifying yourself with that letter--and Beyond Birthday seized this case as his chance. even Naomi Misora knew what had happened to detectives falsely identifying themselves as L, and B was from Wammy's House, so he knew this better than anyone--so this choice suggests the strength of his decision. He never once intended to survive--had had made up his mind. He was ready." (pg. 160) [trans. note: the name "Rue" in Japanese, ルエ (ru-e), is an anagram of エル (e-ru), which is how L is pronounced.]

"Naturally, his face and fingerprints would burn as well--he had always disguised himself with heavy makeup while he was with Misora, and he never left a picture behind, so even if someone directly affiliated with Wammy's House inspected the body, they would have no idea that Rue Ryuzaki/Beyond Birthday was B from Wammy's House. He had left nothing to connect Beyond Birthday to B." (pg. 162)

"B was presenting the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases to L as a case that could never be solved. That L could never solve. In other words, he had never prepared any clear solution to it--since the killer had committed suicide, disguised as the fourth victim, there was no longer a killer to catch, and no clues left to catch him with." (pg. 163)

"My poor, poor predecessor. Not only was he utterly and completely defeated, but he survived, driving home his embarrassment...he must have longed for death. Accept my condolences, B." (pg. 169-170)

"If I had space left over I had intended to carry right on into the other two stories I heard from L: the story of the detective war between the three greatest detectives, all solving that infamous bio-terror case, with guest appearances by the last of the alphabet, the first X to the first Z from Wammy's House; and the story of how the world's greatest inventor, Quillish Wammy, aka Watari, had first met L, then about eight year's old--the case that gave birth to the century's greatest detective, the Winchester Mad Bombings that occurred just after the third World War. But however objectively I look at things, I do not have the space or the time. Oh well." (pg. 170)

"She had spoken to L only once after the killer was arrested. He thanked her for helping to solve the case, and told her just a little about the background of the case. That B had been a candidate to succeed L, and that the pressure of that had driven him off track." (pg. 171)

"And a few years after his arrest, on January 21st, 2004, serving a life sentence in a California prison, Beyond Birthday died of a mysterious heart attack." (pg. 173)

C-KIRA: (read here)

near grief :pensive: pretty sure this was animated in the anime movie thing?? tbh i still need to watch that. Very interesting as some of the most recent post-main story lore we get about wammy's imo. less quotes now + more summarizing since these are just comics

near has apparently only "talked" to L once (in quotes since he didn't actually say anything, just sat in the back of the room doing a puzzle the entire time. real asf girl)

during this "conversation," roger or one of the orphanage heads set up the usual L screen + a camera/mic so that L could see all the kids and answer their questions.

notably, mello & near didn't ask any questions, just lurked in the back watching L with a "nasty look in [their] eyes," which near assumes is what made him pick them to be his top successors, considering the fact that he didn't actually look at any of their data. (somewhat seems to imply that L didn't actually give a shit about grades or anything like that when picking his main successors?)

while answering questions, near is caught off guard by one of L's answers. to transcribe it all directly here--

NEAR (NARRATING): At the time, I didn't think L would put it so bluntly. L: It's not a sense of justice. L: Figuring out difficult cases is my hobby. If you measured good and evil deeds by current laws, I would be responsible for many crimes. L: The same way you all like to solve mysteries and riddles, or clear video games more quickly... For me too, its simply prolonging something I enjoy doing. L: That's why I only take on cases that pique my interest. It's not justice at all. And if it means being able to clear a case, I don't play fair, I'm a dishonest, cheating human being, who hates losing...

not quite the monster speech, but fascinating all the same. near seems to imply that this answer sent some kids into a despair spiral, but it actually caused him to like L more and more, feeling that he was, "exactly the kind of person who wanted to achieve his own goals." kinda goes against the HTR13 ohba comment? shrug

The Wammy's House/L's One Day: (read here)

honestly i interpret these comics as like. canon crack fic. but anyways, here's the established L lore included in these two.

L was taken into wammy's as a nameless orphan at an unknown but likely quite young age

very soon after arriving he beats up all the other kids he meets--

he is "utterly incompatible," with all the other kids and monopolizes all the things he likes simply cause he's stronger than them and presumably could fight them for it-- naturally, he ends up usually just playing by himself

notably, this all establishes that L isn't the first kid at wammy's, that there was already at least one generation of older kids living there before he got there (and could eventually turn it into an L successor creating machine)

once watari realizes that L has some outstanding mental abilities, he gives him his own private room and a computer. afterwards, L spends most of his time sitting in front of the puter by himself

L requests that watari buy 1 million pounds with Japanese yen and tells him which stocks to buy, causing his assets to reach "almost 20,000 times the original amount," in two years. visually this is depicted as happening when L is still quite young

several years later, L stumbles across a serial murder case in the news, which is the first he solves, starting his new career path

-

L can stay awake for 100+ hours and then gets over it by sleeping for like 17 hours. pictures also may imply that he doesn't actually sleep in a bed, but just lies down sideways in his chair. RIP yotsuba light's perfectly designed sleep schedule

L also shits/pisses in the same position he usually sits in (frog-pose), facing the tank south park style

he is a big fan of cleanliness!! human washing machine etc. etc. honestly i think this is just another way for him to hold that same crouched position

text says he always has, "ten or so identical sets of clothes prepared for him," since he's picky about it, but the art itself shows way more than ten. also rare shirtless L moment?? (watari helps)

L does in fact go outside!! he likes roller coasters/theme parks, swinging, art galleries, live music, etc. though most of the time he just sits in his room thinking thru shit n solving cases.

[scary-grace]

Expiation (Chapter 5) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5

You never knew, but should have guessed, that the High Kingdom’s march to war will not include everyone in it. Half the army will stay to guard the kingdom itself, as well as half the king’s council, while the king and the other half lead the army in pursuit of Warlord Kai. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to which of the councilors leave and which stay, except in one particular case: Sir Tomura’s. No one trusts Sir Tomura to guard the kingdom, and the White Death will be much needed on the battlefield – cursed wound, cursed weapons, and all.

Wound, weapons, and armor. You promised Mei you’d recommend her to Sir Tomura when it became time to repair his breastplate, but he’s so recalcitrant about having it repaired at all that you finally just threaten to take it to Mei yourself. Sir Tomura glares at you with his arms crossed over his chest, parked firmly between you and the armor stand. “If you think I’m going to let you steal my armor, you’ve lost your mind.”

“As you’ve lost yours, if you think I’ll send my Lord into battle unprotected,” you retort. You’ve grown more comfortable disagreeing with Sir Tomura when necessary, and while you refrain from commenting on his stubbornness most of the time, you won’t back down where his physical safety is concerned. “You are already vulnerable there. If you leave your breastplate unmended, it will tell your opponents exactly where to strike.”

“I doubt anyone will be able to break through my guard, and even if they could, my death would please the world more than my life,” Sir Tomura says. That crooked, mocking smile you’ve grown to hate crosses his face again. “My redemption, such as it is, can be found only in death. My life does not matter to them.”

“It matters to me,” you say, and Sir Tomura’s terrible smile fades. “And to others as well.”

The old king is particularly concerned with Sir Tomura, and Hakamada has taken some odd degree of interest. The herald, too, spends some portion of most days pestering Sir Tomura to tell the tale of how he defeated the Enemy – something he would not do if he was as terrified as the rest. King Izuku is uncomfortable with Sir Tomura’s presence, to be sure, but he cares that Sir Tomura is treated fairly. On the servants’ side, there’s you and Mei, and no one else. Mei’s concern is for his armor. Yours is for him.

Today, your concern and Mei’s overlap completely, and you suspected Sir Tomura would refuse outright – so you called for backup ahead of time. Before Sir Tomura can argue with you any further, Mei gives a perfunctory knock on the door and strides in as though she owns the place. Sir Tomura looks surprised. “Who are you?”

“Mei, the greatest blacksmith in the land.” No one has ever chastised Mei for her humility. “No damage is too great for me to repair. I’ll have that breastplate fixed better than new.”

“Is that so?” Sir Tomura gives you a look. You cringe. “Your services are not needed. It cannot be repaired, and even if it could –”

“That’s just foolish,” Mei says. She walks fearlessly up to Sir Tomura, who towers over her, and crowds him until he shifts aside, his incredulity growing with every passing second. “A cursed weapon caused this damage?”

“Aye.”

Mei inspects the armor for a moment. “Two days.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’ll be done in two days.” Mei is already lifting the breastplate from the armor stand. Sir Tomura looks as though he wants to prevent her, but has no idea how – it reminds you of watching Sir Ejirou try to rescue a hissing, spitting tomcat stuck in a tree. “The suit will be done in five. It needs fixing, too.”

“And what else do you suggest I fix,” Sir Tomura says, painfully sarcastic. “Do you intend to re-forge my horse?”

“It needs new shoes,” Mei says. Sarcasm doesn’t work on Mei. Few things do. “Anything else?”

“No.”

Mei crooks her thumb at you. “How about for her?”

You don’t need armor. You aren’t fighting. You aren’t even going – are you? You look at Sir Tomura, who’s gone from glaring at you to pointedly avoiding your gaze. “My Lord?”

“Chainmail,” Sir Tomura says to Mei, who nods. “The lightest you can manage, and whatever else that’s lightweight. How fast can that be done?”

“Five days,” Mei says again. “I’ll work on nothing else.”

You don’t think that’s a good idea – you know the smiths are assigned quotas of arrowheads and ax-blades – but it’s not your place to comment. What is your place to comment on is Sir Tomura, and the fact that he’s very obviously concealing something from you. Before you can say a word, Mei seizes your arm and hauls you into service. “Help me carry this,” she says, already lifting the armor stand. “Many thanks for your patronage. You won’t be disappointed.”

You get one last glimpse of Sir Tomura before Mei’s rapid pace forces you to speed up, lest you drop your side of the armor stand. His voice follows you out the door. “I regret this already.”

So do you, if you’re being honest. You’ve never made a situation less stressful by adding Mei to it, and the question of just why you need chainmail is occupying all your thoughts. In her corner of the smithy, Mei makes you help her pry the armor off the armor stand, and once it’s off, she throws all of it into a vat full of a filmy grey solution that looks like nothing so much as dishwater. “What is that?”

“It cleanses the armor, and neutralizes any residual magic,” Mei announces. You stare in horror. “What? I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think Sir Tomura wants his spells stripped from his armor.”

“His armor’s got no spells left. All of them went into blocking that strike,” Mei says. “I could tell when I touched it. Only shreds remain, and those must be removed before I can add new spells. Most magicians don’t know how to do it themselves. That’s probably why he thinks it can’t be repaired.”

You’re used to taking Sir Tomura’s word as truth on matters of magic, and it’s true that he’s often right – but Mei knows her craft, and you trust her with it. She sticks both hands in the vat, arranging the armor so all of it soaks evenly, then turns to you. “Are you going to give me your measurements, or do I have to take them myself?”

You give them, only for Mei to come and take them anyway. It exasperates you. “Why bother asking, then?”

“Some noble ladies lie about their measurements,” Mei says as she wraps a knotted string around your waist. “It’s not wise to lie about your chest when you’re being fitted for armor.”

Your face heats up. “I don’t care about that. And I’m not a noble lady.”

“You speak to the White Death like one.”

“So do you,” you protest.

“That’s how I speak to everyone,” Mei says. You suppose that’s true. When it comes to matters of arms and armor, Mei offers no varnishing of her opinions to anyone, noble or otherwise. “You would never speak to another knight or noble the way you speak to the White Death.”

“Because he ordered me to,” you say. Mei raises an eyebrow. “Sir Tomura ordered me to speak to him as I would speak to an equal.”

“Nobles order you to do things all the time.” Mei yanks the knotted string tight enough around your chest to make you gasp. “That doesn’t mean you do them all.”

Nobles and knights give nonsensical orders not infrequently – if they’re drunk, if they’re showing off, if they’re in an expansive frame of mind. They also give inappropriate orders, ones you feel no shame at all about refusing, and ones you warn the other servants about so they know what might be coming their way. Sir Tomura’s orders are neither nonsensical nor inappropriate, at least not to you. It hasn’t struck you as strange at all to follow them.

And following them isn’t incompatible with arguing with him, you don’t think. After all, he never told you not to.

Mei finishes measuring you, then evicts you from her corner of the smithy, and you try to remember the rest of your tasks for the day. The army will depart within the fortnight, and you’ve already confirmed that Sir Tomura will receive the same makeshift accommodations as any other knight on the campaign – a tent of his own, a cot, and a squire to serve him on the battlefield and off. But Sir Tomura’s chosen no squire, nor has anyone sought him out. You know he prefers to do things himself, that he did so before, that he and his comrades kept no servants. Still, the idea of sending him off with no assistance alarms you. Perhaps if you find someone for him –

“No,” Neito says, when you corner him in the stables as he’s grooming Aizawa’s horse. “Absolutely not.”

“No other Lord is expected to fight alone,” you say. “Sir Tomura –”

“Is the White Death, and he managed to humiliate Sir Katsuki without drawing his own sword. He does not need me.”

“He needs a squire,” you insist. “If you would but speak with him, you might find him more agreeable.”

“He does not need me,” Neito repeats. He gives you a sidelong, measured look. “He’ll have you.”

That’s the second time today someone’s alluded to your presence on the campaign. You’re beginning to think you’ve missed something. “You are mistaken. I’m not supposed to –”

“Be here? Yes.” Sir Tomura’s voice rings out from behind you, and you jump. Neito takes two steps back in shock and trips over a bucket. “There is an errand you must accompany me on, today. Your ambush with the blacksmith merely delayed it.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You help Neito to his feet, then hurry after Sir Tomura, rethinking your strategy. Perhaps Neito isn’t the right choice for Sir Tomura’s squire. You still have a fortnight to find someone.

To your surprise, Sir Tomura leads you out of Castle Ultra, down the hill toward the pastures where the knights’ and nobles’ horses spend their days. Perhaps he wants to visit his horse. You wait for him to explain the purpose of the errand, and why it requires your presence, but he remains silent long enough that you ask. “My Lord? Where are we going?”

“You must learn to ride.”

“I know how to ride,” you say.

“On what? A plough-horse still attached to the plough?” Sir Tomura says it without scorn, but you feel the sting regardless. “You must learn to ride properly if you hope to keep up.”

To keep up with what? You look up at Sir Tomura and find him once again ignoring your gaze. “My Lord – I’m not to accompany you on the campaign, am I?”

“If it were my choice, you would stay behind.” Sir Tomura picks up the pace, and you do the same, nearly stumbling on the uneven ground. “But the council is displeased with the quality of the evidence provided by their spies. Once again, they turn to those with firsthand knowledge of the borderlands, and in practice –”

“Me.” Your stomach drops fast enough to make you nauseous. “My Lord –”

“The order came from King Izuku,” Sir Tomura says. A sneer twists his mouth. “Such a good king, to endanger those who cannot fight in order to spare those who do.”

Of course you want the soldiers of the High Kingdom to be as prepared as possible for the battles they will face. Of course you owe everything to the High Kingdom for taking you in. The knowledge that this is the price you must pay for it sits firmly within you, and yet you still feel sick. “When did you plan to tell me, my Lord?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“Forgive my naïveté.” Your eyes are stinging.

“No,” Sir Tomura says sharply. “I misspoke. I hoped you knew, because I did not want to be the one to tell you. If I waited long enough, the King would have been forced to do it himself, and that damned look on your face would be his fault instead of mine.”

You must look terrible. “If my expression offends you –”

“Be silent,” Sir Tomura snaps, and you subside. “I will teach you what you need to know, beginning with this. If you wish to keep up with an army, you must learn to ride like a soldier.”

The keeper of the pastures must be expecting Sir Tomura; when the two of you arrive, he’s waiting for you with a pile of tack and a wooden practice horse. Koji speaks very little, and he stands by while Sir Tomura tersely instructs you on the proper way to saddle a horse. Once you’re able to repeat the instructions back to him, you move on to practicing on the wooden horse, and when you’ve saddled it five times without a mistake, Koji brings over a set of steps. You’ve seen knights and ladies climb them before to mount their horses.

“No,” Sir Tomura says. “Do you think we have such luxuries on a military campaign? You’ll learn from standing, as I did. Watch.”

You watch as Sir Tomura grasps the pommel of the saddle, plants one foot in the stirrup, and vaults himself into place astride the wooden horse. He makes it look easy, even if you see him grimace as the motion strains the fragile skin covering his cursed wound. He’s still grimacing as he leans down to adjust the stirrups to the proper lengths. “You secured the saddle and girth properly. If you fail to do so and attempt to mount, you’ll fall off the other side, and I cannot promise that I will not laugh at you.”

“It would be hard to resist, and I wouldn’t mind,” you say. Sir Tomura gives you an odd look. “Not when you laugh so rarely as it is.”

Sir Tomura dismounts from the other side of the wooden horse, then comes around to yours. “Show me what you observed.”

You’re so concerned about the prospect of failing to make it to the saddle that you overexert yourself, and nearly launch yourself all the way over. Sir Tomura steadies you. “Dismount from this side and try again,” he instructs. Dismounting is harder. You stumble, and he steadies you once again, interrupting you when you try to mumble an apology. “Apologizing will teach you nothing. Try again.”

You practice mounting and dismounting the wooden horse until your arms and legs are sore. Sir Tomura instructs you to remove the tack from the wooden horse and turns to Koji. “Take her to the paddock. I’ll return with Nomu.”

Nomu must be his horse. You’ve never heard him speak its name. Koji ushers you along the edge of the pastures towards a training paddock, one which contains seven or eight horses of various colors. You look to Koji, puzzled, and after a long moment, he speaks. “You will choose from these.”

“From whichever among them can stomach Nomu.” Sir Tomura’s horse moves with such silence that you didn’t notice his approach until his shadow fell across you. “Nomu’s presence, like mine, is difficult to bear.”

When you look up at Nomu, you understand. He’s pale as death, pale as Sir Tomura’s armor and his hair and the blade of his sword, and his body is laced with scars that show through his thin coat. His eyes have neither lashes nor irises nor lids; rather, they stare endlessly out, devoid of life or interest. Sir Tomura stares that way, sometimes. The only life you can see in Nomu is in the twitching of his ears, this way and that.

The rumors say that Sir Tomura feeds Nomu a diet of blood and flesh, but you smell no such thing on the horse’s breath. Seeing Nomu makes your skin crawl, and makes you sorry, all in the same moment. Sir Tomura looks down at you from his back. “Frightened?”

“No, my Lord.”

“You’ll need a horse to match your temperament, then.” Sir Tomura touches Nomu’s reins and steers him in a circle, addressing Koji as he does. “Instruct the horses within to hold. Then open the gate, and stand aside.”

Koji complies, looking as though there is nothing he’d rather do less. You step aside as well. The horses within the paddock continue to mill about, registering the open gate without running for it. At least not at first. When Sir Tomura and Nomu jump the fence into the paddock from the far side, the horses panic as one. Two jump the fence of their own accord, while the rest rattle about, colliding with the railings and each other in an effort to escape. Nomu has done nothing; Sir Tomura has him in hand. But the horses react as though each and every one of them is in mortal danger.

Koji puts his hand to his mouth and whistles sharply. Three of the remaining horses break immediately towards the sound and the open gate, and when the others realize that an escape is available, they pile through it in a single, seething mass. You can’t imagine how Koji plans to contain them, but at his word, they flee into an adjacent paddock. Within the original one, only two horses remain. There’s Nomu, standing still, staring at nothing. And on the far side of the paddock, a mud-grey horse crops lazily at the grass.

Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides and guides him closer. Still, the grey horse fails to stir. Koji comes back, red-faced and out of breath, and Sir Tomura addresses him without looking his way. “Is something wrong with this one?”

“She has always had an even temper.” Koji’s voice is barely a whisper. “It’s a good quality in a mare.”

“Then why hasn’t she been chosen as some lady’s mount?” Sir Tomura nudges Nomu closer still, and the grey horse looks up. It studies Nomu for a moment, then goes back to its meal. “It seems she would suit a magician who rides to war.”

“Most prefer a flashier mount,” Koji stammers. “She is plain.”

Sir Tomura swings down from Nomu’s back and leads Nomu closer by the reins, so close that Sir Tomura can lay a hand on the grey horse’s neck. She lifts her head at that, looks towards him. They make an odd trio there, the man and mount too monstrous to tolerate and the mare too plain to be chosen. After a long moment, Sir Tomura lifts his hand away. “She will serve,” he says, and beckons to you. “Bring the saddle.”

You’re anxious from the first, but the grey mare lives up to Koji’s description. She shows a little mischief when you attempt to tighten the girth, but you know what to look for, and you wait until she’s exhaled to tighten it. Then you haul yourself up into the saddle, on tired arms and with tired legs. Now you and Sir Tomura are seated side by side. Sir Tomura guides Nomu out of the corral with the lightest touch on the reins, and there’s nothing for you to do but mimic and follow him.

The two of you ride in silence for some time, Nomu placid under Sir Tomura’s control, the grey mare jittery under yours. “Loosen your hold on the reins,” Sir Tomura instructs. “She’s responding to your fear, not her own.”

You relax your fingers with an effort, and as Sir Tomura said, the grey mare settles down. “We’ll ride together each day until the campaign begins. You’ll be familiar with the concept, if nothing else.”

You’ve never heard of a knight training a servant to ride. There are other servants for that. “My Lord, I do not want to claim more than my share of your time. If someone else could –”

“Why?”

Your insides twist with discomfort. “It’s not right for a noble to teach a commoner.”

“Yes, because you are beneath me.” Sir Tomura’s voice drips with derision. “Many soldiers, noble and common, have died at my hands. Believe me when I tell you that they all bleed the same color. There is no difference between us but what you pretend there to be.”

You have no idea how to respond. “I will grant that the High Kingdom is less rigid in its hierarchy than others,” Sir Tomura continues. “In some kingdoms, one must be of noble birth to be knighted, or to serve on the King’s council. Here, it seems deeds matter as much as blood – but those who commit great deeds see themselves as worthier than those who do not. There is not a kingdom in this world where that is untrue.”

“I have heard that you visited many kingdoms,” you say. Sir Tomura nods without looking your way. “Why?”

“I was granted the power to destroy that which displeased me. I was displeased by a great many things.” Sir Tomura ducks his head to avoid a low-hanging branch, then straightens up. “Others shared my ideals but lacked my strength, yet made up for my weaknesses in strengths of their own.”

You’ve never heard him reference his old comrades before. You remain silent, hoping he’ll say more. “We visited many kingdoms in search of one where my comrades could live as they wished to. Where we met opposition, we destroyed it, and so was born the story of the White Death, bringer of ruin and symbol of fear.”

“Is that all?” The words fly from your mouth unbidden, and Sir Tomura looks at you at last. “You did not wish to conquer the world?”

“And do what? Shape it in my own image?” Sir Tomura shakes his head. “You cannot model a world on an empty vessel.”

You’ve heard Sir Tomura call himself many things before. His many enemy-given epithets, his own mocking titles; on rare occasions, even his own name has left his scarred lips. You’ve heard him call himself a monster, a villain, an abomination. But in all the months you’ve served him, he’s never described himself that way before.

And yet it suits. You thought on the day you met him that he looked lost, that whatever had driven him to carve a bloody path across the known world had left him for good. You remember noticing the emptiness of his gaze. An empty vessel. A vessel for what?

Sir Tomura looks away from you. He shifts in his saddle, grimacing, and grimacing worse as he ducks again to avoid another branch. You wonder if he regrets what he told you. Certainly he does not wish to say more on the subject. “When we ride to war, you will be in danger,” he says. “The same amount of danger as the rest of us will be as we travel through enemy territory. I can do nothing about that.”

“Of course, my Lord.” You see him grimace again, and you wonder if your words are so hateful to him – but then you see one hand leave the reins, twitch towards his chest. “I do not expect you to.”

“Good, because it is impossible.” Sir Tomura looks ahead. “I can, however, ensure that no additional danger comes to you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He gives you a frustrated look, as though you should know already. It’s not often that he’s angry with you for asking a question. “Forgive me.”

“It’s the warlord you fear. He will not lay a hand on you, and I will allow no plan to be made that places you within his reach.” Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides, and the horse shifts into a trot. You do the same, or try to, and all your effort shifts from trying to catch up to trying to avoid biting your tongue in half. “I protect my comrades when it’s in my power to do so. Killing an upstart alchemist is well within my abilities.”

You try to imagine that, imagine Sir Tomura drawing his sword to protect you. In the decade and more since you last saw Warlord Kai, he’s loomed large in your imagination, towering over Sir Tomura, who’s always looked more mortal than monster to you. Could Sir Tomura defeat him? You pull the grey mare to a stop. You can’t speak while trotting, and you must speak. “My Lord, I don’t want you to risk your life.”

“Because my life matters to you.” Sir Tomura guides Nomu into a half-turn to face you, and you nod. “As your life matters to me.”

You can only stare at him. You don’t know whether knights and nobles commonly express concern for the welfare of their servants, but whether they do or not, it’s the last thing you would ever expect Sir Tomura to say. You can’t imagine such words leaving the White Death’s mouth. But even when Sir Tomura was the White Death and nothing more, he had comrades, friends. Someone told you that they once heard him laugh. Sir Tomura’s comrades are gone, slain in the same battle he expected to die in. He is alone in Castle Ultra, alone in the High Kingdom — save you. You’re a poor replacement for his comrades. You can’t fight, you can barely ride, you’ve no powerful magic, and you cower in fear from the memory of a man upon whom the full force of the High Kingdom’s might is about to fall. You aren’t a person worthy of Sir Tomura’s care. You simply hold the distinction of being the only one he has.

You don’t realize you’re staring until Sir Tomura snaps at you. “If you have some ridiculous response to that statement, spit it out. We still have much to do.”

The response that leaves your mouth is perhaps the wrong one. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Sir Tomura stares at you for a moment. “Don’t thank me,” he says, and turns Nomu away, nudging him back into a trot. You can barely hear what he says next. “You started it.”

Did you? You couldn’t say for sure. You tap your heels against the grey mare’s sides and hang on for dear life as she lurches into a trot, leaving any further thought about the conversation you and Sir Tomura just had in the dust behind you.

[utilitycaster]

okay I've been enjoying myself and not terribly salty, but I do have one thing to say which is that like...look. I still think that Liliana could go either way. I don't think she should be killed on sight, obviously. I also don't think she is guaranteed to not betray Imogen. But it's absolutely wild the degree of leniency she was consistently granted, well beyond that of basically any other parent except ones who were already dead before the narrative. People were harsher to Marion Lavorre, who was certainly flawed and had, through her own issues, caused problems for Jester, but notably hadn't like, recruited vulnerable children into a death cult. People were worse to the Gentleman, who definitely did his share of horrible crimes but his closest allies never tried to TPK the Mighty Nein. People are less sympathetic to Korrin, who literally was just a normal high-strung parent with high expectations for his daughter because he was thrust into leadership and his wife was presumed to have died on her Aramente and he wanted to ensure this wouldn't happen to his only child. People were worse to Birdie and Ollie, who we know were directly mind controlled. And suddenly when Liliana turns up she's the universe's greatest, if I may use a term from TVTropes, woobie, for skipping out on her family and leaving her daughter to fend for herself in Gelvaan with no warning and no guidance, sending Imogen unsettling and unhelpful dreams, failing to answer her questions even as she clearly gets entangled in what Liliana was trying unsuccessfully to protect her from, and becoming involved in an organization that tried and frequently succeeded in killing the people who initially helped her. You literally get people who are like "abolition of the nuclear family" everywhere else on their blog being like "um well you see, Imogen is trying to connect with her biological mother and that is sacred." Liliana is not beyond redemption - I think that could in fact be a very satisfying ending for her - but there is a very real possibility she will betray the party, there always has been, and the fact that she was granted automatic and unlimited benefit of the doubt from a swathe of the fandom has really cast her many flaws in a far more revealing light than had she been treated in a more measured and nuanced fashion.

[motordyk]

things that have saved my life as an autistic adult living in the south

WET WIPEs - these mfs will save your ife especially if you have a thing about showering/have issues with getting undressed even while being alone (if ur really uneasy about cleaning ur gooch just get baby wipes they were made specifically for this purpose. u can do it. i believe in u)

rechargeable handheld vaccum cleaner - made cleaning incredibly easy even with my scoliosis. bonus poins if u use it on ur mattress because u sleep on the floor like me(also doubles as a fan if you can find where the exhaust fan is. youre welcome)

door mats/pee pads/bath mats - worlds greatest invention. please come here i need to kiss you on the mouth

kids toothpaste - majority of the reason why i hated brushing my teeth was because the toothpaste tasted like shit. idk about yall but i like me a toothpaste that i can swallow ykwim

deodorant - kind of goes hand-in-hand with wet wipes but ive had days where i slather this motherfucker everywhere. and i mean EVERYWHERE

elastic cloth headband - if u have long hair this is a fucking lifesaver in the summer. live free be gay do crimes (or just shave ur fucking head. i dont need a degree to be a clothing hanger type shit)

deep woods bug spray - get this. i am so serious it may not work well but god does it feel good on those bites. period.

other people who live in the south put additions underneath ill be sure to reblog em 👍

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Types of Relationships To Help You Thrive In Life

Table of Contents:

Healthy Relationship With Yourself

Peer-To-Peer Relationship

Mentorship Relationship

Goal-Oriented/Accountability-Focused Relationship

Emotionally-Intimate Relationship

Physical/Sexually-Intimate Relationship

Acquaintance Relationships

Second-Degree Relationships

Types of Relationships:

Healthy Relationship With Yourself: Internalize and act with the knowledge that you're worthy of love, care, and nourishment, and have unconditional permission to work towards your goals & dream life. Eat healthfully, drink plenty of water, remain well-rested, move your body daily, maintain proper hygiene/a clean home, invest in your appearance to feel your best, live as a life-long learner, establish healthy habits/routines, get your finances in order, establish and maintain boundaries, make positive self-talk a priority.

Peer-To-Peer Relationship: Aka friendships, which are intended to offer mutual support and joy in life. These friendships thrive on having similar values and interests, which makes these individuals your greatest cheerleaders, advice givers/receivers, and partners in crime to have fun or offer platonic love/emotional support during traditional or difficult seasons in your life. Peer-to-peer relationships should add mutual excitement, encouragement, and emotional nourishment, and provide a soundboard for confidential information exchange, ears to listen without unnecessary or superficial judgment, and solicited advice from someone who has your best interest in mind.

Mentorship Relationship: This could be a boss, teacher, professor, aunt, uncle, or another trusted adult(s) who can guide you based on their more extensive life experience/wisdom. You can have one or several mentors at any life stage and for different purposes. These people should be trustworthy (keep your information confidential unless you state otherwise) and express their advice through the lens of your best interest rather than their own personal desires or biases (at least those left unchecked). Ensure you feel safe around these people, and their presence in your life is a mutually-nourishing relationship that allows you to grow personally, professionally, and relationally.

Goal-Oriented/Accountability-Focused Relationship: A coach, mentorship, or friendship based on the achievement of a particular goal or practice. This type of relationship can manifest as an accountability partner or support group. A therapist can also fulfill this role in your life (but like, a coach, this relationship is a one-way street to offer you emotional support/tools & resources). Some reasons for an accountability-oriented relationship include helping you achieve a certain health/fitness goal, establish better routines, advance in your career, let go of unhealthy habits, patterns, or addictions, better manage your finances, or help you get your other relationships (family, partner, friends, self-talk, boss, co-workers, etc.) in order.

Emotionally-Intimate Relationship: Someone with whom you feel an unwavering emotional closeness and connection. This person can be a partner you're involved with sexually/physically intimate with or not. Asexuality exists, of course. And emotional intimacy can definitely exist in close platonic relationships (like your best friendships) without any romantic or sexual feelings. These relationships are important because they allow you to let your emotional walls down and be your vulnerable, authentic self.

Physical/Sexually-Intimate Relationship: This relationship could be with a romantic partner, FWB, with multiple partners, purely with yourself, or somewhere in between. If you have sexual needs, it's important to find pleasurable ways to satisfy these desires in a way that makes you feel most fulfilled and respected. Let go of any shame you experience when exploring this side of yourself. Experiment and learn what you like/dislike/fantasize about. Use this information to elevate your practice and communication with any partner(s) for a heightened, more enjoyable, and potentially closer emotionally-bonding experience.

Hobby/Interest-Centric Relationship: These relationships can extend from co-workers to your friends in a certain class/the one friend you go on weekly walks with, follow a particular TV show with, exchange beauty tips with, "going out" friends, etc. While these connections aren't vulnerable to the degree of a close friendship/relationship, it is important to have some relationships that are purely based on fun, light-hearted conversations, and mutual hobbies/interests/lifestyles. Having someone to share these mutual experiences with helps you feel more connected to your environment/communities, not feel isolated/lonely when your friends, family, or intimate partner has different hobbies, career aspirations, or daily routines/lifestyle compared to you, and provides a mutual soundboard on issues, insights, and exciting moments in this particular area of your life.

Acquaintance Relationships: Everyone needs those friends, co-workers, or classmates they can just chat with when at a party, a group meeting, dinner, a special occasion, to grab a quick lunch or coffee, etc. These people are fun to be around and allow you to indulge in light, easy conversations to offer temporary social support/fulfillment. These relationships also expand your network for professional opportunities, making new friends, finding dates/a potential partner, interest groups/new hobbies, referral services/classes/spaces, and other contacts that can enrich your life.

Second-Degree Relationships: These are friend-of-a-friend type connections who can be/become your future business partners, romantic/sexual partners, co-workers, investors, hairdressers, realtors, stylists, finance managers, etc. Be ready to reciprocate these offers and be this person in others' lives, too. As your network gets broader and more dynamic, better chances and potential there is to connect with the right people to help you achieve your goals, desires, and overall life satisfaction. Success and efficiency rarely – if ever – exist in isolation.

[frankingsteinery]

i mentioned victor's delusions in brief previously (here), but because of the inherent complexity (and almost contradictory aspect) of their nature i decided it warranted its own post!

victor, alongside other psychotic symptoms, experiences delusions of guilt and persecution. a delusion is an involuntary belief that isn't rooted in logic or evidence; a person experiencing a delusion is fixed in their belief, and they can't stop believing it even if they know it isn't true and/or despite contrary evidence.

while victor's delusions–specifically regarding those that revolve around the creature–by in large turn out to actually be true, i.e. the creature actually harmed his family and victor by extension, during the point in the novel when he was experiencing them, he has no evidence to suggest that this was the case, and within the context of the rest of his symptoms, they'd still be considered delusional ideas.

for a variety of reasons, i'm still on the fence on whether i'd categorize victor's mania and grandiosity during the creation process as constituting delusions of grandeur. and to what extent is this sense of grandiosity justified, because he DID discover the secret of life itself… does that not almost warrant the feeling of being superiorly intelligent, this sense of infallibly, and the belief that they should be lauded for their achievements, in almost anyone who could have made the same discovery? it's tricky because i’m not sure if i just have an aversion to the "victor had grandiose delusions during the creation process" take simply because the vast, vast majority of those who make that argument also make the argument that delusion of grandeur = arrogance = evil = victor sucks (and that line of thinking is a whole separate can of worms in of itself…), or if i actually don’t wholly agree with it; for this reason i won’t touch on this here yet

with that out of the way–

like i’ve stated before, victor’s psychotic breaks are either triggered by the stress of the creation process or the death of one of his loved ones. this results in delusions of persecution, which is defined as when the affected person believes that harm is going to occur to oneself or those close to them by a persecutor, in this case the creature, despite a clear lack of evidence. initially, this starts with paranoia:

“Every night I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most painful degree; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow creatures as if I had been guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at the wreck I perceived that I had become…”

“With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet”

this paranoia develops into a delusion as victor’s belief that the creature means him harm, despite having nothing to support this idea, becomes fixed. this comes to a head after the creature’s animation: 

“I beheld the wretch…He might have spoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs…where I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life”

“I issued into the streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the wretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my view. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but felt impelled to hurry on”

delusions can often feel like a sudden truth (the false belief) has been revealed to you. victor himself notes this sudden, extreme shift in perspective within himself:

“...dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!”

as victor recovers physically, this delusion becomes less present as the acute phase ends, and victor’s fears regarding the creature fade into the background as he enters the recovery phase. he stays in this manner until psychosis is again triggered by the stressor of william’s murder–then, victor’s delusion of persecution returns. however, this time, he believes the creature is not only going to harm himself, but was the murderer of william. once more, this starts with paranoia:

“Fear overcame me; I dared no advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to define them…The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human beings.”

and then develops into a fixed belief:

“I perceived in the gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect more hideous than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch…Could he be (I shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No sooner did that idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of its truth… He was the murderer! I could not doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the fact.”

while it turned out that he was actually correct in this assumption, what’s important to emphasize here is that victor has absolutely ZERO proof that the creature was involved with the murder of william, apart from seeing a shady-looking outline outside of geneva after walking in the rain all night. victor is not thinking clearly here, which he himself acknowledges in a phenomenon known as double book-keeping. double book-keeping refers to a mental process where an individual maintains two conflicting beliefs or realities simultaneously--where a person might experience delusions or hallucinations while still having moments of awareness that these perceptions are not grounded in reality. here, victor holds two realities (believing in a delusion while being aware that this belief would not be shared by others):

” My first thought was to discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be made. But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain. I remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at the time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have looked upon it as the ravings of insanity…”

and, in fact, the only evidence he has is (seemingly) proof to the contrary i.e. the locket found in justine’s pocket. yet victor holds this belief with the intense conviction characteristic of delusions, as well as the incorrigibility of a delusion, as he’s continually resistant to his family’s logical counterarguments, as ernest recounts the events to victor upon his return home:

“This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I replied earnestly, “You are all mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine, poor, good Justine, is innocent.”

he goes on to make the same assertion to his father and elizabeth, without once questioning the validity of his previous belief. 

victor develops delusions of guilt surrounding the trial of justine, the delusional belief of one's personal guilt for an event, real or imagined–it is an extreme and unwarranted feeling of remorse or guilt that someone has done something terrible. people with delusions of guilt may also believe they are "evil" or have committed an "unpardonable" sin and deserve to be punished forever. despite having no hand in the results of the trial, and again, no proof that the creature was even involved, victor is convinced of his guilt to the point of agony. for example:

”My own agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial. I believed in her innocence; I knew it. Could the dæmon who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent to death and ignominy? … The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.”

”During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison room, where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and bitter agony…But I, the true murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or consolation.”

  The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart which nothing could remove. Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet behind… I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe.

delusions of guilt are often accompanied by low self-esteem, depression, and sometimes suicide (attempts); victor experiences all of these following the trial. this delusion is maintained throughout the rest of the novel.

lastly, during the chase at the arctic and on walton’s ship, victor experiences delusions surrounding his family. in his final attempt to hold onto those he lost, victor becomse unable to distinguish between reality and the delusions that sustain him:

"During the day I was sustained and inspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I saw my friends, my wife, and my beloved country… I persuaded myself that I was dreaming until night should come and that I should then enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest friends. What agonising fondness did I feel for them! How did I cling to their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and persuade myself that they still lived!...I pursued my path towards the destruction of the dæmon more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the mechanical impulse of some power of which I was unconscious, than as the ardent desire of my soul."

Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and delirium; he believes that when in dreams he holds converse with his friends and derives from that communion consolation for his miseries or excitements to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his fancy, but the beings themselves who visit him from the regions of a remote world."

ultimately victor's delusions evolve throughout the novel; what starts as paranoia becomes a fixed belief that the creature means to harm him and his family, which eventually develops into a certainty that he's responsible for the deaths of his loved ones. by the time he reaches the arctic, he clings to delusions of his family still being alive and that they're talking to him.

i'll probably make yet another post dissecting what this all means in context, i.e. like avo said; the implications of the treatment of victor as a character due to these symptoms of a "weird" "scary" illness... buuuut. again. another time!

[vickincense]

"The Secret Skills of the Superstars" (from the August 2012 issue of the WWE Magazine) DREW MCINTYRE

This clever Scotsman knows what clues to look for at a crime scene - or on Law & Order. Secret Skill CRIMINOLOGY

“When I picked up criminology, it was a new course at the time at university, so I was a guinea pig. My class has about 20 girls, me and another guy. I assumed it would be mostly guys for criminology. But no, it was mostly girls; they weren’t even that hot. The greatest difference between crime in Scotland and crime in America is that less people get shot and more people get stabbed. Most people survive. It’s generally a bottle to the head here and there. Some people could make a lot of money by doing studies of the guys in our locker room. CM Punk, for example, shows criminal tendencies. He never sleeps, has shifty eyes. He’s very intelligent. It’s been suggested that David Otunga, with his Harvard degree, and I form a tag team called, ‘Law & Order.’ I don’t think we would call it that. I think we’d call it something more awesome. But I could see us as a team. I could get in trouble and he could save me each and every time.” sources: scan (found on Tumblr) article preview on wwe.com which also features CM Punk

[dramatic-dolphin]

Can you explain the noldor-apologism in your Bio? I mean, I get why you would like Fingolfin, Gil-galad, Finrod Felagund or Eärendil. But I wanna hear what you have to say about noted warcriminals Feanor, Maedhros and Maglor. Also what can you say aboutCelegorm and Curufin?

perhaps this exchange I had with my sister will explain my stance:

(translation: i don't know who that is but i agree)

......I might be giving her the wrong idea about the events of The Silmarillion.

as a whole my opinion about Fëanor and his sons is that they are my funky little war criminal guys and I love them. <3 more seriously, The Tragedy. compels me.

Fëanor, as a child, growing up with everyone thinking/knowing that there is something fundamentally wrong with him. Everything he ever does is informed by this. (Why am I not loved enough? Why am I unlovable? And he misses the forest for the trees.) He makes horrible decisions and then he dies, and becomes the ghost haunting the narrative. THIS is so compelling. After Alqualondë and the ships, everything horrible is done in his name but crucially he is not there for it. He's held up as the worst, because obviously he has to be the worst if his children are like that, but there is always the question at the back of your mind: would he have done that? Would he have wanted this to happen? (Probably.) (But, maybe....) Also he's a linguist so I can't not love him.

MAEDHROS. I love him. Tragic hero broken beyond hope. How far one person can fall. From being the voice of reason (he alone stood aside) to being the worst of them all. He is THE tragedy. He pieces himself together after being rescued from captivity, just to break differently in the end! Maedhros is a story about hope that's destroyed again and again and again. He clings onto life for all those centuries, for what? At the end, he holds the Silmaril in his hand, and it was all for nothing. And then he kills himself. His life fucking sucks. I love him.

The fact that Maglor's biggest redeeming moment is that he takes in the two children they captured after they destroyed their city will never not be hilarious. To me. But also, he raised Elros and Elrond. Possibly my favorite event to toss around in my head, their fucked up little family is everything to me. Him, I love so much because he's the greatest contradiction. Maedhros grits his teeth and commits war crimes as familial duty. Maglor writes the Noldolantë. Maglor raises the children whose family he as good as massacred, and does it WELL. He loves them. Maglor is gentle, he repents, he regrets everything with his whole heart. And then he commits another war crime. That's delicious. (Also I had a lot of fun coming up with an OC for his unnamed wife, I think she's hilarious. I love women who suck.)

Celegorm and Curufin are possibly the most irredeemable tbh. Their stint as the minor villains in Lúthien's story is entertaining though for sure. I don't have as many thoughts on them as I do on Maedhros and Maglor, but I could probably do some apologism for them if I wanted to. Anyways Celegorm is again a beautiful illustration of how far one person can fall – he's like a whole different person by the time they meet Lúthien. A much worse one, and you can't help but think to yourself "How did this happen? how did he get here?" (The answer might just be Curufin...)

Speaking of Curufin! He's like his father, and isn't that a heavy cross to bear? Fëanor is haunting the narrative but he's haunting Curufin especially. (Celebrimbor manages to not have his father haunt him to this degree, which must take a heroic effort. Good for him!) Also the two of them were definitely enabling each other, someone should separate them for their own sake. Christopher Tolkien says "it's Curufin who put evil into Celegorm's heart" and I feel like there's definitely truth in that, but it certainly didn't do HIM any good either. Oh, and he didn't like Eöl which is obviously a plus in my book, because fuck that guy.

And I love how Caranthir, Amrod and Amras are left out of the question. rip these three, they need to commit more/worse war crimes to have a spot here. This reply is already long enough though.