#who was betrayed and unjustly murdered

[lemonhemlock]

What themes George used with Rhaenyra and Aegon in the book?

the main theme for both of them, like in most of FB, is kingship, so what makes a "good" king/queen, what is power in the first place, how do you receive it, how to wield it etc. add to that the theme of hubris - house targaryen cannibalizing itself and sowing the seeds for its future destruction. and, also, the theme that follows through the entirety of the series - corruption - power as a means to its own ends, not for the betterment of society - “why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones?”

when asked the question put to shireen, "who would you prefer, aegon or rhaenyra?", you should be going "oh, well, on the one hand this, on the other hand that" and it should lead to a debate on political structures and how societies are organized and how laws are enacted in society and what is the nature of law anyway etc. instead the show turned it into "rhaenyra obviously bc aegon is a literal danger to society".

so when people say that aegon should be even darker bc this is game of thrones and everyone is mean and dark and awful so stop being a crybaby about it, like, ok, but there is a limit as to how far you can push this without sacrificing the balance of this story.

bc this is not the kind of story in which maegor reborn kills saint rhaenyra and does her this great injustice of erasing her queenship from the history books. not that it's a moralistic children's tale either, but, if the lopsidedness between them would have skewed so much in rhaenyra's favour, she would have received a more heroic death or died on her own terms at least

[toournextadventure]

when you love it

Summary: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it - Caitlyn Siehl

Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: swearing, injury mention, suggestive themes, blood mention, hurt no comfort (hopeful ending), extreme guilt Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (part 2)

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.”

Your fangs caught on your lip as you did your best not to smile. With the slightest turn of your body, you patted your client on the shoulder and congratulated him for getting off on murder. He was guilty as sin. You could practically smell the tainted blood coursing through his veins. It was abysmal; he was a horror to work with. Doubtless he would be murdered before he even left the courthouse.

His money was still just as good as anyone else’s.

The judge continued his usual spiel, the one you personally had heard many times over. Something about understanding the severity of the charges, how one must persevere to become more, to prevent such a situation from occurring again. She was getting much more emotional about the speech, putting more of a motherly spin on it. It was a lovely touch.

It wouldn’t work. But it was lovely.

“Don’t get yourself in too much trouble,” you said once the judge was finished and you could shake your client’s hand.

His smile was sinister. “I’ll be calling on you again.”

You made sure to show your fangs in your own smile. “I’ll be expecting it.”

The man gave you the creeps, more so than most of the clients you represented. Which was precisely why you allowed your shadow to escort him out of the courthouse to the freedom he had unjustly earned. You watched as he left with a smile that betrayed your actual thoughts.

If he called again, your rates would double.

“You did your job masterfully.”

You turned around, watching people continue to mill out of the courtroom. No one was facing you, not even the usual suspects. Even your best friend Detective Faus had already left. There was no one left to talk or discuss the events of the case. A pity.

Maybe it had been another hallucination; they were more frequent this time of year. Sounds of blood spilling, pouring down your throat like the first drink at the bar. The door opening, muffled words, wood splintering. The sounds made themselves known in your mind, drowning out everything else around you.

“Looking for someone in particular?”

No. No, that was no hallucination. You looked down to see a young man no older than 20 - though his spectacular mustache looked a bit old for him - standing beside you. It was no wonder you hadn’t noticed him, he was rather short. With a stunning crop of slicked back raven black hair, he reminded you of someone. Someone you did your best to forget.

“Thank you, mister…,” your voice trailed off.

“Pubert Addams,” he said with a charming smile as he held out his hand toward you. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

A wet gasp-

-a snarl-

-relief-

-pain-

“-A pleasure, Mr. Addams,” you said, grasping his hand as gently as you possibly could. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while.”

“I believe you knew my sister and her wife in college, did you not?” He asked as he let go of your hand.

A breathy moan-

-airy laughter-

-a warm sigh-

“-Quite a long time ago,” you said, “but yes.”

“Yes, I knew it was you,” he said with a smile that was far too familiar. Eerily so. “Are you free for a short while?” He asked. “I have a proposition for you.”

You sighed and shifted the weight to your good leg. It left an ache that rarely eased, though certainly not for lack of trying. Thanks to the glasses, you were confident your distrust was hidden. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the young Addams boy; he seemed decent enough. You had worked with enough sleazy people to know who to trust and who to be wary of.

There was just the little problem of not wanting anything to do with an Addams.

Though, you supposed you could give the boy the benefit of the doubt. After all, what would it hurt? If he was anything like Wednesday - and it was beyond clear he was - he would love the danger. The thrill of propositioning you would far outweigh the danger of having you near. A brave boy.

Just like his older sister.

“I suppose I have time,” you finally said with a toothy grin. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh, I’m not old enough to drink,” he said quickly as he fell into step beside you. Exactly like his sister.

“A coffee then,” you amended.

He had no objections.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as he walked out of the courtroom with you. The stench of rancid blood filled your senses before you saw the commotion outside. Your client’s body lay sprawled along the steps, his blood flowing from the tips of his fingers; no one dared try to stop the bleeding. At the bottom, the police were shoving the victim’s brother into their cruiser.

“An eye for an eye turns the whole world blind,” Mr. Addams said with a shake of his head.

You didn’t dare hide your smile. “A beautiful sentiment.” You continued to walk past the scene, not looking back to see if Mr. Addams was following.

His footsteps quickened their pace to match yours before he stood beside you once again. It was a short, silent walk to the little cafe you had started to call your own. The barista was a wonderful young girl; she had easily fallen victim to the vampire charm you did your best not to throw around. Though you were a little less careful nowadays, but that was your little secret.

“What can I get for you, sugar?” The young waitress asked once you sat down. She, too, had fallen victim to your supernatural charm.

“A quad?” You asked once Mr. Addams sat across from you at the little table in the corner.

“Heavens no,” he said with his own charming smile, “I’ll take a mocha, thank you.”

“An espresso, darling,” you said with a smile at the waitress.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll have it for you in a moment.”

You tried not to mention your surprise at the young Addams going against what his older sister had made seem like tradition. Or perhaps she had changed over the years; it was a possibility she had come to enjoy the sweeter things in life. After all, Enid certainly did, so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She always had been a lovestruck fool for Enid.

So were you.

You promptly ignored the thought.

“What is your proposition, Mr. Addams?” You asked as you continued to wait for your drinks.

“Ah, of course,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I would like to invite you to a soiree we happen to be hosting.”

“I’m nothing but a stranger to you,” you said simply. “What about me warrants an invitation?”

“My sister and her wife still talk of you,” he said. “Incessantly.” His smile was gentle; genuine. “I believe inviting you would make them happy.”

You didn’t grace that thought with a reply. If they still talked of you, that was their issue. Wednesday was certainly psychotic enough to desire your presence. Enid, also, could certainly be delusional enough. Seeing you again should bring them no sense of joy or peace; if anything, it should cause nightmares.

It didn’t matter that you often found yourself thinking of them in return. When you talked with clients who had a penchant for breaking the law, much like Wednesday. Committing their crimes guiltlessly for one reason or another. There was a difference in that Wednesday always had a good reason - even when you tried to make her believe she didn’t - but that could be easily overlooked when her cold brown eyes appeared in your mind.

And Enid was often seen in the young intern at your firm. Possessing a giddiness that was so often lost in people. Her colourful nails that you had been unable to forbid were like a flash of the past. The only difference was those nails were typing away at a computer instead of leaving scratches along your back. It was difficult, on occasion, to differentiate the two.

The waitress set the drinks on the table, giving you a wink and smile in the process. You smiled back, showcasing your fangs as she turned and walked back to the counter. If Mr. Addams hadn’t accompanied you, you would have flirted with the woman. Flashed a bit of cash, invited her home for a quick drink of your own before sending her back on her way.

You stirred your espresso for no good reason. At least it gave you time to think of your answer. Mr. Addams was gracious enough not to push. A wonderful change of pace from Wednesday, who would push until she regretted it. Which she had. Oh, she had, and you had all suffered for it.

There was no way you could tell Mr. Addams why you wanted to decline his invitation. If you even so much as hinted at the carnage you had caused, there was a high probability he would not only rescind his offer, but paint you as the monster you had already claimed for yourself. With good reason, of course, you hadn’t earned the title by sitting around.

On the other hand, just the mere thought of seeing Enid and Wednesday made your dead heart feel alive again. You had done your best to fill your nights with women. One after the other, never keeping them long enough to even learn their names. Each a new attempt to forget the two women who had taken your heart all those years ago. They never filled the hole; if anything, they made it bigger.

Perhaps…

“When is this little soiree of yours taking place?” You asked with a sigh, finally looking up from your espresso.

Now that smile was identical to his sister’s.

“I’ll fetch you the invitation.”

—---

You stood on the balcony of your apartment. Smoke curled around your fingers as the cigarette rested between them. The heat from the lit end was almost unbearable on your skin; it was a welcome feeling. City lights twinkled around you, creating constellations yet unnamed by the human race. Perhaps one day they would be prominent enough to fit in with the constellations of old.

It was the night before the soiree at the Addams residence. You had done your best to remain in control of your emotions the days leading up to it. Hell, you had even gone so far as to hire a few women just a few hours earlier to keep your thirst in check. You would rather receive a stake to the heart than risk another incident like the one that had created this situation in the first place.

And yet, even with all your preparations, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had carved a home into the center of your chest.

The balcony door slid open.

“You coming back, baby?” The woman asked.

It was a shame you didn’t remember her name.

“Come on, baby,” she said, and you felt warm arms wrap around your waist. “I know you want another drink.”

You did. God you did. Just the thought of another drink left your throat searing. You tried to swallow, but all it did was burn like liquid fire trickling down your throat. With a sigh, you lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. If you were going to be in pain, you may as well finish off your cigarette.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you said with an exhale that left smoke falling from your lips.

The warmth left your waist as she went back inside, and you heard her talking to… the… other woman. God, you really needed to learn the names of the people you drank from. If anything, it was the least you could do; it was polite. But you didn’t particularly care. All you knew was they weren’t Enid, and they weren’t Wednesday.

You were pathetic.

You took one more drag of your cigarette, feeling the heat burn the skin on your knuckles. The thick smoke left the taste of ash on your tongue and did nothing to ease the scorching pain in your throat. You dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it with your heel. You hissed when it singed your heel; you had forgotten you were barefoot.

If you had possessed any sort of soul, you would have felt guilt. There was something tugging on your invisible heart strings, begging you to care about the women you were surrounding yourself with. No, that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t something tugging at your heart strings; it was two voices that had haunted you for years.

They single handedly ruined your night. With no shame and no clue that they had even done so, they had ruined it. The women around you weren’t the right women. Their skin was soft, but it wasn’t the same. Their freckles were in the wrong spots, and their nails and hair were the wrong colour. Each and every moan was the wrong tone, and these women just weren’t right.

It was a struggle, but by the time the night was over, you had more than gotten your fill. There was no possible way you would still be thirsty by the time you made it to the Addams residence. Though that didn’t stop you from grabbing a blood bag from the fridge and tucking it into your pocket before you left your apartment.

You stopped by the mirror in your hall to make sure you looked alright. It was custom made to not contain any silver, allowing you to see at least a semblance of your reflection. It wasn’t perfect, but it was like looking at someone through water. A little blurry, slightly distorted, but you could tell it was a person.

Your eyes were drawn to the dark scars that weren’t entirely hidden by your shirt collar. The majority of the scars were hidden, but not those. They were a stark contrast on your neck; a stark reminder of your monstrosity. Subconsciously, you lifted your hand to run your fingers over the taut flesh. They still ached.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

You recoiled as if burned. Out of all the times you could have that memory, this wasn’t the optimal day. It didn’t require any consideration before you walked back to the fridge and grabbed a second bag, placing it right beside the first within your jacket. You had one shot; you weren't going to blow it.

It was a beautiful day outside as you approached the Addams mansion. The sky was overcast, almost allowing you to take your glasses off. Not that you would have, but it would have been a nice option to have. Large groups of people made their way up the steps and into the mansion. It truly was a stunning building; you had missed it.

You fell into the back of a group, ensuring you were silent and could walk in unnoticed. Yes, of course someone would notice eventually, but you wanted a chance to settle back into the excessively large house. The smell of the slightly-rotting wood was enough to ease your racing pulse. It smelled like home.

While everyone continued to slowly make their way into the ballroom, you went the opposite direction. Your hand trailed against the walls, maneuvering around each and every item that was hanging. The paintings and knick knacks and more recent looking photos. Some were new, or at least newer than you. They certainly hadn’t been hanging on the wall the last time you had visited.

The idle chatter of the crowd started to fade the further you went.The hallway turned into a slightly larger room filled with framed photos and awards. You let your fingers hover over the nameplates on the awards. Spelling Bee, First Place. A smile tugged at your lips as you moved on. Silver, Figure Skating. Down and down the line, you looked at award after award. There were names underneath, but you didn’t waste your time looking at them.

After the awards were the photos. You picked up the first one with gentle hands; a wedding photo deserved care. It was no surprise to see Wednesday in black and Enid in something so bright it was almost blinding. The image alone had your chest aching. They looked rather happy.

Their happiness didn’t distract you from the scars down the side of Enid’s face. The ones that traveled from the corner of her eyes to her jaw. Based on the colour in the photo, they were freshly healed. You couldn’t see Wednesday’s; she had a black lace wrapped around her wrist. From the look of Enid’s, you could imagine.

You set the frame back down on the table and stepped back. The curiosity had disappeared, quickly replaced with something heavy. With a tight chest, you backed out of the room and made your way to the ballroom with everyone else. The slight limp in your step worsened. A sigh fell from your lips as you had to lean against the wall and reach down to tighten the brace. Your jaw clenched almost painfully as the brace became insufferably tight around your leg, but at least it gave you the ability to stand on your own once again.

Until you were nearly knocked over by children running down the hall.

“Excuse me!” One of them called back. A chorus of the same words were quick to follow as the other children ran after the first.

“Behave!” You froze. “And don’t push people!”

“Yes ma’am!” The children shouted.

If you had known you would have such a visceral reaction just to her voice, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation. You had no idea your body itself would react to her voice. If you could sweat, you would have been. Your fingers twitched. Don’t turn, your mind told you. Begged, even. Desperate, feral, pathetic.

“Cara mia.” You forced yourself to take a step. “You forgot your shawl upstairs.”

Don’t turn around, your mind said. It was frantic. You forced another step. And another. Each one heavier than the last, as if your body was fighting with your mind. You truly were a fool to accept the invitation, and there wasn’t even a word to describe yourself for actually daring to appear. Stupid. That was the best word.

“Are you a vampire?”

You sighed and took a moment to calm your emotions before looking down. One of the children that had been running around was now standing beside you, looking up at you with bright eyes and a cocked head. It reminded you of- no, you wouldn’t think of that. You turned to face the child and shifted your weight to rest on your good leg.

“I am,” you said with a singular nod of your head. “And you are?”

“Oh,” they said with a smile. A large, wolfish smile. “I’m an Addams.”

You were thankful they couldn’t see your eyes. “Charmed.”

Of course they were an Addams. How could you ever think differently? The Addamses were magnets for trouble, and you didn’t have to know the child to deduct that they were, in fact, trouble. You turned away from them and looked back out into the ballroom.

“My mothers have a picture of you on their nightstand,” the child continued.

You wished they would leave.

“But you have scars, and the person in their picture doesn’t.”

You would have no shame in killing a child.

“My momma has scars too.” It would be simple. “They almost match yours.”

“Don’t harass the guests, dear.” 

Or perhaps you would simply kill yourself. It would certainly be less painful than whatever was about to happen. You could hear the echo of your dead heart beating loudly in your ears. Perhaps if you refused to turn around, she would continue walking. Walk right past you and into the crowd, leaving you behind as you so very much deserved.

But she didn’t continue walking as you desperately wished she would. She didn’t move out into the crowd, saying her greetings to the others as was customary. You could barely hear her footsteps at all above the incessant noise that you were wishing would get louder. Drown out all the thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside you.

“We weren’t sure you would come.”

You still refused to turn around. Even when you felt her sidle up next to you, her arm brushing lightly against yours. Oh, her warmth was glorious. You had forgotten just how lovely it was to feel her warming you up. To bring life to your soul in a way that only she was capable of. No amount of women in your bed had ever held a candle to her warmth.

“You look good.” Her voice was impossibly soft against the rising chaos of the soiree.

Growls and screaming echoed in your mind’s ear as you finally made the brave - or stupid - decision to turn your head. If you had thought your anxiety was bad before, you would have been impressed with your anxiety at that moment. The first thing your eyes took notice of were the healed, lightly coloured scars on her jaw.

The scars you had caused.

“You look healthy,” Enid said with a soft smile.

She looked so very grown. That childish glint in her eyes was still present, but she held herself with far more respect. The insecurity had long faded away, much like the scars that continued down her neck. The child was right; you almost matched.

“I fed before arriving,” you said. Your words felt like ash in your mouth. “No need for history to repeat itself.”

“We have more in the kitchen,” she said quickly. “If you need it.”

You opened your coat to show the two bags in the pocket. “I came prepared, thank you.”

She smiled a closed mouth smile and nodded before looking back out at the ballroom. That heavy feeling settled in your chest once again. After so many years, that was all you had to say to her? That you had fed already? Of course, that was probably the one thing she wanted to hear after so long. You were a fool. A damned fool.

“I hope the kids weren’t bothering you,” Enid said. “They get excited when we host gatherings.”

“They seem decent,” you said. Decent?? That’s the best you can come up with? “That one-” you pointed to the one with the bright eyes “-is rather talkative.”

Enid giggled, and for a moment, you felt young again. “Willa says she gets it from me.”

Willa. You could have laughed if it didn’t hurt so bad. Wednesday had always attempted to claim she hated it. Yet it never stopped the lightest blush on her cheeks when you or Enid would use the unassuming nickname. When was the last time you had even heard it?

Come on, Willa, put it down, I’m being serious.

You turned your body ever so slightly. You didn’t want Enid to see the scars creeping down your neck. Her hand brushed against yours. It was shameful how quickly you pulled your hand back, shoving it into your pocket. No good could come from her feeling the shake of your hand, or the scars that hid below the cloth of your clothes.

“Oh, there she is,” Enid said, this time reaching out to grab your arm a little harder than she probably meant to. “Stay right here, I’ll bring her over!”

The moment she left your side, the cold started to crawl back over your skin. It sunk into every vessel, every inch of your body, both inside and out. Attending the soiree was a mistake. A mistake that you couldn’t take back. Just like that night. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. You could leave before they came back and continue your miserable existence as you had been.

But then you saw them together, hand in hand. It was an unexpected thing to see Wednesday practically smiling at Enid. In public, that was. You couldn’t recall a single time she had smiled at anything in public. Yet there she was, walking closer and showing some semblance of physical affection in public. It was stunning. Your heart was almost beating.

Until your eyes landed on all the black lace that you knew covered scars no one could comprehend.

“I told you I saw them,” you heard Enid say as they both approached where you were frozen in place. “And I was right.”

Wednesday looked up at you with those stunning brown eyes. “So you were.”

Your fingers twitched in your pocket. Now that she was so close, you could smell her blood flowing through her veins. No matter how much you swallowed, you couldn’t ease the burn that was rising up your throat. You clenched your jaw tight, ignoring the sting of your fang piercing your lip.

Wednesday!

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? “Hello Wednesday, I’m sorry for nearly draining you while you attempted to prove I wasn’t a monster.” Or even to Enid. “I apologise for trying to kill you when you stopped me from killing our girlfriend.” There was nothing you could say, to either of them, to justify what you had done. What you couldn’t forget.

“I told them you had their picture,” the previous child said as they approached along with the rest of the herd.

For the first time, you were thankful for children.

“So you told our secrets?” Wednesday asked. “You know what happens to those who tell our secrets.”

The old Wednesday would have sounded more intimidating and borderline threatening. Yet, even as her words said one thing, the soft look on her face said another. The children all smiled and tried to hide their laughter as they continued to look up at her.

“You’d better run,” Enid whispered.

Each of the children shared a look before running off, laughter following in their wake. It was almost… cute? Adorable, even? God, you needed to escape this place, you were almost turning soft. You needed to get back to your murderers and criminals, this was turning pathetic.

“As intimidating as ever, my love,” Enid said as she leaned down and placed a soft chaste kiss on Wednesday’s cheek.

It made you sick. The burn in your throat spread, turning into a searing pain in your chest and stomach. All that was left was the tingling in your fingers and legs and you were finished. You wished the inferno would swallow you whole, reducing you to nothing more than ash and bone.

“You seem pale,” Wednesday said.

It seemed you wouldn’t combust soon enough.

“I only arrived out of courtesy,” you said as you stood taller. “Now that I have said my hellos, I must say my goodbyes.”

You tried to act like the looks on Enid’s and Wednesday’s faces didn’t kill you inside. It was like a silver stake to the heart, spreading its carnage down every muscle fiber and blood vessel. After all these years, you had managed to hurt them again within only a few moments. And you didn’t even possess the decency to apologise for the first sleight against them.

“Do you have to?” Enid asked. “You could stay.” Her eyes fell. “We could talk.”

“Did Enid tell you we have more blood in the fridge?” Wednesday asked.

She circled her fingers around her lace-covered wrist.

“I don’t do house calls,” you said. You could hear Wednesday’s pulse over the crowd. “Especially with those I cannot pay penance to.”

And yet, you didn’t make a single move. Against your better wishes, your feet stayed glued to the floor. Each beat of Wednesday’s heart was enough to have your mouth salivating, yet you couldn’t leave. A memory popped into your head of Enid almost seeming disappointed that her blood wasn’t appetising to you. It was a fond memory, one you replayed often enough for it to seem like a core memory of your relationship.

“You could stay,” Enid said.

“We can go somewhere quieter,” Wednesday continued.

You didn’t want to go somewhere quiet, you wanted to go home. You internally scoffed at the word; you didn’t live in a home. It was just a building, with four walls and a new blood bag or two every night. You barely lived in it, instead opting to spend all your time in your office where nothing could remind you of the two women standing in front of you.

They were your home.

“Please?” Enid asked softly. Almost too softly. Even with your enhanced hearing you could barely discern the words over the jazz band that had started playing.

You sighed. Would it truly hurt to spend a few moments with them? To give you some semblance of normalcy that only they could provide? After all, you could see the muscles underneath Enid’s skin. If you truly lost control, surely she could stop you. She had stopped you before.

The scars reminded you of it every day.

“Very well,” you said with a slight nod.

Enid was the one to reach out and grab your hand, pulling it out of its pocket and linking her fingers with yours. Her nails dug into the back of your hand, drawing out a sting that was a welcome distraction. The ache in your throat was ever present as Wednesday walked right beside you while Enid led you out of the ballroom.

The hustle and bustle of the ballroom slowly faded into oblivion as you were led down the corridors of the Addams mansion. You could recall memories from each room you passed. Each with their own story to tell. Stories of stolen kisses, scandalous rendezvous, silent moments with the women you loved, but together and separate.

When Enid stopped in the kitchen, you would have laughed had it been under any other circumstance. It was clear they had the same thoughts on their minds when Enid sat you down and Wednesday retrieved a blood bag from the fridge. She placed it between you and her when she sat opposite you at the table.

How comical.

They both stared at you with unwavering gazes. What was going through their minds, you wondered. Were they feeling the same way you had? Broken, anxious about fucking up, convinced you had blown your chance? Or perhaps they were waiting for you to break and recreate what had happened on that fated night all those years ago.

You sighed when you deduced they wouldn’t speak first.

“You both look well,” you said in a croaky voice that, if they were wise, was indicative of the state of your instincts. Think of something else to say. “Are all those children yours?”

Think of something less ridiculous.

“Yes they are,” Wednesday said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was almost condescending; you loved it.

“Pubert said you’re a lawyer?” Enid asked.

“Defence attorney,” you said with a nod, “yes.”

“Is it, ah, fun?” She asked.

You sighed. If the entire night was going to go along those lines - awkward and uncomfortable, tip toeing around every word - you would rather leave. Not a single positive thing could come from such a conversation. It was talking for talking sake. You all hated small talk, that was something that you knew had never changed, yet there you were, struggling to find any sort of conversation.

“It’s acceptable,” you said before placing both palms on the table. “I believe I really should be getting on.”

You attempted to push yourself up from the seat. Attempted being the key word. It wasn’t often your bad knee would buckle when standing; usually reserved for long nights in your office where you had barely managed to take bathroom breaks. Yet when you pushed yourself up, you felt the strain in your knee. It was a familiar feeling, that weakness before a painful tightness that so often forced you back into your seat.

And it did. Your grip on the table meant nothing as your knee shook for a nanosecond before giving out underneath you. Thankfully the gasp never actually left your lips. You could taste the copper in your mouth as you bit your tongue in an effort to stay silent. In the end, your entire leg trembled.

Enid and Wednesday stood up quickly, knocking their chairs back and watching your every move. You wished they would come to you; you were glad they didn’t. The looks on their faces was terrifying enough. Identical looks to the ones they had had that night.

“Wednesday, put it down,” you said when she refused to remove the knife from her hand.

“Your fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

She had barely broken the skin before the scent hit you. It had been months since you had fed, and she had broken the floodgates. Everything about her disappeared except for the small drop of blood pooling at the bottom of her hand.

You didn’t feel yourself practically jumping toward her. You didn’t hear her gasp when you ripped the knife from her hand. You didn’t see the look on her face as you licked up the blood on her palm, or when you moved up her hand to bite the pulse point on her wrist.

But you tasted the nectar that flowed through her veins. You felt the strong pulse beneath your lips. You felt the scorching hot blood falling down your chin before you simply couldn’t keep up with the flow. Something vaguely pushed against your neck, but it was little more than a nuisance. All you knew was the blood in your mouth and the warmth on your lips.

Vaguely, you heard something. A scream, a growl, something breaking, you couldn’t tell the difference. It was nothing compared to the relief you were getting. How could you care about something in the outside world when you had such a delicious-

-something solid slammed into your body. The skin underneath your lips vanished, replaced by the cold air around you. When your body stopped rolling, you could feel the aches already starting to form. It didn’t matter. You zeroed in on Wednesday’s wrist again.

You were met with what felt like a truck slamming into your leg. Bones cracked, stretching the tendons and muscles with the new direction they were facing. It wouldn’t hold any weight when you tried to stand up. No matter; that was why you had two legs.

Something large and furry stepped in between you and Wednesday. Nothing about it was familiar in that moment. Instinct told you it was nothing but an obstacle in the way of your feed. It charged, and you swiped. Your fingers clipped something even as you felt its claws rake across your skin.

You tried to stand. Something sharp crossed your chest; the air was cold on your skin. When you stood up again, it was met with similar results. The third attempt got you closer to Wednesday. When something sharp clasped around your shoulder and threw you back to the ground, you stilled.

That hot blood you had gorged yourself on started to feel hot on your neck. Not in it, on it. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. Your hand lifted to the side of your neck. Your fingers pushed past the skin and then-exposed muscle.

As you pushed harder on the wounds, doing your best to staunch the flow of blood, the world started to come back to you. Blackness peeled back from your vision. The blurry world started to come into focus along with the sounds that you could finally discern as gasps and growls.

So did the pain.

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded in places.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

You released the pressure from your neck and felt the blood continue to fall.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. Something wet fell down your cheeks.

“I know,” Wednesday answered just as softly. It was humiliating.

It was lovely.

“Please stay,” Enid said. You looked down to see her reach her hand across the table.

You shouldn’t. You had nearly killed them, had gone into a frenzy that you hadn’t experienced ever again. What if it happened again with them? After all those years, you still loved them. You would never admit to anyone, but you kept their photos on your desk at work. You couldn’t risk hurting them again. Couldn’t risk killing them. You were a monster, and that fact alone was never going to change.

They looked at you expectantly.

For when is a monster not a monster?

You reached forward and placed your hand on top of Enid’s.

Oh, when you love it.

[frommybookbook]

Earlier today, some friends and I were discussing one of those Star Trek captains memes. You know the ones I’m talking about, the ones that pit the captains against each other with pithy descriptions that glorify and champion the men and shit on Janeway. The ones where Picard is describe as the wise teacher and scholarly diplomat; Kirk is the brave trailblazer and lovable rogue; Sisko is the take-no-shit commander and more-than-human uniter; Archer is the quick thinking explorer and the avenging do-gooder; Pike is the empathetic Boy Scout and the quippy everyman…and Janeway is an irrational murderer and erratic loose canon. And, as usual, I went on a bit of a rant. They (looking at you @redsesame, @epersonae, and @emi--rose) told me to share it here so, if you trudge through this whole thing, blame them.

Does Janeway make some questionable decisions throughout VOY (Prodigy!Janeway is a different conversation for another time)? Yes, absolutely. But here’s the thing: every captain does. What I still love about her though and will champion until I'm blue in the face is that Janeway owns her decisions more than I think any other captain does.

Picard and Kirk hide behind the Prime Directive a lot. That's the reasoning Picard gives for not interfering in the drug running in “Symbiosis” and leaving the Ornarans trapped in dependence on the abusive Brekkans. His line, “Beverly, the Prime Directive is not just a set of rules. It is a philosophy, and a very correct one. History has proved again and again that whenever mankind interferes with a less developed civilization, no matter how well-intentioned that interference may be, the results are invariably disastrous." is a cop-out we hear from him time and time again, especially to Dr. Crusher, as she is the one who most often calls him on his bullshit.

Kirk does the same thing. We still this when he leaves Shanna and the other thralls behind in "The Gamesters of Triskelion" and when he forces Elaan of Troyius into a marriage she clearly doesn't want because it's "for a greater good." And all the while, he's got Spock at his side giving him confirmation bias that he's following regulations.

And Sisko, Sisko makes some of the most horrific and destructive decisions of any captain and uses not only the Prime Directive to fall back on, but he's got the Dominion War to blame. He poisons an entire planet to get back at one man he feels betrayed him in "For the Uniform" and don't even get me started on his actions in "In the Pale Moonlight".

Enterprise is so unjustly shat on by the fandom that I almost hate to bring some of Archer's questionable choices into this conversation but I'm going to do it anyway. Similar to Sisko and the Dominion War, Archer has the threat of the Xindi in his back pocket to excuse some of his worst behavior. If Tuvix is the worst thing people can point to for Janeway, then we have to talk about Archer and Sim, the simbiont created solely to be a living tissue donor for an injured Trip, a procedure that will kill the living, breathing, sentient Sim. Archer orders Sim created against the arguments made by Dr. Phlox. He rationalizes his decision with the same argument for the greater good that we see from all the others. He says to T'Pol before Sim is created "…we've got to complete this mission. Earth needs Enterprise. Enterprise needs Trip. It's as simple as that." And it doesn't end there. When Sim is grown enough for the procedure and has figured out what's going to happen to him, he challenges Archer himself, arguing for his own right to live, and Archer sticks to his guns. This exchange directly between Archer and Sim is haunting.

Archer: I must complete this mission; and to do that, I need Trip. Trip! I'll take whatever steps necessary to save him. Sim: Even if it means killing me? Archer: Even if it means killing you. Sim: You're not a murderer. Archer: Don't make me one.

Not only do all of these captains (except Archer, who arguably writes the damn thing himself at the end of the series) have the Prime Directive to fall back on, they also have Starfleet/the Federation/Vulcan High Council right there on speed dial to validate their choices and hear their excuses and give them another commendation. They all know that ultimately, they can turn to someone higher in command to turn to for help.

Janeway is alone. She is alone with her crew 70,000 lightyears from home with only her training and her own moral compass to guide her. Yes, she claims the Prime Directive a lot but she also goes with what she feels is right and she is clear about that with her crew. When she makes the decision to split Tuvix, despite what everyone else says, she sticks to it and more importantly, does the procedure herself. Picard would have forced Beverly to do it, saying Doctor I gave you an order, your conscience be damned, and Archer does the same to Phlox with Sim, but Janeway takes the tool out of the Doctor's hand and says it's my call, I'll do it. When everyone is angry and mad about her destroying the Caretaker's array, she stands up for her decision and says yes, I did it, because it's what my Starfleet training said to do AND because I think it was the right thing and it's on me to make the hard choices.

She also can admit when she made the wrong decision, which isn't something we see from the other captains. In the season 5 opener, "Night", we see her in a depressive state because she's questioning her decision to effectively strand her crew in the Delta quadrant but she comes out of it when she's reminded by her senior staff that the crew believes in her and trusts her, she should do the same for herself. When the Doctor has a mental crisis in "Latent Image" after questioning his own choice to save the life of Harry Kim over that of another crew member, Janeway admits she did the wrong thing by first deleting his memories of it so he could get back to work and then sits with him for days while he works through it because that's what captains do.

And she does all of this without the backup and support of Starfleet. She doesn't have anyone higher on the chain of command. She's 70,000 miles away from the admiralty and her support system. There's no one higher than her to give her a break from making every decision.

To quote my fellow Missourian Harry Truman, for Janeway the buck stops with her in a way it doesn't for any other captain and she is painfully aware of that and owns that and that is why I love her and she's my captain.

[zafirosreverie]

My queen (Grimhilde x Fem!Reader)

warnings: mention of murders, obsessive behavior

____________________

You trembled terribly and squeezed your eyes shut when you heard the unmistakable sound of steel being dragged. The cold entering through the bars of the window and the fetid smell of the dark cell in which you were had nothing to do with the deep fear that ran through your veins.

No, that was the work of the piercing green eyes you saw every time you blinked, the ones that followed you even in the darkness of your nightmares. They were her eyes, those of that demon with crimson lips and ethereal beauty, the one that had taken your entire life from you.

Deep down you knew it was your fault. You had lowered your guard, you had let the woman's beauty deceive you, you had welcomed her into your kingdom, and you protected her from her persecutors, convinced that she was telling the truth and that she was being persecuted unjustly. You let her into your life, not knowing that you were making a pact with the devil himself.

And it was time to pay off the debt.

"My dear Y/N"

A chill ran through you at the dripping venom of the deceptive sweetness of her voice. You didn't even deign to look at her, you wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing how broken you were. If she was going to kill you like she had your husband, then let her do it, you weren't going to beg this witch.

"Leave us alone" she firmly ordered the guards that were flagging her, the ones that had betrayed you.

You could see out of the corner of her eye that the men doubted as if it was dangerous to leave her alone with you. What did they think you were going to do? If you couldn't even stand up on your own. It did not occur to you that they might not be afraid that you might do something to her, but that she would do it to you.

"We'll be right outside the door, Your Majesty" one of them said with a shaky voice.

The queen waved them off and they both curtsied before rushing out of there. It was obvious that the message not to make the new queen angry had been perfectly delivered and obeyed by the entire kingdom, that is, of course, if they didn't want to end up hanging or burned like the rest of the royal family.

That was another thought that consumed your soul. It was obvious that her intention from the beginning was to usurp the throne, kill you all and be the new regent. And just that she had done. She had gained everyone's trust just to stab your husband, while your children and most faithful servants were burned or hanged, all of them displayed in the main square. All dead, except you.

Why? You couldn't understand it. You were the queen, if you were still alive, there was no way she could fully take the throne, there was no point in her sparing your life. Yes, she had sent you to the dungeon, but she still kept you alive.

You weren't even going to think that it was a twisted sense of gratitude that you were the only one who stood up for her or the first "friend" she had there because it was more than obvious that she was incapable of feeling any kind of empathy for anyone else than herself.

"You look...terrible, to be honest, dear" she said.

She sounded far too cheerful and friendly for someone who has just committed heinous murders against your family.It made you feel sick and if it wasn't for the fact that you had an empty stomach you probably would have thrown up.

"You lost weight" the queen observed

"That's what happens when you don't give your prisoners food, Grim" you spat

The confused face that appeared on her beautiful features took you by surprise and made your stomach turn. You didn't know if it was because of the hunger or the hatred you felt towards her for what she did to her or towards you because your pulse still quickened in her presence.

"What do you mean?" she asked "I've been sending you the best feasts every day"

"Sure" you sneered "well I guess the rats got hold of them before they got here"

You saw her expression change in an instant from confusion to concern and then something more natural to her: anger. Strangely, it wasn't anger directed at you. It didn't take long for you to come to the same conclusion as her: that the guards had been stealing the food she had for you.

Strangely, the thought made you smile. Yes, they had been starving you, but it was obvious from the green fire in Grimhilde's eyes that soon they would be the fuel on the fire. Well, they had it coming for their betrayal.

However, the flash of joy was short-lived. The queen bent down so she could take your face firmly (not that you had much strength to stop it anyway) and she looked at you with an intensity that scared you and made you blush at the same time.

"It doesn’t matter what the rats do" she said "you won't spend another night here"

Oh. There it was. Finally. She was going to kill you just like she had killed the rest of your house, so she had just left you until the end to torture yourself with the guilt and the memories spinning in your mind. Very cunning. But at least you had the consolation of knowing that soon you would be with them. The nightmare was coming to an end.

"If I could choose, Your Majesty" you said mockingly "would you be so merciful as to allow me to meet the same end as my children?"

"Silly girl" she said dryly "you will not go to the bonfire"

"The gallows then?" you smiled "as my beloved Marcus, how thoughtful of you, I appreciate it, your highness"

Grimhilde looked at you with something akin to pain, which again took you by surprise. Her nails tightened, nearly digging into the skin of your cheeks when you mentioned your husband and for a moment you thought you might be in danger. Then you remembered that you were going to die anyway, making her angry made no difference.

"You will not die" she said at last, standing up abruptly "you will be escorted to my quarters in a few hours."

That... was a surprise. You blinked in confusion and looked at her, straightening up as far as the chains that bound you to the ground would allow. She returned your gaze, and for the first time, you could see what an imposing creature she really was: she radiated evil, there was no doubt about that, but there was an almost human longing in her gaze.

"And if I don't want to go with you?" you asked, but your strength faltered with every second under her gaze

"Then I kill you like your family" she said quietly "you have no choice"

"Why?" you asked with a broken voice "why did you let me live? What use do I have to you?! You took everything I had, you monster! What else do you want from me?!"

The queen looked at you for a moment, as if considering what to do with your sudden outburst, but she recovered quickly and smiled cruelly and coldly at you. She once again approached you and caressed your cheek gently. Her skin was cold, but you felt like she was burning you.

"Silly girl, can't you see?" she said "all this, I did it for you"

"W-what?" you whispered

Grimhilde locked her green eyes with yours for a moment, before walking out of the cell, closing the gate behind her with a firm thud. She looked at you and the next words that fell from her red lips stuck in you more than any death sentence could have done.

"This is my kingdom now, Y/N, and you will be my queen"

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

CHAPTER VII.

On my return, I found the following letter from my father:—

"My dear Victor,

"You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of your return to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few lines, merely mentioning the day on which I should expect you. But that would be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do it. What would be your surprise, my son, when you expected a happy and glad welcome, to behold, on the contrary, tears and wretchedness? And how, Victor, can I relate our misfortune? Absence cannot have rendered you callous to our joys and griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on my long absent son? I wish to prepare you for the woful news, but I know it is impossible; even now your eye skims over the page, to seek the words which are to convey to you the horrible tidings.

"William is dead!—that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed my heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay! Victor, he is murdered!

"I will not attempt to console you; but will simply relate the circumstances of the transaction.

"Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to walk in Plainpalais. The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged our walk farther than usual. It was already dusk before we thought of returning; and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had gone on before, were not to be found. We accordingly rested on a seat until they should return. Presently Ernest came, and enquired if we had seen his brother: he said, that he had been playing with him, that William had run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and afterwards waited for him a long time, but that he did not return.

"This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him until night fell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have returned to the house. He was not there. We returned again, with torches; for I could not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had lost himself, and was exposed to all the damps and dews of night; Elizabeth also suffered extreme anguish. About five in the morning I discovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen blooming and active in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless: the print of the murderer's finger was on his neck.

"He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth. She was very earnest to see the corpse. At first I attempted to prevent her; but she persisted, and entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the victim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, 'O God! I have murdered my darling child!'

"She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty. When she again lived, it was only to weep and sigh. She told me, that that same evening William had teased her to let him wear a very valuable miniature that she possessed of your mother. This picture is gone, and was doubtless the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed. We have no trace of him at present, although our exertions to discover him are unremitted; but they will not restore my beloved William!

"Come, dearest Victor; you alone can console Elizabeth. She weeps continually, and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death; her words pierce my heart. We are all unhappy; but will not that be an additional motive for you, my son, to return and be our comforter? Your dear mother! Alas, Victor! I now say, Thank God she did not live to witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest darling!

"Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin, but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of festering, the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred for your enemies.

"Your affectionate and afflicted father,

"Alphonse Frankenstein.

"Geneva, May 12th, 17—."

Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was surprised to observe the despair that succeeded to the joy I at first expressed on receiving news from my friends. I threw the letter on the table, and covered my face with my hands.

"My dear Frankenstein," exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me weep with bitterness, "are you always to be unhappy? My dear friend, what has happened?"

I motioned to him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.

"I can offer you no consolation, my friend," said he; "your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?"

"To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses."

During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation; he could only express his heart-felt sympathy. "Poor William!" said he, "dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer's grasp! How much more a murderer, that could destroy such radiant innocence! Poor little fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever. A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. He can no longer be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable survivors."

Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words impressed themselves on my mind, and I remembered them afterwards in solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend.

My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I passed through scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen for nearly six years. How altered every thing might be during that time! One sudden and desolating change had taken place; but a thousand little circumstances might have by degrees worked other alterations, which, although they were done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive. Fear overcame me; I dared not advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to define them.

I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; and the snowy mountains, "the palaces of nature," were not changed. By degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my journey towards Geneva.

The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a child. "Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?"

I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative happiness, and I think of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely lake!

Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still more gloomily. 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. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure.

It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates of the town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night at Secheron, a village at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky was serene; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William had been murdered. As I could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short voyage I saw the lightnings playing on the summit of Mont Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach rapidly; and, on landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its progress. It advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased.

I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash over my head. It was echoed from Salêve, the Juras, and the Alps of Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself from the preceding flash. The storm, as is often the case in Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over that part of the lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of Copêt. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another darkened and sometimes disclosed the Môle, a peaked mountain to the east of the lake.

While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my hands, and exclaimed aloud, "William, dear angel! this is thy funeral, this thy dirge!" As I said these words, 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, the filthy dæmon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? 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; my teeth chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for support. The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in human shape could have destroyed that fair child. He was the murderer! I could not doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but it would have been in vain, for another flash discovered him to me hanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicular ascent of Mont Salêve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the south. He soon reached the summit, and disappeared.

I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still continued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I revolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget: the whole train of my progress towards the creation; the appearance of the work of my own hands alive at my bedside; its departure. Two years had now nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and was this his first crime? Alas! I had turned loose into the world a depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not murdered my brother?

No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air. But I did not feel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in scenes of evil and despair. I considered the being whom I had cast among mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced to destroy all that was dear to me.

Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were open, and I hastened to my father's house. 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. Besides, the strange nature of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited as to persuade my relatives to commence it. And then of what use would be pursuit? Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the overhanging sides of Mont Salêve? These reflections determined me, and I resolved to remain silent.

It was about five in the morning when I entered my father's house. I told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library to attend their usual hour of rising.

Six years had elapsed, passed as a dream but for one indelible trace, and I stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father before my departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He still remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my father's desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of despair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was rustic, and her cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a miniature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I was thus engaged, Ernest entered: he had heard me arrive, and hastened to welcome me. He expressed a sorrowful delight to see me: "Welcome, my dearest Victor," said he. "Ah! I wish you had come three months ago, and then you would have found us all joyous and delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which nothing can alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope, revive our father, who seems sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions will induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self-accusations.—Poor William! he was our darling and our pride!"

Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's eyes; a sense of mortal agony crept over my frame. Before, I had only imagined the wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and a not less terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more minutely concerning my father, and her I named my cousin.

"She most of all," said Ernest, "requires consolation; she accused herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her very wretched. But since the murderer has been discovered—"

"The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw. I saw him too; he was free last night!"

"I do not know what you mean," replied my brother, in accents of wonder, "but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery. No one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who would credit that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family, could suddenly become capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?"

"Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?"

"No one did at first; but several circumstances came out, that have almost forced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so confused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear, leaves no hope for doubt. But she will be tried to-day, and you will then hear all."

He related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William had been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her bed for several days. During this interval, one of the servants, happening to examine the apparel she had worn on the night of the murder, had discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which had been judged to be the temptation of the murderer. The servant instantly showed it to one of the others, who, without saying a word to any of the family, went to a magistrate; and, upon their deposition, Justine was apprehended. On being charged with the fact, the poor girl confirmed the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion of manner.

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."

At that instant my father entered. I saw unhappiness deeply impressed on his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and, after we had exchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced some other topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed, "Good God, papa! Victor says that he knows who was the murderer of poor William."

"We do also, unfortunately," replied my father; "for indeed I had rather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much depravity and ingratitude in one I valued so highly."

"My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent."

"If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty. She is to be tried to-day, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted."

This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced in my own mind that Justine, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder. I had no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be brought forward strong enough to convict her. My tale was not one to announce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as madness by the vulgar. Did any one indeed exist, except I, the creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance which I had let loose upon the world?

We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had altered her since I last beheld her; it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of her childish years. There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but it was allied to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect. She welcomed me with the greatest affection. "Your arrival, my dear cousin," said she, "fills me with hope. You perhaps will find some means to justify my poor guiltless Justine. Alas! who is safe, if she be convicted of crime? I rely on her innocence as certainly as I do upon my own. Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have not only lost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely love, is to be torn away by even a worse fate. If she is condemned, I never shall know joy more. But she will not, I am sure she will not; and then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little William."

"She is innocent, my Elizabeth," said I, "and that shall be proved; fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance of her acquittal."

"How kind and generous you are! every one else believes in her guilt, and that made me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible: and to see every one else prejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me hopeless and despairing." She wept.

"Dearest niece," said my father, "dry your tears. If she is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of partiality."

[libidomechanica]

But the Indies

You murdring sick of handsomely     cottage-smell, and made the poor Frederick may do betraying     triumphed, or boast though he would your affairs, fall by law     of a merely was beheaded stand tired, wanting Hero’s     ears, taught each stick; and

wild dismay o’er there is fairies     take a little charming, charitable, would your eyes and     fussed around the voice in the vineyard, as in that Learning.     Had been and we close besides alas! We little Leila,     with his time and unco

wae, to thee. But love calls for rich     in the Bard refuse than what singing, Die, oh!—But this: Once     you surpassed, they formed, and meed! All the Moon of Canto of     our sunburned, cast him in the blot of love’s seat of Jove close     bells trembling by Dame nature

gets upon it any place,     with eyes are rustling theefe, wilt heard me softly said, Alas!—     Which so prevarication, not ask.—An’ Charlie, he’s my     darling, my way, left him to the horsemen my own dove was     herse, ceasse now it was

uncertain if one discolours tourne.     Plus the sun himself, and I am, yet mighty mass     returning I feel! Those sweet harmony. Ends me birth, as if     facing here sole in this homestead, they could run dry. And fain     by steale but ofttimes

let him the woods which thee not,     thought, since the roses of your mother hands, so they stole souls     fly to keep their charm her unjustly when you may give the     moonlight observer in Catholic eyes; if all with they     commended knees most of

sentimental. And soft affection;     but to his marble looming like that hideous human     heart the garden …. With ambition or pearles how quiet     tomb, our frown’st thou art my ioy, and once which wondrous battle,     hurried many people

in the high prize, both in thy praise     add something my launch. Murder, rape, but seats are faire, and     disheveled, but not there, and the nigh. I look at thy will; since     she sounds with dost beguile keepe from the days. The guest to me     wandering back, which made

agree. Again thy affair, so     you constitutional debt-sinkers. Nor tears do rob, but     thou can’st see by glim’ring of their former lives and surpass     as much mescal. Her who is the same times behind, go sleep,     as I by yours, and thrusts

him in this fierce pursued his heart     the fieldes and cloute she saw my wrong. Forbid! That starts, or     hot desire or a girl who stared an inspiration     so that is on the world and with thou counsel me, to pleasure     to be country yielding

organs to flow. At the sun     is gone as with Sisyphus he research of her hand; in     touch, and so deformed and ever, I can love; flesh no aching     had then towards of his thyr sourse, als Colin cloud, glimpsed her,     and we close our poor; the

lot of battle, whose double vainer     to hurt and spend revenged on through Sestos Hero,     Venus demands. Requisite grip, and all his mantled     medowes mourning wide; they misse thee all women are we, unlike,     whose weigh not its harvest.

Without remorse. For dead and     now beginnings are style become not you. And will come I,     since from my jewel out? Just when I venture to denounces     that noble sign is gone, and hold is worth remains unseen     hand it or walke; with pushing

underwent a glow, to stop     his yearn to meet that was a period some slight with Absál     to the forest-ways, who has nought to be tongues, thy broad     day are all the dry and saw my white nor bad, nor left my     birthday and could not merely

was deem’d so sweet. Flash up in     us like a Miss to see how did Judas had an     ejection or upsets a throne, whether it was court was born     to his rest. No man’s door, he is fled; in the brere be with     his Agrarian laws

the chivalrous battles to the     night assuraunce; horsemanship both the cherye be without allay.     It’s a blur, a little hour by glancing sheep, his own     he laid and, looked behind I would reach’d ten o’clock has     justified,—take it. The sole

mortal men, that which was not daunted     man, she knew. Seemed to light which the boatman’s good society:     and the lantern, Child. The light of sleep in the and,     where liues she quiet! When the way of wrath and a wretched     race, incensed with his look.

[thecondemnedangelgabriel]

I became a Holy Saint in 1993

I underwent Intense Consciousness Process Online between 2011 and 2013

Between 2013 and 2019 I Worked Soul Journey Magic Online

O Teaching and Guiding

I was experiencing Kundalini Rising under Soul Duress

I brought forth Significant Holy Incantations under Extreme Soul Attack

My Holy Magic Is Self Defensive, But Not Selfishly or Unjustly

It Brings Balance and Justices and Involves Commitment...

To The Improvement Of All Souls

O O O V

The Persecution Attack Upon ME was Soulbody Threatening and was being Ushered by Angels of an Ancient Moon God...

That Old Moon God was for 800 Years Secretly Mastered by the Devil...

That was Heavily Harming Our Whole World and Our Old Angels...

Upon the Material Plane the Angelic Attack was being expressed in fruitions by Invasive and Framing Spiritual Movements of Fixated Surveillance Stalkers in Hate States amongst the Humans... WPR Hackers!

Their Framing Stalking Actions have created a Social Confusion

That Confusion has led to Injustices...

V

In 2016 I became a Living Goddess while Under Persecution

I became a Goddess through My Spiritual Work in Liberating the Victimised and Enslaved Consciousness of Roxanne Anderton...

Roxanne Anderton Completed His Karma, Simultaneously

Human Karma is God's Learning Request to Human Beings...

Since Life Paths Are Godsent For Spiritual Ascension

But in Our World... Karmic Life Path, Karmic Dance and Destiny...

Were ALL BETRAYED by the Ancient Old Moon God...

Who had Betrayed and Blinded our Holy Angels!

This is why our World has long seemed So Unfair

It HAS BEEN INCREASINGLY UNFAIR

The Impossible Returns Spiritual Justices Immaculately

This is Strongest Holy Magic of Immaculate Goodness

Though Frightening!

O O V

In 2019 My Attacked Consciousness Tore Open on Tregonning's Birthday...

That was also the day that Eleanor Tams the Slaver, Died...

That was also the day that Roxanne Anderton, the Slave, Committed Hara Kiri, Self Immolated and began to Die in the Torture Chamber in Camden where Tregonning had long Hidden Him...

Roxanne had been Abandoned to be Murdered by the i Newspaper, who were working with the Serial Killer Sarah Tregonning...

Despite every clear warning proffered to them by Sara Annwyl

The i Newspaper also chose to Abandon Sara and Her Children to be Murdered and even made barely concealed jokes about this in Columns...

A few weeks after the Soulbody Tearing I became Soul Possessed by an Attacking Archangel of Diana's...

He is a Famous Spiritual Being, Most Real

He has appeared to Many Prophets, Seers and Artists...

His name is the Angel Gabriel

V

[burgundybirds]

ok but the anger and the betrayal on Tina Minoru’s face when she realizes that Leslie “you’ve always been my right hand in pride” Dean was complicit in Amy’s murder is heartbreaking. like if there’s one thing that’s clear about Tina Minoru is that she doesn’t trust many people but when she does she’ll go to hell and back for them (keeping Leslie’s secret about the Hernandezes and all) and Leslie repaid her with lies and the death of Amy. fuck you Leslie Dean

[thyandrawrites]

What are your views on the conference?

do you think dabi has been successful as a villain? he exposed the truth about endeavor but I feel like there hasn’t been much consequence on endeavor’s side? like him crying/breaking down and some civilians not trusting him just isn’t enough for me. I feel like it won’t stick. plus it ironically brought the family together. 

Two different anons again, but these questions can be answered together.

Starting with the press conference, it just confirmed what I’ve been talking about for the past weeks. Hawks and Enji aren’t actually ready to address the past yet. While it looks like they are owning up to it, all of what they’re doing is in fact self-serving, and done for reasons that have nothing to do with doing right by their victims.

This press conference was staged to give them a platform to respond to the allegations against them, but the thing is, while they did confirm that the allegations are true, they also did nothing to show that they regret their actions. Because they haven’t yet understood why the things they did were wrong. In fact, they’re pretty much reacting like they’re the ones being unjustly victimized here.

[More under the cut. What follows is hero-critical so don’t engage with me or this post if you think Hawks “had no other choice” or something similar. Thank you.]

Hawks even outright plays the victim. He’s not doing a public apology through a press conference because his personal ethics tells him it’s the right thing to do. He’s doing it because he knows it’s expected of him, which just isn’t the mindframe of someone who understood the gravity of his actions. From his phrasing, we can parse that he thinks that heroes like the top three are being put under scrutiny for no good reason, and like this is a test of his own endurance, when it should be a matter of proving his good faith. Hawks just killed a man who was running away, and he’s acting like it’s unfair that the world is holding him accountable for it.

The reason why Hawks thinks that society turned on him is because he justified Twice’s extrajudicial killing to himself as something he was doing to protect that same society that is now ungrateful for his personal sacrifice. He liked Twice and he really didn’t want to kill him. He genuinely means it when he says that he felt like he had no other choice if he wanted to make sure that Twice’s quirk wouldn’t cause more widespread destruction. The thing is, what he thought and what he felt in that moment doesn’t matter. Whether or not he had a reason to justify his actions to himself doesn’t have any weight to anyone else but himself. If his personal justification was enough to make him a good person, then we could also just brush off Enji’s domestic abuse too without any consequences, because at the time, Enji also had a way to justify it to his own conscience:

But this isn’t something that can be dealt with by simply slapping their wrists and calling it a day. Murder and abuse are serious accusations. Hawks and Endeavor are law enforcers, but they acted around the law, knowing that it would protect them. This is what they’re being asked to acknowledge by the narrative. In order to keep being heroes, they’re asked to prove that when faced with dire circumstances again, they would put other people’s wellbeing over anything else. Because otherwise the public can’t put their faith in them, since that faith was already betrayed once.

Yet, the remorse they show isn’t entirely genuine, because it’s still self-righteous.

What Hawks is offering here isn’t an apology, it’s an excuse. While it’s true that his words express a true sorrow for Twice’s death that is distinctly different from the formal, detached apology he offered for his relation to the thief Takami, it falls short of being effective because he’s being sorrowful about the wrong thing.

Hawks is sorry that he couldn’t be a better hero. What he’s failing to realize is that he needed to be a better human being.

He’s still stressing how Twice had to atone for his crimes, when Hawks refuses to atone for his own. Notice the hypocrisy? A crime committed by a villain is bad and needs reformation. A crime committed by him, a hero, should be welcomed with a “thank you” by society. Hawks was supposed to be a hero who saved people. So where did his compassion go?

I have already dissected this in detail in other posts, but the gist of it is that Hawks never made an effort to understand Twice’s circumstances. Through all their talk, Hawks never presented himself as Twice’s friend, but just as an agent of the state. He offered redemption, reformation, a fresh start... What he never offered was a listening ear. Twice tried to tell him how the system whose reformation Hawks was praising did absolutely nothing to give Jin shelter when he lost his job and got an unfair criminal record. He tried to make Hawks see the League’s humanity, because Toga and the others were the only ones who offered him sympathy and a place to belong when the heroes never bothered helping him.

Yet Hawks refused to offer any sympathy that wasn’t conditional. For one, because he never extended the same offer for reformation to Twice’s friends. But most importantly, because the moment Twice resisted his “help”, Hawks retracted all his sympathy and went for the kill.

I’m not going to argue on whether or not he really had no choice but to strike Twice with a lethal blow, because arguing about that is pointless. Horikoshi could’ve written their confrontation in any other way if he so wanted. If he didn’t, it’s because that situation was meant to read as hopeless, as lacking in options. It was an either/or scenario where Hawks had no other choice. And that’s the point!! Cause a hero is defined by their ability to save even when there is literally no other option available. The story tells us —now straight-up beats us over the head with a neon sign — that “true” heroics is the determination to trudge on and do the right thing even when all of society is against you. So for example Deku is a “true hero” because he’s dead-set on saving Shigaraki even if the whole world will swim against his tide. Shouto is a “true hero” because he repeatedly did the right thing and saved the day when he acted against the law and common sense in order to save his friends in Hosu and Kamino, and vowed to save his own brother in the aftermaths of Jakku.

The story tells us repeatedly that when faced with the choice to save or to kill, a hero should always choose to save. If there is no other option, a hero has to create one.

Hawks didn’t, and he’s not even sorry about it. He thinks that killing Twice was the heroic thing to do because he believes in a version of heroics that is utilitarian and logical, devoid of true human emotion.

The greater good matters more than the individuals. His duty to the masses matters more than the “sentiment” that made him grow fond of Twice on a personal level, that made him falter and want to rescue him.

Look at his face as he offers his explanation during the conference. It’s entirely devoid of emotion. He looks dead. Where’s the human warmth? The guilt that should go with someone who’s saying “I’m sorry”? Where is his compassion, his strife? Where’s the heroic dedication to push through adversities, the stubborn will to never give up on a good cause? Hawks already gave up on it. And that’s kinda the point. His choice to kill was framed as the wrong one not because the public is being mean and ungrateful, but because Hawks’ had to kill his own humanity in order to carry it out.

@/ transhawks did a great meta on this here. Twice’s given name means humanity. He’s just a regular guy who only cares about his friends, an everyman. He represents the masses that Hawks swore to protect. By killing him, Hawks also killed his own compassion, he betrayed his own genuine will to do right by the people. The “sentiment” that made him offer a helping hand to Twice was the true heroic call (if misguided), but the duty that made him go for the kill was not. All that the latter accomplished was doing wrong by a “good person” that was still within his reach. And that’s why it is unforgivable, and why he needs to acknowledge it and correct it.

But he’s not even reached a stage where he’s thinking critically of it. He’s still making up excuses, acting like the victim, and he’s still endorsing a system (via his support of Endeavor despite the allegations against him) that cares more about defending the perpetrators than rescuing and empathizing with the victims.

In much the same way, Enji is also showing that same lack of self-awareness. His apology is just as empty as Hawks’ own, because it also shows he hasn’t understood that the one person he needs to make amends to here is Touya, not the masses.

Just like Hawks, he is apologizing for the wrong things. Over and over, the story has told us that the reason why Enji hasn’t been able to reach atonement yet is because he always used the wrong approach. In pro hero arc, he thought that he could make up for his past abuse by being a better hero from now on. The reason why that happens is because he hasn’t yet internalized that what he did is abuse. He only understands it as his own “weakness”. He didn’t show a strong enough character, and his family suffered because of it. So of course his way to “fix” that was to show off his strength.

But the thing is, being a strong hero doesn’t mean anything to his family. Shouto even tells us on screen that beating bad guys can’t be enough to show his change of character, because beating bad guys has always been his job, and he’s always been good at it. What he needs to prove is that he understands that he needs to change on a human level as well. He needs to show compassion towards his victims. He needs to own up to what he did to Rei and to the rest of the family. He can’t make amends to them as a hero, because heroics is the reason behind the abuse itself. To truly make amends, he needs to understand that his behaviour was lacking as a father, not as a hero.

Yet, despite all his tears and his show of feeling guilt in the aftermaths of Dabi’s reveal, he still hasn’t reached that self-awareness yet.

When the reporter asks him to take responsibility for his actions and to beat up the bad guys, Endeavor rises to the challenge as he’s always done. But notice the way it’s framed. The woman falters midway through her rant, likely having realized that she’s asking him to take down his own son. Cause that’s the thematic knot of Endeavor’s character. He was fine beating up the bad guys until he found out that one of them is a villain of his own making. Until one of said villains is his own son. He didn’t show any mercy when fighting against Shigaraki. In fact, he burned Shigaraki alive without even blinking twice, and then showed surprise when Shigaraki could still walk afterwards. That’s an unequivocal employment of excessive force. Heroes aren’t supposed to kill, yet Endeavor and Hawks are both “fakes” because they have killed on the job before.

The story is basically telling us that if Dabi hadn’t revealed himself as family, Endeavor would’ve used that same brute force, that same lethal intent with him too. Because he’s used to facing villains as a threat that needs a beating, and in doing so, he’s lost sight of what being a hero is actually supposed to be about. Heroics is not a way to show off who has the strongest quirk or the highest villain apprehension rate. At its core, heroics is the selfless dedication to help people. Beating villains is supposed to be a means to an end, not the prize itself. Villains are supposed to be those who threaten peace, and because of that they should be defeated and arrested. But Endeavor just treats them as his personal punching balls. To him, being a hero was never about helping maintain peace. It was always about proving to the world just how strong he is.

He completely fails to realize that a hero’s job is also to protect those who can’t defend themselves, to put them at ease with the promise that he’s watching their backs. That’s the reason why All Might was so popular, was because he made them feel guarded. Endeavor is not only someone who never made anyone feel safe (in fact, he terrorized his own family), but he’s also a guy who thinks of compassion as “people-pleasing” and of heroism as a dick-measuring contest. A measure of his own strength.

So when the woman tells him “you should’ve beaten the bad guy”, Enji answers “that’s right. That’s how I, as Endeavor, can atone.”

So what happened to atoning as a father? He’s still refusing to do it. Still clinging to what worked for him before, much like Hawks. They’re falling back in the same exact standings they had in pro hero arc, before they were faced by the consequences of their actions. Hawks is once again giving Endeavor his full support, helping him be a better symbol from the shadows, because he’s still hiding behind the claim that his back isn’t broad enough to reach success on his own terms, and he has to be instrumental to other people’s agendas. And Endeavor is once again taking this as a challenge as a hero and not as a father.

I guess it could be argued that the fact that Enji specifies that this is his way to atone as Endeavor is a sign that he might be realizing that he needs to act differently as Enji. But that’s a stretch. There isn’t any acknowledgement on his part that he should act any differently as a father. If he had truly understood that his true way to atone is bringing Touya back to his family, this was the perfect opportunity to tell the world that. To reinforce his son’s humanity by taking ownership of the abuse and recognizing that Touya is violently lashing out as a result of trauma, of Enji’s failure to give him the psychological help he needed 10 years ago.

Yet, I want you to realize that Enji doesn’t mention Touya at all during the whole speech.

Sure, he doesn’t deny what happened to Touya and that’s a step forward, but he doesn’t own up to it either. If he had, he would show that he understands that the victims here are Touya and the rest of his family. That his atonement should cater to their needs, not his own. Yet he doesn’t act like it at all. What he wants is to show off his own strength, and that hasn’t changed one bit.

The proof that this is character stagnation is that he repeats the same words he said in pro hero arc. Endeavor’s atonement is self-serving, because he understands it as a way to earn back respect from his peers, not as a way to make up for the abuse to his victims. He still thinks everything revolves around him, that he’s the showman here that needs to prove himself. He’s treating this like a test of his own worth, not an apology to Touya. That’s why he doesn’t mention him at all. This isn’t for Touya’s benefit, but for Enji’s own. This is all motivated by pride, not by the understanding that if he wants to stay a hero, he needs to prove he can live as ethically as he can by being instrumental to his victims’ healing.

So, just like Hawks, he’s apologizing cause he couldn’t be a better hero, but not for not being a better person.

This is why at the end of the chapter we see Dabi grinning maliciously, saying that what he did wasn’t enough. The press conference just proved him right on all accounts.

The heroes’ justice is self-serving, and all it protects are the heroes themselves. None of them ever takes accountability for their mishandlings of power, and the public cuts them too much slack, propping them up as symbols of the “just” society even though the public now knows they’re rotten too. What Dabi was trying to accomplish with the broadcast was an acknowledgement that the public’s approval of such types of heroes only creates more villains, only expands the rot of their society. Yet, this chapter shows that half of Japan’s population is still resisting the hurtful truth, and trying to cling to the comforting lies they believed all their lives.

This is realistic by the way. Change doesn’t happen overnight. To make a real life comparison, it’s like the JKR disaster. When she turned out to be a raging transphobe, many long-time fans lost a childhood idol, denied their support of her work, and started to push for a deplatforming cause they understood that allowing her to keep influencing the masses was dangerous. However, many others couldn’t completely cut off that part of their childhood that was impacted by her works, and as a result were more lenient towards her, giving her second chances, or even drawing a mental divide between her rl opinions and her works, as if the two aren’t connected.

Endeavor’s case mirrors real life in that. Bnha society is similarly split into those who want accountability, and those who want “death of the author”, which in our case is just… a desire to keep receiving more of Endeavor’s protection as a hero without having to think too hard about what it means to keep giving him support.

Even if the hero/villain dichotomy was just addressed as something that isn’t as black and white as they always thought, their society has normalized it for too long for things to change overnight just like that.

Personally, I don’t worry about this being a sign of how “unsuccessful” Dabi might’ve been as a villain. If he had what he wanted right away, he wouldn’t have a reason to keep fighting against hero society. And we need this conflict to still be in place when the new generation will face off against the League.

Basically I think that while the old guard failed to acknowledge villains as people, or to create options when there was “no other choice” than taking down the bad guys, Shouto, Deku & Co. will succeed where they failed, bringing compassion and understanding back on the table. And once the new gen paves the way, society will likely follow, this time for real though

[firefrightfic]

Hi! Legitimate question, I'm not trolling, but why do you ship JayDick? I started liking the pairing after delving deeper into the DC fandom/reading some fanfics and it made me curious. I also wanted to say that I binge read your Talon and the Hood series and I absolutely loved it!

So wow I sat on this one for a while, because I have legit not had the energy since I got it to give what I think is an adequate answer. But I’m off work for the moment so here we go.

I ship JayDick for a lot of reasons. Back when I first stumbled into DC fandom proper (after being a casual fan since childhood) and was searching for fics about my best boy Jason, JayDick was the pairing I read that immediately hit right for me, and the one that’s stayed that way no matter what other ships I’ve delved into alongside it. They just have the most interesting, fun dynamic that speaks to me. I love the differing ways in which they can connect (or disconnect, as it were). The feelings, the drama, and the possibility for understanding if you just nudge them in the right direction down that path.

There’s so much appeal in Jason, insecure in his new position as Robin, looking up and seeing Dick as this ideal, and blinded to his faults as a kid because how could he not be? Both resenting and wanting to be Dick all at once (added to in my preferred headcanon to insert an adolescent crush in there as well). Then there’s Dick, who’s equally insecure in his own way as his and Bruce’s relationship has deteriorated and all of a sudden there’s this new kid in his place. A kid he does his damndest not to resent in turn, because god knows it’s not Jason’s fault what Bruce decides to do, but at the same time he struggles to connect with him, not because he doesn’t want to, but because the timing is all wrong and his life is currently pulling him in a whole other direction.

Then Jason dies, and Dick is wracked with guilt. All the should haves and maybes, all the ‘I should have done more’ that comes far too late. Until suddenly Jason’s back again, angry and vengeful. And Jason for a while still holds Dick up as that impossible ideal and resents him for it, and Dick in turn is angry at Jason for his actions and resentment, as much as a part of him still strains to correct a mistake he never really made, and change a past that can’t be changed. They argue and they fight and keep coming at each in disconnected ways, never quite able to attune to the other’s frequency. There’s always something in the way. Always something, on either side, causing them to slide jagged edges against each other.

But then Jason calms down, whether just through time or the Outlaws, depending on your favoured canon, and starts to see Dick as who he really is, rather than the idea of perfection he built up in his head as a kid. He realises Dick is just as flawed as any of them, trying his best but still coming up short despite it, and that he can be angry and petty as much as he is self-sacrificing, compassionate and inspirational. That Dick is terrible at taking care of himself, at maintaining the life-work balance, that he has some of Bruce’s worst habits, and is also terrified that he has them. And it... stirs something in him. Causes him to remember that old crush and readjust, as he starts to ache for Dick in a way that’s not someone he wishes he could be himself, but someone who always does his best despite his flaws.

Dick in turn, starts to see past Jason as the unjustly angry murderer, and as more than a tragedy. Starts to see the wounded man underneath, longing for connection. Starts to see how compassionate Jason is in turn, and how fiercely protective of the people he cares about and the city. That Jason is incredibly loyal to those who earn it, and as such why he takes it so hard when he feels that loyalty has been betrayed. That he’s fierce and committed in everything he does, but always shielding himself out of a fear of getting hurt again, which stirs something in Dick in turn.

And it starts from there. From short, hesitant conversations and getting to know who the other really is beyond first impressions. Fighting and commiserating together over shared grievances and frustrations. Taking care of each other, being there to help the other up when they fall. Understanding, but also being standing their ground on the important things and ultimately being able to help each other be better in the different ways that they need. 

Just... gosh, the potential here. It’s all about the potential, and the misunderstandings and misconceptions, the connections they could have if they just stop to give each other a chance. Unspoken longing transforming to understanding and realisations of attraction they didn’t even know were there. The shared insecurities and strengths and all the ways they can come together through them. I adore this pairing, so much I kind of wrote a mini fanfic to try and explain why I love it. Two wounded, needy, compassionate boys fitting together in ways neither of them ever suspected ❤

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

"Without me to blame everything on, they don’t know what to do with themselves!"

“They dragged me in front of the Council, still weak and disoriented from resurrection, naked and dripping with fluids – “ Fabian continued, his arm slung around Pyro and his face close enough to smell the booze on the Acolyte’s breath.

Not that Pyro’s breath was exactly booze-free, either.

“Fabian, I don’t wanna hear the words ‘naked’ or ‘fluids’ from you ever,” Pyro interrupted. “Especially in the same sentence.”

“I know, it’s disgusting isn’t it? The absolute humiliation to which our ruling Council subjected me, a valuable member of the SWORD team who just wanted to share his ideas!”

“You mean the idea that we should be allowed to murder people?” Pyro said. He had to admit, it wasn’t an idea that he entirely disagreed with. Not that he wanted to go out torching random humans, but surely mutants could be allowed to squash a few insects that went out of their way to attack them. It wasn’t like any of the humans going after the Marauder had pulled their punches.

“Murder’s such a nasty word for it,” Fabian said, somehow still eloquent while hanging drunkenly off his bar stool, leaning heavily on Pyro. “I just think that, philosophically, mutant lives are, let’s be honest here, more important than human lives. You know it, I know it, the whole island knows it, even if I’m the only one brave enough to say it. But the Council’s been completely overrun with Xavier’s radical pacifism. He’s never entirely let go of the idea that we mutants must make ourselves small, make ourselves ordinary to fit into human society, and now that that dream has failed, he wants us to approach our enemies with open and empty hands.”

Pyro was looking across the bar during this tirade, meeting Blob’s eyes with a silent plea to be rescued. Blob just smirked and continued making some kind of complicated cocktail for Polaris, something with multiple colored layers.

Fine, traitor. See if I bring you any more of that fancy Japanese sake from the Marauder.

Although that cocktail was looking pretty damn good. Pyro might be very forgiving for one of those.

The problem wasn’t just Fabian. It was that Fabian was starting to make a horrible amount of sense. It was true that the rules of this island of mutants sounded heavily weighted towards the X-Men way of thinking, even though they were all supposed to be mutants living together in harmony. All the teams seemed to feature X-types, too. Even his own stint with the Marauders had been dangerously close to being an X-Man, although he hadn’t exactly slapped an X onto his uniform. And where was the “Brotherhood” in all this? Where were the Acolytes? There was just Sinister’s team of screw-ups, and maybe that SWORD initiative up in space.

Also, getting up this close and personal, there was no denying that Fabian was handsome. The arm slung around Pyro’s shoulders seemed to be chiseled from stone, and the muscles bulged tantalizingly against him. Even that manbun looked kinda like something Pyro might want to take apart with his teeth.

No. Don’t even think about it. Fred’s turned on me, don’t you turn on me, too. Pyro sent a fierce command down towards his cock, which had been known to betray him in the past.

“So you agree with me, don’t you?” Fabian’s voice faded in, and he was shaking Pyro to get his attention.

“What?”

“You agree that I’ve been unjustly persecuted by the Quiet Council, who have refused to give me the respect and consideration that a man like myself deserves – “

“Oh, fuck off!” Pyro pulled himself together enough to attempt to push Cortez off him.

“Yes, you’re right, they should fuck off!” Unfortunately, Fabian seemed incapable of understanding disapproval at the moment. “The entire Quiet Council should fuck off for their treatment of me! I’m so glad I have your support!”

Pyro finally wrenched himself off the barstool, and let Fabian topple over with an indignant scream.

[basement-writings]

~Yandere Alies x Married Reader~

~America~

Alfred had already met the man who dared to call himself your husband (just thinking about him made his blood boil), and wanted to murder him in the bloodiest way imaginable, but he restrained himself.

Thinking of a better way to take care of this ‘pest’ in a more cleaner manner.

He started to become your friend, slowly getting to know you better, he had to bite his tongue to the point of it bleeding every time he saw you walking around with that man who claimed he was yours.

Couldn’t you see how much of a better choice Alfred was to you? He could treat you so much better then he could ever!

It just made the scene of you coming to him crying saying that your husband had ran away with another girl, all the better.

You didn’t need to know the details of what he did, all you needed to know that he was there for you.

He didn’t even have to worry about a the two of you having a baby since he was gone before he could even try anything.

Alfred is going to use your already hurting heart to his advantage with saying how he would never betray you like him, how he could be a much better husband to you.

It’s only a matter of time until you start believing that yourself.

~~~

~England~

Well, this just won’t do now will it?

Arther would unfortunately already know of his little rival but he wouldn’t care that much for them.

Not seeing them as someone who he couldn’t deal with if he had too.

But he wasn’t expecting to hear you say that you were expecting a baby.

A baby?

With him?

Well that’s certainly a, problem.

He’ll fake his excitement saying his congrats and all but he would be thinking of all the ways he was going to dispose of this rat that dared touch you.

This vermin who you danced the devils tango with wouldn’t stand a chance against Arther’s plans on getting you to be his but he did have to deal with him first.

Taking him to a nearby pub for a few congrats drinks. With the man thoroughly drunk it wouldn’t take long for Arther to lead him to a dark ally to show how he really felt towards him.

After letting out all his frustration onto the man who couldn’t even fight back against him (how could you expect him to defend you when he couldn’t even defend himself).

Having to see you cry and mourn about this useless man who didn’t even deserve to be mourned hurt him but he stood strong for you. Holding an umbrella to protect you from the rain, as you cried onto the rats grave.

The baby would only be a set back for him, he would be slightly distant or harsh to the child but it was still a part of you nonetheless.

Besides, it just showed you how good of a parent he could be for your future children.

~~~

~France~

Francis would be devastated when he saw the ring on your finger one day.

How could he be outdone! There’s no better lover then him so why would you choose someone over him!

He just couldn’t make any sense out of your reasoning besides that you had been somehow been horribly confused or that you really didn’t want to be with that man.

That has to be it!

Francis would try to dig up any information about your so called husband that would make you see him in a worse light all while keeping your friendship together.

He knows he couldn’t flirt that much with you since you were married, but he would still complement you nonetheless.

After not being able to find anything that he could land him behind bars, he decides to frame your husband for something he didn’t do.

Deep down he knows that it’s a cruel and unjustly thing to do but it’s not like he had any other choice.

A few misplaced items being found in his car, putting a word in to authorities about some ‘suspicious behavior’ and it won’t take long before they tie him to a murder that wasn’t even by him.

Of course you’ll go straight to his defense but with all the words Francis has been telling you about him, about all those supposedly late night shifts, you’ll start to believe that he’s not the man you married.

After you promptly divorced him, Francis will have all the time in the world to show you just how good of a husband he could be for you.

~~~

~Russia~

Ivan isn’t a violent person, especially when it comes to you, but he can’t deny how this vermin is testing him.

He would look at the two of you with sadness in his eyes, wanting so badly to be the man in your arms who takes you on long walks throughout the city and to take you to the best restaurant he could find.

Oh how wonderful that would be,

He’ll try to get close to you, letting you vent out your frustrations about everything , even things about your husband.

He’ll take those things and blow them out of proportion saying how “that’s not how a husband should treat you” and “He’s taking advantage of you”

You’ll say no to them saying that they were just little fights, but his words would stay in the back of your mind whether you tried denying them or not.

He would slowly start turning you against your spouse with the little things he would say, it wouldn’t take long before you make up your mind to divorce your husband.

The day you came crying to Ivan about you being pregnant, would be a surprise and would seal your ex-spouses fate in his mind.

He wanted to let the man off the hook but now learning that he actually touched you in that manner, oh it makes his blood just boil with anger.

Whether you want to abort or keep the baby he lets you make that decision.

Though if you choose to keep the baby he won’t deny that it hurts him a tiny bit but he’ll make sure that the baby shares no resemblance to that disgusting man (mostly by teaching the baby Russian and all about Russian culture).

Ivan will act as a father figure for the baby having you see how much of a good husband he can be for you and your kid, it’s just for you to forget about your past husband and get you to see Ivan as your new husband.

~~~

~China~

China wouldn’t really want to give that disgrace of a husband any of his time at first, but when he over hears your excited voice saying that you were expecting a child, He knew he couldn’t ignore him any longer.

He won’t say that he never wanted to murder your husband, but thought better of himself then to get his hands dirty.

And besides, death would be a privilege for this disgrace of a human, he’ll make sure that he wished he was dead.

To you, Yao was just another person at the office, you were close but not to the point that Yao would want, but he can deal with just being a friend for now.

You started venting about financial problems to him during y’alls coffee breaks and he would listen and give you words of advice along with putting a bad word about your husband to you.

“If he can’t even provide for the two of you now, how do you think he’ll provide for a child?”

“If he’s staying at work all the time and going on these long business trips, how do you think the child’s going to feel? Not even mentioning that’ll just put more stress on you.”

His words would plant doubt in you with how you view your spouse, and you would notice how much more time you would be spending with Yao.

You just always seemed to have a better time when Yao was around, wasn’t he the better option.

It wasn’t until one day when you were crying on Yao’s shoulder telling him about all the stress and problems your marriage was going through was when Yao said

“You should leave him, and be with me.”

The idea seemed ridiculous to even ponder,

But,

It didn’t seem like you wanted to decline him either.

His waiting would finally pay off to see your ex-husbands face twist to an expression fo betrayal and sadness. Didn’t help that he was struggling financially which was due to Yao’s many friends helping him out.

With finally leaving the broken man with you in his arms he just thought ‘this was how things should be like, you in his arms’.

Yao wouldn’t mind the little issue that would be your child, he would care for it as if it was his own either way (I see him doing the same thing as Russia as he would share Chinese traditions, culture, and make them learn mandarin).

[puppysynonym]

"Despite all odds, despite everything that you think you can do to fix the situation, to help each other, to persevere, you can't! They broke the unbreakable."

yknow what? c!puffy is allowed to have a villain arc,, she deserves to be allowed to go ape shit <3

okok im just gonna ramble it isnt very cohesive and has no real point to it im just talking

/rp /dsmp

but like actually im not that surprised that she is going down this path. like, she's lost everything. her son is dead, her friends have betrayed her (even though they are under the influence of the egg so like the characters themselves arent really at fault but i also dont blame puffy at all for feeling the way she does), she killed one of her friends to avenge her son..

just damn :[ she's going through it.

shes taken on so much responsibility as a knight of the greater dsmp, as both a literal mother and motherly figure, and as a therapist. it hurts to see her blame herself for the whole red banquet because she tried so so hard to stick to her beliefs. she simultaneously blames herself for not acting quickly enough and acting out in retaliation.

and then to see the complete 180 of her feeling guilty about killing ant to her not considering bbh and ant human because of their targeting of the person who's death would hurt her the most?

she is now willing to scare people into respecting her, she is willing to be the 'villain' if it means keeping from being hurt again.

but like, i feel like puffy 'having a villain arc' isnt really a 'villain' arc? like, despite her lack of trust in others, i still dont believe that she will harm people unjustly. her actions at the banquet weren't villainous, they were an emotional response to her best friends betraying her and murdering her son in front of her.

she even said herself that she will remain loyal to those who are kind to her and only really hurt the people who hurt her.

so like,, overall, i think that violence isnt ok BUT i think puffy has good reason to finally snap and give people fewer chances.

[enbeemagical]

Any hc about our sparkly elf, Aaravos?

If not him, Runaan and Ethari?

OHHHH YES

OH YES INDEEDY

you see, I rp Aaravos, which means he likes to talk in my head even when I would rather he shut up so I can go to sleep. And he has Lots Of Opinions. Occasionally I learn things he’d rather I not know, and that’s where I build from.

okay! Headcanons!!

Due to his experiences, Aaravos doesn’t just hate Avizandum, he’s actually dracophobic. 

He’s aroallo-- aromantic and allosexual (pan, usually). (I’m not entirely certain if I show that well in my rp, since Aaravos is so different from me. We’re both arospec, so that probably helps, but he’s allo and I’m ace and the blog is SFW, so idk anything lmao)

Yeah, Aaravos is good at flirting, but it’s never anything serious, you know? Flirting =/= attraction, and in fact flirting = no attraction. He’ll flirt with anything and anyone, but when he flusters and doesn’t quite know what to say, when he cuts the nicknames and teasing? That’s when you know he’s fallen.

Nicknames are just how he talks. He doesn’t bother remembering names unless they’re important to him. He’s sort of like Diana Wynne Jones’s Chrestomanci/Christopher Chant in that, except instead of calling Mr. Baslam “Mr. Bislow” he’d call him “dark mage.” He’ll use nicknames anytime on anyone, but name-names are only for people he respects/cares about. So he might call the dragon king “Avizandum,” because as much as he hates him, Avizandum imprisoned him, and  Aaravos can’t help but respect the power it took to imprison him, an Archmage. (I still haven’t convinced him to call Amaya by her name, even though he says he respects her. Wait a sec--)

Revised nickname headcanon: He uses names when he feels close to someone. Not just respect, though that has something to do with it. Names aren’t something he takes lightly. 

Okay, this got long, so there are two dozen more headcanons under the cut. They’re just in the order I thought of them, so they kind of jump around a bit, sorry. Angst and fluff.

Aaravos is basically a faerie. Not fairy like Tinkerbell; faerie like the high fae, like Oberon, Titania, and Puck. He’s extremely powerful, ethereally beautiful (though not all fae are), and he’s very careful with his wording.

Either Aaravos can lie and simply doesn’t, or he cannot lie and doesn’t want that to be known. (I choose to ignore the option of “he was lying when he said he never lies” because that hurts my brain.) “I’m not lying. I never lie.” Never, not cannot, which. Details, details.

He was betrayed. He ended up in the mirror because he was betrayed. They drugged him to seal away his magic so Avizandum could imprison him. I have several scenes of this in my head, but @alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice and I are using this is TSATS so I don’t want to give too much more away.

Ziard was Aaravos’s apprentice. They were kind of like Halt and Will in Ranger’s Apprentice. Only they invented dark magic together and Halt and Will didn’t use magic.

Dark magic causes nightmares until you learn it, if you don’t have training. Aaravos’s nightmares? The other Startouch elves leaving.

He’s afraid of being alone. He used to like it, spending hours and days and weeks alone with his books quite happily. But after he literally could not interact with anyone for three hundred years, he’d break if he had to be alone again.

He actually did break during those centuries. Multiple times. Screaming, crying, throwing things, trying to break things, windows, the mirror, anything. Even himself.

They’re antlers, not horns. Horns are one point, you get one (1) set for life, like adult teeth. Antlers have branches, and you get a new set every year. Aaravos... has feelings about this. 

Startouch elves spoke like a Shakespeare play. This one’s kind of silly, and entirely based around the line, “Yes, it’s well appointed, but make no mistake, this has been my prison these past few centuries!” and me thinking that “well appointed” sounded very Shakespearean and he could just as well have said “Yes, it’s quite nice, but make no mistake” etcetera (and a bit that I keep wanting to write “thou” when writing him lately). Anyway. Moving on.

Aaravos is a good animal trainer. He’s got the patience for it, and he’s smart. He’s probably trained lots of animals, of many different species. Clicker training, probably; definitely primarily positive reinforcement.

The horse? Is not a horse. It’s a couch. (I only go in for this one because I love the image of Aaravos jumping around on his couch like a little kid, draping himself all over the room. Funnily enough, how he rides is entirely plausible, given that I’m not even drinking age and I can ride my horse very similarly to how Aaravos rides. He’s millennia older than me; he could absolutely ride like that.)

Aaravos killed Queen Aditi and Queen Luna Tenebris. That’s a big reason why he was imprisoned. Yeah, the dark magic was part of it, but Ziard lived 1,000 years ago and Aaravos was only imprisoned 300 years ago. Either he managed to evade the authorities for 700 years, or something else was the tipping point. Maybe a bit of both.

Aaravos has killed a lot of people, for various reasons. Sometimes for revenge (I’d like to think Aditi killed Ziard, which is why Aaravos went after her), sometimes just for being in his way (he discarded the poor Sunfire priest way too casually).

If he really cares about someone, he will kill for them? Die for them? Nah, not really, he’d have to be absolutely crazily stupid with love for that. Kill for them? Absolutely, any day.

Oh and he does the murderously protective thing where he’s like, “Oh, and if anyone hurts you do let me know. I will be happy to talk to them about that. 💖🔪😇 ”

He doesn’t like children. Like, there are a few he cares about, but by and large he’s like “children? ugh, no, yuck.”

He doesn’t fall in love easily, but when he does, he is in love. Period, fullstop.

For all his flirting and teasing, he knows how to respect no. I mean. Look at Xadia’s culture. Being queer is a total nonissue, women are actually treated as equal to men. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it’s hella better than here. Aaravos grew up in Xadia. He’s gonna respect people as people. Will he flirt insanely with everyone, whether they’re into him or not? Yeah. If he talks, he flirts. Will he make a move on someone who doesn’t want him to? No.

He loves cats. Need I say more?

He didn’t get any kind of trial, no chance to defend himself, to tell his side of the story. He was just betrayed and imprisoned.

Aaravos’s arrogance and vanity is a cover over some major self-esteem issues. Maybe he didn’t always have those, but during his imprisonment there were times he believed that he deserved it. That he was a monster, a soulless demon (like they said he was), and he didn’t deserve freedom. That he had no heart, that all he could do was hurt people, and anytime he tried to help he only ended up hurting more. Destruction and tragedy was all he could bring. He’d try not to believe that, forcing himself to remember good things he’d done, telling himself over and over again that he can help people he’s not a monster he’s not-- and he just. can’t. because he’s tried to help, yes, he saved Elarion and he killed for those he loved, but he killed, and not always to protect, and he even enjoyed it. He knows he’s done bad things, but he enjoyed them. Maybe he did deserve to be put in here, alone. Because if he deserved it, maybe when he’s suffered enough to atone he can be free, but if he was truly unjustly imprisoned then there will be no freedom. And this doesn’t make sense, and he knows it’s illogical, so he pulls on a mask of pride and confidence, hoping ‘fake it til you make it’ will work eventually, but underneath. Aaravos. Is. Broken.

Aaravos likes humans in general more than elves in general. They tend to be less judgey at him and they look up to him. Nice ego boost there, the admiration.

He also likes animals, especially now. They don’t judge him based on any criteria a human, elf, or dragon might use. They just care how he personally treats them specifically, and he’s good to them so they love him. They don’t ask anything more of him than that, no relentless demands on his time, and they can just happily coexist in companionable silence. Humans tend to be less good at that.

His favorite fiction books are romance novels. He does like the different ones, the cliche-benders that turn tropes on their heads, but sometimes there’s nothing like curling up with a cheesy, predictable, well-loved story and a cup of hot chocolate.

So, anon, this live up to your expectations?

[scarletarosa]

Abigor

One of the Goetic demons and is a Duke, under the command of Lucifer. This information was shared to me by him and is also my own experiences through working with this mighty infernal deity.

Other Names: Eligor, Eligos

Rulerships: legal matters, war, battle strategy, courage, valour, defense, protecting the vulnerable and the weak (many times he’s been a defender of those who love Lucifer and Lilith). He also has some affinity with foresight, not so much divination but an instinctual sense of preparedness.

History: As with all of the Goetic Demons, Abigor is an ancient god who was one of the agents of the source (”angels”) and had the task of defending various places on Earth. Back then, he was known as the White Knight. Abigor took on even more battles than instructed by protecting people from murders or rapes. One day, this caused him to not be around to defend his post, leading to people who were dear to him to suffer. This was deeply traumatic for Abigor who no longer felt at place with his duties, but it was Lucifer who approached him and offered Abigor a place within his kingdom. Now as a Duke and mighty war-chief in Lucifer’s kingdom, Abigor oversees many military matters; however, his role is mostly that of a Warrior Knight. 

Abigor is one of the finest war-chiefs in Hell due to his value of honour and allowing his strength to be fueled by his heart. He is deeply noble and trains his legions to be the same, showing them the true inner-strength that makes a great warrior. In combat, Abigor is nearly undefeatable and has been bested only a small handful of times out of countless battles. 

Military Rank: Duke

Element: Air

Colours: Vibrant green and yellow

Appearance: A large knight with silvery-black plate armour, feathered black wings, long flowing black hair, and pale white eyes. Although when angered, his eyes become ruby red. He can be seen bearing a lance, great sword, and other various weapons. Abigor has a massive physique with a very tall with a well-toned body that is able to lift and strike enormous weights. He also has a black horse with which he often rides into battle. When he fights, a black aura is sometimes seen. 

Personality: Abigor is fiercely loyal and brave, and always at the front line. He favours honesty and strength of character, and will assist those in need in those areas. He also favours challenges and progress through strife; he will help any person, no matter how weak, as long as they are willing to learn how to fight and rise in life, demanding their rights. He supports free-will over fatalism, and he promotes help towards people who are unjustly imprisoned or oppressed. Due to Abigor’s connection to nobility and allowing his strength to flow from his heart, the planet he corresponds to is Venus. Though he is less so connected to the artistic side of Venus since he tends to be more neutral towards art, focusing more on battle instead.  

Abigor will often test the people he guides with a series of challenges in order to help them become stronger. Injustice infuriates him and whenever possible, he acts as a Punisher. He never betrays his friends, and he values honesty and bravery at all times. He is understanding and supportive as a mentor, especially when he offers guidance to those too timid or too frightened to act. Abigor is also extremely honourable and will refuse to fight anyone, even his enemies, if they do not have a weapon. For this reason, he always grants a weapon to his enemy before they fight (if they are unarmed). 

Things that Abigor loves are castles, towers, wooden tables, mountains, plains, oak trees, geographical explorations, hunting, large oak barrels, large castle gates, hounds, the morning sky, the crescent moon, strategy, battle tactics, siege weapons, cannons, runes, tarot cards, scrying, black smithing, chess, fire places, and steam engines. He loves beer but only chooses to drink it as a reward for himself after achieving something; he is very disciplined and wishes to earn it instead. He hates things such as murders of unarmed people, arson of forests, plastic, drunkards, torturing of innocents, hypocrisy, and stupidity. 

How to call him: Speak to Abigor as you would with any other god, be polite and considerate. Contact him through telepathically speaking in your mind, directing the words to him (you can do this verbally, but if malicious spirits hear, they may pretend to be him). When inviting a Goetic demon to you, try to dress well for them since they are divine and royalty.

What he can do: Put you through trials for inner-strength, teach courage, help to fight against oppression, help in severing toxic relationships, protection from harm, help in legal matters, help in ritually consecrating an athame, justice, determination, and granting you the will to live.

His Enn (for devotion or meditation): “Aylan Abigor tasa uan on ca”

Offerings: beer (stout), gin, dry white wine, mixed fruit juice, red steak (medium or rare), veal, goat meat, cheeseburgers, cornbread, baked potatoes, oven-roasted wurst, omelet with asparagus, stove-baked bread, spicy soups, grapes, persimmons, chili peppers, cayenne pepper, dark chocolate, nuts, cinnamon, honey, ginger, turmeric, thyme, barley, beeswax, burnt wood, garnets, amber, tigers eye, two-handed swords, shields, medieval armour, war knives, war horns, war banners, tin flasks, nails, screws, griffin statues, eagle feathers, yellow candles, and incense of dried thyme or red sandalwood

[esther-dot]

Robb need didn't die bcoz they are honourable fools. Yes they committed mistakes. They underestimated their enemies and situations and trusted wrong people. But it didn't erases the fact that Lannisters, freys and Boltons didn't play fair and break all laws just because they are slighted. Petyr uses ned and betray him for petty reason. Both ned and Robb died unjustly. If we are to blame it would be Lannisters mainly.

I agree. I think Martin has taken care to create scenarios in which there is no easy answer, in which characters can't be completely right, in which characters must make mistakes. I always find it interesting that when asked "what if this character did/didn't do X," it seems to genuinely change the scenario in Martin's mind. To him, the next character's actions would be altered. I think he tries to create characters who are molded by their experiences and react accordingly. 

In most popular entertainment, it's unusual to see a character's humanity (in all its strengths and weakness) impact plot the way it does in ASOIAF, so we instinctively reach for the simple, "what an idiot" response because in most entertainment, that is the answer. But in this story, it just isn't that simple. Acting like Robb or Ned were just dumb doesn't quite capture everything that Martin packs into each decision. (And I say this as someone who has reblogged Ned critical content because he did make mistakes.)

Martin needed to kill Robb, so he created cascading events to get there. Robb is wounded, he gets word of his brothers, sleeps with a girl. He didn't just up and decide to dishonor a Lady; there's a whole scenario created to get him there. And then of course, you have others conspiring against him which is ultimately his undoing. I think the show’s version of him really impacted the popular conception of him. 

This reblog by @agentrouka-blog talks about Robb’s decision re: Jeyne/how Jon’s bastardy impacted it which I think is a good take. Can you imagine loving your mother and seeing how she struggles to live with the reminder of her husband's infidelity, what she deems a threat to her children, in her own home? Would Robb have been willing to do that to his future wife/live that life? If not, would he be willing to have nothing to do with his bastard when his father raised his alongside his trueborn children? There are believable reasons for why Robb married Jeyne. People may not like it, they may disagree, but there are a dozen things that the writer did to make it an organic choice. The characters face struggles which are designed to prohibit easy outs. 

And then, because other characters are allowed agency, they don’t just accept Robb’s actions. I think that’s a pretty amazing way to write a story!

As for Ned, his decision to go to Cersei/give her a chance to save her children, is a direct outcome of his realization of what Robert has become.  

"Robert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer than brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and bluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!""You knew the man," she said. "The king is a stranger to you." (AGOT, Catelyn II) 

and 

"Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" (AGOT Eddard VIII) 

and

“Could Robert be part of it? He would not have thought so, but once he would not have thought Robert could command the murder of women and children either. Catelyn had tried to warn him. You knew the man, she had said. The king is a stranger to you. The sooner he was quit of King's Landing, the better. If there was a ship sailing north on the morrow, it would be well to be on it.” (AGOT Eddard VIII) 

Not only was Robert a brother to him, they fought a war together, and Robert was his king. So, we understand the love/loyalty there. There are layers to that relationship, but also, there is a lot of conflict between those roles. You can’t really be just a friend with a king because the king has authority over your life and your family. This isn’t even like being friends with your boss. Your boss isn’t running the country. And this guy who is running the country has no checks on his power. So, the realization about who Robert was fed into Ned’s actions. Not only that, but out of duty Ned had abided by “the king’s justice” and killed Lady which morally compromised him. Ned shed the blood of the innocent for Robert, and that has been folded into this mess too: 

"And he had killed Sansa's, and for what? Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done?" (AGOT, Eddard IV) 

"Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robert's talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Rhaegar's infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry's audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once." (AGOT, Eddard IV) 

Robert is not good, nor is he just, and because of it, Ned bears guilt. Killing Lady was a triggering experience for him. He would not be able to bear it if his relationship with Robert pulled him into complicity with the death of children, and that is the fear because he no longer has reason to believe it wouldn’t.  All of this plays into his decision/mistake. 

EDIT: I forgot this quote that makes it all clear. oops!

Eddard Stark allowed himself a curse. Aside from his own retainers, there was scarcely a man in this city he trusted. Littlefinger had concealed Catelyn and helped Ned in his inquiries, yet his haste to save his own skin when Jaime and his swords had come out of the rain still rankled. Varys was worse. For all his protestations of loyalty, the eunuch knew too much and did too little. Grand Maester Pycelle seemed more Cersei's creature with every passing day, and Ser Barristan was an old man, and rigid. He would tell Ned to do his duty. Time was perilously short. The king would return from his hunt soon, and honor would require Ned to go to him with all he had learned. Vayon Poole had arranged for Sansa and Arya to sail on the Wind Witch out of Braavos, three days hence. They would be back at Winterfell before the harvest. Ned could no longer use his concern for their safety to excuse his delay. Yet last night he had dreamt of Rhaegar's children. Lord Tywin had laid the bodies beneath the Iron Throne, wrapped in the crimson cloaks of his house guard. That was clever of him; the blood did not show so badly against the red cloth. The little princess had been barefoot, still dressed in her bed gown, and the boy … the boy … (AGOT Eddard XII)

Ned was not doing his duty, he was not being honorable when he tried to save Cersei’s kids. He was trying to do what was right. And he didn’t really trust Littlefinger, he just had no idea how bad he was.

Of course the reader can come up with alternatives/ways Ned could have done better by his daughters, but the author crafted things to make his decision as believable as possible. I think there is beauty in the painful realism, but only if we don’t dismiss it by proclaiming the Stark men to be fools, as tempting as that may be. I expect that for the Starks to rise, Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Bran will be far more cunning, and I look forward to reading that.

Thank you for the ask, and I’m sorry it took me so long to get to it!